In Shades of Black and White - LuminousPie (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

1990

It was cold out and she could feel the bitterness in her bones even as she ran hard and the sweat poured. The weather was definitely starting to take a turn for the worse, winter stubbornly refusing to give way to spring, and she could easily believe the weather forecasts of another bout of snow. The stubborn gray sky above looked heavy and ready to punish.
It was a real shame. Even as the budding trees around her pushed the last of the decaying browns out of the way, an endless cycle of death and rebirth, and the hazy morning mist made way for brighter morns, Agent Trainee Dana Scully knew that she wouldn’t be able to take advantage of the outdoor facilities at Quantico for much longer. In a day or two snow would probably settle in and she’d have to use the indoor gym.

She hated the gym. It was full of flexing men trying to show off and intimidate the female recruits, trying to prove their virility. It was as pathetic as it was obnoxious. In this day and age it was positively antediluvian. Tom Colton was the worst of the damn lot. Marty Neal wasn’t far behind.

Still, it made her and her friends laugh at least. The true tragedy of machismo was that, subconsciously, they never thought they were man enough. She didn’t need to show off with physicality, though she could more than handle herself. No, she had more than enough going on upstairs academically and that was what would get her noticed. It already had.
Her breath caught through exhaustion as she pounded through the woods, her feet heavy, the blood rushing loud in her ears, the birds watching her suspiciously while they chatted loudly amongst themselves, but the relentless need to finish her task compelled her forward and to the end of the course. She would beat this. She would beat her old time. She knew she must, otherwise it was a wasted morning.

Eventually she came to a steep muddy incline with different levels of gradient. It looked pretty innocuous to the untrained eye but she knew the slope was hiding a dark secret, a secret that meant traversing up a cruel 40 degree slope towards the top. She dealt with the first part with relative ease, digging her running shoes into the mud for extra grip, and then grabbed the thick wet rope that burnt her cold hands as she pulled herself upwards. A fresh round of sweat seeped from every pore, and she lost her footing once or twice, but she attacked it and made it to the top with a triumphant smile and a clap of her hands and carried on. She would deal with the aches and left over vertigo later.

It was another hundred meters or so until the next obstacle, a rope climb in the shape of a pyramid, that she didn’t even think to skirt around. There would be no cutting corners for Dana Katherine Scully. Even if this place killed her she would go down swinging.

She did, however, allow herself to breathe a little better, taking in deeper lungfuls of air rather than the shallow puffs she’d been managing on. As she watched the cloud in front of her, her scientifically minded brain went through the processes involved in causing her breath to appear in liquid form before her eyes. The dew point. She could recite it verbatim from the textbook: ‘The dew point is the temperature to which air must be cooled to become saturated with water vapor. When air is cooled beyond dew point water vapor turns to liquid form, the physical process known as condensation. It is this liquid form of your breath, minuscule droplets of water, that creates the fleeting, misty cloud we see when breathing in cold weather.’

The likes of Tom Colton couldn’t do that!

She was over the pyramid before she even knew it, rolling over the top with a grunt, and took a fork in the road that would eventually loop her back around to the almost brutalist architecture of Quantico’s giant military base. It was the wetter run of the two but she welcomed the cooling splashes of water as they cascaded up her legs. She was running with such commitment that she idly thought that in any other part of the world she’d look like she was being chased by a predator of some kind, being stalked like prey. Under those circ*mstances convention dictated that she should be afraid, instead she felt powerful and, as it was, she was probably in one of the safest places she knew of. She ignored the snaps of twigs and the rising flights of birds that moved as if frightened by something though. She wouldn’t let her mind play tricks.

The closer she got to the main concourse the more noisy it became. Her well trained ear could make out gun fire from the outdoor range, the squeal of tires on the driving course in the distance, the stomp of footfall as people ran in organized groups nearby complete with loud chatter and laughter. She could even hear a helicopter somewhere: probably the hostage negotiation team in training.

It was great and she enjoyed it, it was music to her ears, though to lose the relative peace and quiet of the inner forest was somewhat disappointing. She’d always enjoyed the woods as they brought back fond memories of hunting and foraging with her father and brothers. A much simpler time.

The woods opened out to wide green lawns and she sighed as the real world wrapped its arms around her and pulled her towards more mundane matters. She slowed to a stop, pulled her stop watch out and ended her run as soon as she spotted Jack Willis in the distance perched on a picnic table, his feet on the seat. With any other man it would make them look boyish but Jack could never relax and always looked much older than his 34 years. It was a bad joke amongst the faculty and student body that he would either burn out and eat a bullet from his own gun or have a stroke.

He smiled when he saw her, got up and approached, attempted to offer her his overcoat, a gentlemanly gesture to keep her warm but she shook her head, she didn’t need it. She would be warm from her run for a while yet, besides she liked to warm down naturally, not prolong it.

Next he attempted to awkwardly kiss her on the cheek so she moved a little out of his reach and mumbled, “Not here.” He was being a little too showy for her liking. If people found out about their relationship her professional reputation would be in tatters. She wanted to earn a reputation, not be given one.

It was just as well she moved as soon twenty or so people came spilling out of one of the buildings nearby and she blushed even though she knew they couldn’t possibly have seen. As she watched them she was struck by the fact that she was the only one heading inwards, everyone else was rushing out. It reminded her of a little boat heading out against the tide. She wasn’t quite sure of the exact metaphor but was sure Missy would pick out the chicken sh*t from the haystack.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, exhaustion strong in her tone. “I thought you were teaching all day?” She began stretching in the air, pushing her hands up towards the cloudy gray abyss above, to warm down.

“Is that how you greet me now? No hello? No kiss?” He smiled thinly when he saw her arched eyebrow in response and sighed in defeat, “I saw you head out here from my office window so I thought I’d time you.” He pulled his own stop watch out and showed her his time. It was inaccurate, slower than her own, but knowing he’d insist his was right she nodded. Jack was a man that always had to be right, always had to have the last word. It was why she didn’t see any potential with him. “That and I like to watch you run.” He smirked, looking down at her gray tracksuit covered legs.

She took his offered bottle of water gladly and gulped it down, not really in the mood for his flirting. She’d like a nice hot shower right about now. She handed back the empty bottle and began walking away. “Thanks, I should head back up to the dorms, I have a test I need to revise for.”

He was put out, incredulous, “That’s it?”

Pausing, she turned to look at him. She liked Jack, she really did, they’d had some good times, hung out at dive bars with slanted pool tables, exchanged gifts at the appropriate time (a watch for him, a new gun holster for her) and even took trips away when time and schedules permitted. She also liked her space. He knew that. He appreciated that. Why was he acting differently now? “I don’t know, is there something else?”

He scratched his head, something was on his mind. “I thought you might want some company.”

“I do, it’s just…” Just what? Was she making excuses? “It’s just that I'm a little busy right now.” She felt like she was making excuses but it was the truth. Between lectures, personal development, the gun range, research, essays, fitness, applications for future training courses and trying to remember to sleep and eat it was exhausting. She didn’t have time to hang out, not really. Besides, even when they were together it was just stolen moments, really little more than a casual arrangement between two people. Feelings had never come into it. It suited them well. Or at least it had. She wondered who would be the one to break it off first. “Maybe at the weekend?” It was all she could offer.

“I’m going to hold you to that.” He was pining for something. Perhaps just to talk. She’d indulge him for a few minutes here at least, she wasn't cruel or cold. “I have a case though, so…” he shrugged.

“Anything interesting?” It was all interesting to him. He lived his cases. She liked intensity but his was the wrong kind, he was unhealthy. Even on their trips away he talked about his cases. She picked up her exercises again while he talked.

“No… well yes actually but it’s not something I want to talk about right now. It’s a series of bank robberies…” his voice trailed off as he became lost in his own thoughts. “A real head scratcher…”
In between her leg stretches and lunges, thrown in for good measure, she regarded him more softly and stood fully. She wasn’t unsympathetic, if he was really hurting she’d accommodate him and offer her shoulder as a sponge to his frustrations. “Do you want to go for a drink?”

He opened his mouth to talk but before he could say anything he spotted someone running towards her, calling her name and waving a memo. A fresh faced young man of about 23, still had his dimples, a baby. He was so young looking that even at 26 she felt ancient standing in his vicinity. Jack stepped aside and it was at that point she realized that they weren’t even standing that close. Together but apart. Their lives going in very different directions. Now that was a metaphor she keenly understood. She knew it would be down to her. She just needed to find a when.
“Dana Scully?” he panted, he’d only come from the administration block in front of them, she’d watched him, and he looked like he’d ran 10 miles. She nodded and he quickly thrust a piece of paper into her outstretched hand. “Assistant Director Skinner wants to see you in his office asap.” And with that he was off again, waving another memo at someone else. He rather reminded her of a Roman messenger, a cursus publicus, relaying his messages and bouncing between fortifications without a care in the world.

She looked at the scrawled message. It didn’t have any other information on it outside of what the messenger had just told her. She didn’t even know AD Skinner, never mind know where his office was. The pit of her stomach faded out from underneath her and she suddenly felt apprehensive.

She looked at Jack and he didn’t disappoint. He said, “Bald guy, wears glasses, looks like Mel Cooley. You’ll find him on the fourth floor, the same building as the BSU and Violent Crimes.” He took the memo from her and frowned. “Doesn’t say why he wants to see you.”

She had not one fathom of an idea though she hoped it had something to do with her request to go straight into teaching after she graduated the academy. “What’s he like?” She wanted to be prepared for every eventuality. She’d met some pretty militaristic instructors in her time here and didn’t want to be on the back foot if he turned out the same.

“Walter?” He handed back the piece of paper and a wisp of a fond smile appeared. “Career AD, can be very firm but essentially one of the good guys.”

She thanked him and, because nobody else was around, allowed him to awkwardly kiss her on the lips goodbye. They arranged to meet later on but she already knew she’d find an excuse to cancel. She doubted he’d be too hurt by it though, he’d canceled on her enough times in the past for both serious and spurious reasons. It was just the way things were between them. Casual. It wasn’t an issue and they didn’t argue. It was certainly more refreshing than her last relationship, that had been nothing but stifling.

She took one last glance back as she retreated, as she quickly made her way towards the Behavioural Science Unit building. Jack’s own retreating form looked forlorn, the weight of the world on his shoulders. She felt for him and yet… and yet she needed more. She needed to relax.

The worst thing was that she didn’t think she’d miss him.

She sighed and slipped inside the building.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

While she sometimes agonized over her decisions there weren’t many things in life she actually regretted, once made up her mind she owned her decisions and stood by her choices. Right now, however, she was regretting not nipping back to her dorm room for a change of clothes and a quick shower. A dirty gray tracksuit and taped fingers hadn’t adhered her to the elevator full of too tall men that had loomed large over her, not that she’d been fazed at all by them, so it certainly wouldn’t be suitable attire for a meeting with an AD.

She wasn’t one to overly fuss with her appearance, though she was a confident woman and celebrated that fact, liked to dress up on occasion too, but when she caught her reflection in the glass walls of the vestibule to AD Skinner's office she balked. She looked like a wreck and knew she must stink, she still had gunpowder residue on her hands. It didn’t help that, facially at least, the mirror image of herself was sitting behind her desk with a smirk on her face and wearing a beautifully tailored blue suit. It was like looking at a before and after picture from a brawl.

She just about had time to retie her hair, to flatten the frizz and wipe the muddy smear from under her left eye before she was called in, via the secretary.

“You wanted to see me sir?” She asked nervously and then apologized for her attire, “I’m sorry, I didn’t have a chance to dress more appropriately.”

He waved it away as he stood to greet her with a friendly handshake. “Don’t worry about it. I know this was short notice. I pulled you off the range…”

“The assault course…” she corrected.

“Right.” He waved that away too, he didn’t care. “Take a seat.”

She wasn’t sure whether to take a seat at the highly polished conference table (with its photo of George H. W. Bush looming large nearby) where he had loads of files laid out or at the desk, where he had something altogether more alluring before him. Eventually she chose the desk, drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and it seemed to be the right decision as he smiled at her and gave her a polite nod.

Walter Skinner was not quite the caricature of Mel Cooley that Jack had insisted upon, though it was close. Around 40, 6 '1 and graying on the hair he had left around the sides, he was strongly built, impressive, and his countenance no nonsense, though he definitely seemed friendly enough and she could tell he was softening around the edges already. If he wasn’t so tired looking she’d consider him handsome, if not her type.

He sat quietly reading a file, not looking at her, for the longest time. When he looked up and said, “Dana Katherine Scully, graduated at the top of your class at Stanford Medical school. You’re a little way from medical school are you not?”

It dawned on her that he was looking at her file, scouring it for pieces of useful information. Picking her life and career apart. As if she wasn’t nervous enough. “Yes Sir,” she finally answered. She cleared her throat and looked around nervously, wondering where this was going. “I felt that the FBI was a place I could distinguish myself.”

“And is it?” he asked over the top of his round glasses.

“Yes.” She was confident in her responses. If she could justify herself to her father she could do it with this man. “I’m looking forward to proving myself.”

“Good, it says here that you were recruited by us, a little unusual but not unheard of.” Before she thought of an answer he said, “The FBI is a big commitment, I hope you’re up to it.”

She nodded. She was absolutely. She finally felt at home somewhere. Her conversation with Melissa this past Christmas had put her mind at rest on that front. Med school had been her dream since she was 13, since her Sunday School teacher had been murdered on his front lawn and she’d felt powerless to help, and while it hadn’t worked out she still wanted to help people in a crisis, she still wanted to be in a position that meant she could do something practical about the horrors and evil of the world.

He put the file down and smiled, he seemed happy with her responses at least. “I spoke to your instructors this morning, Nancy Spiller and Jack Willis especially, both were complimentary…” A playful smile suddenly cracking his features as he joked, “or as complimentary as Nancy Spiller can be.”

She desperately wanted to laugh, to tell him about the nickname her class had come up with for her, The Iron Maiden, instead she caught her laugh on an awkward fake cough hidden behind her hand and eventually smiled before answering, “They haven’t issued us with any reports or test scores yet.” It was frustrating. Already 8 weeks into her 20 week programme and she didn’t know where she stood, or needed to improve. She worried out loud, “I just hope I’m meeting expectations.”

He grinned at her anxious air, “You’re in the top quarter of your class and pushing towards being at the very top, you can calm down.”

She did and she couldn’t help the audible sigh of relief, she was proud of herself. They settled into various bits of small talk regarding the things she was studying, where she hoped to end up, if she was coping with the long hours and early starts. She was genuinely happy to have someone showing some interest in her, even if she was still wondering why she was here.

She wondered if it had anything to do with the detritus on his desk. She used her time in front of it to have a thorough examination. It was intriguing for sure but it was also a horror show. Victim profiles, all women, a timeline, notes with plenty of question marks scribbled all over it, a tabloid with the gratuitous headline ‘BILL SKINS FIFTH” emblazoned across it. 5 women so far.

Did they want her medical expertise for something?

It didn’t make sense. She knew about the case of course, had read about it in the more upmarket papers, and had heard people chatting about it in various canteens around the base, but beyond that she knew nothing. She’d love to get hands on the forensics. It would be great to study a case in progress rather than the ones they made up for training purposes or the old case that keenly supplied all the answers.

He caught her looking at his work and chewed his lip. Something was on his mind, though he didn’t elaborate further on it. “I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here?”

“Yes Sir.”

“A job’s come up and your name was mentioned a few times for it.”

“A job?” She was nervous again. He’d put her at ease with his genial chat, now she was afraid again. Of course she was flattered too. A chance to do a real job while still in training was a coveted opportunity and so far, out of her class, only Marty Neal had been given a chance.

“Not really a job, more an interesting errand.”

“Oh?” Curiouser and curiouser. She wondered if the deep frown on her features would scar her.

“We're trying to interview all of the serial killers now in custody, for a psycho-behavioral profile. Could be a big help in unsolved cases. Most of them have been happy to talk to us.” He looked up at the ceiling and she knew he was sorting through a lot of bullsh*t with these criminals. It was only confirmed when he said. “They have a compulsion to boast, tell tall tales and own up to crimes they couldn’t possibly have done…” It was his turn to sigh heavily and he waved an absentminded hand around. “It’s taking a while. You know how it is.”

She did not. She’d done interviews before, she’d spoken to pretend murderers, had watched videos of Agents dealing with the worst society had to offer, but she was no psychologist and while she could analyze a suspect, speak about their behaviors on a surface level, her expertise wasn’t Behavioural Sciences and working out why people acted in certain ways. It was forensics. If he wanted an analysis of chemical imbalances and medical issues then she was completely confident. Besides, the FBI had a whole building of trained agents, trained psychologists and psychiatrists who could do it on a deeper level, that they thought of her felt odd. Something felt off here.

She let him know. “I’m flattered, even grateful for the opportunity, but I’m wondering…”

“...Why you?” He interrupted. She nodded so he elaborated, after looking like he was thinking it over again, “because we need extra people on this but really you have the necessary credentials for an offender who refuses to speak to us.”

That piqued her interest, finally. “Who?”

He sat up straighter in his swivel chair and adjusted his ugly Formica brown tie, “Do you scare easily?”

It was an odd question, one she didn’t really have to think about, but odd all the same. “Not yet.” She’d certainly seen some gory things, had experienced a few horrors herself, but nothing that had lingered for too long.

Skinner regarded her evenly. Pressed his fingers to another, thin, folder, one he hadn’t opened yet. “I want you to pay this particular offender a visit tomorrow, he’s in the Baltimore State Hospital, a doctor. We thought as a fellow physician you might be able to appeal to his more professional side and get him to talk.”

That made some sense at least. She could do that. She was certainly capable of talking to medical professionals, she’d been doing it for years. She didn’t know too many doctors who were serial killers however, but she was up for the challenge. “The subject?”

Skinner stared at her, his face emotionless as he studied her. “The psychiatrist Dr Hannibal Lecter.”

She suddenly went very still and, on an air of disbelief, gasped out, “The cannibal.” They wanted her to interview Dr. Hannibal Lecter? A serial murderer notorious for consuming his victims. A renowned Baltimore forensic psychiatrist whose reputation had been reduced to tabloid fodder but a man who still had a fearsome reputation. She hoped there were good bars on his cell. She had no desire to be anyone’s midday snack.

She tried to think of what she knew about the case, what she’d read, and the damage caused by his reign of terror. She felt queasy when she thought of a man happily tucking into someone’s leg and a finely dressed dinner table with all the accompaniments laid out for added flavor. God, it was the stuff of nightmares.

She thought quickly of a better response, “And he won’t speak to Bill Patterson?” The chief profiler at the BSU. It was the BSU that had done the profile that had led to Lecter. “Or anyone else in the BSU?”

Skinner shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “He’s not the greatest fan of SSA. Patterson and other agents on the case have refused the assignment point blank.”

“Agent Mulder?” She knew of him, about his reputation and she knew he’d helped capture Lecter. From what she could recall, from what she remembered about the tabloids at the time, Lecter had stabbed him pretty badly. It was no wonder he didn’t want any involvement now.

“You’ve heard of Agent Mulder?” It didn’t seem to surprise him.

She couldn’t be sure but Skinner also looked worried about something, there was concern in his eyes at the mention of Mulder. “Yes Sir, of course, by reputation.” They read his profiles in class, the instructor for serial crime, a woman named Leslie Manion was always glowing about Mulder’s work, and she’d read his monographs in the academy library, he’d been responsible for catching some of the most notorious serial killers of the last few years: Monty Props, Luther Lee Boggs, John Lee Roche, Francis Dolarhyde to name but a few. “He’s an Oxford educated psychologist, generally thought of as the best analyst in the violent crimes section.” He had a nickname too, Spooky, for his ability to see beyond the evidence put in front of him, to make leaps of logic that others could only dream of, though she sensed the tone of the room and didn’t bring it up.

“Good,” Skinner said, but wouldn’t expand on why it was good she knew about Mulder. He pushed the file under his fingertips towards her but didn’t quite release it and he went back to talking about Lecter. “Hopefully Lecter will talk to you but if not… well so be it. I have to be able to say we tried at least…” He set his jaw and finally let go of the file. “Lecter is a brilliant psychiatrist, he knows every trick in the book.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out an ID wallet and showed it to her. “This is for you, it lasts a week, I had to speak to the justice department to get you special clearance so don’t let me down Agent.”

She nodded, rose from her chair and took it gingerly, like it suddenly might go up in flames and not be real. She fingered the gold crest inside the soft leather casing and allowed herself a smile. This is what she was fighting for. Seeing it writ large felt like a dream come true. He gestured to the file and she took that too.

“That’s a dossier on him along with a copy of our BSU questionnaire. If he won’t talk to you, if he won’t open up, then I want straight reporting, a presentation of facts and facts alone. Tell it like it is and don’t go into flights of fancy about his hopes and dreams and what his star sign bullsh*ts this week.” He smiled again, for the first time in a while, which put her at ease again. “I want to know how he’s looking, what his cell looks like, is he writing anything, drawing, who his visitors are, what he eats and drinks.”

“Yes Sir.”

“I expect your report on my desk on Friday morning, no later than 9, that gives you three full days, Agent Scully.”

“Yes Sir.” She wondered why there was so much urgency over this. If it was just a basic questionnaire then what was the rush? She clutched the file tightly, was there perhaps more to this assignment that he wasn’t telling her. “If you’ll permit me a question Sir, but why the urgency? Lecter's been in prison for a number of years now. Is there some connection between him and Buffalo Bill maybe?” She dared a look at the desk again, at the violence doled out on the poor victims. She couldn’t stare too long. It felt like further dehumanization.

“I wish there were,” he sighed. Why did he look like there was? “Now, I want your full attention, Scully.” She nodded. “Be very careful with Hannibal Lecter. Dr Chilton will meet you at the hospital and go over the physical procedures of the visit, I strongly advise you not to deviate from them for any reason whatsoever. And you're to tell him nothing personal. Believe me, you don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head. Just do your job, but never forget what he is.”

She wasn’t frightened by Lecter but that didn’t stop her being perturbed. “Which is?”

Matter of factly he replied, “He’s a psychopath.” He intimated that the meeting was over and she went to leave but not before he announced. “Do a good job here Scully and you’ll go far, the Director himself is interested in your report.” He added as a cautious aside, however, “If I think it’s good enough.”

He reminded her of the deadline and she left ready to take on the world, feeling a little apprehensive but buoyed by the fact she’d been given this opportunity.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

She’d spent the last two hours going over her meeting with Skinner. Not entirely convinced, now more than ever, that this was just about speaking to Lecter. Something about the whole thing seemed… off. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was suspicious. She wasn’t entirely persuaded that her being chosen had anything to do with her being a doctor either.

She worried it had something to do with her being a woman. Did they think she’d appeal to Lecter’s other, basic, urges? Was this a purely sexist play rather than an academic one? A man who’d been locked up for years without many visitors, least of all female visitors, was a dangerous man indeed and while she hoped they were looking at her for her abilities, her forensic background, nothing was surprising her at the moment.

It didn’t help her knowing, as she did, that The FBI was still very much a boys club, still very much a male dominated organization that, while making strides to improve and recruit more women, was still regarded as an old dinosaur. She was here to change the world but that didn’t mean the world was ready to be changed. She also knew she could be used by people at the top wanting advancement. She had hoped any maneuvering would be more transparent.

She also wondered if she was being set up to fail. Was this a test, was it the Bureau’s version of the Kobayashi Maru, a training exercise designed to test the character of their recruits in a no-win scenario? Was putting her in front of a real psychopath an examination of her and her abilities as a future Agent? Was she supposed to redefine some problem she wasn’t seeing right now, even in all the notes she had spread out in front of her on her dorm bed? Perhaps it was a measure of her performance and how she managed an insurmountable scenario under pressure.

The Kobayashi Maru was entirely fictional of course. However the Bureau wasn't above giving them tests not designed to win but designed to make them face their fears, come up with multiple solutions and accept that not everything was a winnable endeavor.

She put her head in her hands feeling defeated, scrunched her drying hair in frustration. She’d finally managed to fit in a shower and a change of clothes but they hadn’t helped to relax.

Letting out a loud groan she went back to her notes. She’d been reading up on Hannibal Lecter: his crimes, Agent Mulder’s reports on the man, witness statements and forensic reports. It was truly eye opening even if a lot of the information in the stuff she’d been given had been blacked out and made confidential, huge swathes of it actually. She sure would love the master copy of this file.

She’d also read the questionnaire she was supposed to administer. It was almost laughable and she was determined to put some notes in her report suggesting some improvements. It wasn’t under the remit of her assignment but if this really was a test she wanted to cover all the bases.

The door opened and she looked up and smiled widely at the young woman grinning down at her. Monica Reyes, 27, fit, an ex New Orleans patrol officer, an eternal optimist with a refreshingly sunny disposition, but a hardball when it came to social justice. They’d been firm friends since their induction day and now they shared a dorm.

Reyes threw a boxed sandwich and a bottle of water down on the bed and it landed just next to her files. Her stomach growled loudly and they both laughed as she tore it open.

“You missed lunch,” Reyes said, coming to sit at the end of the bed. “Again.”

She could only nod around a bobbled mouthful of sandwich, sandwich she’d taken such a big bite of it threatened to fall out and she had to push it in around an embarrassed look. “Sorry, I was called into a meeting.”

Reyes was already perusing the files on Lecter. She held it up in awe. “Hannibal the Cannibal, seriously?”

“Uh huh.” She wasn’t entirely sure how much she was allowed to reveal, if she was allowed to talk about it at all. Would other agents get jealous if they found out she was doing real work? Probably.

“I have to go and interview him.”

Mouth agape Reyes was giddy, “No f*cking way!”

She nodded, took another bite of dry bread and cheap ham, and said, “Yeah as part of the Behavioural Interview Program, I’m heading up there tonight and interviewing him in the morning.”

The other woman practically squealed. “Oh my god Dana, how the hell did you get that?”

“I’m still trying to work that one out,” she admitted truthfully. She allowed her friend’s enthusiasm to wash over her though and she finally managed to feel a little excited by the whole thing. Even if this was a test it was still the real deal, still a real assignment with a real subject. She took out her new badge, something she hadn’t been able to put down since AD Skinner had given it to her, from her dressing gown pocket and opened it up. “I have a badge and everything.”

Reyes snatched it gleefully, almost bouncing on the bed. “This is so cool.” She played with it for a bit, stood up and practiced drawing it from her pocket and presenting it in front of the mirror. “I’m so happy for you…” she turned her head and grinned at Scully, “jealous of course, but this is an excellent opportunity. Imagine all the doors it could open.”

She was imagining all the ones it could slam shut too. “Well it only lasts a week so I can’t get too excited.”

Reyes handed it back reluctantly and sat again, grabbed a folder and put it on her lap, reading as she spoke. “Still, it’s quite the coup. Tom Colton will have a fit when he finds out.”

Scully grimaced. She wanted to be cautious, at least until after her interview was over. “I’d rather we kept this between ourselves for now.”

Reyes agreed. “But I want to be the one to tell that worm, Colton.”

“Deal!”

They both laughed before Reyes said. “Pretty gruesome stuff in this Lecter file.”

She bit into her lunch again and crossed her legs underneath her. “Tell me about it, you know he killed one of his victims because he disliked the way he was playing the flute during a performance with the Baltimore Philharmonic.”

“God…” she put the folder aside. “Attempting to understand these people, these men, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Me neither.” And that was the damn truth of the matter. She had no idea how she was going to approach this interview. “I worry I’m out of my depth.” She put her head in her hands again and felt Reyes patting her head sympathetically. “I mean it’s Lecter…”

“You’ll do fine. Even if you don’t you can always chalk it up to experience, use it as a learning exercise. You’ve been a recruit for all of 9 weeks Dana, I don’t think anyone is expecting a thesis on Lecter, just file a report with as much truth in it as possible.”

She looked up, not knowing what to say. Feeling like crap. Reyes was right. Skinner was right: even if Lecter didn’t corporate it wasn’t the end of the world. She would still have her field report and she would still have something to hand in once she’d collated her thoughts and notes into something coherent, even if that was just a treatise on prison furniture.

“Have you thought about speaking to Agent Mulder?” Reyes said while holding up one of his reports, a rather thick tome. “After all, who knows more about Lecter than the man who put him away?”
It was the best idea she’d heard all day.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

The violent crimes section wasn’t quite as intimidating as Skinner’s office had been but it was still making her nervous. Not quite in the basem*nt like the BSU, it was still quite hidden away, as if the crimes they had to deal with were too dreadful for polite eyes. As if evil could be contained by the four walls of the large space and by the 30 or so agents currently in here.

As she walked between the desks she noted it was exceptionally busy to the point of chaos, packed with harassed looking agents and more paperwork than she thought humanly possible. She’d thought the pathology reports she had to do were exhaustive but these heaps were positively mountainous.

She attempted to ask one of the agents, a blond woman with her head down, where she could find Mulder but she just grunted in reply and pointed towards an office at the far end of the room. Scully hoped this wouldn’t take long, she wanted to get on the road and into her motel, wanted out of this place, it was getting late and this place was depressing.

There were two glass walled offices she noticed as she reached her destination. One belonging to Section Chief Perdue which was neat and tidy and clean to the point she could probably make microchips there and the other, belonging to Agent Mulder, was pure mayhem. She knew which she’d rather go in and it wasn’t Mulder’s.

The door was open so she went in and put her bag down while taking in the mess. The office was crammed to the point of bursting with books, overflowing filing cabinets, weird religious charms and historical trinkets, including what looked like a miniature skeleton made of real bone, and a rather tacky looking UFO poster with the words ‘I want to believe’ written on it behind his desk. Idly she moved aside a book on the occult and flipped the pages of a book on wiccan practices underneath and mused to herself that he’d be perfect for Melissa. Melissa was single now and looking, was he?

There was a large green noticeboard to the right of his desk that covered most of the wall. It was like a mood-board for the Buffalo Bill case with highlighted words ‘Skins his victims, signature?’, ‘Why?’ ‘Not cannibalism’, ‘M.O?’ on it along with pictures of the victims to one side, women with the skin of their arms, their torsos, a leg, skilfully removed. It was awful and she had to look away. Not because she was afraid of such sights, she was a doctor after all, but because she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to inflict that level of violence on another person. It was disproportionately grotesque.

“Can I help you?”

She jumped out of her skin at the aggrieved voice and dropped the books. “Jesus, you frightened me.” She turned to face him, hand over her heart, and was pleasantly surprised by what she saw. Young, a lot younger than she’d assumed (he was barely 30 and she’d always thought of him as much older), pouty, tall, fashionable haircut and attire, with a lean athletic body, she surmised he probably ran and swam to keep fit like her. He was world weary, his eyes stained by grief, but handsome, boyish, at the same time and while a few features might not have looked good on anyone else they all seemed to suit him rather well.

Her heart was aflutter for more reasons than one. She actually found herself blushing, the girlish indulgence annoying her though. “Agent Mulder?”

He nodded. She was staring and he wanted to roll his eyes but instead he went to pick up his stuff. She tried to help but he batted her away. He hated it when people invited themselves into his office and touched his stuff. This was his private space, his safe place, his sanctuary. This was a place they couldn’t call him weird and spooky, couldn’t take the piss out of him, say he was as crazy as the serial killers he hunted, or jibe him about his beliefs. This was a place he could be himself. This was a place he could make plans for the future.

“And you are?” he asked accusingly, putting the books back while she dithered. He knew he should’ve locked his door. He went to sit at his desk and realized that social convention probably dictated that he should offer her somewhere to sit first so he quickly cleared a chair for her, it was wonky but it would have to do.

“Agent….” no that wasn’t right, despite her new week long credential. “Agent Trainee Dana Scully.” She sat and just about managed not to fall off her seat. One of the legs was at least two inches shorter than the other. He didn’t apologize and she didn’t expect one, it was weirdly comforting. “I wanted to speak with you for a moment about Dr Hannibal Lecter, if you’re not busy?”

Ah, he thought, so this was who they had interviewing Lecter. He softened and made a mental note to look her up and ask around. She must be someone with some qualifications if she’d been picked out of the pile. “And what can I do for you?”

Tucking her long hair behind her ear and straightening her pant suit of imaginary wrinkles she thought the question over. She had intended to ask him about his experiences with Lecter, how he’d caught him, perhaps ask if he had any insights or anecdotes for her but, as she watched him, at the uncomfortable way he sat with a hand on his stomach, as if he was still in immense pain from something, she had a change of heart. She really shouldn’t be here at all, it felt almost cruel. She should be going in dry to make up her own mind.

She asked him about the questionnaire instead. “I was hoping that you’d be able to help me with this questionnaire.” She took it out of her bag and offered it to him. He didn’t take it so she sheepishly tucked it away again after a long moment of it hanging limply in the air. “Um, I was hoping you’d have some insights into it and help me out with how I’m supposed to administer it.”

He chuckled. That useless questionnaire was not the reason she was here. If there was one thing he was good at, it was reading other people. It also wasn’t worth the paper it was written on, Lecter would say so too. It was a corporate questionnaire designed by a sociologist who had no experience with real criminals. It was about as useless as the DSM with its oversimplification, its failure to take in all the facts and its quick to label definitions. He’d never administered one in his life, he wouldn’t start for her. No matter how much he liked her, and he did like her. Despite himself. It was weird.

“You know if you’re going to waste my time then at least do it properly.” He smiled at her stunned expression. A woman not used to being challenged in such a way it would seem. That was ok, her scowl suited her face, though he preferred her smile.

“I…”

He picked up the highly polished red leather cricket ball next to the photo of his sister and weighed it up in his hand while he enjoyed watching her internal struggle crisscrossing her soft pale features, only highlighted by her red hair. Her turmoil at wanting to ask him about a man who’d almost gutted him juxtaposed with her need to be polite and respectful. It was a beautiful sight to see.

He dropped the ball from his right hand to his left and back a few times. He preferred baseball, he could die for baseball, but there was something about the war of cricket that he’d enjoyed at Oxford. A not so gentlemanly game. If you got hit with a baseball you could shrug it off in a minute or two. If a cricket ball hit you you’d damn well know about it for days.

Eventually he started to feel sorry for her and got up and walked over to his filing cabinet and began looking for a file on Lecter. The unabridged version that only circulated between higher ranked agents and certain people in the legal profession.

“What’s he like, Lecter I mean?” she said, finally finding her voice and overcoming her embarrassment.

“Cunning, manipulative, devious and claims he only killed rude people which is bullsh*t…” He hummed a little, thought about it and smiled, remembering that once they had a sort of friendship going on. “Extremely intelligent. Polite, courteous, respectful, doesn't take fools gladly,” he turned around and regarded her thoughtfully and quipped, “Well unless he wants to eat you that is.” He thought of Lecter after Lecter had stabbed him, how he’d said he was going to eat his heart. After losing his sister it was the most traumatic thing he’d suffered through. He didn’t want to revisit it but here he was accommodating a stranger, gazing at her like a fool.

She laughed nervously. “Cannibals are rare, is that why the Bureau is so keen to speak with him again?”

They wanted to speak to Lecter because he might lead them to Buffalo Bill. He didn’t mention it however. It was better she went into the interview without that knowledge. He found what he was looking for and pulled it out triumphantly. It wasn’t quite the thickest file he owned, that belonged to his research on alien abductees, but it was close. He dumped it on his desk in front of her and she picked at the 500+ page A4 tome. That file contained everything one might want to know about Hannibal Lecter, including his own part in the tale.

Leaning against the desk and looking down at her he summated, “Cannibalism is extremely rare, outside of certain tribes and the need to survive in extreme situations I can only think of a few examples: Albert Fish, Ed Gein, more recently Lecter, Michael Woodmansee, Hadden Clark, Gary Michael Heidnik,” he paused, thinking about the last two names. “Though I’m not sure Clark counts as he only drank the blood of his 6 year old victim and Heidnik’s cannibalism couldn’t be proven.” He shrugged it off. It didn’t matter. “It’s rare anyway.”

She was fascinated, she had to admit. This was her first real opportunity to talk face to face with someone about their investigative work 1-to-1 and she was in awe. She also appreciated that he was opening up and talking to her without being patronizing. He was a rare breed indeed in these halls. “I can’t imagine wanting to eat human flesh, it must be an acquired taste.”
He snorted, what was she asking him for? “Wouldn’t know, my kinks stop around odaxelagnia.”

She looked at him curiously and blushed again. Biting? Kinky indeed. “Well regardless,” she said, recovering, and daring not to talk about her own particular proclivities, “Lecter liked to consume it.”

“Lecter’s cannibalism was born out of revenge and then he became a connoisseur.” There wasn’t much else to it. The man had gotten a taste for murder and eating his victims and had tried for years to try and justify it. It was one of the many, many reasons he wasn’t talking to the man himself any more, well that and he’d given Francis Dolarhyde his address. Really Lecter was no better than any of the other delusional inmates on his hospital wing. He was done with Hannibal Lecter. Life was too short to have cannibals in it.

“Is he as monstrous as they say he is?”

Was Hannibal Lecter a monster? He’d thought about it long and hard over the years and he still didn’t know. “Some people call him a sociopath, a bogeyman, because they don’t know what else to call him.” He didn’t think Lecter fit that mold at all though. “He is a man without remorse, without guilt and entirely selfish in his actions but he doesn’t really exhibit any other criteria for that label.”

“In the Macdonald triad?”

He smiled, glad she’d paid attention in class. “Right, the idea that any combination of a set of three factors, being cruel or abusive to animals, arson or drug offenses and regularly wetting the bed, can indicate or predict that someone will grow up to be a serial killer or other kind of violent offender.”

“But you said Lecter didn’t meet two of the criteria.”

“He doesn’t, he tortured animals as a child but he wasn’t a bed wetter and arson is too unpredictable for his liking.” So what was Lecter? Dispassionate, superbly logical, a machine. Deficient in many things such as emotions. Get a drink in him and he’d probably say that Lecter is a man enamored with mankind and has an affinity for people but he definitely does not walk among us.

Mulder was very much reminded of Nosferatu, Frankenstein.... Norman Bates even. Movie monsters for sure but misunderstood, not evil in any conventional sense, in any moral sense, because they lack the morals for that. They believed that the limited choices available to them, to kill, was right and just and true because they were finally taking control of something. Whereas a regular person might go to the supermarket to buy soup a serial killer might kill because it makes them feel as normal as the soup purchaser.

It wasn’t right or just or true of course, these people were ill and in no way sympathetic. The law as well as his own psychology told him that. “I don’t think there’s a name for what he is, there's a part of his brain, something in his psyche, that’s missing and whether or not that makes him a monster or something else, well,” he shrugged dramatically, “that’s for other people to decide now but my thoughts are all in that file folder.”

“Right,” she tucked it away like it was a prized jewel. She had one more question. “Is he still dangerous?”

“Only if you get too close. Only if you piss him off.” He remembered the nurse Lecter had attacked and his stomach flipped. “Only if you allow him inside your head, my advice: don’t do that.”

She stood, shook his hand, enjoyed the feel of his fingers wrapping around hers. They were soft and he clearly looked after his hands. She liked men with good hands. “Did you piss him off?”

He laughed loudly, looked away abashed. The answer was probably. He pissed everyone off eventually. “Well I caught him, so probably.”

She had to ask, “How did you do that?”

“Another time.” It was pure chance. Luck. He still had Lecter’s encyclopedia of gastronomy, Larousse Gastronomique, in the bottom drawer of his desk. He knew French so he liked to look at it occasionally, especially when he was eating junk food as he knew it pissed Lecter off. He gestured at the door and started ushering her away with a hand to the small of her back. “Good luck, you’ll let me know how it goes?”

“Of course.” She’d like that very much indeed and she gladly took the business card he offered.

He watched her leave, wishing her all the luck in the world because she would need it. He raised an eyebrow when, halfway down the room, she turned around, paused and then smiled at him. He didn’t get many of those so he smiled back.

Yes he rather did like Agent Trainee Dana Scully. Her red hair and her keenness, her confidence, her blushes. Her small shape that she carried tall, like she belonged in the world and would make sure everyone else needed to know that.

She was everything his ex-wife wasn’t.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

At the last minute she’d decided to take the train to Baltimore, realizing it would afford her extra time to read the file folder Mulder had gifted her. She was nothing if not prepared. The train would take a little over 3 hours so she found a quiet compartment and dug in skimming relevant passages, picking out the more interesting notes and jotting things down in her own leather bound journal.

Lecter’s history, before his graduation from medical school in Baltimore, was spotty at best, inconclusive, because, according to Mulder, Lecter had deliberately turned himself into an enigma in order to evade detection and to engineer his own celebrity. Outside of a few court records Lecter was his own early biographer.

Lecter had been born in Lithuania in 1933 to a well-to-do family, his father a hereditary count and his mother a high-born lady from two noble Italian families. Both had been murdered in 1941 by a passing Nazi panzer unit who’d shelled the Lecter estate. It said that they had two children Micha and Hannibal. Only Hannibal had made it to the orphanage. A record existed of a conversation between Mulder and Lecter that stated Lecter believed Mischa was eaten by the unit. Mulder later suspected him of hunting down the people that had killed his sister and looking at some of the wound patterns on the victims, missing cheeks and random bits of flesh, she could only come to the same conclusion.

Later being adopted at 13 by a kindly aunt and uncle Lecter had consequently gone on to be well educated, could speak several languages fluently, seemed very cultured, murdering people aside, and was one of the leading figures in Baltimore society (though he’d been ripping off patients to fund his lifestyle and interests like a common criminal).

What had gone wrong she pondered. If it wasn’t for the fact he ate his victims and lived in an asylum he’d be a catch. He wasn’t unattractive either.

She fished around for the official court records of Lecter’s early life and even they were scant in detail. Lecter was suspected in the death of a local butcher when he was a teenager but had passed a lie detector test. A few years later there were other accusations, also in Lithuania, which had at least resulted in a trial, but again there was little actual evidence and no thirst to prosecute as the dead were mostly war criminals.

She sighed, watched the countryside outside begin to turn to urbanization and mused that it would be a whole lot better if Lecter’s past blossomed in the same manner. It wasn’t meant to be however. He indeed was an enigma with little in the way of actual evidence for anything beyond what he was now serving time for. There were no real personal relationships, his friendships were mostly him hovering around the edges of groups, and as for a love life there were only hints and maybes.

He was at least a published academic and still wrote things to this day. She’d rather enjoyed his surgical addiction paper and his words of reply on a piece about left-side / right-side facial displays in the Journal of Forensic Psychiatry, she’d read in the station waiting room. Perhaps if nothing else she’d be able to talk about his work with him. It would be better than asking him how he came to start murdering people again in the late 1970s, what triggered him again. While at his practice he murdered 9 more people and attacked 4 others. There was one survivor now, someone called Mason Verger.

Two if you counted Fox Mulder.

Mulder.

She drummed her fingers on the table as she thought about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was about him that intrigued but she definitely was. Perhaps it was the little sparkle he had in his eyes that had refused to be dimmed, perhaps it was the easy smile. Perhaps it was because he was intelligent and good looking. She allowed herself a smile now she was on her own, allowed herself to think of his hands and the way he devoured her with his intense gaze.

Of course she was also intrigued by how he’d come to be friends with Hannibal the Cannibal. Littered throughout the file were his personal annotations and accounts of how they’d met while working a case not long after he’d started at the BSU in 1986. Mulder had sought him out because he had a link to one of the victims and they’d bonded through Lecter’s disdain for psychology and sport, two of Mulder’s loves, their shared love of music, opera and literature of all things English and French, and a shared trauma of a lost sister. She paused over that but there was nothing else so she moved on, though it stuck with her.

Mulder had eventually come to suspect Lecter after finding some medieval medical books at Lecter’s practice and connecting wound patterns on the victims to wound patterns in the books, she knew those books and jotted down the titles to examine at a later date, however it wasn’t until a few weeks later that he found Lecter’s cookbook that he felt he had enough to bring him in. Lecter had slashed him with a linoleum knife, almost disembowelling him.

She flipped to the photographs at the back and winced. Jesus. She suspected it was bad, she didn’t know it was this bad. Mulder’s injuries, documented by the doctors in the hospital, was one step away from being catastrophic. There were a lot of protruding and torn bowels.

For her own experience as a doctor she knew it would’ve been a long and hard recovery. She also knew that it would’ve taken a long surgery to get him right again and that he'd been damn lucky nothing had properly spilled out. She’d come across a disembowelment on her surgical rotation during her fourth year of med school, a man cutting a tree down had slipped off a ladder and caught his stomach with the chainsaw, and trying to repack someone’s bowels into such a small cavity was an almost impossible task. She was not happy with her work that day.

She went back to her previous page. Further down the page was a pontification which was more intriguing, “Lecter once told me ‘by the time the sheep wake up and try to change things, it will be too late’ did he mean me or was he talking about himself?” Next to it was an unhappy blue biro face.

“Oh Mulder,” she sighed sadly, already feeling a connection to him.

The comment was filled with guilt, uncertainty and self doubt. Mulder had seemed pretty confident on the surface but below it? Well she didn't know him well enough to judge but his eyes spoke of a lot of horrors. His profile and notes definitely spoke of a trauma internalized, of a man worrying about his own mental state. There was a clear indication of Mulder’s decline in his thought patterns: worrying that he shared too much with Lecter, that they had too much in common and had bonded through shared trauma, interests and a well heeled family. She read that he thought he was Lecter at one point. It was no wonder he’d sought help.

She’d already decided she liked him, that had come very quickly. She’d enjoyed his company, and he was certainly extremely attractive, he spoke to her as an equal, had given her a big ‘in’ to this assignment in the shape of his file and any reluctance on his part had quickly fallen away. She’d sensed he’d liked being able to talk without having to behave like the Bureau’s performing seal.
She’d heard the rumors about him: that he was put upon, used, abused and spat out in an endless cycle. The BSU had ground him down to the point that he’d once checked himself into a psychiatric unit for a 2 week stay. They said he was barely one step away from the men he chased (she hadn’t seen any of that in his behavior) and that's why they relied on him so much. It was horrible and it was no wonder he’d moved out of the BSU and into violent crimes.

She only hoped the Bureau didn’t treat her in the same manner.

When she saw Mulder again, and she would as she had to hand his file back, she’d be sure to thank him, offer him a drink perhaps.

She tried going back to Lecter, but next to Mulder he didn’t seem all that intriguing any more. Lecter came across as a misguided man with huge delusions of grandeur. Though she was trying hard not to judge the man before meeting him she was finding herself agreeing with Mulder’s summations: Lecter was a man who was extremely dangerous because he had an overriding desire to get inside the minds of the disturbed and the vulnerable, deliberately choosing them in order to control and to project his rage through them. He was also a man so overwhelmed by flashbacks of his childhood traumas, the death of his sister Micha, that his fantasies of revenge have eclipsed his sense of reality to such an extent he must kill and eat parts of some of his victims to rid himself of his horrors. She almost gagged when learning about Benjamin Raspail being fed to the board of directors of his orchestra as a form of punishment for hiring Raspail.

She decided she’d had enough. By the time they rattled through the next station she’d closed the file and had begun writing to her parents. It would be Easter in a few weeks and she had a weekend off, it would be a good time to go and see them.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Everyone had warned her about Lecter. Nobody had thought to tell her about Dr. Frederick Chilton, the snake oil salesman in charge of Baltimore State Hospital. Proud, arrogant, pompous and incompetent were only the nice things she could say about him. Last night in the motel she’d tried to read his book on Lecter. It was pure sensationalist garbage, nothing but lies, and she’d given up after 5 chapters. She’d left it on the table in the motel vending machine room. Hopefully someone would pick it up or trash it, she didn’t care which.

His office spoke of a man who valued style over substance, his polished teeth of vanity and his almost bouffant, hurricane proof, hair of too much time in front of a mirror. His overly large desk, devoid of personal effects and pointy things, was the worst kind of overcompensation she’d seen in a long while.

He was well dressed and clearly spent money on his clothes, he was currently wearing a fine 3 piece brown suit, which was something she supposed but as he grinned at her and tried to grease the wheels she started to feel uncomfortable. If that wasn't bad enough she was still trying to wipe the hair lacquer off of her hands from when they’d greeted each other. He had an awful habit of checking to see if his hair was still in place (she didn’t know why, nothing was moving that thing). No amount of wiping would get rid of the smell of it though. It was like an expensive drain cleaner and rather reminded her of the pine scented bleach her mother had used last spring to rid the crawlspace under the house of dead raccoon smell.

“Lecter is nothing but a monster, a pure sociopath,” he said after introductions had been made and they’d settled into their comfortable plush leather seats.

He was posturing she knew, like a peaco*ck in heat, and as he sat taller in his chair she thought he was going to start strutting. He was stroking her ID card almost lecherously.

“Did you make that diagnosis yourself Dr Chilton?” She asked knowing the diagnosis was crap, remembering her conversation with Mulder.

He smirked proudly. “Why yes I did. I’ve been rather privileged in having such unfettered access to such a fine specimen, it’s so rare to capture one alive you see and therefore Lecter is our most prized asset. Naturally one has to keep a tight control on who has access to him, I only let the finest academics in usually, the occasional police officer…” he eyed her lasciviously, wet his lip with his greedy tongue and she fought not to gag. He reached over and grabbed a copy of his book, offered it to her, “Have you read my work Ms. Scully?”

“No,” she lied. She was about to take the offered book but he snatched it back, dramatically signed it and then gave it to her. She quickly put it in her shoulder bag and out of sight. She’d give it to someone in her class, Colton would lap it up and it was his birthday soon. She offered a polite thanks but it was only later she realized he’d scrawled his phone number in it.

“You know,” he offered, lowering his tone to a level he probably thought seductive. “We get a few police officers in here but I must say I can’t ever remember one as attractive as you, what shade of red is that?”

It took all of her might not to snark back the word ‘unavailable’. Instead she went with the much more polite, “Pre-Raphaelite.”

“Beautiful, just beautiful.”

He framed his fingers as if he wanted to take a picture and she wished she'd worn a pant suit because he was soon grazing her legs with his eyes, it felt like a tickle not even fire could get rid of. As a woman in law enforcement she was sadly already used to not being taken seriously and objectified but he was positively disgusting. She pulled her skirts further towards her knees.

“Will you be staying in Baltimore overnight?”

Oh god, he wasn’t serious was he? The look in his eyes said ‘yes’ though. “No, I actually have to get back to Quantico unfortunately. I have to file my report straight away.”

His smile didn’t move. “That’s a shame because you know Baltimore can be a very fun town, if you have the right guide.”

“I’m sure it’s a great town Dr Chilton, and you a great guide, but I have my instructions.” His smile faltered and she wondered if he could read her disdain. Too bad. She could play nice only to a certain degree. He thrust her ID card back at her and she took it, wiping it surreptitiously on the side of her chair to rid it of him but it too came away sullied and pine scented.

He’d definitely soured and as he stood up he almost gritted out, “I see.” His cheeks pink from offense he marched over to the door and wrenched it open, his tone to the point, “Let’s make this quick then shall we. I am a very busy and sought after man.”

She smiled, ever polite, even if she thought his offense wasn’t her problem, she wasn’t here to manage his hurt feelings, they were not her responsibility, and she didn’t owe him anything. She had a particular dislike of butt-hurt men who felt they were owed something.

She followed him down through the building as they talked. “I was led to believe that you would give me a briefing on the procedures here?”

He snarled, “We can do it while we walk.”

Doors were opened and clanged shut noisily as they moved, bolts heaved in and out of position. She tried not to flinch but they echoed long after them so it was hard. The building was old, built sometime in the 1880s and accordingly the internal structure and decor hadn’t been updated much. What could be whitewashed was gleaming and the floors polished to a high standard but no money had been spent here in years. If you looked close enough you could see paint chips everywhere and the bars on the doors and windows looked original.

“During his spree in the 70s and early 80s Lecter carved up 9 people, that we’re sure of, and cooked his favorite pieces: cheeks, livers, a thyroid in one case.” Another door opened and closed and she pretended what he was telling her was new information. “We’ve tried to study him, of course, but he really only opens up to certain individuals, the agent who caught him for one, Mulder, but he never visits anymore… much to Lecter’s chagrin,” he chuckled like he thought it was a great punishment for Lecter. It probably was.

“When was the last time he was visited by anyone?”

“Oh that would be me. I make sure to visit at least once a day, sometimes just to observe. Sometimes I try to administer my own tests but you know he’s much too sophisticated for any standard test, believe me I’ve tried, so we’re trying to come up with a more suitable one.”

“And the results are positive?”

“Indeed.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “We’ve got some of the best minds in the state working on it.”

She wondered if he meant himself. Arrogance shone from him like the sun shone from a cloudless sky on a hot summer's day. “Does he ever talk to you?”

“Me? Only to insult nowadays. He hates us you know, and you know he thinks I’m his nemesis,” he laughed gleefully, like it was an achievement. She would add sadism to the long list of things she hated about him. “You know Assistant Director Skinner, Agent Mulder, they’re being very clever aren’t they?” He paused to eye her up again while an orderly wiped up a spillage down the hall. At her confused look he added, “In using you I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckled and she was convinced he was deliberately trying to unnerve her. “A pretty young woman like yourself, someone to turn him on, don’t you see it?” He laughed louder, loud enough for the orderly to pause and look up. “I don’t believe Lecter has seen a woman in the entire time he’s been here, 4 years.” He hummed at her, his head moving from side to side while he made a meal of her. “And oh are you ever his ‘taste’ so to speak.”

He reached out to touch her hair but before he could make contact the orderly moved and she was able to move swiftly out of his grasp. She wanted to tell him to f*ck off and she was fuming at Skinner. “I graduated at the top of my class at both Stanford and Maryland. Neither were charm schools, Dr Chilton.”

He hummed again as they went down a few more flights of stairs and arrived at a set of heavy double doors. “Good, then you should be able to remember these rules.” He opened one of them and beyond was a small anteroom, beyond that another set of doors leading to a sort of command room and then finally beyond that a long dark corridor that she could see through the collection of small door windows.

Nerves set in again, as did the feeling that she was being set up for something, as one of the lights above flickered on and off and a cold blast of air caught her. She could hear faint shouts, voices ruined though screaming, and lots of banging. The area was darker than the floors above, no natural light at all, and she realized she didn’t know how far down they actually were. The basem*nt for sure but how many levels underground she couldn’t remember and admonished herself for not paying attention.

Someone in the command room saw them and Chilton waved and by the time they’d made it to the command center doors a set of electrical locks being released sounded.

“I’m warning you now Ms Scully,” he said, his hand on the door handle, his voice stern. “Do not reach through the bars of any cell, do not touch any of them either. You do not pass Lecter anything apart from the pages of your survey, no pens, pencils, staples, or paperclips as he’ll use them to hurt someone. Anything you pass him, and anything he returns, must be via the sliding food carrier, no exceptions. Don’t take anything he might hold out for you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she said in a voice a little above a whisper.

He pulled something out of his inner suit jacket pocket, what looked like a small dogeared photo. “I’m going to show you why we insist on taking such precautions. On the afternoon of July 8th 1988 he complained of chest pains and was taken to our dispensary on the first floor, his mouthpiece and restraints were removed to administer an EKG, when the nurse bent over to attach the wires he did this to her…”

He passed her the photo then and enjoyed watching her stop in her tracks and blanch at the woman’s ruined face, half of which was missing. Her remaining eye was sitting on her cheek, next to what little remained of her nose, and her mouth was a wreck. There was so much blood.

“The doctors managed to save one of her eyes and reset her jaw but sadly we couldn’t retrieve her lips, tongue or nose from Lecter’s stomach.”

Scully didn’t know what was worse: the photograph or the fact he carried it around with him. No, it was neither she decided, it was his attention to her as he swept over her face with fast grubby eyes. Her Aunt Olive had a farm in Ireland and she was much reminded of the chickens she kept, thirstily pecking away at their food, only he was doing it with her emotions. Unnerving was how she’d describe it.

He took the photo back and stroked it. “We never let him out without restraints and a mouthpiece now.” He examined the photo for himself, lovingly gazing at it like one would a masterpiece in the Louvre, much like he did with her. “You know his pulse never got above 85, even when he swallowed her tongue.” He finally pulled the door open and said, “I keep him in here.”

A big orderly, dressed in a smart white uniform, greeted them both and she quickly learned his name was Barney. He was tall, broad and looked strong. Just as well. On the walls were restraints and riot gear, mace and tranquilizer guns, a long instrument like a two pronged fork for pinioning the violent to the wall. Heavy duty stuff. Short of a bullet anyway.

Of more interest was the row of monitors giving her a window into the long narrow corridor beyond the command center. She peered at it, not quite sure what she was hoping to see, but couldn’t make out much, it was too dark.

Chilton made to open the door but she blocked him by stepping in front of him, Barney smirked behind Chilton’s shoulder and she knew he hated the man too.

“Dr Chilton,” she said calmly. “It’s probably a good idea if I do this part on my own.” He looked aghast so she smiled to try and set him at ease. “If Lecter thinks you’re his enemy, if there’s a chance he might target you, we might have more luck if I approach this myself.” There was no way she was having Chilton in there with her. He’d strut around and ruin any chance, however minute, she had to get Lecter to open up. She also doubted Lecter would trust her if he thought she was in leagues with this fool.

His cheek twitched and he licked his lip again while he thought about it. He still looked mildly annoyed though and snitted, “You might have suggested this in my office and saved me the time.”
She smiled flirtily, she knew how to play the game. “I didn’t want to miss the pleasure of your company.”

His jaw twitched in a half smile and he nodded, any sense of ire left. He spun on his heel and began walking away, telling her, “I’ll leave you in Barney’s capable hands then, he’ll see you out later.” He stopped, grinned and offered. “If you change your mind about seeing Baltimore, do give my secretary a ring, won’t you?”

Thankfully he didn’t wait for an answer. She let out a huge sigh of relief, thanking a god she wasn’t sure she believed in right now that he was now gone. She caught Barney’s knowing smile and returned it.

“He does that with every woman he meets, take no notice,” Barney offered.

“I won’t, thank you.” She took her jacket off and hung it up with her purse on the offered hook.

“He told you about the rules with the cell?” She nodded so he said, “Good, Lecter’s cell is past all the others, the last one on the left at the end of the hall.” He pulled the doors open and the shouts, now hoarse from overuse, grew exponentially louder. “I put a chair out for you.” He smiled reassuringly again when she looked at him nervously. “I can see everything on these monitors, you’ll do fine.”

She nodded gratefully, smoothed her clothes down and wished she had his level of confidence. She took a deep breath, gripped the handle of her briefcase too hard and stepped through the doors and let them close ominously behind her.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

The grimly gothic asylum loomed large over her as she stumbled towards her rental car, a red Ford Aspire, all she’d been able to get at such short notice, and in a panic climbed inside and shut Miggs and Lector outside. She pulled the mirror down and started scrubbing again. It was all gone now, Barney had helped her scrape it off, but that didn’t stop her from trying to cleanse herself.

She felt dirty, tainted, violated.

She took off her jacket, balled it up and desperately stuffed it in a carrier bag she found in the glove compartment, determined to throw it away. It was a good jacket, it’d cost her a lot, but it was ruined now and no amount of dry cleaning would erase those memories from it.

She took a deep breath, allowed herself a few body shaking sobs, and gripped the steering wheel tightly as she went back to her motel and checked another night.

She paced in her room for what seemed like forever, had smoked more cigarettes than she could count, had thrown out her clothes, paced some more, scrubbed her hair and skin with a whole bar of soap, had taken 3 showers, sat on the floor with her knees bunched up and cried twice and now she was back to pacing. Her neighbors downstairs probably hated her. She didn’t care.

She was still shaking. Some of the things Lecter had said were horrific, eating his victims. God. It annoyed her too that some of the things he’d said about her and her family were true (though both her parents had been born on US soil and it was their parents, her grandparents, who’d emigrated rather than them). She was ambitious, she did want to be taken seriously, she was rebellious and she still wasn’t sure where her life was going to end up.

Of course some of the things he’d said were bullsh*t of course, nothing but blue sky conjecture, the FBI wasn’t a way to punish her parents, for example. She was here because she wanted to be.

She knew she needed to get rid of her anger but she was disgusted by Miggs, by Lector, by the FBI, by Skinner for putting her in this position and by Mulder for refusing to speak to Lecter himself.

God that son of a bitch! She had a good mind to give him a piece of her mind. She had an idea. If Lecter wanted her to seek him out she damn well would. She went to her purse and found his card, his personal number written on the back, and dialed, not caring that it was nearly 10pm.

It didn’t take him long to answer. “Hello?” he said groggily through broken sleep.

She sagged and flopped down onto the end of the cheap bed feeling immediately guilty. He wasn’t a well man, she shouldn’t be bothering him. This was a mistake. God, now she felt bad for a whole heap of other reasons. She would be kind.

“Hello?” he repeated, a little annoyed.

She almost put the phone down. Instead she mumbled out a soft, “Um, hi, sorry. I…”

“Who is this?” he demanded, cutting her off.

“It’s Scully.” Even to her own ears she sounded like a child.

“Scully?” he repeated and sighed while he thought it over. “You came to my office about Lecter.” He paused, his own voice softened as hers had. “What’s the matter?”

What was the matter? Her emotions were all over the place and now she felt like an idiot, like she should snap out of it. It was over with. She would write her report and move on. Be a big girl about it. Don’t be a damsel. “Nothing, I shouldn’t have bothered you, I’m sorry.”

He ignored her. “You spoke to Lecter?”

“Yes,” she managed to squeak.

“Did he f*ck with your head?” There was no answer, he just knew. “Are you still in Baltimore?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“A place called The Stay-N-Save.” She frowned, why did he want to know? “Room 10.”

“Right, stay there. I’m in D.C, I’ll be with you in about an hour.”

He put the phone down before she could protest and as she cradled the phone receiver she wondered, not for the first time today, what the hell had just happened.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

The knock at her door came exactly 50 minutes later and she had to admit to being impressed, under her nerves at having him here.

She opened the door still feeling stupid but glad of the civilized company and immediately flung her arms around him.

He let out a soft, “Oh.” It was unexpected and left him feeling bemused but it was nice and she felt soft and warm in her bathrobe so he didn’t complain. It was a shame he couldn’t hug her back though being that his arms were full. He quickly decided that actually that was a good thing.

She looked up at him, at his red face, and blushed, pulling away quickly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I bought food.” He stepped in and kicked the door closed. He laughed as her stomach growled and he was glad to see her smile at least. “It’s nothing special, just some Chinese from a place down the road.”

“No, that’s great, I haven’t eaten since this morning.” A crappy cream cheese bagel.

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear she stood watching him as he put the large bag of food and a pack of beer on the small dining table before shrugging off his leather jacket, revealing his shapely biceps underneath. He threw it on a chair absentmindedly and she had to admit he looked good in his gray t-shirt and jeans.

“You made it here fast,” she offered, not knowing what else to say.

“Government plates have their advantages,” he replied idly, looking around at her room which was in complete and utter disarray. “Been redecorating?” He went and gingerly picked up a lamp from the floor and put the duvet back on the bed, stuffed her papers back in her bag and satisfied himself that neither would be charged for any damage.

She nodded sadly.

To the point. “What happened with Lecter?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” She went to put her remaining clothes back in her suitcase. He couldn’t even bend over without wincing and she didn’t want him doing it, not when it was mostly underwear and pajamas since she’d binned her suit. She placed a pair of jeans and a white T on top of the case when she closed it. “It was stupid stuff, I just felt like…” she shrugged the thought away.

“Like he was staring into your soul?” He finished making the bed and sat on the end of it while she sorted out the food. “Yeah, he does that.”

“No kidding.” She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled sadly, came to sit by him on the bed and told him everything that had happened. “People warned me not to give him an inch and I stupidly gave him a mile,” she said afterwards.

He didn’t understand why she would. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she whimpered, “I thought it was imperative I got him to complete the questionnaire.”

Nothing was worth that, it wasn’t even important. “And did he?”

“No,” she said forlornly. She didn’t even have her copy to give back to Skinner.

He reached out his hand and she took it. “Well, I’m not sure it matters anyway and none of this was your fault.”

She looked up. “It was never about the questionnaire was it?”

He felt horrible but admitted, “No. It was a ploy.”

Her voice growing in confidence again she asked, “Did you know that?”

“Yeah.” He looked away guiltily. “I’m sorry, look, I didn’t know they were going to choose you. Not until you came to my office. I thought they were going to send someone experienced from the BSU. I never thought they’d send a student and I never thought....”

“I’d be stupid enough to let Lecter get to me?”

“No!” That was the truth. He didn’t blame her at all. Lecter was just Lecter and while that wasn’t an excuse she shouldn’t blame herself either. Even seasoned professionals had struggled with him.

“They should never have sent you, it was reckless, absolutely stupid. You’re not trained for the likes of Lector. Medical degree or not.” He squeezed her hand, looked her in the eye and said, “I’m sorry, I truly am.” He really was too. The tactic of the questionnaire hadn’t been his idea, it was Reggie’s, but he sure felt culpable, he sure felt responsible for Lecter and Miggs. She’d been assaulted and while she was coping well enough she still looked green around the gills. He put his hand softly on her shoulder and she stared at him forlornly. Not knowing what to do he cupped her cheek with his hand tenderly and smiled when she shuddered out a nervous breath. “Is there anyone you need me to call?” he asked low. “Your mom, boyfriend?”

“No it’s late,” she said, allowing his touch, enjoying it more than she should. Completely forgetting about Jack and leaning in when Mulder stroked her cheek with the pad of this thumb. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He smiled. He knew that was a damn lie. He’d been asking around about her. Dr. Dana Scully with her undergraduate degree in physics, her recent medical degree, her good standing amongst the faculty at Quantico and how they were predicting nothing but good things for her. Then of course there was her boyfriend Jack Willis from the Robbery Homicide division and who taught tactical training for armed robberies at the academy. The man who would probably have a heart attack before he reached 40 because he was so damn intense.

Still, he wasn’t one to judge. “If there’s anything you need, just let me know.”

“I’m ok.” She was feeling a thousand times better already. “Honestly, thank you Fox.”

He couldn’t help laughing and shook his head. “Mulder. I hate Fox, everyone calls me Mulder.”

She didn’t hate the name. “It’s a good name.”

“Yeah, well, not to a bunch of kids. A name like Fox will get you beat up.” He tapped her chin with his thumb and smiled. “Food,” he said.

She nodded so they made their way to the table and began tucking in: him to all the dumplings and chicken chow mein and her to the sichuan pork and noodle soup.

“You know, he only had positive things to say about you,” she smirked.

He rolled his eyes playfully, sipped his beer and said, “Oh I bet.”

“He seems to admire you, told me I should seek you out.”

He wondered if that was why she’d called him. “He’s just trying to play games, trying to draw me into a case I’m already involved with.”

God she was starving, she practically drank her soup and inhaled the bold spicy pork. He pushed the remainder of his food towards her. It was a good thing he’d already eaten tonight as she hoovered it up, she practically hugged him again in thanks.

“Why does he feel such an affinity?” she asked around a mouthful.

He shrugged. They just happened to get on. They had a lot in common. “Because I can talk to him on his level, because I caught him and because he’s afraid of me.”

She looked up, thought about it and realized it was probably true. “Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“It’s in my nature.”

He grinned, sipped more beer. “Then you’ll make a good Agent.”

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Some time later, when all the food was finished, the beer forgotten and they’d spoken more of her Lecter visit, they sat cross legged on the bed facing each other.

“What do you think he meant by Miss Mofet?”

He’d been wondering that himself, ever since she’d mentioned that Lector had told her to look it up. It seemed strange, a clue almost beneath Lecter. He shrugged. He’d look into it when he went back to work tomorrow. “No idea.”

She had no idea either. It was out of her remit now anyway. Perhaps she could look into it though on the side. “Do you think it has anything to do with Buffalo Bill?”

He nodded slowly. “Knowing Lecter sure, but I wouldn’t worry about it.” A car skidded to a stop outside in the lot and they both looked towards the window and rolled their eyes. This place wasn’t exactly in a nice part of town. Still, it reminded him he should probably get a room for himself. “It’s late, I should let you get some sleep.”

She didn’t even pretend to hide her disappointment as her head sagged, her lip pouted, but really it was for the best. He couldn’t stay here, it was probably unthinkable. She eventually nodded. Watching him stand though she had to reach out a steadying hand as he doubled over in pain. She stood immediately to offer assistance.

“I’m fine,” he gasped out, a little too harshly and shook her hand away. He immediately put his hand up in apology. “Sorry, I just stood up too quickly.”

She pulled back but said, “It’s ok, but let me help, I am a doctor.”

That actually made things worse as he knew she would now poke and prod at him and it was unnecessary. “It’s fine.” He stood taller but it just made it worse and he rubbed his stomach. “I just have a lot of scar tissue.”

“You’re not fine, are you?” Why the hell was he even still working? “Let me see it,” she whispered gently, stepping in closely and looking at where his hand was rubbing. “It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”

He stared at her for a good long minute while he thought about it. He really wasn’t keen, he hated his scar and he barely knew her after all, and he didn’t want her getting the wrong idea about him, but she was a doctor and she might have some half decent pain meds on her. If she did, he reasoned, he might get a good night's sleep for once. He nodded. He reached around and pulled his shirt up over his back and off, it flew onto the bed.

She practically drank him in. Acting and being professional was something she’d always taken immense pride in, not showing emotion when dealing with a patient was the first thing she’d mastered in med school. That said, however, Mulder was a very good looking man anyway and now his shapely chest and abs were doing things to her that she hadn’t felt in a long while. She hoped it was the beer or the emotion of the day otherwise she was on very dangerous ground indeed.

Bending over slightly to look at his scar she soon calmed and then frowned. Lecter had butchered him. The thick scar was long, from below his navel up to his rib cage and along for several inches to the left. “He did a real number on you, didn’t he?” she said quietly, touching him gently at the belly button, through the soft hair there. She felt him nod and looked up. There was something dark in his eyes and she couldn’t read it so she went back to her examination.

It’d healed well, the line had faded to white in most places and while bumpy the bits that were still red weren’t infected. She pressed down, ran her fingers expertly over it from bottom to top and back again, gently touched his rib cage and traced any mark she could see in the low light of the room with soft fingertips. She tried to ignore his occasional gasp, and the fact he smelled divine, as she caressed him. She sighed as she grazed a white mark on his left pectoral muscle, probably from a central line.

She stood up, mere inches from his semi naked body. That dark look hadn’t gone and she felt it mirrored in her own face. Dangerous indeed. She managed to say, “You’re right, it’s probably excess scar tissue pulling on muscle.” Sadly there was nothing that could be done. Any operation to cut it out would result in more scar tissue.

“Told you,” he said, not taking his eyes off of her, while desperately willing his co*ck to stay down. It’d been a long while since anyone had touched him so intimately, so gently and with such care and he was rather enjoying himself.

“I’m fussy as well as inquisitive.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

God she was biting her lip and the way her long hair was framing her face made him curse the gods, she was the sexiest f*cking thing he’d ever seen. “Me too, he said.” But at least he wasn’t crapping in a bag anymore he mused to himself, and at least he was still working. He’d almost had to retire. She seemed to step even closer and then touched him again, just below his belly button with her thumbs, drawing a little circle. If she kept that up, he really would be waving from three places.

“You could try some moisturizer and do some stretches each morning, some gentle exercise,” she said. “It might make things a little less tight.”

“God…”

She smiled at his reaction and her own unintended double entendre. She was tired and lopsided and she was glad of his company and he seemed to be enjoying being with her. She needed to know there was good in the world, she needed to feel human again, she needed to rid herself of Miggs and Lector and Chilton and Skinner and the dirt of this assignment in a physical sense but she nevertheless let sense kick in and fetched his t-shirt for him. He smiled gratefully and quickly dressed.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” he asked.

Sitting on the bed while he adjusted himself she wanted to say ‘everything’. She doubted anyone else would rush out here in the middle of the night because she was having a crisis. “For coming out here, for trusting me with your body.”

He delicately sat himself down next to her. “Yeah well, I thought you might have some good meds,” he joked.

“Oh I do,” she smirked in reply. Reaching over to the jumble that was her personal belongings she pulled out her bathroom bag and tossed him a small vial she kept with her in case of emergencies.

He took one eagerly, didn’t even care what it was. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“You don’t like it much do you?”

“My body? Not really.”

“It’s fine, honestly,” she said under the hint of a blush. It was more than fine. She wanted to run her hands and mouth all over it.

He nodded and then yawned and stood up, “Well, like I said, I should probably go get a room.”

She didn’t actually want to be on her own. Besides, it was approaching 2am and there was no way he’d get a room here at this time of night. “Stay.”

“Is that a good idea?”

Probably not but she also knew the thing she’d just given him would make him properly drowsy in about half an hour so nothing could happen anyway. “Just to sleep. It’s late.”

He looked at her, at the bed, and then at the crappy 2 seater sofa under the window and shrugged. Soon they were firmly on one side each, him still fully clothed apart from his shoes, socks and gun belt, as far away as two people could be in such a small space.

“You’re not married are you?” she thought to ask. “I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

“Not anymore.” It was complicated. The papers were in his desk waiting to be signed but there was no going back, not when she was on the other side of the world. He felt her roll over to look at him in the dark so he explained, “She’s in Europe doing something or other in intelligence for the Bureau.”

“Sorry.”

“It is what it is.” He actually didn’t care anymore. It’s not like he pined for her now, that had very quickly passed. He understood her reasons for going: she was grieving. He was too though he’d always hidden it better. She was scared also and couldn’t deal with the level of violence his job entailed anymore. She thought he should go into white collar crime investigations or some such sh*t.

“She left not long after Lecter sent Dolarhyde to our house.” She’d said ‘enough was enough.’ He didn’t blame her. Didn’t mean he still liked her however. Her leaving had been a betrayal.
She reached over and took his hand in the darkness. “You know for a man who claims to like and admire you, Lecter sure has a strong desire to get rid of you.”

Yawning heavily he nevertheless rolled over to face her, his hand still in hers. “I told you, he’s afraid.” He was afraid too because now he knew there was a connection between Buffalo Bill and Lecter and he would have to deal with the man again. “That and I think he thought he had some moral obligation to get rid of Dolarhyde so set him on me knowing I would do it for him.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah,” he said sleepily, thinking about the looming figure of Dolarhyde charging at him with a knife. It’d missed his face by less than a millimeter. “Only thing that could be done.” It was either Dolarhyde or him and Diana.

Her eyes began to drift closed and the fast pull of sleep was taking over. “Mulder,” she yawned, her hand coming up to cup his face. When he hummed to show he was just about listening she said, “Good night.”

She got a soft snore in reply and smiled, letting sleep finally take her too.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Mulder was glad to be in his office the next day. Glad he could concentrate on work rather than a beautiful woman’s body draped over him in a cheap motel, his hard co*ck pressed into the inner leg that she'd draped over his crotch in the night. He’d maneuvered her into a better position before she woke and had gone back to his own side but waking up next to her hadn’t been a bad situation to have found himself in.

Breakfast had been awkward though, though not as awkward as it could’ve been, and more on her side than his, and she’d insisted on traveling back by train much to his annoyance but they’d at least parted on a bright smile from him and a shy one from her. She really had nothing to be embarrassed about really. She just needed comfort and reassurance and he was happy and willing to give it.

He looked up from finishing his phone call as the dark slender figure of Reggie Perdue came into his office, not even bothering to knock. It was a good job he liked the man, even if he was thinking of putting up a giant notice on the door to tell people to stay the hell out of his space.

“Reggie, Reggie,” he chanted out of habit as he leaned back in his chair and hung up the phone.

“Stop that.” The other man smiled widely, though he looked preoccupied with something. “I hate it when you do that.”

Reggie began looking around the office, picking at things. Much in the same way that Scully had done. He held up a little shaman’s bowl but Mulder didn’t offer any explanation.

“Something I can help you with Reggie?” There was definitely something on his mind. The case they were working on probably.

Reggie eyed him up and smiled again. “Nah, just coming in here because it helps me think, your messiness frees up my brain to make leaps, you know.”

Mulder chuckled, “The good old Ed Wood investigative method.”

Reggie paused in confusion, halfway between stroking his mustache and picking up Mulder’s replica Mask of Tezcatlipoca, a bug eyed deity with turquoise bands around the eyes and mouth, from the Aztec region. A gift from his favorite cannibal.

“Sorry?” he said.

“You find something so profoundly bad in such a childlike way, in my case an Ed Wood movie, in your case my office, apparently, that it hypnotizes your conscious critical mind and frees up your right brain to make associo-poetic leaps.”

It was Reggies turn to laugh. “Mulder, that’s why I love you. You talk so much sh*t and yet it somehow makes a lot of sense.” He turned to the mask again, “What the hell is that thing, it’s creepy as hell.”

“It’s The Mask of Tezcatlipoca, an Aztec god of sorcery.” he said standing up and taking it out of Reggie’s hands before he dropped it. “The real one is made of turquoise, pyrite, pine, lignite, human bone and teeth, deer skin, conch shell and agave.”

Reggie wiped his hands desperately on his trouser leg, he was horrified. “Human bone?”

“This is a replica, I had it tested.”

He wasn't much appeased. “What the hell’s it for?”

“He’s not ‘for’ anything.” He put it back on it’s shelf and rattled off, “But he is associated with a wide range of concepts, including the night sky, the night winds, hurricanes, the north, the earth, obsidian, enmity, discord, rulership, divination, temptation, jaguars, sorcery, beauty, war and strife. His name in the Nahuatl language is often translated as ‘Smoking Mirror’ and alludes to his connection to obsidian, the material from which mirrors were made in Mesoamerica and which were used for shamanic rituals and prophecy.” Lecter had said it was the ‘embodiment of change through conflict'. Now more than ever did he feel that meaning.

“Riiiight,” he drew out and drawled. He took a seat on the wonky chair and picked up a book. “'A social history of the paranormal', seriously?”

Mulder was getting bored of Reggie picking through his stuff. It was one thing to come in here to help him think, it was another to sneer at his beliefs. He took the book out of Reggie’s hand and put it back down on the desk. “Just a pet project I’m working on.”

“Not thinking of leaving us already?” he asked, concerned. “You’ve only been here a few months.”

“No,” he said truthfully. Not yet anyway. He had an interest in the paranormal, he even had enough material to open his own department here since he’d found those X-Files in the basem*nt, but he hadn’t lobbied anyone about it. Yet. He wasn’t sure if he would. He was still only at the thinking stage.

“Good,” Reggie replied, relieved. “You wanna go ghostbusting, you might want to start with I.J. Miggs.”

He sat back down and stared at his boss in confusion. “Lecter’s neighbor. He’s dead?”

Reggie nodded slowly. “Lecter talked him into swallowing his own tongue.”

“Jesus.” He picked up a pen and immediately threw it down again, shocked. Yet he wasn’t. That was probably more shocking. Lecter being Lecter didn’t shock him at all. It bothered him, yes, but it didn’t shock and that in itself was shocking.

“Yeah.”

“Does Scully know?”

“No, why would she need to know that?”

“Lots of reasons.” He could think of at least 3.

“Are you going to tell her?”

“Maybe. Have you seen her interim report yet?”

Reggie shrugged. “I believe it’s with Skinner.” He looked around Mulder’s desk, at the paperwork and phone books and asked, “What’s all this?”

“I’ve been looking into the Mofet thing she told me about.” He’d not stopped thinking about it, and neither had Reggie since he’d passed on the information, and now he knew he’d solved it.

“Ah I’ve been going over that all morning and came up with nothing. Lecter altered or destroyed most of his patient histories and notes prior to capture so there’s no record of anyone named Mofet.”

“Right, he did,” offered Mulder with a small smile and a gleam in his eyes, these were the games he liked to play, “but I thought the ‘yourself’ reference was too hokey for Lecter, not his usual level of gamesmanship and mind-play, so I figured he's lived in Baltimore for a while and on a hunch I looked in the phone book,” he lifted up the Yellow Pages to emphasize, “and there's a "Your Self" storage facility right outside of downtown Baltimore. I called the owner, the unit was leased for ten years, pre-paid in full. The contract is in the name of a Miss Hester Mofet.”

“Some hunch!” Reggie was impressed and his tone reflected it. “Why don’t I just come to you with all my problems. I’ll send someone out there to…”

“No, I’m going myself,” he said in a rush. He was finally excited by this case again. It was finally moving in a forward direction. “I suddenly need to get out of the office for a while.” Boy was that the truth.

He might just take Scully with him too if he could get her to skip class.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

In between trying to figure out the Mofet clue and writing up her full report she was having to squeeze in her normal classes, research time, exercise and the firing range. It was a welcome distraction, a relief almost and she soon found herself coming back down to earth on a busy blur of normality.

She hadn’t spoken to Mulder since he’d dropped her off at the station and while she was sad about that she was also happy she didn’t have to face him again after their night in the same bed. It was entirely innocent of course, baring his impressive erection pressing into her back at one point, but she felt guilty and like she should never have called him in the first place. She'd overburdened him and it wasn't fair. She actually felt worse over that than Lecter and Miggs now.

Still, what was done was done and she had to move past it. Besides, Marty Neal was here now watching her shoot at the in-door range. She didn’t know why but given he was one of the best shots in their class she always welcomed his feedback so didn’t complain.

She took up her combat stance, wrestled her sound-muffling headset into position and on the buzzer squeezed off several rounds into a moving paper target as it rushed towards her from the back of the hall. By the time the silhouetted paper man arrived in front of her his chest was full of tightly grouped holes and she beamed. She raised her weapon though, a Sig Sauer P226, and offered it one final emphatic shot to the forehead.

“I think he’s dead,” Marty offered sarcastically. Taking his own ear protectors off and letting them rest around his neck he nevertheless congratulated her on her effort as he pulled the silhouette down and took her own ear protectors off. “You did well.”

“Apart from the overkill?”

“Always best to be on the safe side,” he joked. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

She laughed appreciatively. “Anything I can improve?”

He put the paper aside and said, “Not really.” Then he thought about it and added, “Well maybe you could change your combat stance a little, you have a weaver stance and it’s going to leave you exposed in the real world. You’re right handed so you expose your left armpit. It’s not covered by body armor when you stand that way.”

“And that’s an entryway to the heart.”

“Right. Try an isosceles stance.”

He demonstrated it and she had to admit it did seem a little better and felt more natural.

“Thanks.” She packed her stuff up, ready to head over to the library. “You know if there’s anything I can help you out with I’m always here.”

“Well,” he drawled in his dry southern Californian accent. He ran a hand over his blond military grade buzz cut and chewed his lip conspiratorially, like they were about to share a big secret. Her heart sank as he said, “You could tell me how you got to interview Hannibal Lecter, I’d like some of that action myself.”

She groaned and looked at him disbelievingly. She didn’t think it would remain a secret for long but she would’ve at least liked to have filed her report first. “I told Reyes not to tell…”

He put his hand up to stop her, “She didn’t say anything. I have a contact upstairs and he mentioned something about a student interviewing Lecter. Given you were missing all day yesterday it didn’t take a genius to work it out who it was.”

Of course he did. Marty Neal’s father was a District Attorney who had strong connections within the justice department and the FBI. It was only a matter of time before he used his connections to slime his way up the ladder.

“I can’t help you Marty.”

“Oh come on Scully, this would mean a lot to me. It’d look really good on my resume if I got to help out with something big while still a trainee agent.”

Ah so it was less about actually helping and more about servicing his own ambitions she thought. Trust Marty to only think about himself. “You’ve been working with organized crime, I heard you did a good job.”

He shrugged, “Yeah but it’s not where the headlines are at the moment.”

He was right about that. For the longest time now, at least since the mid 70s, serial crime was the hot topic. It was where everyone wanted to make a name for themselves, especially as year in / year out they were discovering more and more dangerous individuals that people wanted to write papers about and use to advance the nature of human understanding.

Resigned, she said, “AD Skinner assigned me it due to my medical degree and thought I could talk to Lecter on a professional level.” His shoulders slumped and he looked like he was about to cry.

That was too bad. In the end she did take pity on him, just a little. “Why don’t you talk to Reggie Purdue in violent crimes, see if there's something you could volunteer for, I know they have a mountain of paperwork down there and could probably use the help.”

That seemed to perk him up and he was quickly on his way, much to her relief.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

So afraid someone else would bring up Lecter to her she’d gone and hidden in the library after her range session, even dinner had been a hastily snatched sandwich and a cup of yogurt. Sure there were still plenty of people about, several of her classmates studying for an upcoming forensics exam on fingerprints they all had, but they all knew not to disturb her.

She’d mostly finished her full report for Skinner and was almost ready to file it, not that she had much hope it would be of any use to anyone, it wasn’t like he’d done anything other than grunt over her interim report, and was now sat in front of a Microfiche scanning 35mm film for interesting newspaper articles on Lecter and making notes. There was so much she wanted to talk to Mulder about, so much she wanted to say, she was driven to understand, but she was conscious of overburdening him mentally and physically and he was busy. She’d forwarded her interim report to him too, even though he knew everything in it already.

She had to know more though if she was going to figure out that Mofet clue. It seemed urgent. It seemed like a good idea to be as informed as possible so she took in the images skirting through her vision at speed from The Washington Dispatch and Baltimore Sentinel, headlines and bylines that screamed: ‘Renowned Psychiatrist Charged in Murders’, ‘The Doctor of Death Cooked his Victims for Gourmet Meals Then Served Them to His Friends. Michael Ronboz of City Council Among Those at Dinner Table’, ‘FBI Agent Still in Critical Condition’, ‘FBI Agent’s Damning Testimony’, ‘Lecter Guilty!’

She was so engrossed that when Reyes tapped her on the shoulder she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Jesus!”

“Sorry,” she laughed and put her hands up in mock surrender. “You missed Fourth Amendment Law, unlawful seizures. It was really juicy stuff.”

“Oh I bet,” Scully replied, her voice low so as not to disturb the people around them, and joked, “How was your nap?”

“Heaven!”

They both snorted a laugh before Reyes asked, “Where were you anyway, I haven’t seen you since you left for Baltimore.”

“Well between pleading with a crazy man, which was pretty much a bust by the way, with come all over my face, and writing up my report,” she didn’t mention Marty or Mulder, “I’ve been trying to make sense of everything.”

“Come on your face? Dana, just what exactly have you been up to?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, “You don’t want to know.”

Reyes stared at her, wondering how much of what she’d said was true. She laughed anyway and quipped, “Damn, wish I had time for a social life.”

She grinned before sobering up, “Did you want to go over the fingerprint stuff for the test?”

Reyes shook her head, “No, I came over because you have a phone call.” She pointed to a bank of phones near the checkout desk. “It’s Agent Mulder.”

“Mulder?” she asked disbelievingly. At her friend's affirmation she grabbed her yellow legal pad, she didn’t even bother pushing her chair back as she rushed to the bank of phones, leaving Reyes looking exasperated. Why hadn’t she told her straight away!

She picked up the receiver, her voice more breathy than she intended, “Agent Mulder?” There was a long pause and she didn’t think he was even there anymore but he found the phone when she repeated his name, “Mulder?”

“Sorry, I’m here,” he said, still a little far away and she heard him pick up the phone and he became clearer. “I was sorting out some travel documents.”

“Off somewhere interesting?”

“Hopefully. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

The bottom of her stomach fell away nervously and she had to make sure nobody was listening. They weren’t but even so she moved to the side of the booth to shield their words. “About last night?” He made a noise that suggested he’d said ‘huh’ and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t ready for a conversation where she’d broken protocol by not only sharing a room with a fellow agent but a bed too. Neither had been off duty and she didn’t think her bosses would be so kind about it, especially if they got wind of her relationship with Jack too.

“Not unless you wanna talk about how sleeping in jeans is bad for your hips.”

She chuckled, “Not really. What can I help you with, the Mofet clue?”

There was a pause before he said, “I’ve already solved it.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, um, it was actually pretty simple in the end. What did Lecter say to you?”

“Look deep within yourself, Dr. Scully. Go Seek out Miss Mofet, an old patient of mine…”

“Right,” he interrupted. “What do you think it means?”

She frowned, she’d been wondering that for a long time and she’d come up with nothing. “I don’t know, I can’t find any reference to a Miss Mofet in what remains of his patient files and I can’t find anything on the FBI mainframe either.”

“You won’t, he covered his tracks pretty well. Look within Your Self Scully. Your Self. It’s a storage facility in Baltimore where Lecter had his practice. Pre paid in full for 10 years by one Miss Hester Mofet.”

“You’re kidding me,” she said in astonishment and wrote the full name down on her pad. Miss Hester Mofet. How did she miss that! “Who’s Hester Mofet then?”

“I think she’s a figment of Lecter’s imagination.”

She wondered if it could be an anagram of some kind. 15 letters. She couldn’t think. A word? No. 3 words? Maybe? She balanced her pad on the phonebook self and hovered her pen over the letters. ‘Miss’, she decided to put that to one side as it was already a complete word. She just needed to rearrange the other letters.

“You still there?”

“Hmmm yeah, just thinking.”

“There’s something else.”

His voice was quiet and it made her pay attention again. “What?” she asked, still staring at the letters. “What is it Agent Mulder?” she asked urgently. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

“Miggs is dead.”

She didn’t know what to say. Her mouth opened to say something and it didn’t come. She was speechless, aware she was probably gaping like a fish, until she managed a, “Dead? How?” about a minute later.

A heavy sigh came and then an explanation. “They heard Lecter whispering to him all afternoon and Miggs crying. They found him at bed check. He'd swallowed his own tongue.”

“Oh.” Was she upset? She wasn't sure. She held no personal grief. She felt no anger anymore either despite what Miggs had done, he was sick. Was she sorry someone was dead? Yes. She was a doctor, she valued life, no matter how deprived. “I just... I don't know how to feel about this.”

“You don't have to feel any way about it. Lecter did it to amuse himself. Look, I know it got ugly but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

She knew that now. She still glared at her paper angrily. “I know.”

“Good. Put it behind you and move on.”

“Who was he?”

“Miggs?” he sighed audibly, letting her know she should move beyond it. Still, he answered, “He killed two little girls. Diminished responsibility. He suffered from multiple personality disorder. Don’t pay any attention to it.”

“Ok.” She had other things to think about anyway. Miss… Miss. Miss what? She could get ‘forest’ and ‘theme’ out of the remaining words and put a line through them immediately. Miss Forest Theme / Miss Theme Forest made no damn sense. ‘Rest’ was in there as was ‘me’ and ‘the’. She frowned. If this was an anagram she was surprised Lector hadn’t used the word ate or something else to do with eating and food.

“Good, what are you doing at the moment?”

“Trying to figure out who Hester Mofet is, why?”

“No, I mean you’re not due in any classes?”

“No.” Miss Me ___ Rest? No. God. “Not until tomorrow now.”

“Excellent, I’ve booked a car. We’re heading back up to Baltimore.”

She looked up from her scribbles, “Excuse me?”

“We’re going back up to Baltimore. I’ve requisitioned a car, we leave in an hour.”

Her mouth fell open. She couldn’t possibly go back there, she had things to do here. “That’s a field job Mulder, it’s outside the scope of my assignment. I have a test tomorrow.”

He snorted. “I’ve already spoken to Skinner, and he’s going to speak to your instructors, and your badge doesn’t run out for a few days yet. Don’t you want to follow this lead to the end, it was you who Lecter gave it to after all.”

Well, that was debatable. It was given to her yes but something about it told her it was also intended for Mulder too. Regardless, yes she did want to see this through until the end. To work in the field was a thrilling prospect. To follow the clues with Mulder was even more exciting. She had to ask though, “Why me?”

“You have the necessary expertise and I think Lecter trusts you now. Besides, I think we can work well together.”

It was all she needed to hear. “I’ll meet you outside the main building in an hour.”

She hung up and it was only then that the anagram jumped up at her. ‘Miss the rest of me’. Miss the rest of me! How had she not seen it before! She didn’t know what it meant but she would tell Mulder as soon as she saw him.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

It hadn’t taken her long to pack but she’d decided to pack heavy after the Miggs incident just to be on the safe side. She’d also picked out two of everything and everything was from the older end of her wardrobe as she couldn’t afford to lose another nice suit jacket. She didn’t know what they were about to walk into but like a good girl scout she wanted to be prepared.

Her father would be proud.

Or perhaps not.

She picked at a photo pinned to the cork noticeboard above her bed. It was the last family photo of the Scully clan taken before she’d announced her intention to join the FBI, a get together for Bill Jr’s latest promotion and they’d all made the effort, even Melissa who was prone to disappearing for months on end (and who really didn’t have time for the bluster of Bill Jr or their parents) and Charles who preferred the company of his own wife and children to there’s nowadays (not that she blamed him. The Scully family could feel like an unforgiving place at times). They were all grinning happily under a hot summer sky.

Her father looked the proudest of them all, his smile the widest. It occurred to her that that day was the last time she’d seen him smile at her and it made her sad. They’d barely spoken since. Most of their conversations nowadays were arguments and episodes of him shaking his head in disappointment and refusing to look her in the eye. She doubted he’d turn up for her graduation.

She knew she shouldn’t let it get to her, he’d get over it eventually because he still loved her, but it did, it greatly distressed her actually. They’d always been so close before, taking trips, talking about their interests and hobbies and she could still sit for hours watching him craft something in the garage, they still even read aloud to one another on occasion. Now it was all gone and now she keenly understood what Melissa and Charles had been going through for years. In fact the only one of the four her father had time for at the moment was Bill Jr.

All fathers have ambitions for their children, mothers too, but Bill Scully Sr took it to extremes, if you didn’t do as he expected or fall into line you would damn well know about it for a long time to come. Melissa had been the first to fall foul of the man with her decision to go to an alternative college to study spiritualism and new age practices, Charles was next for rejecting the rigorous dogma of catholicism and for marrying a much older woman with two children already. That they were both happy and Melissa made good money with her ‘healing’ and ‘soul reading’ and Charles with his teaching didn’t seem to matter. They weren’t doing what their father wanted and that was that.

Now it was her turn to face his wrath and boy did she feel it right down to the bone. She was good and dutiful, thoughtful and intelligent, she was Starbuck bound by obligations to obey her Captain Ahab. Now seemingly she was cast adrift and alone at sea, living out what her father still thought of as a ‘rebellion’. She’d crossed a line by entering into the armed forces, the police. Women, specifically Scully women, were not supposed to do that. According to her father she was supposed to move into family practice after med school and find a man to marry.

That she wasn’t doing those things was a ‘rebellion’.

She hated that word and she’d heard it a lot since she’d left medical school, everyone thought she was trying to prove a point. Her parents, Daniel, Jack, Lecter…

It was all wrong. She wasn’t resisting anything, she wasn’t fighting any great personal injustice and she certainly wasn’t looking to defy authority. It was a stupid word that didn’t suit her at all. They were all wrong. It wasn’t rebellion she was seeking, it was approval. It was daring to want more, wanting to be treated as an equal, wanting to live her life in her own way.
It was exactly what Mulder was doing. He was trusting her abilities, her training, her opinions. He wanted her with him because she could add something of value to the Buffalo Bill case. It was exhilarating. It was exactly what she’d been seeking for a very long time.

And now she was going back to Baltimore.

She zipped up her suitcase and got ready to leave but not before she grabbed the letter she’d written Jack and stuffed it in an envelope. Giving him a letter might be the coward's way out but at least it would be short and sweet and he’d understand.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

The drive up to Baltimore was going much too fast for her liking. She was thoroughly enjoying their time together. They had some god awful World Series game from 1985 on the car cassette player that Mulder insisted on playing because it was his car requisition and also because ‘baseball was his life’ (and because the specific game made him angry apparently, something to do with a controversial call by an umpire that gifted the game to Kansas City - she couldn’t remember and she wasn’t sure she cared. Baseball was not her sport) and in between chatting about their lives and what food to eat later he was quizzing her from the passenger seat about fingerprints.

“What is the name given to the examination of fingerprints?” he asked to start. It was an easy one.

She rolled her eyes. “Dactyloscopy.” She theatrically yawned while he cracked a sunflower seed between his teeth. “Did you know Dactyloscopy comes from the Greek word ‘daktylos’ meaning finger…”

“And ‘skopein’ meaning to examine, yes I did know that.” He threw the shell of his seed out of the window and swallowed the chewed remains. “Seed?” he offered, holding out the bag.

“No, next question Mr know-it-all.”

“I know you are, I said you are, so what am I then?” he sang childishly and smiled up at her and she grinned back. They’d already developed an easy rapport and it made him happy. “What causes fingerprints to be left behind when we touch things?”

These were too easy she thought, watching an easy shower of snow start to fall outside and turning on the wipers. She didn’t know why she’d been so worried about the test if the questions were this easy. “It’s due to the natural oils in our skin. The skin's sebaceous glands produce natural oils which, together with the salts produced by our sweat glands, leave a fingerprint residue when we touch most objects.”

“Well done Dr. Scully,” he said, emphasizing the word doctor.

She grinned complacently. When it came to forensics she did have an advantage. “What can I tell you?”

He would have to think of something to challenge her with. For the time being he asked. “In which country was the first case of a criminal conviction based on fingerprint evidence?”

“Argentina In 1892, Juan Vucetich, a police researcher in Argentina, used fingerprints to prove that Francesca Rojas murdered her two children by taking her thumb print and matching it to a bloody thumbprint left behind on a door. When confronted with the evidence, the mother broke down and admitted killing her children because they stood in the way of her marriage to a young lover. She was subsequently convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment,” she said triumphantly.

He slammed the book closed and looked at her mischievously. “Ok Einstein,” he said playfully, knowing what her undergraduate thesis was about and given the look she was giving him she now knew he’d been looking into her background. “Which animal is said to have fingerprints virtually indistinguishable from those of human beings?”

“What?” she startled. He had to be kidding, right? “That’s a joke surely?”

“Nope.” It wasn’t a joke or a trick question. It was something they asked every year on the test, or a variation of it anyway. She looked stumped and he sat smugly chomping on his seeds. On the tape Dorrel ‘Whitey’ Herzog was calling on rookie reliever Todd Worrell to relieve setup man Ken Dayley. “Want me to tell you the answer.”

She thought about it some more but she was truly perplexed. “A penguin?”

He laughed loudly, “Since when do penguins have fingers?” She poked her tongue out at his ribbing and at his seated version of a penguin moving its flippers. He soon decided to put her out of her misery. “Koalas.”

“Seriously?” He had to be joking.

“They have ridges on their fingers which create fingerprints almost identical to those of human beings meaning that koala fingerprints can be confused for human fingerprints at a crime scene.”

“It’s unlikely that would ever happen.” She would forever remain skeptical about a murderous koala framing a human being for their crime or the other way round.

“Yeah well there are some differences,” he said trying to remember from his own time at Quantico, when he’d come across the information in an obscure anthropology textbook. He was the only one to get the question right that year. “For example, Koalas have two thumbs on each hand and they also have claws instead of fingernails. Human beings have ridges over all of their palms, whereas koalas only have ridges over part of their palms. Not to mention the fact that koalas are rarely found at crime scenes.”

They shared a soft giggle and then he told her to take the next exit off the freeway.

“So, are you ever going to explain ‘Fox’ to me?” She looked at him, he was rolling his eyes. He’d probably been asked about it a lot.

“It’s nothing exciting. My father works for the State Department. During World War two he worked with some Navajo code talkers on some project or other and it was the name of one of the Navajo Indians he was partnered with.” Something like that anyway. It was a nice story but he still made his parents call him Mulder as a teenager.

Smiling, because it was a sweet story, she nevertheless changed the subject. “What will happen with Lecter, will he be punished for Miggs?”

“Nah, they’ll take away his privileges, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” She was incredulous. There must be more they could do. “He talked someone into killing themselves.”

“Try proving it, besides what’s the point of adding years to the sentence of a man who will never see the light of day again anyway?”

She supposed he had a point.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

They’d made it to the Your Self storage facility just before the last streaks of orange and purple had disappeared behind the dusky warning of impending nighttime and ominous gray clouds. The only light now came from a crappy street light some distance away and a large and loud neon sign, streaked with rain and the dust of decades of exhaust fumes.

It was still snowing and Mulder was cursing the fact he hadn’t brought an umbrella with him. Mr Yow, the storage facility owner, had and he wasn’t sharing it and it annoyed him, especially as Scully was starting to look like a drowned cat and needed the cover. He wasn’t a chauvinist, someone who thought they had to look after someone just because they were a woman, she was his equal and perfectly capable of doing that herself thank you very much, but he was a man who believed in manners if nothing else and she clearly had the same thoughts as she was giving him side-eye regarding the other man.

He went to the car, circumventing Yow’s giant black listing Lincoln Oldsmobile, to grab his camera and some torches while Scully talked to the other man.

“So, no one’s been here since… 1980?” she asked, looking at the closed roll up metal door, itself situated amongst a long line of metal doors. It looked rusted to f*ck and she didn’t know how they were going to get in, even the hefty padlock looked too weather beaten to open with a key, not that they had one yet.

“There or thereabouts,” Yow croaked. “As I told your boyfriend on the phone.”

“Oh, he’s not…” What did it matter? They’d already shown their I.Ds. He would believe whatever he wanted. She smiled at the old fragile looking Chinese man, he did not look happy. “Do you have the key?”

He pulled off a large round hoop from his waist and passed it to her. “It’s on there.”

Oh that’s helpful, she thought while taking it. “Thanks.”

“You know privacy is a great concern to my customers, if they get wind of the FBI sniffing around…” he worried, his Chinese accent becoming more pronounced as he fussed.

She tried to be reassuring but thought that anyone worrying about privacy knew their clients were hiding something illegal. “Not to worry Mr Yow, we won’t be here long and nobody has to know.”

She smiled at him. “We won’t disturb anything, I promise.”

He seemed happy with that at least. “Good, I don’t like the gate unlocked for too long at night.”

She looked at the large double layered hurricane fences both topped with barbed wire. The gate was open but given the low light Yow had nothing to worry about as unless you came really close you wouldn’t know it was open. “We’re FBI Mr Yow, we’ll defend you if anyone tries to enter unannounced and we promise you we won’t be long.”

“Just think of it as taking pride in doing your civic duty,” Mulder said, coming back. He handed Scully a torch and began taking pictures of the gate, lockup, the padlock, the neon sign. “We’ll be gone before you know it, it’s a promise.” He had no inclination to be here longer than necessary.

Sifting through the smaller keys Scully found one that she thought might fit and tested it. To her delight it worked and she exclaimed softly, “Hah!” much to Mulder’s amusem*nt.

However, it soon transpired that getting the lock off was the easy part. Getting the door open was proving impossible. All three of them took turns tugging on the handle, trying to get their fingers underneath the bottom, and lifting it with their backs while someone worked the handle. It wouldn’t budge, not an inch, and they were all soon feeling sweaty and gross.

“We could return tomorrow, with my son. Or perhaps some workmen?” Offered Yow, puffing hard and wiping his brow. He looked as exhausted as they felt.

Scully crossed back to their rental, turned on the headlights, quickly apologizing as the light dazzled the two men who instantly shielded their eyes, and went to the trunk. She soon found what she was looking for: a jack. It might work if they could jam a sliver of the plate under the lip of the metal roller. “We could use this,” she said when she got back.

“Good idea,” Mulder nodded, impressed at her ingenuity and pocketing his torch. They needed to get inside this lockup and they needed to do it now. Both of them were on edge about it.

She set the jack in place, kicking it into position at the center, and began to crank the handle; brushing off Yow in the process who came to help. She didn’t need it and he looked to be pushing 70, that was before she took into account his exhaustion from the last activity. She didn’t want to demonstrate her CPR skills in the slushy snow.

The door squealed horrifically and protested at every crank. After about 10 strong pumps she’d succeeded in getting it open about 6 inches. It wasn’t enough. She mopped her brow and reluctantly moved aside for Mulder to have a go.

“Are you sure?” she asked, full of concern.

“Stop fussing,” he replied, defiantly getting into position. He’d been cleared for active duty. He continued to ace every fitness exam. He just hurt occasionally. Today was not one of those days. “I’ll be fine.”

He pumped the handle, his cold wet fingers occasionally slipping but he managed. Eventually he succeeded in wedging it open about 20 inches in total, it refused to go any further and was now firmly stuck in place. It wasn’t great but they should both be able to squeeze in underneath. He bent down but couldn’t see very far, it was pitch black. It stunk too: musty, old. And he thought he could hear the squeak of scuttling vermin.

“Should be enough,” she opined, taking the offered torch. She took her coat off in preparation and hung it on the jack, Mulder did the same once he’d put the camera around his neck. “Want me to go first?”

He wasn’t about to argue. “Sure.”

She looked down at the small gap again and bit her lip. It would be an effort, especially for him, and she nearly had second thoughts but she was determined to find out what Lecter had in here. She did have one thought though and whispered, “Don’t we need a search warrant?”

“Probably,” he joked but at her disapproving scowl he sighed and put her mind at rest, whispering, “anything connected to Lecter is still covered by a very wide ranging warrant and the Baltimore field office knows we’re out here.”

Thank god, she thought. Fired from her job before she was even qualified would not look good in her part of the family newsletter. She sat on the ground, amongst the cigarette ends, the sodden leaves and takeaway containers, the water of unsettled snow seeping into her trousers as she did so. She grimaced and swept the room with her flashlight, making sure there was nothing blocking her entrance. She could make out boxes, covered bits of furniture and the shadowy outline of what looked to her like a classic car under the drape of a big American flag. “There’s a car in here,” she said. “Tires are long flat though.” She looked first at Mulder and then at Yow as they both bent down, either side of her, to look.

“Smells like mice,” Yow said, annoyed. “If they’re in there, they’ll be in the other units. You hear them?” They could and they all recoiled as one ran out, passing right by Scully as it disappeared into the night. “You’re not seriously going in there, are you?”

They both turned to look at him incredulously but ignored his comment. Scully lay flat on the ground and began shimmying under the heavy brown door. She paused and pulled her head out, looking at Mulder. “You know,” she said, trying to appear nonchalant but failing, “if this door should fail with me under it, or I get locked in forever, tell my mom and dad I love them.”

He wanted to laugh, to tell her she was being silly, but given she had about several hundred pounds of steel and aluminum hovering above her he’d give her a pass. He’d be nervous too, facing that and then unknown inside. “Scouts honor.”

She slid in a little further, using a wiggle motion to move. It wasn’t very graceful but she didn’t have time to worry about how she was looking. She almost had her legs fully under when she felt the rusty jagged edge of an old nail catch her bent knee. “Damn it!” she bristled, her hand immediately going to the rip in her pants. There was blood when she pulled her hand back, though thankfully not much.

Mulder was immediately down and resting on his haunches with a hand to her shoulder to see if she was hurt. “Are you ok?”

“No!” she growled sadly. “I hurt my pants.”

He laughed, relieved she was ok. Her clothes were not having a great time lately. “What do you see?” he asked as she disappeared.

“Not a lot,” came her muffled reply.

He saw her light come on and shine towards him so he lay down and maneuvered his way inside, though not before Yow had given him some advice about tucking the legs of his pants into his socks so as not to catch on anything or invite mice to run up his leg. He told Yow to go and wait in his car and he was only too happy to oblige.

He looked at the gap and groaned, his fate sealed.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Once he’d squirmed inside, careful to avoid the nail trap she’d snagged herself on, he quickly stood, dusted himself down and promptly sneezed. It was worse than he thought. There was a lot of dust. He grabbed some latex from his pocket.

“Ok?” she asked, watching him nod that he was. Shining her light about, her beam caught more cobwebs than she dared to count and a mountain of boxes. The room was huge and went back some way. “Where do we even start?”

If she didn’t know, he didn’t either. They were looking at a needle in a haystack. They didn’t even know what specifically they were after. “Beats me,” he mumbled, pulling a sheet off an antique tall boy with his newly gloved hands. It reminded him of the one his grandmother owned.

“That’s gorgeous,” she said, impressed and hovering her hands over the seamless mahogany. Someone had paid a lot of money for it. She went to open one of the doors and felt a soft tap to her hand. Looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a daring set to her jaw she asked, “We can’t touch anything?” After all they’d been through to get in here! Her knee still stung.

He laughed as he thought of his Oma, his granny Kuipers, “Als de aap komt spelen, is er geen taart voor jou.”

“Excuse me?”

“If the monkey comes out to play, there will be no cake for you.” He shrugged and opened the door for her, both disappointed to find it was empty. “My mom’s family are Dutch, I’m not allowed to touch my Oma’s things.”

She had to laugh, and not just at his propensity for pronouncing words like mom the English way. “You clumsy Mulder?”

“Well if you break enough expensive heirloom china you get a reputation.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a spare pair of latex gloves for her. “Put these on.”

She did and they covered the tallboy back up and began their search. “Beautiful piano.” She stood admiring an upright Steinway Model K she’d spotted. It had to be worth a small fortune. The long left uncovered keys were somewhat yellow now indicating they were true ivory, and covered in a ton of mouse crap, but it was a real showpiece. In fact there were so many beautiful things in here, it was a shame they were locked away, being unappreciated. “There’s some really wonderful items here.”

“It’s junk, the lot of it.” He took a few photos anyway, he wanted to document everything.

How could he say that? “Mulder this stuff is beautiful.”

“Well, we can hit some yard sales while we’re out here if you want,” he snarked, disinterested. He opened up a box on top of a large stack but it just seemed to contain ugly animal tschotskes. “I grew up in a house full of beautiful things that couldn’t be touched, it was like a prison.” He paused, thought about it and corrected himself. “Well a museum anyway.” He shined his torch on her face as she moved to another area. “I suppose you lived in one too?”

She ignored his comment about yard sales, he was being a philistine, and shook her head, no. “We moved around too much to have antiques. My father’s in the navy.”

“Navy brat huh,” he smiled when she shrugged unapologetically. A mouse dropped onto the piano, striking some uncoordinated notes, and causing them both to clutch their chests in fright. “For f*cks sake,” he muttered hissing after the little beasty.

She laughed nervously as she went further into the room, her flashlight catching a stunning rocking horse in the process. As she looked around she realized it would probably take them weeks to go through everything properly. “You know it’s weird...” she said trailing off. She picked up a polished jade frog out of a box. There was so much bric-a-brac in here, someone could open a store.

“What is?”

She felt like she was violating someone. These items had been placed in here carefully and for private reasons and here they were destroying that calm with their own values and opinions. “How we’re going through all this stuff and yet it’s someone's life. Doesn’t it feel weird to you?”

He felt more exhilarated by it actually. He might not appreciate the craftsmanship of some of the items, or that they were worth anything, but he enjoyed this part of his job. It was like seeing how the other half lived. It made him feel somewhat normal; that the crap he collected wasn’t nearly as bad as the crap other people accumulated. “It’s like stepping back in time I guess.”

That wasn’t what she meant, she meant that she felt like an outsider, an observer, a historian looking back at the past with no real connection to any of it, so she passed it and did another wide angle arch with her light. “I think we should concentrate on larger items.”

“Like the car?” he called out.

“Yeah, we’ll work our way to it.”

A voice from outside shouted, “Are you ok in there?” Mr Yow had come to check on them. They both shouted that they were and he mumbled something and left again.

The further they ventured the more packed it became and at one point he was pressed into her back as they passed down a narrow corridor between two high industrial shelving units.

“Sorry,” he whispered. She smelt dusty, not as nice as last night but he enjoyed the closeness, her body heat was intoxicating. He’d enjoyed sleeping with her too. He’d booked them into a motel, a nicer one than the Stay-N-Save, but had booked two rooms and wasn’t sure how he felt about it. If it were up to him it would be one room and no clothes.

“It’s ok.” She looked over her shoulder at him coyly, his eyes were that wonderful shade of dangerous again. Her heart pounded in her chest and she knew he was as attracted to her as she was to him. She tried not to think about it or wiggle too much against him as she slid past though. Time and a place and all that. “Why don’t you check out the desk over there?” She said a little too squeakily for her liking. “And I’ll take these shelves?”

He thought he’d much rather stay with her, especially when he saw the ghastly taxidermy owl with its wings outstretched wide and its beak in a silent scream on the desk, but did as asked, this was her rodeo after all but still pouted. There was nothing on the desk though, just reams of blank classical music sheets. “Found anything?” he shouted, turning the owl around so it wasn't gawping at him.

“No,” she shouted. Another twinkling of musical notes echoed and she shone her flashlight through the shelves but it was just mice on the piano again so she went back to her shelves. They were stuffed full with mannequins, some complete, others deformed or missing limbs. It was creepy. She was reminded of a catacomb and shuddered. Her light hit a row of plastic heads and she jumped in fright.

Miss the rest of me. She kept going back to it. Was it something to do with the mannequins? Some of them were dissected after all. Was it something to do with a body? Lecter took and ate body parts after all. What if they stumbled on a pancreas or a tongue or a foot.

“Miss the rest of me…”

“Sorry?” Mulder said from the other side of the shelf. He’d wasted no time in making his way round to the car and was snapping more photos while waiting for her to join him.

“Miss Hester Mofet, it’s an anagram. Miss the rest of me. I was wondering if it had anything to do with these mannequins.”

He smiled. Now that sounded more like Lecter, more like his game playing self. “Miss the rest of me, what do you suppose it means?”

It could mean anything. She was half expecting to stumble upon a boobytrap. Maybe she’d lose her head in here. Coming round the shelving unit to stand next to him they looked at each other and then the car. There wasn’t much else, in terms of big ticket items, left to search.

They looked at each other curiously and then each took a corner of the moth-eaten flag drape, smelling strongly of mouse piss and mold, and swept it back to reveal a big, long and tall 1931 Packard in maroon, dusty despite its covering. Curtains closed off the back passenger compartment and it was backed up against a wall, so they wouldn’t be able to open the boot door, but from what they could see of the steering wheel and dash it all looked original.

“Wow!” It was the most amazing car she’d seen and she wasn’t that much of a car person. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t impress you.”

No, he was impressed. Very much so. It was class personified. A beautiful car indeed. He wasn’t quite sure it beat Grandpa Mulder’s racing green Model T from 1926 but it was close. He tested the driver's door as it was nearest but it wouldn’t budge. Great.

Scully moved around to the other side, pushing more of the tarp out of the way. The handle of the passenger door gave way quickly when she tested it and she indicated he should come round.
“The place taste came to die,” he quipped, opening the door wider to get a good look inside. “Liberace called, he wants his limo back.”

Pouting theatrically she could only agree. The interior was ghastly, someone had kitted it out in lemonade pink frill and a ton of white lace. Pure 1970s Vegas chintz. Using her torch she illuminated more of the interior and leaned in. Over the hiss of stale air there was a familiar smell to the cab but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was exactly.

The broad backseat came into view and she gasped, pulling out immediately and exclaiming loudly, “Jesus christ!”

“What!” he asked, alarmed. Her face was horribly pale.

“There’s someone on the back seat, there’s no head.” Her heart was pounding and she felt sick. Her voice was coming out in barely a whisper. “Miss the rest of me.”

Oh god, is this really what Lecter meant? He moved her aside gently and looked in for himself, his head immediately dropping in relief. It wasn’t a real body and they didn’t need to return the car to Liberace, he was already in situ. It was a very old fashioned shop dummy dressed in a vintage ball gown, complete with accessories of costume pearls, fur stole, elbow gloves and a cigarette holder. She was surrounded by dried cherry blossom petals.

He imagined Lecter sitting besides the dummy, sipping co*cktails. It was absurd and he wanted to laugh so he shook the thought free.

There were several items of interest next to her, though he couldn’t make out what exactly. He stretched to reach them, even leaning over the seat, but couldn’t even get a fingertip to them, never mind grasp anything and there was no way he’d be able to fit in the narrow gap between the drivers cap and passenger compartment. He cursed the fact they didn’t have better flashlights.

“It’s another mannequin,” he said, coming back out to rejoin her after recording the scene. She chuckled nervously, almost embarrassed so he patted her on the arm to reassure her, it wasn’t an uncommon mistake in the dark. “There's some stuff on the back seat. I want to get a better look at it, do you think you could squeeze in and take a look for me?”

“Yeah,” she replied, not happy but willing to chip in where needed. Taking deep breaths to calm herself she took his offered camera and climbed back in. She still couldn’t shake her nerves though and gave the mannequin a glare when she confronted it again with her light.

She sniffed and the familiar smell from earlier came into focus as she realized what it was. Formaldehyde. “You smell that Mulder,” she asked, turning her head to look at him. He shook his head so she explained, “It’s formaldehyde, I think something's being preserved here.”

He blanched. So not a body, a head? It was the only part of the lady missing. He didn’t voice his concerns. He hoped it was a mannequin head rather than a real one. He had his doubts.

Clambering over the top of the back seat and bridging the gap to her nemesis she could finally see what Mulder had gazed upon. He shone his light in her direction and was glad of the extra light as she sifted through the items on the seat. Junk mostly: a tangle of coat hangers, a lap rug, an ugly pair of spare pumps with too many tassels, a vintage valentine with lots of papercut hearts. Nothing of any note or value.

She examined the mannequin, silently telling the well dressed lady it was lucky not to have a head as she would’ve knocked it off for giving her that scare (she did however poke it’s shoulder hard when she brushed against it and gave herself a jolt. Her own jumpiness was starting to get to her) and there were a couple of loose tailors patches in the mannequin's handbag both in the shape of small diamonds but they didn’t seem to mean anything so she put them back after taking a picture with mulder’s camera.

“Anything?”

“Not, so far,” she replied loudly over the squeaking of the car seat that groaned every time she moved. “It’s just more… stuff.” She sat frustratedly on the seat. “I don’t get it.”

“What are we missing?” He climbed in and twisted himself around so that he was facing her from the front passenger seat.

She thought long and hard about it and didn’t have a single clue. She watched as Mulder puffed his now grimy cheeks out in consideration and had to smile. Even filthy he had a way about him. She sniffed the air, trying to figure out where exactly the formaldehyde was coming from and looked down, frowning as she did so.

Her eyes widened as she spotted it. Between the stockinged legs of the fancy mannequin was a dark red hood. She slid off the seat to investigate, her curiosity winning through. She reached with a shaking hand to pull the cloth away and, as what was underneath came into sharp focus, she recoiled, alarmed. Her hand hit the edge of a coat hanger as she lurched backwards along the floor but luckily it didn’t break the skin this time as she still had her gloves on.

A head.

It was stuffed into an unbranded bell jar, its nose flat against the glass. Its blue eyes staring blankly and its mouth agape. It was not in a particularly good way as the jar had leaked a little and the skin was bleached in places but it was well enough preserved for it to still be intact and for her to make out it had brown hair underneath a blond wig, was unshaven and was, most definitely, male.

It took her a full minute to steady herself and then she pulled herself up using the back of the passenger seat. “Mulder, there’s a severed human head back here.” Her voice came out more shaky than she would’ve liked but given that he looked like he wanted to vomit she stopped trying to hide it.

“Don’t touch it,” he warned. “Take some pictures and tell me what you see.”

She reluctantly turned back to it and repointed the camera, taking shots from multiple angles. Putting her professional doctor's head on she got down low to it and lifted the skirt out of the way to get a proper look. She was proud of herself for regaining her calm composure and even managed a smile when she spotted the large rabbit vibrator wedged between the mannequin's legs as it was the same one she owned.

“Well it’s a white male, between 25 and 35 I would guess.” She tapped the glass and the head bobbed slightly in the liquid and the wig slipped. She could see he was wearing earrings, makeup too though it had become hideously smeared from years suspended in liquid. “Severed at the neck, no other wounds as far as I can see. Lots of makeup on the head, looks like he’s dressed as a woman.”

She looked up just as he sat facing forward, his head down.

“You ok Mulder?”

He got out of the car. His voice was low and pained, “We need to speak to Lecter.”

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

She was worried, very worried.

Mulder hadn’t said a single word to her since the lockup, since he’d phoned in the head to the Baltimore Field Office and had called ahead to the asylum to say they were on their way. He’d ignored every attempt at conversation and had spent his time looking up at the sky, at the snow that had turned to torrential rain, and trying to spot where the claps of thunder were coming from. Even as she pulled into the car into the hospital grounds and into a bay he acknowledged nothing.

He went to open his door and she stopped him, leaning across him and grabbing his wrist. He stared at her in confusion.

She looked at him kindly, “I can go on my own, if you’d prefer.”

“No, I should be there.” He should. He had to be there for the women dying at the hands of Buffalo Bill if not for himself. “If he can tell us something about Buffalo Bill then...” he shrugged forlornly, he would endure for that. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her with this but she was a trainee and after her last visit she could do with some support. Besides, he really needed to confront his fears, get his anger out, deal with Lecter and move on, once and for all.

She wasn’t so sure. He looked awful: a storm of angst, pain and sadness and most definitely anger. She wanted to hold him again. “It’s ok to walk away, to take a step back if you need to.”

He looked at her, at her earnest open expression. The tenderness evident in her eyes. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him, not for a second, but she wouldn’t push it. “Ok. Then let’s get this over and done with so we can get the hell out of here.”

He nodded, thankful.

Outside the wind and rain battered them and lightning flashed in the sky above, illuminating the eerie towers and barred windows of the asylum. They ran across the lot to be met by Barney.

He ushered them quickly out of the torrent, “Agent Scully, welcome back. Mulder, it’s been a while.”

He didn’t reply. Just glared at the friend of a friend.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Ten minutes later they were in front of Lecter’s cell. It seemed colder down here this time and the corridor was not nearly as noisy from chatter and shouting as it was on her last visit. The light’s dimmer too, including in Lecter’s cell though someone had placed a TV in front of it that illuminated a small part of it.

They couldn’t see the man inside, he was lost in the shadows, however they both knew he was in there as when they’d arrived the TV was blaring evangelical nonsense at a high volume and he’d thanked Mulder for turning the volume off. The man in gaudy robes still ranted and raved on the screen, swayed in front of his choir, but at least they couldn’t hear him now.

Scully had taken a seat in front of the glass, her aching legs crossed for better comfort, while Mulder had retreated to lean against the wall behind her. He looked pissed and not at all like he wanted to engage so she left him to brood. Both of them looked and smelled damp.

“It was an anagram, wasn’t it, Doctor?” she asked, still picking away wet hair strands that’d plastered itself to her face. “Hester Mofet… ‘the rest of me’ meaning you rented that storage unit.” There was no answer so she looked to Mulder for guidance but he wasn’t even looking, his eyes were fixed at a point down the hall so she turned back. “You put those things in there, paid in advance, ten years ago, we want to know why…”

The food carrier tray suddenly swished out of the cell and clanged making her look at it. Neither had heard Lecter move but she wasn’t surprised. She looked up and noted there were two clean, folded, white towels inside. She hesitated but she was soaked and feeling bedraggled and so was Mulder no doubt so she reached in and grabbed them.

“Thank you,” she said to Lecter while passing Mulder his. He dried his hair furiously to the point it was soon spiked up. She just did the ends of hers and draped it round her neck before sitting again.

The light came on noisily, the relays working to help complete the circuits of the old wiring, and Lecter came into view. His cell had been tossed and stripped bare of his books, drawings and even his toilet seat. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the back wall, his arms resting on one raised knee. He seemed a little fed up even if his face remained impassive as he looked first at Mulder, giving him the barest of nods, to acknowledge him, then at her.

“What happened to your drawings?”

“Punishment, you see, for Miggs. Just like that gospel programme. When you leave, they'll turn the volume way up again. Dr Chilton does enjoy his petty torments.”

“I can speak to…”

“Pointless,” he practically barked, the tone of a man who endured. He looked as if he appreciated her kind words though. “Your bleeding has stopped.”

The idea that he could smell her knee turned her stomach. Would he be able to smell her menstruation, if it was her time of the month, too? She dreaded to think how sensitive his nose was. “It’s nothing, just a scratch.” She poked at the torn material and lifted the small flap the nail had created to show him. “Hester Mofet?”

“Which one of you solved that?”

“I solved the anagram, though Agent Mulder was the one to figure out the ‘Your Self’ storage facility.”

An almost imperceptible smile appeared on Lecter’s face. “Coming together is a beginning, staying together is progress, working together is success.”

“And killing people is murder,” Mulder interjected sarcastically, his tone contemptuous. He couldn’t begin to describe how much he hated Lecter, how much he would do anything to be elsewhere.

“He speaks. You look well enough, how’s your stomach?”

Scully looked up at Mulder and noted he was now glaring at Lecter, his hand defensively at his waist. “Perhaps if we could concentrate…” she tried.

“It’s fine, thank you.”

Lecter nodded his head. “And Diana?”

Mulder tried not to let his emotions show as Lecter would feed off of them. He also suspected Lecter already knew. “Traveling the world.”

“Ah, I see. Well do send my regards if ever she flutters back home.”

He didn’t say anything, just bobbed his head politely. It almost felt like old times being here, chatting to Lecter, but truth be told he was struggling being in front of Lecter again. The environments of the narrow corridor and closed in walls didn’t help of course but Lecter had a way of making everything feel claustrophobic and he felt like he couldn’t breath.

“Such a shame what happened to poor old Francis.” Lecter remarked, his tone full of mirth.

“Is it?”

“He got what he deserved. And you did a fine job, ridding us of him. The world is a happier place.”

“For you, perhaps.”

“Me, Agent Mulder, with my four walls? Hardly what one would call heaven.”

“Whose head is in that bell jar?”

Lecter hummed in his soothing tone but didn’t move. “Why don't you ask me about Buffalo Bill?”

Mulder looked exhausted and Lecter looked like he was playing with a mouse so Scully jumped in. “Do you know something about him?”

“I might if I saw the case file. Reports and pictures.”

Mulder cleared his throat, annoyed, and by the look she was giving him he knew Scully had to agree that it perhaps wasn’t the best idea. “After what happened the last time we came to you for help?” Mulder replied.

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want my help, would you, Agent Mulder? You wouldn’t have brought the delightful Dr. Scully with you either.”

He slumped against the wall, defeated. Lecter was right. As usual. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Lecter nodded curtly. “I trust that you will.”

“So what do you know about Buffalo Bill, about the head in Hester Mofet’s storage unit?” Scully asked, seizing the opportunity. “Talk to us Doctor, you’re not likely to get a fairer hearing than this.”

“You know Dr. Scully, I do believe you are right.” He sighed, adjusted his leg. “His name is Klaus Bjetland, he was a Norwegian merchant seaman. A former patient of mine, and also the lover of another, whose romantic attachments and proclivities ran to, shall we say, the exotic.”

While she was writing the information down and wondering if seeing a patient and their lover was a conflict of interest she asked, “Did you kill him?”

“Klaus, no. I merely tucked him away, very much as I found him actually, in that ostentatious vehicle.” He smirked, “Ghastly isn’t it?”

Neither answered. What was the point when everyone already knew it was vulgar?

“Klaus Bjetland, why do I know that name?” The minute Lecter had said the name it had piqued Mulder’s interest. He knew it had something to do with one of Lecter’s victims. It suddenly clicked.

“Raspail’s lover?” They still had him listed as a missing person, he was annoyed at himself for not connecting the dots sooner. Raspail had apparently been obsessed with the man.

Lecter smiled at Scully as if to say, ‘didn’t I tell you he was good’. “Yes, he was. Though Benjamin Raspail didn’t kill him either. The man was too weak, his wrists were too flabby for the flute, never mind decapitation. It was Raspail’s storage facility that I put him in. I merely took over the lease.”

“Do you know who killed Klaus?” she asked.

“No, who can say. Death was the best thing for him though, the best thing for both of them. Klaus was a bore and Benjamin with his gluey flute was a blight on culture. Their therapies were going nowhere.”

“Klaus, he was wearing makeup, a wig. Was he a transvestite?”

“In life, no. Garden variety manic depressive. Tedious, very tedious. He never shut up. He spoke a lot of transformation though as did others I spoke to around that time. I look at Klaus as a failed experiment: a fledgling killer’s first effort at transformation.”

“What can you tell me about their relationship?”

Lecter raised an eyebrow, suggesting that none of this mattered, but he indulged her anyway. “Raspail was obsessed with Klaus, he had a thing for sailors as I recall. Young ones. They met in San Diego when Raspail was doing a summer teaching class at the conservatory there,” he grimaced, offended that Raspail had passed his ‘talents’ on to others no doubt, “Klaus jumped ship and they made their way east in Raspail’s gaudy car once Raspail was called back with the Philharmonic and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Do you know how he died?”

“My guess would be some kind of strangulation, hanging perhaps. Raspail and his closest were into erotic asphyxiation, did you notice how closely Klaus was trimmed under the jaw?”

She had. Perhaps it had been to cover something up. “I did, it might have been done to remove a high ligature mark.”

“Exactly.”

“How did you come across the head?”

“Via Raspail. He carried it around with him in a bowling bag. It was starting to get him noticed.” Lecter wafted his hand in front of him to indicate he was talking about it smelling through decomposition.

She wanted to ask if that was the real reason he’d killed Raspail. Instead she went with something else. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to report Raspail to the police, why go to all that trouble to cover up Kraus’ death if you didn’t kill him?”

He looked at Mulder pointedly. “And have the police clomping through my private things, my life? Oh dear no. At the time I still had certain private amusem*nts of my own, I still had my eyes on Raspail. How did you feel when you first saw Klaus Dr. Scully?”

Behind her she felt Mulder roll his eyes and shift warningly, don’t let him get in your head. She wouldn’t, not this time. She felt stronger and Mulder was here to pull her back if needed. “Scared at first, because of the unknown, because it was dark and cold and there were so many mice around, and then exhilarated.”

“Why?”

“A few reasons.”

Lecter sat up and smiled. “You’re blushing, tell me why.”

She looked down at the floor, back at Lector and shrugged. “Because we were doing real police work, because what you told me wasn’t a lie.”

“That’s not all. Why?”

“I wanted to…” she stopped embarrassed. She knew Mulder was still watching her. She rushed the next, “I wanted to impress Agent Mulder, I wanted to prove my worth, show him that I was a valuable asset on the case.” She really wanted to follow this to the very end, not to the end of the clue but to the end of the whole case.

Mulder made a noise, kind of like a hum, that wasn’t loud enough for her to make out properly but Lecter pounced. “Oh I don’t believe you have anything to worry about on that front, I think Agent Mulder is quite enamored with you already.”

She dared a look. He refused to meet her gaze however, his eyes locked on Miggs’ empty cell. Her heart raced and her face reddened even further.

“It would seem you like him too. Do you think Agent Mulder will help your career?”

“I haven’t thought about it and Agent Mulder and I have nothing but a healthy working relationship.” A lie. They got on very well as friends too and she was all too aware of her desire for him. She was excited by him.

“I think that’s your first lie to me, Dr. Scully. How disappointing.” He clicked his tongue and watched her, trying to bore into her soul it felt like. “Do you think Agent Mulder wants you sexually? Do you think he visualizes scenarios, exchanges? Do you think he thinks about f*cking you, your little legs wrapped around his waist as he takes you, you bent over as he empties into you from behind, your lips wrapped around his...”

“Pack it in.” Mulder stepped forward, heaving himself away from the wall. He’d had enough of this vulgar B.S. Lecter was deliberately trying to entice a reaction out of Scully, get her confession to things that could be used against her.

“I think that’s a ‘yes’ don’t you agree Dr. Scully?”

She glared at him, embarrassed, horrified and not knowing what to say. Perhaps Mulder did think those things, perhaps she did too, but it was no business of anyone’s, least of all Lecter’s. “Other people’s fantasies don’t interest me Doctor, frankly what you’ve just said is the sort of thing Miggs would spout.” She was proud of herself for the recovery.

“No anymore,” was the slow reply. “I just find it interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“Your need to be liked. Your urge to please, your urge to please Agent Mulder.”

“Everyone wants to be liked,” she replied nonchalantly.

“Not Agent Mulder, he doesn’t care. But you do.”

“I’m sure when I have Agent Mulder’s experience under my belt the need to please will dampen.”

Lecter didn’t look convinced. “Perhaps but will the constant worrying about how you fit in, how you look, dampen too?” She was suddenly lost, feeling attacked. She just sat there and he carried on. “You worry about how you look, don’t you? You desperately want to be seen as one of the boys but you want to keep hold of your femininity.”

“You know it’s very rude to play on someone’s insecurities,” Mulder interjected. He shook his head. Scully was a great Agent with a lot of potential but she should never have been chosen for this. She looked exhausted, tired under the weight. “Earlier, you spoke of ‘transformation', what do you mean by ‘transformation’ Doctor?”

Lecter wagged his finger. “It doesn’t work like that any more, Agent Mulder. Dolarhyde was free, this is not. I want something in return.”

“What,” asked Scully, finding her voice.

“I’ve been in this room for too long and while I know they will never ever let me out while I'm alive I would still like a view. I want a window where I can see a tree, or even water. I want to be in a federal institution far away from Dr Chilton.”

Easier said than done, she thought. “What did you mean by "fledgling killer"? Are you saying that he's killed again, are you saying you know who killed Klaus Bjetland?”

“I'm offering you a psychological profile on Buffalo Bill, based on the case evidence. I'll help you catch him.”

“You know who he is, don't you?” Mulder sighed. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lecter was in communication with whoever it was, just like he had been with Dolarhyde. His ruined stomach muscles contracted in fear at where this all might go.

“I know lots of things. Can you risk letting another woman die? He’ll go on and on killing and years from now when you catch him, as I’m sure you will eventually, you’ll see that I was right and I could’ve helped. I could have saved lives. You’re a doctor, Dr. Scully, think about saving lives, how it feels.”

She nodded. Lecter was right. They could end this sooner rather than later and if they could stop one more death then surely they needed to make the deal. She would speak to Mulder later. “Tell us who decapitated your patient, Dr.”

He smiled enigmatically, “All good things to those who wait. I've waited but how long can you and Agent Mulder wait? Our boy must already be searching for that next special lady.”

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Scully was on a high feeling exhilarated again, buoyed by the visit to Lecter. She felt like real progress had been made and they had a plan of action. “Will you deal with Lecter, give him what he wants in exchange for Buffalo Bill?” she asked excitedly as they made their way back to the car. The rain had eased but not stopped.

“No.”

His reply was surly and she was incredulous. “Why not?”

He sighed, she couldn’t be serious could she? “The FBI doesn’t deal with maniacs Dr. Scully.” He deliberately used Lecter’s preferred method of address for her and he could tell it annoyed her.

She slowed to a stop in the middle of the almost empty lot. She felt a little sad by the turn of events. “But he has information…”

He laughed tiredly. He didn’t want to call her naive but she was being… untrained. “Oh I’m sure he does but Lecter is playing games, stringing you along, that’s what he does.” He looked behind him and realized he was 10 meters away. “It was a sh*tshow in there.”

“I thought it was very helpful…”

Not only was he frustrated but the anger he’d been feeling all evening started to bubble over. “You really believe him don’t you? That he has all the answers?” He shook his head disbelievingly as she caught up. “You have no f*cking idea about that man and the things he’s done.”

“I read your file, I read what he did to you,” she defended standing tall but he was off again and she had to jog to keep up. Luckily the car was only a few feet away and when they stopped she grabbed his arm and implored, “I’ve seen your scar, I know, but if there’s a chance we could stop this we should take it.” He was avoiding her gaze however and she wanted to cry.

He wanted to scream. This was only going to end badly, why couldn’t she see! “You believe everything he said?”

She hesitated. She didn’t trust Lecter, not an inch, but she couldn’t deny he was offering them something useful and he had provided them with the Hester Mofet clue. They had to give him at least an inch. “Yes.”

He shook his hand free of her. “Jesus christ. Everything? Right down to my so-called sexual fantasies about you?”

She startled, why did his harsh tone sting? The bitter emphasis on ‘so-called’ felt like a knife. Did she want him to think of her that way? The only answer was yes. “No, of course not. Lecter was trying to unnerve me. I think he was trying to size me up.”

“He’s trying to see if he can use you.”

“And he didn’t succeed. You think Lecter is the most offensive person I’ve faced? You think vulgar talk about my sex life is going to have me wringing a hankie and crying into my pillow. Well, let me tell you something, Agent Mulder, I’m a lot tougher than that.”

He hoped so. But Lecter was up to something. He could feel it in his bones. They were on a dangerous path and she was merrily skipping down it merrily waving a white flag.

“Besides,” she continued while unlocking the car door. “We learnt a lot about Raspail and Klaus…”

“That we would’ve figured out on our own. We would’ve identified the head and connected it to Raspail once the lab pulled the DNA from it as we already have Klaus Bjetland’s DNA on file. Lecter gave us nothing!” He was practically shouting by the time he’d finished. “He’s just making you think he handed you a gold coin.”

“Maybe,” she said in a small voice.

“What?”

“I just think you’re wrong. I think we should take a chance. What difference does it make, all Lecter wants is a change of scenery in exchange for a profile, it’s not like he’s asking for a release.”

“We have a profile.”

“That’s not working. Don’t you want to end this?”

“Don’t…” He turned away and looked up at the night sky, letting the last of the rain splash his face. He was worn out, squashed under the weight of the case, by Lecter and by the expectation and pressure the Bureau always put him under when they got a high profile case. Escaping Patterson hadn’t really changed anything and boy had he learned that fast. “Don’t… don’t put this on me. I get it every day from people at work.”

“I’m sorry.” She genuinely was. “But it was the BSU who wanted Lecter involved in the hope he might offer information and now he’s offering it we cower away? That’s not right.”

“Not like this!”

She didn’t know what to say or do anymore. She was exhausted and so was he. “Let’s just go to the hotel, get some sleep.” She didn't know if that was an offer to share a room again but she didn’t correct it. “We can deal with this in the morning.”

He looked at her, he didn’t need sleep. He needed something else, something more primal and he wasn’t sure she would be up for that. He did let her know he was angry however, “The last two previous times we dealt with Lecter he stabbed me and sent someone to my house. I nearly lost my life and my wife left me during the fallout. If you want to deal with him, that's on you. Put it in your report and make a recommendation to Skinner.” He started to walk away. He knew of some bars nearby.

She tried to reach for him but he was already off. She called out, “Where are you going!”

“To get a drink!” he snapped.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Sat on her bed in front of her bulky Macintosh Portable and hugging a pillow she was struggling to put words to screen. What would she say to Skinner? She was having trouble processing it all. She had no idea what to do with what Lecter had said, never mind make a recommendation. Mulder wouldn’t deal with him but would Skinner and the FBI? Would she? Everything was telling her they had to listen to Lecter. He knew who killed those women, she could feel it!

It was easy for her though. This wasn’t personal. Poor Mulder. She looked at the connecting door forlornly. He still wasn’t back and it’d been two hours since she’d watched him hail a cab. She’d thought about going after him but knew he probably just needed to let off steam. She just hoped he didn’t bring a woman back to his room, she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear listening to him f*ck some cheap floozy barfly.

Her mind was a mess, she realized she was jealous of someone that didn’t even exist and put the pillow up to her face and screamed into it with heavy frustration. This would not do. She wasn’t usually a jealous person, she wasn’t the type, so why now? Her mind taunted her, sing-songing childishly back, you want him for yourself that’s why!

God she did. She couldn’t help it. She was only human and he was so very attractive and intelligent and passionate. He was also completely different to every other man she’d come across.
Her stomach was in knots thinking about him.

Of course that didn’t mean she was going to do anything about it. Realistically what could she do? He wasn’t even here and she’d just ended a relationship.

She tossed the pillow behind her and leaned heavily against it and looked around. The hotel Mulder had chosen, The Old City Inn, wasn’t anything special but it had just the right amount of charm about it and she was going to make the most of it, especially the large cozy bed and the giant bathtub in the en suite.

She heaved herself off the bed and went to the bathroom and began drawing a bubble bath, choosing some complimentary poppy infused soak and tipping it in generously, basking in the lucious steam as she did so. She’d already rid herself of her cold, damp, smelly clothes as soon as the annoyingly persistent bellhop had disappeared and now was ready to throw off the easy blouse and skirt combo she’d changed into. Her body ached just thinking about sinking into the water. She’d not had a bath in weeks as the academy only offered showers.

When the tub was full to about halfway, a good temperature and suitably foamy she shut off the taps and was just about to strip when the phone in the bedroom shrilled offensively. She let her head drop in annoyance, this had better be good she silently grisled as she went to the other room again, slamming the bathroom door closed behind her as she did so.

“Hello?” she answered, thinking it could be Mulder. Hoping it was Mulder.

“Dana,” the gruff voice called out and she knew who it was. “It’s Jack, where the hell are you?”

She slumped in disappointment. He must’ve gotten her letter telling him it was over. He sounded pissed. “I’m out of town, in Baltimore actually.”

“I know that, I tracked you down!”

She tried not to focus on the how of that and instead sighed while wearily satting down on the bed. Next door she heard the door to Mulder’s room open and close, a lock being slammed into position and then loud grumbling. She got up to go to him and then remembered she was still on the phone and cursed the man in Virginia. “I’m on assignment,” she remembered to say. “I probably should’ve told you.”

“Yeah you should have,” he flared, his voice bridling quickly towards anger. “I’ve not seen you in days and you missed my class. I was worried…” He cursed and then snapped, “And then I find your letter in my internal mail box.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do.” The door was firmly closed. Should she knock or just go to him? Should she leave him be?

“You could’ve spoken to me, I thought I was worth more.” She didn’t reply so he asked, “When are you going to be back. I want to talk.”

She wasn’t even listening any more and she thought he could tell. “I don’t know, tomorrow I think. It depends on when Agent Mulder…”

“Spooky?”

“Don’t call him that,” she bristled. “He’s a good Agent, we’re doing some good work on the Buffalo Bill case.” A loud smash reverberated through the room and she looked behind her at the wall in shock. It sounded like Mulder had thrown a lamp against it. She needed to hang up.

“He has you working on that, you’re just a student.”

She snorted. That was convenient. It seemed that only mattered to him when it came to other people. “Yes but I’m here because they thought I could add something due to my medical background.”

“We’ll see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked defensively. She wanted to tell him not to be so stupid, or territorial. Instead she stood and started pacing angrily. If only she had a pack of cigarettes on her. She’d been trying to give up yet it kept pulling her back like an old friend. Now was one of those times.

“Nothing,” he said tiredly. “Look, I just needed to hear your voice, that's all. Talk about the case I’m working on.”

“Right.” She was in no mood. “Can we do this when I get back?”

“You’re never here even when you are.”

She was busy, and had her own career to think of. It wasn’t personal. More loud complaining came through from next door, and what sounded like crying, and she paused, looked at the door and took a step towards it. “Look Jack, I need to…”

She had to count how many weeks they’d been together. As long as she’d been at Quantico. The wine and cheese evening at induction, tipsy grabby hands and a rush towards an empty dorm room. Not long really. Hardly enough time to get worked up about schedule conflicts and deep emotions and hardly a life together. Hardly enough time for accusations, hardly enough time for him to be telling her that she needed to be at his beck and call so that he felt like he had a girlfriend. He hadn’t even asked how she was getting on and he was starting to stifle her, he was starting to remind her of Daniel.

“Are you even listening?”

“Yeah.” No. The whole world was breaking apart in the next room. Someone was bound to complain. And then it stopped and it unnerved her.

He was talking in a rush suddenly, “Right this case, god Dana, the level of violence, I can’t get a hold on it but I feel myself getting into their heads, and I'm scared by what I'm feeling…”

She wanted to cry herself, a war waging once again inside her. Stay and talk to Jack, be his shoulder to cry on. Or go and open that door and comfort Mulder, and be a mutual cushion to each other. Mulder with his brilliant reputation and heart on his sleeve. Mulder with his grief. She looked at the ceiling hoping for divine intervention.

She didn’t have to wait long for it. The connecting door flew open, crashing into the wall with a loud bang, and he stood before her, his eyes pure fire and his features hard. He looked at her like she was the final meal for a condemned man.

She hung up the phone and went to him.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

Mulder was on her quickly, cradling her face with his hands and seeking her mouth with his own. He was hard and unforgiving and tasted like heaven. She was instantly hooked. She needed this just as much as he did and she was instantly lost, pushed over the edge of all that they’d been through in the last few days.

She kissed him back in kind, opening herself up willingly, her tongue snaking towards his in a desperate attempt to show him that she wanted everything he was going to give her. She could feel him smile against her as she groaned and they were soon senseless, both eagerly responding to what was being offered by the other, a medicine to a desperate situation.

He pulled away though and she pouted. It was only long enough to rip his coat off and toss it aside however and he was soon pressing his lips to hers again, this kiss as dangerous as the last. Lips were bitten, tongues fought for dominance and she quickly made a solemn vow right there that this was going to be the hottest, most unforgettable sex either one of them had ever had. It might be a one off so she was sure as hell going to make the most of it.

Realizing she was yet to touch him she reached for his t-shirt and began tugging it out of the waistband of his jeans but his hands were quick and he was stern as he gripped hers, there was only one person in charge here and it wasn’t her. She could only whimper against him at the thought. Her gasp soon turned into a pleasurable sigh however when he began pushing her back and towards the bathroom door. She was panting at his quick intention but did wonder if it was worth telling him that she’d only ever had sex in a bed before.

Rumbling his approval when she started unbuttoning her blouse he met her beautiful gaze unwaveringly. He was hungry for more but had to tell her, “You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever met, you know that right?” Nothing truer had ever escaped his lips.

She smiled, she didn’t quite believe him but she liked a compliment just as much as the next woman. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me Scully, it’s the truth.” He took off his gun and badge and tossed them onto the dresser, busy hands making light work. “You have a choice: the bed or here, against the door.” It was the only choice he would give her.

She pulled him back down for another kiss, not so easy with her 5 '3 height to his 6’, but she’d already decided she wanted him the way he wanted to take her. She wanted him here and now. Not later, not in some cozy bed with nice fresh white cotton sheets and too much time to think. She didn’t want slow love making, not for their first time, she wanted his wild nature unleashed. She felt feral, as savage as the city they were in, and wanton like nothing could restrain her in this moment, and soon let him know with a press of her body to his. She was sure she’d never been this turned on in her life, her underwear was already feeling uncomfortable. He mumbled a ‘good girl’ into her mouth but she silenced him by pulling on his lip with her teeth.

She stumbled slightly as he pushed her back hard against the door but he soon put her at ease by breaking away long enough to yank his t-shirt and jumper off over his head in one movement and threw it away, neither caring where it landed. She was more than happy to note that his eyes looked as wild and out of control as she felt but she didn’t get very long to look as he soon stole her mouth again.

In their passion she thought she tasted more blood, though who’s she didn’t know, she didn’t care. Her hands roamed freely over his back, over his chest and down his arms and his own helped her out of her blouse.

She gasped when she felt him thrust impressively against her. Not ridiculously huge but certainly well above average and rock hard, thick and easily made to satisfy. It was almost overwhelming and the sounds she was making sounded obscene even to her own ears and they were really only kissing at this point.

He briefly looked down at her, at her sensible cotton covered breasts. They were the most beautiful things he’d seen in a long time and he let her know with a chaste kiss to her cheek, making her blush. In the morning he very much hoped he could make love to her, once the anger, the frustration and the searing lust were put to rest they could take their sweet time, be less frenzied. He’d show her exactly how much he enjoyed being with her and he’d spend the rest of his life worshiping her if she let him.

Right now however he felt as primal as he had before he’d left her at the hospital, f*cking her felt like an excellent idea. She knew him, she knew what this case was doing to him, she felt the stress herself. It was only right they worked it out together, scratched that itch. Her chest was heaving in anticipation, waiting for his next move. She looked wild and he ached to be inside her, to f*ck away her defiance and her reason and her tension.

He maneuvered her a little, getting her into a position that was more amenable to being picked up, he wanted to taste every inch of her first though, even if it was a brief sojourn before the main event. She grunted a little when her head connected with the door, but it just spurred them on more. He wouldn’t apologize and nor would she complain, in fact she gasped a ‘yes’ into his mouth. Right now he doubted there was anything that was too rough for them. This would be filthy, hard and exactly what they needed.

Thankfully she was wearing a skirt so he could lift it up when the time came, for now though he leaned down, soothed her lip with his own and pressed his hand to her breast and squeezed her already taunt nipple through the white material, rolling it between two fingers, glad of the cry it elicited. He wanted to make her lose control because that’s exactly how he was feeling.

***

Gasping for breath, she took a moment to admire his body, his defined swimmers muscles, the sprinkling of hair and the scar that made up the perfect him. She was melting, every nerve ending awake and buzzing. Ridiculously dizzy with lust and delirious with want she was turning into a wet puddle. She couldn’t wait to have him inside of her.

It was funny, she thought, how well they were reading each other's desire, his sexual needs were written across his face and she knew she was communicating hers with clear signals just the same. She didn’t love this man, she barely knew him after all, but she felt a deep connection and sure as hell knew that he would be good for her.

“Kiss me,” she whispered breathily and he did, peppering her lips with tender kisses and nipping at her lips, playing with her tongue, exploring. She was quickly reaching for him, massaging his co*ck with an assured hand. He felt heavy and as he thrust it against her palm she knew with great certainty that she’d be feeling him for long after this was over. He had far too much denim on though. The thought was bitter and she desperately needed the barrier gone.

He had other ideas however and she felt him reach down and start hitching her skirt up and bunching it around her waist and couldn’t help her chuckle when he groaned as he came into contact with her wet underwear.

He pressed his fingers against her and she bucked against his hand. Breaking the kiss only to say, “Mulder please.”

He didn’t disappoint, a finger pressing against her still covered cl*t he smirked, “You like that?”

She nodded stupidly, the way he was moving his fingers in a deliberately persistent circular motion was extraordinary. His touch to her cl*t was sending electric shocks throughout her body, from the tip of her toes right to the top of her head and right along her spine. “More.”

His eyes bored into hers, watching everything, his voice rough as he slipped his fingers under the fabric, stroking her folds gently, cupping her and stroking her damp curls, “Jesus, you’re so f*cking wet.”

She couldn’t answer other than in noises. She was utterly at his mercy, writhing on his hand as he slipped a long finger into her, exploring the depths of her body. A second finger soon joined the first, pumping slowly and then quickly finding the most sensitive spot inside of her. She was so close already, so swollen, so ready to explode.

He pulled his hand away and she gasped a frustrated, “Nooo, why did you….”

He answered her wordlessly with an arc of his eyebrow, his fingers slipping from her crotch to his mouth and he grinned at her soft ‘oh’. Like everything else about her her fluids were wonderful, rich and salty. He licked himself clean but soon needed more and this time he would make her come. First though he needed her to enjoy what he just had. The already familiar taste of her needed to be shared.

His lips slid over hers and she pulled him in. She wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to tasting herself, but it was a heady feeling knowing that he was doing it. Her tongue tangled with his, her hands in his soft hair, content to enjoy everything. His lips were amazing, she’d been thinking about them since she’d met him and now she was getting to enjoy them. She was putty in his hands, molding herself to his body as he crushed her to him and thrust roughly into her.

He released her to trail his tongue along her jaw, nibbling her chin, her neck, her ear lobe. His breath was hot, excited, desperately trying to hold onto his resolve. “f*ck me,” she whispered breathlessly. She felt impatient, transformed with desire to the point it didn’t feel like her own. She was a goddess being worshiped.

“Soon,” he ground out. Earlier he’d been desperate to get inside her, now however he was content to take his sweet time. He slid down her body, kissing her exposed skin as he went, playing with her belly button while he sank to his knees, slipping her panties down her legs and off, parting her thighs wider. “First I want to taste you properly.”

“Oh god,” she whispered, watching him breathe her in with ragged breaths. She was thoroughly exposed and he was loving it.

His eyes never left hers as he moved in. She was gushing, her thighs coated an obscene amount and she blushed. Oral sex was not something that any of her previous lovers had been that all inclined towards performing, happy to receive it of course she thought bitterly, but it she was realizing they’d been nothing but selfish. That he was now licking his lips and drinking her in with hungry eyes caused her to arch towards him and wiggle her hips, telling him to get on with it.

He stroked her again, spreading more wetness around, tending to her opening and her cl*t that was thrumming and begging for more contact. She was throbbing, biting her lip and trying not to beg him. He was driving her insane. How the hell he was so good at this?

She could feel his breath as he leaned in, the tip of his nose caressing her mons, the tentative tip of his tongue seeking her bundle of nerves before a wide sweep of his flat tongue loved her from opening to cl*t and back again. Her hands flew to his head, scraping his scalp with her nails, so she could steady herself, she was trembling, her legs like jelly as he lapped at her, swirled his tongue and suckled at her cl*t, occasionally dipping his tongue inside her.

She hit the door again as her head flew back and she saw stars for multiple reasons. “f*ck!” she cried out as he worked her into a frenzy, flicking and rolling his tongue, adding and withdrawing various amounts of pressure with it as he did so. He soon added his fingers into the mix for good measure and she was gone, crying out, begging him not to stop, her muscles contracting tightly, painfully and she was in heaven, on fire and quaking, sobbing his name and thanking god.

He gave her one last long slow lick after riding it out with her and stood up, grinning from ear to ear. “Good?”

“Do you even need to ask?” she replied, sighing her approval and cupping his cheek with an exhausted hand.

He chuckled. He kissed her softly, intimating his own need. He was painfully hard, in desperate need of release before he ended up with a permanent issue. She nodded against him and, sensing her impossible need mixing with his own, he started unbuckling his belt and with slightly fumbling fingers pulled it loose and tossed it in the vague direction of his other clothes. He looked up and shrugged a slight apology for his clumsiness, he hadn’t had sex in over a year and felt stupidly rusty. She didn’t seem to care, her desire stained eyes, mussed hair and flushed cheeks were watching him with bemused interest.

He still felt the need to say, “Sorry.”

“Stop talking.”

“Yes ma’am.” He leaned down, so far down he thought he might end up with a bad back, and kissed her in the v above her breasts before trailing a wet line along the material until he found her hard nub and sucked on it, even through the material she tasted creamy and delicious. He was quickly discovering that Dana Scully had so many different tastes and textures and he loved them all.

It was tender and gentle and it was nice, god was it the nicest thing she’d experienced, but it wasn’t what she wanted and she begged. It was soon ripped off her lips when he grinned mischievously at her and placed her arms around his neck. Grabbing her ass he lifted her up, sliding her up the door. This was why she felt so drawn to him: his strength. Strength in men was such a turn on: emotional or physical it didn’t matter but he had both and she’d take advantage of his physicality. He was so male, so large compared to her and he could easily overpower. Quantico training meant nothing when faced with someone who easily had 80-90 lbs on her and so much height. She was dwarfed by him and felt another surge of moisture to her most intimate place.

Letting go of her lovely little backside he deftly popped the buttons of his jeans open and lowered his briefs as best able to with the use of only one hand, the other he used to hold her up. He hitched her a little higher to level their connection better and to make sure he had hold of her just right, he intended this to be hard and fast and didn’t want either falling over. He moaned, could feel her heat already and he needed to be inside her now. The thought of her still wet and wanting and ready for him sent more blood rushing to his co*ck than he could handle and he was soon aching for release.

She watched him from beneath her lashes and they shared one last grin, his mouth was as bruised and swollen as hers felt and she felt the need to soothe but it could wait. She looked down when she felt him take himself in hand. He was soon poised at her entrance, and after tightening her legs around him to draw him closer, she emitted her permission on a growl.

Her growl turned into a keening cry as he slammed into her right up to the hilt in one swift and fluid motion. “f*ck!” she shrieked. She felt like she was being impaled and torn in two and it felt so f*cking good. It was all pleasure. All Mulder. She couldn’t believe how incredible he felt, how big he was, how she was having to stretch so much to accommodate him. He was commanding and she could feel every single pulse of him. “Mulder…”

“You feel f*cking incredible,” he whispered against her forehead. She was so tight and hot he already felt out of his mind.

She couldn’t reply, any words she might have had were lost as he pulled all of the way out and thrust back into her keenly. Again and again he took her to new heights of ecstasy and already she felt another coiling in her stomach. Her head fell back as he yanked her body towards his over and over. They were crashing together almost violently, he was harsh, brutal in his determination and she loved every second of it and let him know with associated cries, groans and gasps.

Yet none of it was enough. She needed to erase the last few days. “Harder,” she begged, bringing herself down on his co*ck hard to show him what she wanted. “Please…”

He moved his lips off of her neck where he’d been sucking large portions of skin into his mouth. He nodded but not before he dragged her cotton bra down and took a hard nipple between his teeth and pulled, making her yelp. He smiled and circled it hard with his tongue to cool her sensitive flesh down. There was one advantage to his being a profiler, he had experience and knew exactly what a woman like Dana Scully needed. She was dainty and proper until it came to what she really needed and then she was wild.

She was putty in his hands and he loved it, continuing to be guided by her sounds, her little cries and words of encouragement, the occasional loud sob, and gave her what she wanted, gave her the level of ferocity he knew would eventually break her.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted as he f*cked her with all his might and she carried on jerking herself up and down his length. He was just the right level of fast and hard and she let out an almighty cry as he f*cked her over the edge for a second time, her muscles clamping down around him and contracting deliciously. It seemed to go on forever and he was soon whimpering as she continued to squeeze him and pulsate.

She was only just aware she was marking his back with her nails but it seemed to make him go even wilder and he soon bellowed in her ear as he urgently emptied the evidence of their coupling inside of her.

They were both shaking and panting when he eventually stopped moving. He slipped out after a long few minutes of trying to catch his breath and set her down on quivering legs.

“Feeling better now,” she asked coyly, tidying herself up, rehousing her breasts and pulling her skirt down.

He laughed and she joined him.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Even by most people's standards it was warm tonight in East Memphis, Tennessee. Catherine Martin had made sure she’d dressed for it with a trendy pair of jeans and a light cotton t-shirt. The weather was forecasting sunshine and she couldn’t wait to get out to the pool. It might only be early March but the climate here was humid and subtropical and only ever dipped below 10 on the radar in January. Today was approaching 16 and what with the high she was experiencing from the bong hits she'd been having all evening she’d jump in there right now if only she had her bikini with her.

That said, she wasn’t sure she could bear to leave the relative comfort of her boyfriend’s futon for a pool. Cody might not be the world's greatest catch but he was fun and knew how to have a good time, his place was coated in posters of the bands she loved, he had an awesome record collection and he knew where to get the good drugs.

Her mom would be proud.

She giggled at her own misplaced insurrection and chuckled into Cody’s shoulder. He tutted down at her with a vaguely annoyed expression, he was trying to concentrate on the movie they were watching through bleary eyes and ears too attuned to the low hum of the box because of the cannabis. She was trying to forget it, all the moving images were making her dizzy. Besides, she had no interest in flying bats nor in Michael Keaton’s strange dancing eyebrows.

“You’re bein’ so stoopid,” he slurred, nudging her with his shoulder.

She nudged him right back, and giggled some more. “No, you’re stoopid.” As if she’d had the world’s cleverest thought she hiccuped and snorted out, “Hey, I’m with stoopid!”

“Such a dork!” he replied, going back to his screen, and to the commercials that had interrupted his viewing so rudely, and taking another deep hit on the bong.

He offered it to her but she shook her head and whined, “I’m hungry.”

“I have some popcorn,” he choked out around a mouthful of smoke and nodded towards his chaotic but barely used kitchenette. “Somewhere in there anyways.”

She got up and walked the short distance to the small units, the unloved oven, the shabby cupboards and the sink with its permanent tower of used cups and take out boxes. “I’ve got the munchies and all you have is empty boxes,” she scrubbed around in one of the cupboards, found an empty popcorn box and a spray can which she held aloft, “and spray cheese. How are you even still alive?”

He grinned emphatically, “Not all of us can have fancy parents and senators for houses.” He frowned at his own garbled words and then guffawed.

Catherine merely rolled her eyes. Already sobering up she really was hungry and nobody should get between a girl and her food. “I’m going to the shop, give me your car keys.”

“By the door.” He was off again, laughing at an inane snow cone commercial. “Pick up some alcohol and beers and hurry up about it.”

“Jerk,” she said, grabbing the keys and letting herself out after finding her shoes and slipping them on.

She looked at her watch, it was late, well after 9, and she could probably do with checking her messages to see if her mom had called. They were due their weekly check in and she could stop by her own apartment on the way back to Cody’s. It would get it out of the way anyway.

In a rush for independence she wasn’t all that fussed about hanging onto her mom’s every word any more but she would still lend an ear even if all her mom would do was waffle on about some Senate Resolution she was due to oversee and how well Charlotte, her youngest sister, was doing, how her older brother had jumped another rank in the army, and how nice the parties were she was hosting. Catherine, in turn, would spin some yarn about how well she was getting on at college and that her grades were still steady Bs, pushing for As, yes she was still losing weight in time for her mom’s latest campaign photoshoot and yes she’d ditched the loser boyfriend and yes she was making sure to keep her partying out of the papers. Blah, blah, blah.

It was all impossible and made her want to scream. All for show. She couldn’t wait to graduate and be away from her mom’s clutches and stand on her own two feet. She had her own path to tread, she just wished she had the space to put one foot out in front of the other.

Outside a light fog danced off of the Mississippi River and she paused briefly to admire it while she fingered the keys to feel out the one she needed. Above the moon glowed ominously bright and beast-like, a warning to would-be adventurers that while the light may guide you you were on your own if you didn’t have your whits about you.

She smiled to herself, jumped in the car and was soon on her way. A short 20 minutes later she was already emerging from the store, arms full of heavy paper bags and enough food and drink to see them through a good few days (she’d even chanced on some microwavable stuff in the hope she could get Cody engaging with his digestive system). She hadn’t noticed the van that had been following her all day and neither had she seen it park across the lot from Cody's car. If she had it probably wouldn’t have bothered her though, a beat up van for sure but one that resembled thousands of other delivery vans. For all she knew it could easily be on another drop off.

She hummed to herself as she navigated back to her car, dumped her belongings in the boot and climbed back in to begin the journey back home. She didn’t notice the van overtaking her a few minutes later as she sang along to her too loud radio, why would she? maniac drivers were ten-a-penny here. She didn’t notice the glance the driver gave her either, nor his smile. She didn’t even see it park up under the low light street lamp across from her building.

Later on, however, once she’d reached her own place, she did notice the chintzy lamp sitting on the asphalt nearby, and the overstuffed armchair. Both looked straight out of a bordello: dark red with black frills and velvet. She looked at it and thought it funny that it was just sitting there. Had somebody abandoned it? Had one of her neighbors decided to redecorate in colors more suited to the old west and cowboys looking for a good time? Maybe it was someone’s inheritance and they’d decided to leave it out on the street for the rats to claim. It was all it looked good for. Maybe she was getting a new neighbor, people were always moving in and out of the apartments here.

Maybe she’d had too much of the bong.

She shrugged, looked around and spotted the van. She thought she heard someone grunting and heaving and shrugged. Not her circus, not her monkey. She picked out her front door key and smiled when she noticed her cat on the windowsill waiting for her return, waiting for food.

She took a step towards her building but a man clambered out of the van backwards. He looked scruffy, neglected and disheveled but she could also see that he had a cast on his hand and was wearing a sling. A man in need.

Her mother had told her not to talk to strangers, her father too, but she was trusting, too trusting some would say, and she never hesitated to help someone in need and he looked to be struggling. She took a step towards the man and his van as he first placed the lamp inside and then started on the chair. He gripped it with his good hand and was trying to boost it with his knee, the chair fell over and he righted it. This happened several times and he stood staring at it in annoyance.

“Excuse me,” she offered, “Can I help you with that?” Her tone was neutral, helpful but not inviting.

The man turned to look at her and smiled lopsidedly. He had a strange face, she decided but he looked harmless enough.

“Would you mind?” He replied, turning to her and flashing his cast. “I’m having a lot of trouble with this chair because of my arm.”

His voice was strained, odd and almost warped, like he’d tried to change it somehow through artificial means. It wasn’t local anyway.

The rest of him was equally strange. His clothes were the kind you picked up in a hurry, his blond hair was shoulder length but he was hairless otherwise. Both his freckled chest and face were the smoothest she’d ever seen on a grown man. It reminded her of her own face. He was womanly. He’d have a figure to die for if he put on a dress she thought idly. He certainly had enviable cheekbones.

“Not at all,” she finally replied. She stepped in and caught him watching her, she was sensitive to that as men often gave her a lot of sh*t for her size, and it was slightly unnerving but she put it aside.

“Good,” he said, nodding.

She didn’t know what exactly he was saying ‘good’ to but it bothered her and she decided quickly to get this over and done with and go inside. There was an unpleasant odor to the man, like a million tree air fresheners that you hang in your car.

The chair itself was surprisingly light, easily manageable for even the weakest of individuals. She managed it in one quick heave and it was balanced on the wooden panel boards lining the floor of the vehicle.

She wanted to roll her eyes though when he said, “Let’s slide it to the front, if you don’t mind?”

He moved some clutter, a few boxes, a slider for moving furniture or maybe for sliding under a car (it was long enough). She could also see what looked like a small hand winch. She’d heard someone call those kinds of winches coffin winches once which amused her.

She stepped up and shimmied behind it, both wiggling it until it was just about halfway to the seats.

She knew she shouldn’t be in his van, she was certain of it when he asked, "Are you about a size fourteen?" he said.

“What?” she replied, stunned.

Ignoring her he said, "Would you hand me that rope? It's just at your feet."

When she bent down to look he shoved the chair hard catching her off guard. Caught by it she fell backwards and over, hitting her shoulder on the driver's seat and her head on the panel where the handbrake was held. Groggy she looked up as he climbed in and shut the rear doors behind him.

Trying to move out of his grasp, to crawl away, she tried to scream but he was too quick. Not the invalid he’d claimed to be he was supple, lithe and fast moving. He brought his plaster cast down on the back of her head over and over again and whatever scream she’d thought about letting go was soon lost as darkness took over.

He watched her for a long second, a creeping smile playing across his features. He’d chosen well. She was going to be good for him. He’d get a lot of material from her.

He pulled off his fake plaster cast and dared a tentative hand to her prone back, lightly skimming it down her shirt. He pulled back the collar of it and read the label, shuddering in excitement.

“Good,” he said.

He slit the blouse up the back with a pair of bandage scissors that he kept in a small tool kit, and parted the material like Moses parting the Red Sea. Surely a prosperous and bountiful land awaited now. She wasn’t wearing a bra and he touched the part of her back the closure clips would lie.

"Good," he said again. Like a chef supervising a recipe he felt all the ingredients falling into place. He wanted to touch more of her, to see the front of her, but he also didn't want to get caught so he quickly tied her, put tape over her mouth and checked her pulse, she was fine. He wouldn’t do anything to her yet, he liked to watch his girls, liked to take care of his hides before he took what he needed. She would be no exception as he was happy to take his sweet time.

He clambered over her and into the driver’s cab, started the engine and began his long two-hour drive home.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

36 hours ago she was having extremely passionate sex with a thoroughly dominant Mulder and having multiple org*sms, being driven to blessed oblivion by his hands, tongue and co*ck. Unable to keep their hands off each other they’d done it twice more that night in her hotel bed and had only fallen asleep through exhaustion, getting about an hour and a half in before checkout. It was nice waking up to him with his arm lying possessively across her middle. Usually she wasn’t that much of a cuddler, as with most things she liked her space, but with Mulder it all felt different. Since their first, innocent, night together she’d craved his touch, his company, his entire being.

She was certainly paying for it now though through exhaustion, and a very pleasant ache between her thighs, but she didn’t regret a thing.

Well maybe a return to normality. She regretted that had to happen. 36 hours ago she was on an adventure, a taste of what it meant to be a fully qualified FBI agent: discovering heads, speaking to serial killers, giving her deposition to the Baltimore P.D about the storage unit and finishing her report for Skinner, her recommendation they deal with Lecter included (it had to be done but she was grateful to Mulder who’d told her to make her own decision based on her experiences with Lecter and as a field agent).

Now, as she stood leaning against a dice table in the FBI’s mock casino listening to a lecture on money-laundering in gambling, it didn’t hold quite the same level of interest. Later on today she’d be dusting for fingerprints at the Bank of Hogan on their mock street and following that searching for hairs in the mock motel that’d been made up to resemble the scene of a sexual assault. Rounding out the day would be a trip to the outside firing range.

She couldn’t wait for week 10 of her training. It was when she could start specializing. She already had her heart set on the labs and working in pathology. Having a focus would help get Lecter out of her head, he was like an annoying wasp. She was even dreaming of him, when she wasn’t dreaming of Mulder.

The lecturer, Agent Higgins, spun the wheel of the roulette wheel noisily and continued to drone on about how money was cleaned through casinos by people intent on processing the proceeds of crime. Marty Neal was lapping it up, Tom Colton looked like he wanted to kill himself and they variously spent their hour poking each other in the ribs to stay awake, Reyes was doing a good job of pretending to listen and everyone else was either writing notes or pretending to.

When the bell rang there was a collective sigh of relief and she grabbed her stuff hurriedly.

“Lunch?” asked Colton, stifling a yawn.

“Absolutely!” She was starving and her stomach rumbled rudely, making them laugh. “Bottom canteen though, I want a real meal. I’m sick of sandwich boxes and takeouts.” Everyone quickly agreed much to her delight.

“So, come on, Dana,” Colton said while punching the button for the elevator. “Are you ever going to tell us about where you’ve been?”

She felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Colton was the only one out of them all that didn’t know, though she was pretty sure that Reyes didn’t know that Marty knew. She tried to shrug it off. “It was nothing.” The elevator doors pinged open and they huddled inside. “Just an interview.”

“Just an interview, come on,” Marty scoffed. “It was a bit more than that.”

Colton whipped his head to look at his friend. “You knew something about this?”

“Sure. I found out,” he smirked.

Scully and Reyes exchanged annoyed glances but she silently thanked Marty when he only used his knowledge to tease Colton.

They got off the elevator and made their way into the large canteen. It was packed, much to her chagrin, and she thought about going elsewhere but she spotted Mulder about 20 feet away sitting at a table eating his lunch, headphones on so as to ignore the two female agents at the other end, and reading a file. She waved to get his attention but he didn’t look up, oblivious. She told her friends to hold her place in the queue and ventured over, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Is nobody gonna tell me then?” shouted Colton after her. She could feel him stamp his foot and smiled.

Mulder looked up at her approach, slightly annoyed at being disturbed but always happy to see her, especially after what had happened. He took off his headphones and smiled. She was wearing her regulation trainee uniform of a blue tee and beige trousers. She was the only one he’d seen make that look good. “Agent Trainee Scully,” he said with more formality than necessary. “And how are you this fine morning?”

The two female agents smirked at her and gave each other a suggestive look but she tried to ignore it. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

“You know me: keeping on.” Folding his file closed he offered her a seat and was glad when she took it. “I heard you’d filed your report.”

“I did. I don’t know what will become of it but....” she shrugged. She bit her lip. “We’ll see. How’s the case going?” Because of the close proximity of the other agents she was forcing herself to stay on business. It was hard not trying to admire him right now with his tie pulled loose, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his glasses on. His hair looked bed ruffled and she blushed. She’d spent a happy few minutes playing with his hair, with the little forelock he had that fell loose all the time, as they lay together groggily waking up in the hotel room.

“Slow going.” He threw the file down in front of her and she opened it intrigued.

“What am I looking at?” They seemed to be very large and very ugly blouses, one with too many yellow and green flowers and one with yellow and black geometric shapes.

He tapped the two images as he leaned in close, he was momentarily lost, “God you smell so good.” It was some generic shower gel, very herby, but against her skin it smelt wonderful.

She smiled to herself, though her eyes went to the women at the other end of the table and she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized they weren't paying them any attention. It was just as well because she was getting turned on. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Would you like to get some dinner later?” He nodded eagerly much to her delight. “Good, now behave yourself and tell me what I’m looking at.”

He laughed, shaking his head of more salacious thoughts. Dinner would be good, dinner would be safe. He didn’t think he had anything left in his body to give her. “Both of these blouses were worn by victims of buffalo Bill, they were found in two different states four months apart. He always slits them up the back, like a funeral suit.” He turned the photos over to reveal the forensic report and the electron microscope images and pointed as he spoke, “The bunching you see here, this compression, is characteristic of scissor cuts rather than a single blade, it’s also likely to be the same scissors in both instances.”

“Do you think he has some kind experience in funeral homes?”

“It’s a possibility…” he was just about to tell her he thought Buffalo Bill had some tailoring or dressmaking ability but two identikit male trainees were approaching. “Friends of yours?”

She closed the file quickly and handed it back. “Unfortunately,” she sighed.

He regarded them both: both tall, both had very short blond hair probably shorn the first day they arrived, desperately trying to look the part no doubt (not realizing that while Quantico came under military jurisdiction they weren’t the military and 60s era style buzz cuts were not the norm) and both looking like children. He wasn’t an old man himself but these too looked like kids at play, all chubby and dopey and overly eager. Both were holding their hands out for him to shake and he looked at Scully for help as if to say ‘I do not do well with other people’. She was looking at her hands, embarrassed.

In a tangle of voices bellowing for attention they said his name and introduced themselves all at once and then glared daggers at each other to back off. Seemingly he was a prize for them to fight over. It wasn’t quite the wrangling of BSU vs Violent Crimes and the battle for his soul that’d happened not so long ago. He was almost disappointed but he still wanted to run and didn’t take either hand.

“Agent Mulder,” one grinned, the one who called himself Colton. “Big fan. You’re a hero to me, the reason, along with Patterson, that I want to join the BSU. Getting in the head of all those freaks. Nailing guys like Lecter and Boggs must give you an incredible rush.”

It used to. Not any more. He wondered if Colton would like to hear about little green men and giant flesh eating lizards instead of human monsters made by an increasingly warped society. He wondered if Scully would too, now that he thought about it. She didn’t look the type. And she still wasn’t looking at him.

He looked at Colton and offered a piece of wisdom his own father had bestowed upon him, “There are no heroes or villains Agent Colton, only mortal men cloaked in gray and you shouldn’t make them into champions.”

“What?”

He sighed heavily and Scully looked at him with a reverence that made his heart flutter. He hoped he was conveying the same look back. “Don’t make heroes of mortal men, they will only let you down.”

Marty Neal looked like he got it at least and he changed the subject, “So yeah, Buffalo Bill. How's that going?” Neal was leaning in and tapping the folder on the table.

“Busy…” he was referring to himself, hoping they’d all leave.

“Right, well, if there is any work going I, and Colton,” he added reluctantly, “Will be happy to pitch in.”

“Guys…” Scully warned.

He wasn’t listening. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked at his innocent peach cobbler, now looking forlorn and old. He put his headphones on wanting to be alone again. Thankfully they began to leave, though both men looked like they were sulking. Too bad.

He felt a soft ruffle of his hair and couldn’t help the smile that formed. He pressed play and ate his food in blessed oblivion.

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

Skinner was in Reggie’s office when he got back and they ushered him inside and told him to shut the door. Neither looked particularly happy. Skinner looked his usual constipated self. They greeted each other with a nod of professional courtesy. They weren’t friends but they could talk off the record quite easily. Mulder was of the opinion that if they didn’t work together they’d probably be golf buddies. Not close but someone to shoot the sh*t with.

“Sir?”

“There’s been another victim, West Virginia. A place near Clay, right in the middle of nowhere. PD up there passed it down to us. You know it?”

He did not. He slumped, he was really not ready for this. “Are they sure it’s one of Buffalo Bill’s?”

Both Skinner and Purdue nodded their heads. “Female victim is missing some skin on her back, rather a large portion of it.”

“So far we’ve managed to keep the press at bay but you know what it’s like in small towns. News travels fast,” Purdue sighed. He rubbed his eyes. “We need you to go up there, do the necessaries: fingerprints, paperwork for shipping the body to Quantico for autopsy, speak to the locals, you know the drill.”

“Was she naked?”

“She was in her underwear, a pair of panties, just like the others.”

He nodded. He thought to his board in his office and with a mental marker crossed off sexual motivation from the list. The bodies of the previous victims had been in various states of decomposition and no trace evidence of sexual interference had been found. He was pretty confident that none would be found here either. In his experience murderers who raped their victims didn’t pull up the victim’s panties afterwards. If they were feeling momentarily guilty it came across in the way they posed them afterwards or in the way they sometimes covered their faces with a cloth. It didn't involve labor intensive re-dressing tasks. Reggie and Patterson were still hanging onto it but he’d never bought into it and now he was certain.

“Any ID?” he asked.

“No. Nothing.”

All the other girls had taken a while to ID too. Most of them lead lives that meant nobody missed them if they disappeared for a few days, a few weeks. “Can I take Scully with me?”
Skinner raised his eyebrows. “Why, where’s Agent Lamana?”

He didn’t quite grimace but he pursed his lips. Jerry Lamana was officially his partner, in reality they didn’t actually mean much as they didn’t spend a lot of time together. When Mulder had a case he found something for Jerry to do that kept him out of his way. He felt terrible about it but it was safer than letting Jerry loose on the world at large as he was prone to losing evidence. One day Jerry Lamana would get someone maimed or, worse, killed.

Mulder shrugged. “Scully’s a medical doctor isn’t she? She can help out.” He barely even sounded convincing to his own ears but he was still shocked Skinner was suggesting Lamana. “She can cast a critical forensic eye over the body.”

“I’m sure she’s busy enough with her training.” Skinner looked at his shoes and back up at Mulder. There was a question there that Mulder didn’t dare answer, he kept his face poker straight and Skinner set his jaw. “If you feel that you need a second on this then use your partner otherwise Agent Stonecypher is free.”

He looked out through the glass wall of Purdue’s cell in horror at Carla Stonecypher, at her immaculate honey blond ponytail, and he laughed sarcastically. The last time they’d worked together she’d bored him to tears with tales of the American cheese industry and her enthusiasm for team building exercises (something he was convinced she only went on because it got her out of doing any real work). “She doesn’t even know the case.”

“Get her up to speed.”

He could feel himself getting ratty. “Agent Scully is better qualified.”

Skinner sighed. “I can’t have untrained agents running around the country…”

“You assigned her!” he scoffed. “Besides, her badge doesn’t run out until Monday. I need her for this, it’s one or two days max.” Selfishly he hoped for two. Selfishly he wanted to take her out to dinner because tonight would now be a bust.

Purdue looked like he was silently pleading with Skinner to say ‘yes’ just for an easy life and said, “It’s fine with me. Mulder is capable of keeping an eye on her. You can put it down to a training exercise. Anyway you read her report, the meeting with Lecter went without a hitch, I think she could really help us out here. She’s got the makings of an excellent Agent, let’s give her a chance.”

“Jack Willis won’t be happy, he’s already been on my back about it.” He looked pointedly at Mulder, “And he’s not happy with you either.”

“Since when does an instructor dictate to an Assistant Director?” Mulder derided, incredulous about the situation and hating Willis for interfering.

Skinner gave him a warning glance, his eyes narrow. But he soon softened and Mulder knew he’d gotten to the man. He always did. “Fine but I want to speak to her myself beforehand,” he said.

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

A torrential downpour had washed away the last of the snow and driven them all inside from the firing range so they found themselves in one of the lecture halls having their hand strength tested in front of each other. The objective was to see how many times they could pull the trigger on a Model 19 Smith and Wesson revolver in 60 seconds. It was a rather old fashioned thing with a barrel that felt too big and heavy in her hand. She was proud to say that she’d managed 74 with her left hand before cramp had set in and she’d had to change to her left hand. She’d made 90 in total using her new isosceles stance. She’d grinned her way back to her seat, even if she had been sweaty and worried about the loss of feeling in her fingers. She knew she needed to get above 90 with her right hand before she graduated but it was a good effort.

Tom Colton was having his turn now and while another student counted his clicks she retreated with Reyes to the back of the auditorium for privacy.

“When do you think they’ll post the exam results?” Reyes asked.

“Soon I hope.” She’d made up the exam in a private office with two instructors looming over her to make sure she didn’t cheat. She was still rather offended. Still, she couldn’t help grinning, Mulder had been right about that stupid Koala: it had come up. “How did you do with the animal question?”

Reyes hung her head and exclaimed a loud frustration, her jaw grinding in annoyance. “10 minutes I wasted on that question thinking about animals with paws, fingers, flippers and wings, you name it. In the end I think I put an orangutan. I didn’t know what else to say.” She looked up at her friend, at her grin, and her mouth fell open. “You know don’t you!”

“Koala.” Scully laughed, “Mulder was testing me on the drive up to Baltimore and he might’ve mentioned something.”

Reyes playfully swatted at her arm and she mocked an ‘ow’. “You could’ve told me!”

“I didn’t have time.” Boy was that the truth. “I feel like I’m being pulled in 40 different directions at the moment.”

“You can say ‘no’ to these people. ‘No’ is a complete sentence.”

She didn’t want to. She could do with her training being over with, that would make her feel better. “I don’t think there’ll be any more trips out.”

They both looked up at the cheer emanating from the front of the class and both rolled their eyes at all the boys being cheered for their gunmanship. Neither she, nor Reyes who’d managed to score higher than everyone so far, had been cheered. In fact none of the other women had. It really pissed her off.

“You never told me about your second trip, did you sleep with him again?”

She looked away and blushed furiously. “Yes.”

Reyes giggled and leaned in closer. “Did anything happen?”

“No!”

“Dana, you're glowing. Spill!”

“There’s not much to tell.”

Reyes didn’t think so. “Was he good?”

She couldn’t help herself, “I came four times.” She didn’t say it was spread over three different times but it was still the most she’d ever come in one night.

“Seriously!”

“He was that good,” she laughed, fanning herself.

She’d never experienced anything like it. How could two people be so sexually compatible? It wasn’t like she had much experience to judge by: Marcus in high school, Daniel in med school and then Jack but Mulder definitely knew her better than those other three put together. She hated his ‘Spooky’ nickname but his ability to read people, to know what people wanted and needed was almost eerie, as was her ability to understand and go along with him.

“Does he have a friend or a brother?”

She laughed. She always laughed a lot with Reyes. Out in the real world she had few friends, even fewer female friends, but here she was finding a whole new lease of life and was loving it. They all just understood each other. If only her father could see how much she was blossoming.

She was pretty sure she could talk to Reyes about anything, which was a good thing because something was playing on her mind about the Mulder situation. It was why she asked in a low voice, “Do you think sleeping with Mulder so soon after Jack is wrong?”

“Wrong?” she spluttered in disbelief. Reyes wagged a stern finger, “Who cares what anyone else thinks. Your body is your own to do as you please with it. Give yourself a break Dana, you’re a young woman. Sex is empowering, it’s fun, and as long as it’s legal and nobody is getting hurt it’s not something that needs to be governed by arbitrary rules and regulations and what other people, men especially, think.” She nodded at the corral down at the bottom still laughing in unison and slapping each other on the back. “Besides there’s a big difference between feeling empowered and seeking validation, one is healthy and one is not, and you’re not seeking validation are you?”

“God no!” She was pretty happy with herself and her choices. She was physically and emotionally stable and she got on well with most people even when she didn’t count them as friends and while she might seek approval she wasn't looking for validation. She knew how bad that was, how that could spiral. She might not be a psychologist but even she knew seeking validation had a habit of escalating into a need to people please and she was certainly done with that. “But reputation here counts, doesn’t it, especially for a woman?”

Reyes shrugged and then thought about it. “As a woman people are going to talk about you anyway, they're going to make value judgements, whether you like it or not. It makes no difference if you’re a saint or a sinner, that’s just the asshole world we live in Day. Just do your job to the best of your ability, the rest won’t matter.”

She knew Reyes was making sense. It didn’t make it any easier trying to navigate the politics of the FBI though, it was a minefield and she was worried. There were ramifications, at least in her mind. “I wish I had your level of optimism.”

“You should do what I do and take a more holistic approach to sex.”

“Oh?”

“Sure,” Reyes gestured positively. “Instead of looking at sex under a social microscope try looking at sex from a more physical, emotional, behavioral or spiritual stance,” she noted Scully’s skeptical look and, knowing Scully wasn’t very in turn with her spiritual side, hastily added, “depending on your own personal standpoint of course, but really the holistic approach allows for sexual expression and enjoyment and positivity without shame, shoulds, or judgement. Be safe, be healthy but f*ck who you want to f*ck and enjoy it. God knows I would if Mulder gazed my way!”

She tried not to laugh too loudly. “Well it’s not like I want to stop seeing him. We made plans for dinner.”

“Well then stop pigeon-holing yourself as one thing. You're not just Dana Scully FBI or Doctor Dana Scully, or Dana: daughter of Bill and Maggie, or sister or friend or all round good egg,” she smiled at her own gentle ribbing, “You’re Dana Scully, woman! A multidimensional woman with a lot of currency in this world, embrace it.”

She sat taller in her hard plastic chair. She’d never thought of it like that but she seized hold of it. She didn’t need to justify herself to anyone when it came to her personal life.

She was just about to say something to Reyes when the door opened below and Skinner walked in, his long gray overcoat billowing behind him. He was scanning the auditorium, clocked her with his hard eyes and went to the instructor, a man named Daniels.

Not a moment later her name was bellowed and she felt all eyes watching her, under the spotlight again.

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

“Do you still have your overnight bag packed?” Skinner asked. He was walking in a long stride that she couldn’t keep up with.

“I do.”

“Good.”

As they walked slowly along a corridor, passing a few trainees, he checked a few doors to determine which room was free, eventually he found one and they entered. It smelled like old sneakers and locker room sweat and had about a million hard plastic chairs bundled inside. She didn’t want to get one down because the blue hue matched her training tee and she was worried about disappearing into it like a chameleon.

“Why do you ask?”

He looked around, trying to figure out if anyone was listening. Even though there was no one else in the room he looked paranoid and shut the door. She soon found out why. “I need you to go on a trip. Some fishermen found a body in West Virginia with all the hallmarks of a Buffalo Bill slaying.”
They wanted her full involvement? She was astounded. A little on edge. A body. More real investigation work. She tried not to show too much excitement. It was an incongruous feeling being excited about seeing a body while knowing that there was another victim that needed dealing with.

“Who is she?”

“No ID as of yet,” he replied. “You’re going up there with Agent Mulder. We want you to provide preliminary findings, cause of death, wounds, Mulder will cover you while doing fingerprints and pictures, it’s a small town they don’t have the resources to do it themselves. The funeral home is a real mom and pop establishment.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “When did they find her?”

“A few hours but she’s been in the water a while.” He sighed. He looked tired. “We need to move fast. Mulder’s sorting out travel arrangements.” He took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose a little too hard and she could tell there was something on his mind. And then he only confirmed it, “How are you getting on with Mulder?”

What did he want to know? He didn’t look like he knew about them. “Good.” She thought her reply cautious and just the right side of suspicious.

“Good?”

“Yes Sir.”

He smiled softly. “I thought you might. He’s a good investigator, brilliant even.”

“Yes Sir.”

He looked at the floor and then up her earnestly. “He’s been through a lot, has he told you?”

She debated what to tell him but given their relative positions she didn’t think it wise to hide things. “We’ve spoken at length about a few things. Lecter came up, his wife too.”

“His sister?”

The picture of the girl on his desk? She’d assumed it could be a daughter. At the time she’d seen the picture she’d felt it was none of her business so hadn’t asked, it had no bearing on her seeing Lecter and he’d never mentioned her. “No, Sir.”

Skinner was thoughtful but he ventured no further on the subject other than to say, “Then I’ll leave it up to him to divulge it, if he chooses to.”

He looked like it might be a big thing and she couldn’t help speculating. “Is she dead?”

“Missing.” He quickly changed the subject, “There was some damage to his hotel room, I saw the expense report, a lamp and a chair is that right?”

“Yes Sir, seeing Lector was a stressor for Agent Mulder.”

He didn’t look surprised. “Lecter is a sore topic for most people, he seems content to wind everyone up.”

“He just likes to play games.”

Skinner nodded. “That he does.”

“Will you deal with him?”

“We’re weighing up the costs but right now I want you to go with Mulder and keep an eye on him.”

“He’s fine.”

Skinner didn’t look like he quite believed her. “I’m sure he will be, there are a lot of people invested in Mulder, many people have big plans you know. Nobody wants to see him burning out or wasting his time on paranormal mumbo jumbo.” He looked at her with a pointed stare but her expression was blank. “I trust Trainee Agent Scully that you will keep an eye on him.”

“Are you worried Sir?” He didn’t reply but it passed over to her like night turns to day. If she admitted it, she was worried too.

“Just do a good job Scully, we have faith in you both to complete the task.”

“Yes Sir.” She paused. Now that she had Skinner here she really wanted to challenge him about his sneakiness with the initial assignment but she wasn’t sure how or even if she could.

“Something on your mind?”

She hesitated. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about why I was going to see Lecter?”

His voice was stern but his face was not and he even had the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Several reasons. One, we weren’t certain of a connection between Buffalo Bill and Lecter. The deception wasn’t that great considering the results it yielded.” He put his glasses back on and crossed his arms. “You have to understand that lying and breathing are the same to Lecter. If we’d sent you in there with something to hide, he’d have known it, he hones in on stuff like that. He’d never have trusted you.”

She started to say something, to challenge him further but stopped. He was right. Lecter would’ve known. Yes she’d gotten away with a few small lies during their first conversation but it’d been close. A big lie like this he would’ve jumped on.

“And number two, Agent Trainee Scully, while our methods might be a little questionable, we knew you’d perform whatever task we gave you to the best of your abilities. You were chosen out of a very small pile of people, for your fine expertise and qualifications. We knew you’d be a good match and you performed admirably and Lecter trusts you. It’s why we’re keeping you on this case, despite opposition from your instructor Jack Willis.”

Now she knew what Jack had meant by his ‘We’ll see’ remark. She wanted to die a little inside. She was also angry at him for interfering and trying to impede her.

“Anything else?”

“No Sir.”

He smiled. Nodded that she could go and she took that first opportunity without haste.

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

They’d been in the air for a little over 10 minutes, in a noisy little Cessna 152 with two small seats that crushed them together in the tiny hot cabin and bumped on every air pocket. Occasionally the engine would sputter and she’d grab hold of something for dear life. Mulder next to her was completely nonplussed and kept up his reading. Below the Chesapeake Bay sparkled under the early afternoon sun. If she craned her head she could still make out Quantico. She’d enjoyed seeing it from above and had taken a picture, determined to turn it into a postcard for her folks.

“What do you know about the body?” she shouted above the noise of the engine.

He looked up, a frown spreading across his features. Sad to be interrupted from his novel. He put it away and pulled the files out of his bag. “Not much, nothing other than she’s been in the water for about a week, have you ever seen a floater Scully?”

Once in med school but decomposition was only at two days. “Not as far advanced as the one we’re about to see.”

“It won’t be pretty.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to prepare himself or her. He hated the initial view of a body, it was a rush of emotions and he often struggled to compartmentalize and not associate. He was only glad that she wasn’t cut up into pieces. He hated dissected bodies.

“I think I’ll be ok, I bought my medical kit for samples and fingerprinting. A camera too.” As the dilapidated plane banked left she could feel the gun banging her side too, the first time she’d been allowed a service weapon off the base grounds. It felt like another rite of passage.

“Good.” He cleared his throat nervously. Looked at the pilot but he was wearing ear protectors and couldn’t hear them. “We shouldn’t need it but I booked us into a motel for the night.” He hastened to add, “Separate rooms,” when she looked at him.

“Thanks,” she said, turning to look out the window as the trees made way for open land and farms, wider expanses of water and a few houses. There was a memo in her pocket from Jack that was burning a hole, waiting to be read. She’d found it shoved under her dorm room door when she went to pick her bag up from her room.

He was saddened but realistic. He’d told himself a million and one times it wasn’t a good idea. His right brain was correct all along. The other night they were letting off steam. That was it. That was fine. He’d just have to move on. Besides, the ink on his divorce papers wasn’t even dry yet. He’d only signed them an hour ago. He placed the file on her lap and she looked down at it, her face a little glum. “That’s the current file on Buffalo Bill.”

She dared to touch it, it almost felt forbidden. She nodded a thanks and opened it for perusal. It was full of police reports, lab work, autopsy protocols, grainy enlargements of bullet fragments, stacks of victim photos. She hesitated but took them in one by one: naked female bodies, cast aside. It made her feel sad.

One woman on a pebbly riverbank, her eyes staring blankly at the camera, especially got to her, she could be anyone but she wasn’t. She was everyone who’d suffered at the hands of a perpetrator. A victim of male violence. She wanted to rail at the world and scream. One of the many reasons she’d chosen the FBI as a career was to end things like this. She touched the cross around her neck and offered up a silent prayer.

She wanted to absorb the rest in silence but she had questions. “How long does he keep them alive?”

“A week to ten days.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Why we don’t know but there’s no evidence of rape or any physical violence prior to death. A few torn nails at most, possibly from an initial struggle or an attempt to escape but otherwise he just holds them.” He reached across and flipped to the next photo, it made her flinch and he offered her a silent apology. “All the mutilation, the removal of skin is done postmortem.” While she took in the ghastly wound pattern he added, “We don’t know what he does with the skins.”

She hesitated to take it all in. “I just can’t get my head around the level of violence.”

Neither could he. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

And then some. “How does he kill them?”

“He shoots them, possibly with a Colt .38, then he skins them, usually the torso but he has been known to take other parts, and dumps them. Each body has been found in a different state, downstream from an interstate highway so we know he must travel either for work or because of family reasons.”

She flipped a few pages back and forth trying to find relevant information, “There are no forensic details.”

“That’s because the water leaves us with no viable fingerprints, fibers, DNA or trace evidence.” The plane started to lower and he put his seat belt back on. “It’s all washed away. I’ve dealt with people who’ve been clever enough not to leave fingerprints or at least leave them in completely unusual places, Dolarhyde liked to touch the eyeballs of his victims because he wanted to make a connection and he couldn’t resist touching them, but this guy isn’t interested in that, he doesn’t have any lasting feelings whatsoever and once he’s used them I doubt he even so much as thinks about them. They’re commodities to him, their skin is the only thing he seems to want.”

“What could he possibly need their skin for?”

He puffed his cheeks out. He had his own ideas about that but he wanted to see this body first. “Ed Gein used to make gloves with the skin he took from his night time visits to the local graveyard, a belt of nipples, a tongue necklace. Another guy Alex Mengel scalped his female victims and used their hair as a wig, the idea being that he’d have a triumphant headdress to wear during his next crime.” Now that he thought about it Mengel used to wear lipstick when scouting for victims and resolved to spend some time looking him up when they got back. “I once came across someone in a mental institution who’d made a lampshade out of skin and used a human shinbone and foot as a stand…”

“Jesus!”

“Got his inspiration from the Nazi's apparently, much like Gein did. You know in the surgeon’s museum in Edinburgh they have books bound with human skin. It’s called anthropodermic bibliopegy.”
She looked at him, fascinated. “Where do you find all this stuff?”

“I was a teacher at Oxford when I was doing postgrad and research work, it gives you a lot of access to a lot of weird stuff.”

“I think the weirdest thing I ever saw in college was a guy with a fetish for nails, he used to embed them under his skin and accidentally electrocuted himself, we couldn’t shock him to restart his heart as it cooked him further.”

“Lovely!”

She laughed and went back to the file.

“That’s Frederica Bimmel, the first victim,” he said as he saw she’d come to the relevant page.

She was pretty, a size 16, brunette. Pictured in her high school graduation cap and gown she was smiling at the camera and full of promise and optimism about her future. She touched her hand to the girl’s face. “Were they all like her?”

“He has a certain type.” He took the picture and offered an apology both to Scully and the girl. “Her body is the only one he bothered to weigh down so she was actually the third found. After her he got lazy and now just throws them away like he thinks they’re common garbage.”

He handed the picture back as the pilot indicated they’d be landing in a few minutes. She did her own seat-belt up and then pulled a map out. It showed the central and eastern US. “Are these the dump sites?” she asked looking at the widely spaced and hand drawn markings, mostly coloured arrows and circles.

“Circles are where the girls were abducted, arrows are where their bodies were found.” He taped the folded crumpled blue sheet. “Bimmel was abducted from Belvedere Ohio and found in Missouri. Same marks for all the other girls, in different areas. The girl today washed up in Clay,” he just about found it on the map. It was tiny, with a population of 592, that was even smaller than the place he’d grown up in. “It’s conservative, working class, farms and forestry mainly. Nothing exciting.”

“There’s no correlation at all between where they’re kidnapped and where they’re found?” He shook his head so she queried, “Have you traced back the heaviest traffic routes from the dump sites? Do they converge or correlate at all?”

He smiled, impressed. “Now you’re thinking like an Agent.” Sadly they’d already thought of that. “But no, no correlation at all. We’ve run every simulation going, using different parameters each time and the best dates we can assign from the reports we have. I've even driven up and down these roads more times than I can count, but we don’t even get smoke signals.”

The plane hiccuped and they could feel the landing wheels being lowered, her stomach lifted in response. Outside the window they were soon at tree height and rapidly approaching a scruffy looking runway with a patrol car and rental parked to the side to meet them. The runway didn’t look as if it’d been tarmacked in decades. She took a deep breath as rubber squeaked against the road and let it out only when the plane had stopped.

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

If the runway was bad it had nothing on the bumpy and potholed roads. Mulder was doing his best to navigate them while they followed the patrol car in front but it was bad, not as easy as the last time he’d driven his way around the winding roads here, and his spine was doing a good job of knocking into his skull.

“What are your initial thoughts on a suspect?” Scully asked.

“The profile you so adequately dismissed the other night is in the back of the folder.”

He cracked a sunflower seed between his teeth and raised an eyebrow but a slow smile began creeping across his features and she knew he was just engaging in banter. From the passenger seat she flipped to it and read, “He’s mostly likely a white male, in his late 30s or early 40s…” She looked up and queried, “Doesn’t the conventional model say that serial killers are most likely to be in their twenties?”

“Statistically they might start in their twenties but there are instances of serial killers starting later. It might become statistically rarer the older someone is but it’s not anomalous. I believe our suspect is older on account of his cautiousness. He’s precise and in control. Something you don’t often see in younger serial killers.”

“Why do you think he’s a white male?”

He threw a spent shell out of the window and marveled at the broad expanse of countryside with it’s looming season changing trees before he answered, “Serial killers tend to take their victims from within their own ethnic groups, that there isn’t a mix of ethnic profiles indicates he’s sticking to what he knows.” To be a good teacher and for her benefit he added, “There’s a certain prejudicial governance at play when it comes to serial killers. They don’t tend to go outside of their own ethnicity because it will more likely than not get them noticed. The more organized a serial killer is, the more intelligent they’ll be with their victim choice. They’re not likely to want to arouse suspicion by choosing someone from outside of their socioeconomic neighborhood or phenotype. A black guy fishing for victims in a white neighborhood will get noticed quickly as would a white guy skulking around a black neighborhood.”

He shrugged, “You go with what you know. Risky behavior only really occurs when the desire for a new fix becomes too great or they’re close to being captured. I don’t believe we’re anywhere near catching this guy.”

Scully couldn’t help marveling at his insights. “What else can you tell me about him, do you think he lives round here?”

“He’s certainly knowledgeable about the area, the flow of the rivers and the lay of the land, given the geography of the crimes. He’s unlikely to be a drifter. I’m sure he has his own place somewhere even if he does travel a fair bit. I’m sure he has a job too, one that’s legitimate enough that means he can go under the radar but still gives him enough time for his pursuits. He likely watches people for a while before he takes them too.”

“Could he be a salesman like John Lee Roche, it would allow him to scope out his victims, get to know them to the point they trust him?”

He wasn’t sure but he said, “Maybe. It’s likely he’s luring them with something. Maybe he’s selling something or perhaps he’s pretending to be an invalid.” He turned to her and looked a little forlorn, “It’s not been easy trying to get inside his head when he leaves us so little to go on.”

“I know.” She smiled sympathetically and said, “Let’s hope we catch soon.” He didn’t look convinced. She hoped they could talk more personally later. “Why do you believe he has his own place?”

“You tell me Agent Trainee Scully.”

He was testing her and she was enjoying it immensely. No classroom could provide this. It was like driving: the real test only came when you were thrown out into the real world. It was the same with being an FBI Agent. It was probably why the probationary period lasted so long, 2 years compared to their relatively short 20 week training period. “What he does with them takes privacy,” she shifted in her seat, trying desperately not to think of those photos but they came unbidden. “And time, he probably needs somewhere to store his tools.”

“Exactly, he probably has somewhere out of the way, though not totally isolated. The vocal cords of all the victims were strained so they were somewhere they couldn’t be heard.”

“I’m guessing he’s strong, to move those girls without detection.”

“Right, we know that he plans, he’s physically strong, he probably works out but not to the point that he’s a bodybuilder, not to the point other people would think to comment, but has the control of an older man, never impulsive.”

She thought long about it. She knew plenty of older men, hell Daniel had been 22 years older than her, and they were rarely impulsive, rarely out of control in their day to day lives. She turned to look at Mulder, he looked ridiculously young but definitely had an old soul. “How old are you?”

He chuckled, “You mean you don’t know!”

“I was too busy acquainting myself with your other attributes to stop and count the candles on your cake.”

He laughed loudly and, as they were stopped at a light he leaned over and nudged her with his shoulder. Their night together was fantastic, life affirming, and he was happy to note she wasn’t totally ignoring it. Maybe he’d misread her on the plane. “I, um, enjoyed myself immensely.”

“I could tell, you were very enthusiastic.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good!” Did he even need to ask?

He nodded. In danger of getting a hard-on though he steered it back to safe ground, “I’m 29. Why did you want to know my age?”

“I just wanted to know. I wasn’t sure. Sometimes, like now, you look young and at other times you look older.”

“Well I hope you're not about to start comparing me to Buffalo Bill.” He had enough trouble trying not to connect himself to Lecter, he didn’t need another lunatic making a home in his head.

“No!” She laughed nervously. It wasn’t that at all, she was just interested. Mulder was one of the rare ones: someone who she was attracted to who wasn’t that much older than her. She was struggling to get her head around it. The last man in her age bracket had been her highschool prom date. Going back to the case she said, “This won’t end in suicide, he’ll either be caught or we’ll have to kill him.” She hoped it wasn’t her. She’d killed a little garter snake once, an accidental bunny slaying too, but never a man.

“He has a taste for killing, it’ll be hard to break.”

“And he’s getting better at his work. I don’t believe he’ll stop.”

Neither did he. “You’ve got a knack for this stuff you know.”

“A keen ear and a critical eye but not as good as yours.”

“You’ll catch up.” He followed the car in front through a turning and saw the little town of Clay come into view and open up. It was nice to look at something other than trees. “I’ve spent my life studying this stuff, working out why people do the things they do, what motives, what excites, what annoys, the how, the where, the why and the what. Other people fascinate me.” She fascinated him.

“And yet you say you don’t do well with other people.”

“That’s because most people are c*nts.”

She barked out a loud laugh. “True enough.” They shared a longing smile of understanding and she knew there would only be one room tonight. She would listen to Reyes, the note in her pocket from Jack didn’t matter, whatever it was. “Have you heard anything back about the head?”

He hummed as they passed a deli and neared the funeral parlor, every police car in town seemed to be parked outside. “Still with the lab. We thought we had a fingerprint from the bell jar but…” he shrugged, no dice.

“You know I keep…” she paused and started again. “I can’t get Lecter out of my head.”

The highway patrol cruiser ahead of them nosed towards the curb and he quickly followed, parking behind and shutting off the engine. They were outside a large white framed house. Pretty if not for what was inside. A large wooden sign outside read ‘Greig’s Funeral Parlour.’ Two troopers got out of the car and he motioned for them to wait.

He turned in his seat to face her. She was looking at her lap. He tipped her chin up with his index finger and she looked at him. “I know,” he said. “If you need to take…”

“No,” she was quick to say. “It’s just Lecter. He’s like a ticking clock, intrusive.”

He knew that feeling only too well. “Are you remembering your techniques?”

She nodded. She knew he meant compartmentalization. A device for dealing with stressful situations. “Should I treat Lecter that way?”

“Absolutely. File him away to a little corner of your brain and treat him the same way you’d treat someone on your slab in the lab.” He smiled at her softly, “But if it gets too much come and talk to me. I’m always available, you know that.”

She knew he meant it. That was one of the many reasons why she liked him. She didn’t get a chance to answer as one of the troopers, impressive in his sunglasses and hat, peered in through the driver’s side window at them indicating they should get a move on. Mulder nodded and turned to her and she indicated she was ready.

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

There was a service in full swing inside the chapel and the mood appropriately somber. People in dark outfits and widow's veils filed in to find a seat for the grandest show on earth: death and all its glory.

It struck him on a sad note that one person here was being given the correct passage into the afterlife after a quiet death (he’d overheard people talking about it as they passed by) while the other was lying outback in a part time morgue, the victim of an altogether different horror. The juxtaposition of tones didn’t sit right with him and he could only hope that whoever she was had a decent family, people who would come and claim her and set the world right again.

In the dim and cluttered parlor, where they stood waiting for the mortician, about 20 or so Virginia State Troopers stood watching them suspiciously, as it to say ‘she’s ours now, you can’t take one of our own’, they both shifted uncomfortably, both feeling unwelcome. He looked down at Scully, dwarfed by all around her, but her face was fixed and she was staring ahead not giving anyone an inch. He couldn’t help the smile nor the sense of pride at the way she held herself, at the way she wouldn’t budge an inch for these territorial buffoons.

When she did look at him she looked like she wanted to roll her eyes as all the male attention had shifted to her. She knew what they were thinking, she knew it was ‘you don’t belong here little lady, this isn’t for your genteel eyes’. His lips curved into an admiring smile and while she didn’t match it the corners of her mouth did offer him enough to know she appreciated his awe. Because he was in awe and he would tell her a thousand times over.

For her part Scully cleared her throat, licked her lips and shifted from one foot to the other. She was trying not to over appreciate the looks her temporary partner was giving her, though she welcomed them of course. She looked around at the drab surroundings, caught the eye of a few chauvinist officers and looked away. She tried not to be insulted, tried to see it from their point of view: that they were just looking out for the victim. In a way it was nice. Protecting someone in death who’d missed out on that luxury in life. However, it was also unnecessary and bordering on hindrance. Would they follow her into the embalming room? Would they surround the table blocking her access and ability to perform her job? She hoped they had more sense.

She hoped the smell of embalming fluid would get to them and they’d want some fresh air. It was probably a hopeless hope. They were continuing to stand and stare and nothing would move them it seemed. She wasn’t sure how they could stomach it. The embalming fluid smell was strong and made her eyes water. The funeral director had tried, unsuccessfully, to cover it up with huge bunches of flowers and ugly looking wreaths but it would take a long hot shower to get the cling of it off of her.

Maybe it was the home itself that was really bothering her. She hated funeral homes with a passion. She hated the way that funerals were conducted for the living, not the deceased, and she always hated the musical choices. There were so many good hymns and prayers but people stuck with the standards: The Lord’s My Shepherd, Abide with Me or Amazing Grace. Right now the dying strains of Lord of all Hopefulness was coming from the next room.

She made to step towards it, drawn by the soft tones, the theater of death and her need to connect to the living, to offer them some form of comfort however small, but Mulder tugged at her coat sleeve and when she turned to look at him he shook his head, a strange little frown creasing his brows as he tried to understand.

It was a frown that turned deeper as the low somber music changed into something else and she felt pulled towards the same level of bewilderment that he was experiencing. The sweet organ music was a piece they both recognised as Shall We Gather At The River. Its timbre was almost too upbeat and a shiver went down her spine that echoed across from her to Mulder and they exchanged a look of bemusem*nt and of something otherworldly, both wondering if it was a message of some kind.

Several of the mourners glanced at them curiously but it was a musical oddity only they were concerned with it would seem.

They shook it off, there was nothing else to do, and he let go of her coat. Someone asked her how she knew the deceased in passing and she shook her head that she didn’t, the little old lady tutted at her and the Troopers rudely. The last time she’d been in one of these places for a funeral it’d been for her Sunday school teacher Mr Joffrey. How Great Thou Art had played then. It seemed fitting for him. This music seemed ironic given where their victim had been found.

Mulder spotted the rotund and mustachioed Chief Deputy coming down the stairs and went to speak to him leaving her clutching her bag being scowled at and pored over by a bunch of strange men. She stood uncomfortably, gripping her belongings tighter.

One of the troopers cleared their throat and she looked at him, a kid really, didn’t look long out of high school, he smirked at her and she immediately looked away to concentrate on a loose piece of paisley wallpaper that flapped every time someone walked passed. As she did she heard him whisper, “Well doesn’t she think she’s somethin’”. Someone else stifled a childish snigg*r while another man, old enough to be her father, said. “She ain’t as hot as she thinks she is.” Yet another, she didn’t see who, replied, “She ain’t so bad, I’d go two rounds with her, I’d even let her boyfriend watch.”

She reddened and looked at Mulder’s back, silently imploring him to get a move on. This was hell. Usually she would challenge such blatant objectification but she was keenly aware that she also needed to keep these people on side if they were going to relinquish the body to the Bureau and an altercation inside a funeral home wouldn’t look healthy on her report card.

Thankfully Mulder waved at her, “We’re around back” he said, and she heaved a huge sigh of relief and rushed to join them.

“Deputy Chief Perkins, this is Dr. Scully,” he said, introducing the two as they walked down a narrow hallway towards the embalming room. A sewing machine, a tricycle and various other pieces of random junk littered the floor and he had to dodge them all. “She’ll be helping us with the medical exam today.”

Perkins shook her hand but his tone was curt and totally unsociable, “I’ll tell you what I told him: it wasn’t my idea to call you folks up here that was the State Attorney. We’re perfectly capable of dealing with stuff like this and looking after our own. If she’s one of ours we won’t be handing her over, simple as, this'll be our case.”

Scully looked at Mulder grimly and he said more with his eyes than she’d ever heard anyone say with their mouth. He was as pissed off as she was. “Our only concern is finding out what happened, we’re not interested in who claims credit,” she replied.

The Deputy Chief opened the door to the embalming room and followed them in. Both Mulder and Scully were dismayed to see all the troopers had followed them. “Damn straight.” The Deputy Chief set his jaw while looking at his men. He wasn’t interested in softening. Unhappily he added, “Now, we'll extend you every professional courtesy while you’re here, we’re nothing if not polite, but we’d just as soon get this over and done with if you don’t mind. Get you folks back on the road.”

Mulder and Scully had exactly the same thought and agreed. Really there was no need for the Deputy Chief to even be here, Mulder had merely extended him a professional courtesy. However the man’s attitude was starting to grate and he wanted rid so he said, “Um Deputy Chief,” and motioned to the side, away from Scully, “Perhaps we could speak in private, away from everyone?” She looked incensed but it wasn't about her, it was about getting rid of these goons. They needed space in the room to look at the body, to work, not a pissing contest about bureaucracy.

The Deputy Chief hesitated, grumbled and then looked Scully up and down and nodded so Mulder ushered him to the side.

Scully burned at the sight of them in their own special little club, she’d thought better of Mulder. She tried to ignore it as best as possible but it hurt and turned around hoping to get a look at the body. However she couldn’t even see it with the amount of people cluttering up the room, it was ridiculous. Worse was that the troopers were still staring at her with morbid curiosity and she fussed with her pant suit self consciously while she tied up her hair.

She quickly decided she’d had enough of this circus and cleared her throat loudly. She knew she was going to have to raise her voice when they indicated they weren't here to listen to her, or any woman. She remembered the picture from the parlor she’d seen: Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, and knew these men were a lost cause too.

She was nothing if not dedicated to her art, however. “Excuse me gentlemen. You officers and gentlemen.” She went an octave higher, just for the ignorants in the back, “Listen here now, there’s things we need to do for this girl. I know that you all brought her this far and her folks would thank you if they could for your kindness and sensitivity but now please, it’s time to go. Let us take care of her.” Nobody moved, and at least one looked like he wanted to spit on the floor at her feet but it was too bad. “Go on now, I’m a doctor, I’ll make sure she’s seen to right, thank you.”

Nobody moved, they all just stared. She repeated her sentiment in a sterner manner only louder this time, “Please, we need to collect evidence to help catch the person that did this and we can’t do that if there’s a risk of cross contamination. It’s best you all leave. Now!”

It seemed to do the trick and they started to nod and understand the gravity of the situation. They went quiet and respectful, finally, and started to usher each other out of the room, even the grim Deputy Chief, at Mulder’s urging, followed them out.

“Scully, that was totally badass,” Mulder grinned, coming up to her. “You just gave me chills.” He respected her before, he was ready to acclaim her now. He shook off his coat and suit jacket and replaced them with a plastic apron. He also eased his hands into some surgical gloves.

She couldn't help smiling, even if she was a little angry at his boys club behavior. “Next time you want a room cleared just ask.”

She puffed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes as they shared a look before she followed his example and put on an apron and gloved her hands while he set up a fingerprint transmitter. They were soon joined by the local mortician, Chris Lamar. A squat little man who seemed perpetually busy. At least he was respectful, she thought.

Introductions made she turned to the body encased in a tightly zipped body bag that rested on a porcelain embalming table. She’d not seen one of them since she’d visited the Museum of Surgical Science with Daniel on a weekend trip to Chicago years before. Weirdly the table was the only modern object in the room. The room’s glass paneled cabinets and faded cabbage rose wallpaper reminded her of the Victorian era labs in her medical history books.

Lamar passed some vapor rub around and she raised an eyebrow when Mulder refused it. He clarified: “I like to smell a body, it can tell you a lot about where it’s been, what’s been done to it, the environment.”

He was right but she knew how badly a body who’d been in the drink for a whole week was likely to be so she took it readily and, turning away from the men, daintily dabbed it under her nostrils. Once ready she started preparing her stuff: a fingerprint kit, fiber tape, sample jars and collection bags, tweezers and other instruments they might need.

She only dared to look at the body bag properly when she heard the zipper being retracted in a flurry. The sudden smell hit her first and she grimaced and put a hand to her face. She couldn’t help the quiet, “Jesus!” that escaped but she was hardly the only one who recoiled from the putrid smell, Lamar did too, the sickening aroma was already settling at the back of her tongue and sliding down her throat.

She tried to remember her medical training, that it was only chemicals (cadaverine and putrescine, skatole and indole, hydrogen sulfide, methanethiol and dimethyl, disulfide and trisulfide to name but a few), all things that helped a decomposing body, she tried to remember her rotation to pathology too but and no amount of preparation, or vapor rub, would be a protective barrier against it.
The only one who wasn’t overly fussed was Mulder. When they all looked at him he shrugged, muttering that he’d dealt with worse and had already prepared himself.

He took a few bright images with his large forensic camera that produced instant pictures which he lined up near his bag and said, “Open the bag.”

With a shaking hand she did just that, slowly peeling the thick black plastic aside. The woman was large, Bill’s exact type, and covered in a pair of muddy cotton white panties. Rigor had long passed and there were signs of immersion, wrinkling of the hands and feet. The water had leached what remained of her skin turning it gray though luckily for them not too much maceration had occurred. Her skin had softened but it hadn't begun to detach. There were large wounds where the skin had been flayed neatly from just below the breasts down to her knees.

She looked away to catch her breath and take control of her emotions. “Bill…”

“You ok Scully?” Mulder asked. He knew she probably didn’t want any attention drawn to it, knew she didn’t want to be thought of as weak, but he hoped he could offer some kind of solidarity. He might have prepared himself for this, but it was still someone lying there that had met a truly shocking end and he knew he’d most likely cry for her later, or call Karen Kossoff from the employee assistant program (Skinner had awkwardly shoved the card in his hand as he was heading out to go to the airport), or dive into a book about UFOs. Anything to take his mind off this.

After a deep breath she said, “I’m fine.”

He nodded, unsatisfied but resolved to hurry this along. He pulled a dictaphone out of his case and pressed record, setting it somewhere it could pick up everyone's voice and began the process of bringing her home.

After photographing her from numerous different angles, he remarked, “They should’ve bagged her hands, fingerprints might be a little difficult to get.” He touched her hand gently and untangled her fingers from the strong fishing line snagged around them, there was a hook piercing her palm but he knew he’d have to leave it there for now. He took a picture or it all anyway.

“Should get at least something,” Lamar offered from the other side of the table. “Even if it’s only a partial.” He picked up her other mangled hand and offered it to Scully to take a look.

She silently agreed while she got out her tape to measure the young doe eyed woman. “Cause of death should be easy to determine, at least: looks like a gunshot wound,” she said, pointing out a small hole on the sternum.

Mulder leaned in for a better look at a ragged, star shaped wound between the victims breasts and just on the edge of where the flaying started. Lamar helped her with height and weight measurements while he set a ruler against the wound and recorded it.

“Wrongful death,” she said and Mulder agreed with a soft, “Yeah.”

“What are your observations, Scully?” he asked, watching her closely.

“She’s young, no older than 25.” Against the Deputy Chief’s protestations she argued, “She’s not local.”

“No ma’am, we’re a small town. I know everyone and she’s not one of ours,” said Lamar. “We have no missing either.”

She gave him a thankful smile. Her voice shaking ever so slightly she continued, “Her ears are pierced three times each, and she’s wearing glitter nail polish, looks like big town to me, possibly a city.” She took note of the victim's legs too, “She looks…” She caught her use of tense and corrected herself, “Looked after her appearance, waxed her legs, but there’s about two weeks of growth here.” There was also evidence her underarms were waxed too, and her top lip bleached. This was a woman who took care of herself.

Mulder finished up his pictures and put the camera aside and went back to the hand he’d observed earlier, “There are two fingernails broken off and there’s dirt under the others, I’m guessing she tried to claw her way out of wherever she was held. Might be somewhere underground.”

He envisioned a hole in the ground, somewhere deep, dark, lonely. How scared they must have been. Once when he was a kid he’d been playing near an old farm on the Vineyard that grew peaches. Wanting the soft fruit after a long pick up game of baseball on the beach he’d ventured onto the property and taken a huge bounty. Triumphantly he’d begun his walk back but it’d got dark in the meantime and he’d tripped and fallen down a disused well near the farmhouse. It wasn’t deep and only his pride had been bruised but being 8 and quite short at the time he couldn’t reach the well head to pull himself out. He remembered how much he’d screamed and cried for help and how it hadn’t come for a long time. He also remembered the farmer and shuddered. On eventually hearing his cries the farmer had loomed above him, shovel in hand, stared at him and told him it served him right. He would have to sit there and think of his lessons until his father came for him. 5 hours he was down there. 5 long hours he’d screamed his throat raw and struggled to claw his way up the slippery brick wall and mud mixture. By the time his father did eventually get to him and the farmer lowered a ladder down he was exhausted, covered in his own vomit and he’d wet himself. He’d been claustrophobic for months afterwards and refused to sleep in the dark. Despite the horror of that incident though, and despite how it still made him feel powerless and afraid, he still couldn’t imagine what these women had been through. He’d escaped with his life. They hadn’t.

“I’ll scrape out some samples after we’ve printed her, I’ll take a few chips of nail polish too, we might be able to match it to a type or a batch and figure out where it was sold.”

“Have you ever fingerprinted a corpse, Scully?”

“Yeah, a few times, want me to do it?”

“You do left, I’ll do right?”

“Ok.” She readied the hand nearest to her, carefully inking each finger to press against a thin card sampler (Mulder doing the same on his side). Scully blanched and took another deep breath to stop from letting it get to her in the moment. The time to curse the world would be later.

“Are we gonna roll her?” Lamar asked once they’d finished. “I think she has some damage to her other side.” He was bending low, trying to see under her back.

They both looked but Mulder replied, “Yeah but I want to get a picture of her teeth first.” He added an attachment to his camera, something that would allow him to take a photo in a confined space without it blurring or overexposing the print.

Lamar leaned in and gently retracted the woman’s lips and a small amount of water slopped out. Pressing the camera in Mulder pressed the shutter release, each time he did it there was a red glow inside the cheeks, each time he passed the developing print to Scully.

“There’s something inside her throat,” she said in shock as one developed in her hand. She handed the print back and while the two men examined it she searched in her kit for something to grab it.

“Could be anything,” Mulder said. “A piece of debris.”

Lamar concurred, “When a body comes out of the water, lots of times there's like leaves and things in the mouth.”

With a pair of forceps she bent over and, with a bit of effort and a wiggle, pulled out a small, lumpy, brown cylindrical object. The body hissed, releasing its last death knell. Looking at it in wonder she held it aloft.

“Looks like some kind of seed pod.” What kind he couldn’t ascertain.

“Nawsir,” drawled Lamar. “That's a bug cocoon. No way it can get all the way down there unless someone shoved it in." He pushed his perfectly round specs up his nose and nodded to himself.

Scully grabbed a jar from her kit and carefully dropped the cocoon inside, preserving it in alcohol and passing it to Mulder, he looked equally fascinated and grossed out as he held it up to the light. She had to admit she felt the same. They’d have to speak to a specialist to get it identified.

She sighed, worn out by all these developments. She was ready to drop. She looked at Mulder who was massaging his neck, kneading the muscle with deep presses. They both needed to get out of here, she decided.

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

They’d finished up thoroughly but quickly and she’d been left to pack up on her own much to her chagrin. On the woman’s back they’d found more wounds, deep triangular shaped patches of missing skin in a pattern not seen with the other victims, a small burn mark neither could identify and more tangled fishing wire.

Outside she found Mulder leaning against the side of the funeral home and watching the world go by with a cigarette in his hand as mourners went back to their lives amongst the square buildings. The main thoroughfare of Clay reminded her of a stereotypical image of a frontier town in the wild west.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

He looked down at the poisonous stick and flicked some ash away disdainfully. “I don’t anymore, my ex-wife made me quit a few years ago, I just felt like it now you know.” He tilted his head towards the funeral home. That woman would haunt him.

She took it from him and took a deep drag and blew the smoke towards the sky. Before she’d joined the FBI Daniel had made her quit. It didn’t look good for a doctor anyway but she’d always been annoyed about his bossy behavior, nagging and gaslighting. “Addictions are rarely broken when they don’t come from within yourself.”

She sounded like an addiction counselor, though given he knew she smoked under stress, and had seen the evidence for it, he chuckled, “Speaking from experience?”

She took another pull on the old friend, welcoming its toxins and musing that it was so easy to fall back into old habits. “It’s a filthy habit and, as a doctor, I can’t even begin to tell you the damage it can do.” Alveoli, the tiny air sacs in your lungs that take up the oxygen you breathe in, didn’t grow back once damaged. They left a person more susceptible to lung conditions. That was before you took into account mouth disorders. One of the worst experiences as a trainee doctor was seeing a cancer patient whose tongue had to be cut out.

“There are worse proclivities to have.”

“Not ones that will turn your lungs to bags of dust.”

He took the offending article back before she leeched it all. “So why do you look like you’re enjoying it so much?”

“Because I am. Must be my rebellious streak.” She chuckled humorously though there was a touch of bitterness too.

He rolled his eyes and watched a stray leaf twist away from a spindly branch and spin to the ground. “You don’t think you're rebellious?” If she didn’t think what Lecter had said about her had at least some modicum of truth within it then she was kidding herself.

Catching on she grinned and told him, “I started smoking because my father hated my mom smoking. He used to shout, bellow even, at her so I knew it was wrong, I knew I wasn’t supposed to be doing it, even before I understood the health drawbacks, but I did it anyway because I wanted to be scorned. I wanted the one thing my father had never given me: disapproval.” Of course she had it in spades now and it wasn’t a good thing at all. She wanted to go back in time and shake her past self, tell her to stop being so silly, so juvenile. You can’t miss something you don’t have but you sure can mourn when your wish hits you full on in the face.

“Do you have any idea what a good psychiatrist would say about that?”

Probably. He was in a funny mood indeed and she felt herself slipping easily along. “Have you done it?”

“What?”

“Profiled me?”

He laughed around the butt of the cigarette, letting the smoke sting his throat and burn his chest. He wasn’t really used to it any more. He didn’t even know why he’d bought them. Last time he was this pissed off he’d f*cked Scully and he knew which of the two activities he preferred. “No.”

“Why?”

Bored of the cigarette he flicked the last of it to the ground and scrubbed it with his shoe, smiling when she pouted. “I wouldn’t want to offend you.” Besides, she kept on surprising him and he liked that about her. Profiling her would mean reducing her to a set of traits and characteristics and that would be a shame. “I’ve never done it with someone I’ve slept with, seems like a violation you know.”

She understood, but, with a twinkle in her eye, asked, “Never?”

“Never.” Well, he’d tried with Phoebe and had even succeeded much to her annoyance. It didn’t really matter what he’d worked out though. When your head is up your own ass it’s hard to see the wood for the trees no matter what realizations you come to on the page. The sex had been good and he liked the level of kink she offered (and she certainly had no qualms about letting him play out his), it’d blinded him. At least until he fell in love and made an idiot of himself and realized there were more healthy things to do with his time.

“Mulder?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you ok?” He had that sad look about him, one she’d seen a few times now.

“Yeah, just incredibly tired. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“Life, the universe and everything.” Whether they would catch this guy, whether Lecter would help or be full of more sh*t, whether Roche would give up his hearts, where his sister was. The usual.

“Douglas Adams fan?”

“Yeah. I even live at number 42.” Not that he spent much time there, he seemed to live mostly in motels. Once upon a time he’d lived in a house in Oxford. He still owned it. An aging hippy named Gordon rented it from him.

She smiled at that, wondered what answers she’d find here and with him. “Me too. It was hard in there.” She took his hand in hers and he gave it a squeeze.

He looked at the ground. “I keep seeing my sister.”

She squeezed his hand back and remembered what Skinner had said, how little he’d said. How many traumas had this man actually had? “How old was she when she disappeared?” He raised an eyebrow and she admitted, “Skinner mentioned something but none of the details.”

“She was eight.” He looked up at the fading light, at the peach pink and beige sky with its hints of rich blues and purples far off into the distance that would soon catch up and take over as surely as the earth kept spinning. He looked for starlight, looked for hope and found none but the warmth of her hand. He didn't dare to think about what that meant. He wasn’t sure he was ready for something like that.

“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t imagine. “Is there anything I can do?”

He thought about it and shook his head. No, there was nothing. He wasn’t even sure of it himself. It wasn’t that he’d seen his sister on the slab back there, it was more the uncertainty, the desire to make sure those girls were given back their identities, something that might never be afforded Samantha. Not now he was pretty certain she was an abductee. If Scully thought her father was disappointed in her, it was nothing to what his father thought of him and the regression hypnosis he’d been through.

“You get your samples bagged and tagged?”

“Yeah,” she replied, knowing the topic of his sister was off limits for now. “I put a few requests on the autopsy form such as to check for stomach contents, I didn’t see any of that in the reports you gave me.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything. He starves them before he kills them.” He gave a half-hearted apology for not telling her sooner. It’d seemed too much, one more horror atop too many others.

“Only gives them water or lemonade.”

She wasn’t pissed, just annoyed. “What else haven’t you told me?”

“Nothing.”

She wasn’t so sure but dropped it. "It's not fair is it?"

The world wasn't fair. He looked back at the funeral home and said, "Nope." He watched the traffic for a while, a patrol car drove past slowly, the driver eyeballing him. “Let’s get out of here,” he said finally.

She picked up her bags and nodded. “How far is the motel?”

He spun her around to face it. It was just over the road. The Elk River Tavern. A modest looking two story establishment with five rooms and a small lot out in front. The sign proclaimed they only had three rooms left.

Chapter 31

Chapter Text

“Nice slippers,” he said looking up from his position on his bed where he’d been working ever since they’d arrived.

She wiggled her feet and raised an eyebrow while she dried her hair with the fluffy towel (surprisingly nice considering the rustic feel of this place). She ignored his comment about her gray bunny slippers, a birthday gift from Reyes, and went through the connecting door from her room to his and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Writing my report, adding to my profile, trying to make sense of all this.” Trying to make sense of the world.

She lifted up some of the pictures and immediately put them down again. She couldn’t any more, not today anyway. “I don’t know how you do it day in, day out.”

“Well, I’m not sure if I can do it any more.”

“So don’t, take the night off. Give yourself a break. There’s nothing that can be done right now anyway. I transmitted the fingerprints to Quantico and sent my samples by currier.” When she’d eventually found one.

“Maybe,” he replied non committal. “How was your shower?”

“Heaven.” It was the best shower she’d had in a long time. She finished drying her hair and dumped the towel over a chair and sat down next to him in her robe. He’d changed into a white T-Shirt and a pair of snug looking boxer briefs. “You should try it.”

“Are you saying I stink?”

“No, not at all. It’s just good for the soul.”

Not for him. Finding answers was all that he needed. Outside the funeral parlor he’d felt lost, exposed and useless, full of guilt for what had happened to that girl on that porcelain slab, his sister. Now, away from that place, he felt more at ease, rested, invigorated. He fished out the cocoon from his bag and held it up, “What do you make of this?”

She dreaded to think what its implications were. “I don’t know, were there cocoons with the other girls?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t at some point, I mean they could've been expelled somehow. Internal pressure on the body due to gasses during the decomposition process.” Picking at his files he pulled out the report on the storage facility. “I’ve already phoned the lab and asked them to check Raspail for one. It’s our best chance.”

“Good idea.” She yawned. It was too early for bed or dinner and so she reluctantly took the little jar from him. “It could be a butterfly or a moth.”

That’s exactly what he’d thought. “Before we take it to the lab I want some friends to look at it.”

“Oh, you know some entomologists Mulder?”

He laughed, “More like the Three Stooges.”

She didn’t get it and handed the jar back. He surprised her by putting it away along with all his paperwork, putting it all on the floor. “You know I can’t wait to get out of here, those Troopers were something else,” she said.

That was an understatement. He reclined on the bed and faced her, indicating she should do the same. A nap would be nice. “You did well back there.”

She felt she had no choice. She let her frustrations spill out. “They pissed me off, I was offended.” She sighed indignantly, “As a male police officer you don’t know what it’s like to be dismissed and objectified so blatantly.”

“No, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I heard some of the comments but I didn’t want to draw attention to you in the middle of a funeral, I didn’t want to embarrass you.” And he knew she could deal with it. Which she had.

“And I’m grateful for that, that you know I can handle myself.”

“And I’m sorry I left you to talk to the Chief, I wasn’t trying to intimate that you weren’t up to the challenge, it was wrong of me.”

She smiled, grateful for his apology and kissed his cheek softly. He needed a shave but she had to admit he looked damn good with stubble. “I got the feeling he wouldn’t have spoken to me anyway.”

“He was a bit of a jackass wasn’t he?”

“A bit?” She pulled back the thin bed covers and climbed in, covering herself up to the waist and leaning on an elbow. He did the same. They were so close now and she was reminded of the last time they’d had sex. Not tender or romantic by any means but intimate, watchful, attentive. Out of the three times they’d done it, it had been her favorite. She liked him watching her. She loved being the center of his attention.

“Is this ok?” he asked, settling himself as she nodded. Her robe had fallen slightly and he could see the gentle slope of her breast, the soft skin, the very edge of a rosy nipple. His co*ck began stirring in response. He was a lost man and he was only too happy to die at her feet.

She knew he was looking. She was tired, needed to sleep, but the way he was biting his lip, at war with himself, was enough of an aphrodisiac for every conscious thought to go out of the window. She reached over and slid his glasses carefully off his face and put them on the bedside table behind her, shifting closer.

He brushed her hair away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“Only about a thousand times.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead, her cheek and her nose. “Smart too.” Finally her lips, just a soft swipe and ever so gentle. “And sexy.” He could love her. The realization was as frightening as it was revelatory. He pulled away, flopped onto his back and scrubbed his face in his hands hard. “What are we doing?”

Confused, she closed her robe. She thought it was obvious: two young attractive people who enjoyed each other's company were letting off steam during a horrific case. “I thought it was obvious?”

She’d already been through a lot of personal introspection for this man (was it right? Was it good for her career? Was it professional?) but she’d neglected to think that he might have the same questions and doubts. She thought of Jack and how uncomplicated he’d been. She didn’t want him of course, not any more, but there was certainly something to say about simple people. “Do you want me to leave?”

She touched Mulder, his muscular forearm, and ran the pad of her thumb over the soft dark hairs there. Touching him was comforting, that was half the problem: she couldn’t get enough. She also knew she didn’t want to define anything, that scared her too much. They’d only known each other a short while.

“I want you to stay, that’s the problem.”

She smiled, “It’s a nice problem to have, no?”

He laughed, god she really was perfect. What the hell did she see in him? Taking a deep breath he told her about his sister, because he wanted to believe, wanted to trust her, perversely hoping it would scare her away so he wouldn’t fall harder. He was surprised when it didn’t, even more so that she was listening intently and without judgment. She told him she didn’t believe in UFOs, abductions and extraterrestrials but that she did believe in him and his convictions, in his strength and his personal faith. It was more than enough, all he needed to hear. Trust without recriminations, without penalty A benediction. A sign. An unwavering gaze. Diana believed but she didn’t believe in him. Scully did and that’s what made the difference.

By the end they were lying facing each other again and he kissed her softly, needing her to know how much he appreciated her, how much he needed her.

For her part she kissed him in kind, opened herself up to him and bared her soul in much the same way he had just done with his words. She didn’t believe, science was her god, her hope, her way of making sense of the world. Aliens didn’t figure into it. Mulder figured into it though and the answers she’d been seeking were right here in front of her. She was happy, unencumbered by expectation, parental guilt, men who cut up women for fun, free from the stress of cannibalistic monsters and come throwing lunatics.

She felt his hands, tentative at first, gentle, wandering all over her in a soft, meandering pace. The desperate and frenzied couplings of before were being replaced by a simple and basic need to be close to each other and discover, to learn. They would make love and they would take their sweet time over it.

Her body trembled as he grazed and then stroked a particularly sensitive spot on her left breast and he grinned at her sharp intake of breath. His hands were like instruments wielded by only the finest surgeons, first her breast, a gentle squeeze of her already taunt nipple, and down to the knotted tie of her robe which he pulled free to run a hand over the length of her stomach. And all the while his lips never left hers, even as she hummed into his mouth.

She couldn’t get enough. It was the sweetest thing she’d even know. Warm against her he was in turns tender, powerful and knowledgeable, making her feel things she’d never even imagined before. Getting to know each other this way was a heady experience, potent and intoxicating. The little sounds he made in response to hers made her want more, made her want everything.

His hand trailed back up her body, his thumb dipping into her belly button making her giggle, trailing an invisible line up her sternum and her shoulder until he hit terrycloth. “Take it off,” he muffled against her mouth, barely breaking the kiss.

They both sat up, somehow only managing to part for the barest of moments while she shrugged off the offending article and pushed it off the bed. He had to pull away eventually however, to pull his T-Shirt off. He repositioned himself in front of her naked form, his backside against his heels.

Both panting, she lay back raised up on her elbows, watching, waiting, beholding his dilated pupils and his fuzzy hair from where she’d just had her hands in it. They shared an assured smile as she noticed the tented front of his underwear. He looked down at himself, contemplating, a lopsided grin on his face. His full attention on the task at hand though his eyes were soon raking over her body appreciatively.

He leaned in, grabbed an ankle in each hand and pulled hard. The world came out from under her as she landed with a soft, “Oof” flat on her back but closer to him.

Leaning towards her, he slowly crawled up her body planting kisses on her calf, her knee, her thigh and stopped just short of where she needed him the most. He was barely touching her and already she was lost, gasping and wiggling her hips, trying to get him between her thighs. He surprised her by grasping her ankles again and slowly pushed them up until her legs were bent at the knee.

“What are you up to?”

“I want to learn everything there is to know about Dana Scully,” he said, like an artist choosing which brush to use to paint his favorite muse. He parted her thighs and leaned in to kiss her belly.

That was fine by her. She gasped as his tongue made contact with her stomach, caught her breath when he moved up to her belly button again and exhaled an, “Oh god....” when he ghosted kisses up her body and made contact with her left nipple, drawing it into his mouth and composing soft circles around the engorged bud with his tongue.

His other hand moved to her other breast, rolling and pinching the nipple with his fingers, and she was soon writhing against him, closing her eyes in pleasure and pushing her breast further into his mouth. He was only too happy to oblige and took a bigger mouthful, looking up at her with hooded eyelids.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to make me come,” she sobbed greedily, on edge and ridiculously wet. She was probably soaking his thighs. “Please…”

She could feel him smiling against her and then the bastard released both her breasts, moved up her again, taking her gold cross in his mouth and tugging gently before letting it go, kissing the hollow of her neck where it’d fallen. He whispered against her, “All in good time.”

She pouted, curling her lip over, but it was soon stolen from her mouth as he had her in a devastating kiss, hot and passionate all at once, his tongue moving against her in a manner that took her breath away. In response she hooked her leg around his waist, her foot pushing into his backside and, as he moaned appreciatively, she pressed him into her. She cried out at the feeling of him against her sex, he was so hard. She’d felt him before of course but if anything he felt harder now, rock turning to steel.

He choked back a sob of his own as she moved her body against his, couldn’t help the hard thrust in response to her incredible motions, his need echoing hers. He backed away on the need for control over himself though, kissing the tip of her nose. An absurdly chaste gesture given her current, naked, situation.

“You ok?” He asked.

She furrowed her brow, it was an absurdly chaste question to go along with his absurdly chaste gesture. She nodded though, asking in a slightly husky tone, “Yes, why?”

“I just want to make sure.”

It was sweet, if unnecessary. “I’m enjoying myself.”

He was too and energetically said, “Good, me too. But I’m about to make you feel even better.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yes.”

“And just how are you going to do that now?” she asked in a mock innocent tone.

He smiled knowingly. Kissed her nose again and then, when she thought he was going to get up and take his briefs off he moved to her ear, whispering, “I’m going to put my mouth on you because I know how much you love it and because you taste f*cking amazing and because it’s what I want.”

She could only whisper out incomprehensible sounds, the occasional “Oh, god,” as he inched his way down her body, dragged his bottom lip up her navel, dotted her public mount with kisses and hummed against her.

With a hand in his hair she encouraged him lower, needing more contact. She was crazy for him, what he was about to do. His mouth thrilled her and if the sounds he was making against her were anything to go by he was enjoying himself just as much as she was.

She felt a finger press and then stroke against her wet cl*t before she could feel his mouth, carefully spreading her open with index and middle finger, teasing, testing her. She cried out in frustration, it wasn’t enough, but just at the point of maddening he slid a long finger into her tight wet heat and she could only whimper many, many, many, sounds of thanks.

He pumped her gently, kissing her inner thigh, her labia, teasing softly and watching her sex swell further and fill with blood, his favorite part. Watching the way her body changed and moistened, became drenched through want and desire, ready to receive his co*ck, drove him wild. He reached out with his tongue finally making contact, drinking her in.

Her hands tightened in his hair and began massaging his scalp and his tongue played with her cl*t, exerting various amounts of pressure. It was electric and she could feel it throughout her entire body. She was ready to let him move in down there and laughed at the thought. He stopped, looked at her with a quizzical frown. She groaned desperately, “Don’t stop. Soooo good.”

Thankfully he didn’t stop. She closed her eyes and cried out loudly when he sucked her cl*t, ran the flat of his tongue across to soothe and then twisted it with a swirling motion. When he gently slid another finger inside of her she nearly flew off the bed and it was his turn to chuckle.

“Evil man!” she sobbed against the pillow. She was trying her hardest not to buck into his face and writhe around like an idiot but it was so hard and it was too good. A small curl up of his digits though and she was flying, clamping down on his hand, arching her back and crying his name. He continued to pump in and out while lapping at her swollen nub to prolong it. She’d never felt more alive.

While she was coming down from her high, lying there with a satisfied grin on her face, he moved away to pull his boxers off, his magnificent co*ck springing free. He was hard and huge and once again she was in awe. He smiled as she reached for him and he settled himself over her.

He kissed her, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip and into her mouth and she tasted herself, the rich smoky flavor he so thoroughly enjoyed, enjoying their combined tastes. It made her feel powerful.

She felt him take himself in hand and press against her, pushing ever forward. Her mouth fell open as she took him in inch by inch, she panted as she stretched to accommodate him. He didn’t just look big, he was big, he seemed endless and he was making sure she felt it all.

“So good,” she sighed in pleasure when he was finally flush against her. She shuddered, feeling impossibly full and ready to break apart again.

“No kidding!” He groaned in a strained reply. He felt stupidly drunk on her. “You feel incredible.” He had to close his eyes to steady himself and stop from shaking. A minute later when he was back under control he reached down to tilt her hip up a little and slid in deeper and they both moaned in unison.

Maybe not. He paused, trying to regain his composure again and she asked him was ok, he wasn’t moving, just breathing heavily.

He laughed shyly, a little bit self consciously. His voice was shaky, “Um yeah, it’s just you’re so f*cking hot and I’m struggling not to come straight away.”

She couldn’t help laughing, but she cupped his face and said, “If you need to come, come, I already have.” She squeezed his co*ck with her puss* and his eyes slammed shut, his head going to her shoulder as he whimpered.

There was no way he was coming now, he was going to savor this. He took a deep breath and started to move. Any trace of smugness on her part was soon replaced with ecstasy. No matter how many times they’d already done this he would never stop feeling incredible.

He placed soft languid kisses along her neck and shoulder, licked her collarbone wetly as he moved in and out of her gently. His first few thrusts seemed inquisitive, almost exploratory, like he was allowing her to get used to him. Trying to find what she responded to, and liked, the most, but his movements soon grew in confidence and his shallow thrusts became deeper.

His hand reached for a breast and he bent down to capture her nipple in his mouth making her hum. He moaned in response, carefully teasing the hardened nub against his lip, traced it with the tip of his tongue, worshiping it. The sensations it elicited went straight to the area where he was currently nestled between her thighs and she felt a fresh wave of wetness wash over her as she pushed up to meet his hard thrust.

“There you go,” he breathed, a bead of sweat forming on his brow which she licked off the next time he bent his head. “Love how wet you are.”

Her hands were in his hair pulling him to her mouth, he could only respond by kissing her deeply, his passion evident. A particularly good upward stroke of his co*ck had her crying his name and begging him to do it again which he duly did, hitting the same area again and again and again. She could actually feel herself rushing towards another org*sm already and the realization that he was doing these things to her and making her feel this way was intoxicating.

“You like that?” he panted but she could only give needy moans, affirmative sobs and rasps of encouragement, words having long escaped the area of her brain that produced them.

He went to her neck, alternating between biting and nipping and soothing with lips and tongue. When he reached her ear he tugged on the earlobe with sharp teeth before saying, “Wrap your legs around me, high up my back, cross your ankles.”

Admittedly this was a struggle, she was small, but she managed it just about and crossed her ankles at his lower back just above his ass. She immediately felt the change in angle and her eyes went wide, her mouth falling open in pleasure. She arched her back and then her neck and he kissed her throat, running an open mouth up her neck, over her chin to her lips.

The new position definitely spurred him on more and his thrusts soon started to increase in pace, got a little harsher and shallower and she knew he was close again. He was still talented enough to reach that part of her she liked him touching the most though and the the sounds of their loud moans, kisses and sighs filled the room along with the sound of their combined arousal, a weird symphony.

He whispered in a shaky graveled tone, “Love this.”

There was nothing but agreement from her. She writhed against him as best she could with her legs locked around him her hips meeting his thrusts enthusiastically, feeling everything coil in her gut and everything tighten down below and when he reached between them to touch her wet bundle of nerves she flew over the edge again, clamping down and crying up to god and to Mulder and wondering if there was really any difference right now.

She felt like she’d died, her limbs were suddenly horribly heavy and exhaustion took over. She couldn’t hold the position any longer and unhooked her ankles and let her legs fall back to the bed.

She tried to keep up with him as best as she could though as she wanted him to enjoy his finish as much as she’d enjoyed hers. He let out a hoarse cry into her neck as his world came apart, as he gushed into her, clawing at her hip, holding her in place and probably leaving a mark.

Not that she cared.

He flopped tiredly down on top of her, his weight heavy but comforting, she dotted little kisses all over his shoulder, his Adam's apple and anywhere else she could reach. Both were panting heavily and tiredly.

“That was f*cking incredible,” she sighed. He could only agree with a sleepy nod that it was.

Eventually he slipped out and made quick work of cleaning himself up. It wasn’t long before he was back in bed though, pulling her onto him so that her head was resting on his chest, and covering them up with the duvet. She could hear his heart beating a mile a minute and she supposed hers must be too as she was still getting her breath back.

He kissed the top of her head and she looked up at him. He was watching her through drooping eyelids and looked truly happy. She kissed him and settled herself back down on his chest.

She closed her eyes, letting exhaustion take over. “I think you killed me.”

“I can think of worse ways to go than death by sex.”

She could only agree as they drifted off into an easy sleep.

Chapter 32

Chapter Text

All Catherine Martin could see in the darkness was more darkness. Pressing in and kissing her cold body, covering like an unwanted blanket on a sticky summer night.

It made her ears hypersensitive to even the smallest of noise: a fly buzzing nearby sounded like a chainsaw, the beating wings of insects sounded like a thunderstorm, a dog barking upstairs made her cover her ears. It was too much. It made it difficult to differentiate the sounds. She thought she could hear running water though, someone walking over floorboards and slamming doors. Her own heartbeat felt like a hammer on a drum and worsened her headache and she could swear she could hear her own eyes blinking. There was definitely someone else in this place with her however.

She didn’t know where she was but she knew she wasn’t in a very big space and couldn’t get out. The brick walls were tall and damp, soaking wet in places like water was trying to force its way in from the other wide, occasionally she could hear a drip. She wondered if it was a well or an old shelter of some kind. Whatever it was had been capped or filled in as the floor was made of concrete (with a small drain in the center). The only company she had was a bucket attached to a string for doing her business in.

There was a word she couldn’t quite remember, her brain felt foggy, it might be French, an oubliette or something like that. That's what this place reminded her of. She shuddered.

She wondered how she’d gotten down here, she guessed she was lowered somehow, maybe with a rope, she had what felt like burn marks across her chest and underneath her arms that stung like a bitch.

She ached all over actually, felt stiff and bruised and knew her elbow had taken a bump or ten. At least two of her fingers were broken, a toe too. She remembered being hit over the head and she’d tasted blood at one point though that had thankfully subsided. Someone had taken her clothes off and dressed her in a scratchy jumpsuit though she knew she hadn’t been raped.

She was afraid. Not of the dark but of the unknown. She hadn’t seen the man who’d taken her since he’d shoved her in the van (though she had a hazy memory of someone taking photographs of her. Flitting in and out of consciousness she’d remembered a blazing flash of light and the whirr of an old camera moving film along). She knew that son-of-a-bitch had kidnapped her, knew she probably wouldn’t get out of here for a while. It seemed to her that they were in the middle of nowhere. She’d screamed a lot and it hadn't helped. She’d stopped. When she saw that bastard she'd tell him about her mom.

She wanted to scream now but she didn’t. She kept still. She could hear a nearby creek, a door opening perhaps, and footsteps. Her heart rate soared and her breathing quickened. The bucket moved, scraping across the floor. She was too late to grab it. She tried to swallow her fear. Tried to find the person in the dark.

“Hello?” she called, her voice felt raw. “Who’s there? Please mister, I know you’re there. Let me out!” There was no response. She could hear the bucket being raised and then emptied, washed in a sink above. A basem*nt. She was in a f*cking basem*nt. Some wacko had dug a pit in their basem*nt and she was right at the bottom of it. “I know you can hear me!”

More footsteps and breathing. Heavy breathing, almost as if the person was excited. She wanted to throw up. She tried to stay calm, it was a struggle.

“Please, my family will pay,” she said. “Cash, whatever ransom you’re asking for!”

A small orange light came on above, a crappy dollar bulb by the looks of it, and she could finally make out shadows above and eventually the tall willowy creature that’d taken her.

“Mister you speak to…” she screamed as a cold jet of water landed on her. Now she knew why this place was wet. She tried to escape, out maneuver it, but there was nowhere to go so she sank to the floor and tried her best to cower away from it. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her sobs so she muffled them with her arm.

He blasted her a second time and then cut the water off. He appeared over the side, staring down at her with a hard unmoving stare. He had a little dog, a spoiled looking snowy white Bichon Frise, in his arms and he began lowering the bucket. He still had that same scraggly appearance and when he spoke his voice was still unearthly. “It rubs the lotion on its skin, it does whatever it's told.”

It? If she wasn’t so scared she’d tell him to go f*ck himself. Instead she went back to her pleading. “Mister, please, call my mom. Senator Ruth Martin, she’ll give you what...”

“It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again.” His little dog barked along with the command and he cooed, “Yes, she will, Precious. She will get the hose again.”

The bucket landed at her feet and she saw that there was a bottle of La Mer moisturizing cream. Her mother used the same one. It was expensive. She took it out slowly contemplating, sizing him up and looking at her surroundings while she had the chance. She figured she was about 15 feet down, maybe if she could somehow pick out the cement between the bricks she could get enough of a hold to haul herself up and out.

“I said it puts the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again.”

“Ok, ok, ok.” Her stomach lurched again. It was such a weird request and it sickened her. Why would he want her to do that? She did as she was told though, she didn’t want to be soaked again, rubbing the cold lotion on the upper chest and neck and under her arms were her skin chafed. “Mister, if you let me go, I won’t, I won’t press charges. I promise.” He raised a disbelieving and somewhat mocking eyebrow. She was definitely in trouble here. “See, my mom is a real important person but I guess you already know that.”

“Now it puts the lotion in the basket.”

“Please!” she cried, her tears stinging her raw cheeks. “I want to go home.” He twitched and she thought she might be reaching him. “I want to see my mommy. Please!” Her breath disappeared and she couldn’t raise her voice above a whisper anymore, “Please let me see my mommy.”

She heard some anxious breathing and looked up at him, pleading. It didn’t work.

Infuriated he shouted, “Put the f*cking lotion in the basket!”

She did shakily and the bucket was pulled aloft quickly as if he was afraid she'd climb on and get out. A bottle of water landed at her feet with a thud and he started to walk away. She shouted after him, “Come back, don’t leave me down here!”

He looked down at her and smiled and that’s when she saw it: a manicured fingernail, painted red, embedded in the wall and sitting in a bloody smear. It still had some skin attached. She heaved, tasting bitter bile and then started screaming. Someone else had been down here, another girl. Her mind flipped as she imagined what he’d done to that girl, what he’d do to her.

She screamed and he mocked.

And then he turned out the light again.

Chapter 33

Chapter Text

The devil came not with any great fanfare or with any grand machiavellian cunning but rather as a poisonous snake with an overly slimy disposition and a side order of backstabbing. A well dressed snake in Manolo Blahnik’s and a Versace jacket dress but a snake all the same.

Mulder groped for the shrilling phone in the dark and answered groggily, annoyed to have been woken up from such a comfortable sleep. “Mulder.”

There was a soft nasal chuckle, a woman’s voice. He recognised it immediately as Lara Stone, the venal and opportunistic ‘ace’ reporter from Tattle magazine. She was the natural successor to Freddie Lounds and was working her way quickly to the top. While she didn’t quite occupy the same low mark as him she damn well tried. She scurried with the rats but didn’t quite live in the sewer.

Yet.

“Hello sexy, how’s my favorite FBI Agent?”

He made an urgh sound as Scully shifted next to him and turned on the light. He checked his watch, not quite 1am. It surprised him, he’d not expected to sleep so long. Not that he was complaining. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” he asked sleepily but alertly.

Stone chuckled again and he could tell she was probably twirling her mustache. “News doesn’t take a break, you know that Fox.”

He looked at Scully who mouthed, “Is it the case?” He shook his head and was glad when she got up and went to the bathroom. When the door closed he replied, “Don’t call me Fox. How’s life in the gutter?”

Stone hummed, offended or amused he couldn’t tell, she ignored it. “I heard you were on a snipe hunt up in West Virginia, something to do with Hannibal Lecter.”

Ah. “News travels fast.”

“Only if you pay the right prices…”

“Sleep with the right people…”

“Touché.”

“Who told you anyway?” he wanted to know who'd been going to the press.

She laughed. “Don’t be a fool, I can’t tell you that and I didn’t call you to talk about my information line.”

"Yeah yeah a reporter never reveals their sources. So cliche." So boring. He was trying to figure out what she really wanted. A pound of flesh probably. “So you called to tell me I have a leak somewhere?” Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder he grabbed his underwear and pulled it on.

“No, I want to see you.”

He paused, nearly tripped over the leg of jeans as he pulled those on too. He was annoyed. The last time they'd been in the same room she’d tried to blow him. It wasn’t a particularly happy memory. His balls had practically jumped up into his body in fright. “Oh, why’s that?”

The toilet flushed in the other room and he listened out for Scully’s return, thankfully the door stayed shut and he sighed in relief when he heard the shower turn on.

“Nice food, nice company, old times?”

He looked at the phone curiously. Old times? Did they have any old times? He tried to think. They’d gotten drunk together a few times. They both liked tequila. He wouldn’t describe it as the good old days though. They’d shared innocent stories and memories of certain serial killers. They might even have kissed, that memory was stained in too much Vermouth though and he couldn’t be 100% certain. He was definitely certain of her blowj*b attempt though. He was also certain about the grotty little expose she'd printed about him, that he was in league with the serial killers he hunted, how he was probably one himself.

"I'm busy," he snapped.

"You're angry."

"You're surprised?"

"We live in a world where misinformation is worth more money than truth, lies sell, you want me to say I'm sorry? Why? You know it wouldn't mean anything."

That was probably the truest truth he'd ever heard her speak. He allowed himself a smile. "Well regardless I’m washing my hair,” he said sarcastically.

“I can scrub your back, or have you already got that lovely red headed partner of yours to do it for you?”

He stopped dead in his tracks. Now he was listening. Who told you about her? He looked at the door then at the window and wondered if someone was watching. He wouldn’t put it past the people at Tattle. “How do you know about her?”

“I told you I have my sources. You need to start catching up Fox, you used to be more with it, more on the game.”

Yeah and it'd got a reporter killed. “I’m not interested in playing games.” At least not hers.

“You should be, I have something that might interest you.”

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Watching the bathroom door he hoped it wasn’t about Scully. Did Stone have something on her? Was she about to print something? He could ask Stone outright but that might give the game away about their relationship. There were careers to think of. Scully’s more than his, he didn’t really care about his own. He was worried. He needed to protect her. “What,” he finally said.

She was deliberately cryptic, “Not here, not now and not on the phone. Meet me, when you get back, tonight, and we’ll have a mutual exchange of information, that little restaurant near the Federal Triangle, Trattoria. I’ll make it worth your while.”

He doubted that. He found himself nodding though, he needed to know what she did. “Ok.”

She practically sing-songed, “Good, it’s a date, it’ll be like old times.” She was overly happy and he didn’t like it.

She hung up the phone before he could say anything else and he thumped the phone down. He was angry. He wondered if he was being played. Not for the first time he wondered if he was getting in over his head. When he'd agreed to look at this case it had only been in a consultant capacity. Somehow he'd edged up to lead investigator. He didn't like it. He didn't like feeling he was being manipulated, moved around a chess board.

Scully came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She smiled at him. He half-heartedly returned it. "Who was that?" she asked.

He shook his head, didn't want to involve her. "Nothing."

She contemplated him, he looked in another place altogether. "Work?"

Lara Stone was always hard work. "Something like that."

"Anything you want to talk about."

"No," he said innocently. He probably should, and he probably would, when he found out what Stone had. No point involving her now, in nothing. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "It's nothing honestly."

She didn't believe him, he was too breezy and had the disposition of a man who was trying to hide something, but dropped it. "Ok."

While grabbing his T-shirt and putting it on he asked, "You hungry?"

"Starving." They hadn't eaten since lunchtime.

"Good, there's a service station up the road I'll go and grab us something." He slipped his socks and shoes on quickly and grabbed his jacket. He was out the door before she had a chance to say anything more. He needed to do some digging. He needed to call Frohike, Danny Valladeo too.

Scully stared after him and chewed her lip. She knew she shouldn't, she trusted Mulder, but she picked up the phone and reverse dialed. It rang three times before a machine answered, "Hi, you've reached Lara Stone, I'm not in right now but..." she put the phone down and frowned.

Chapter 34

Chapter Text

Mulder seemed on edge, nervous. He was short in tone and perpetually annoyed, his answers to her questions clipped and very to the point. That was when he actually did speak to her, most of the time he just looked surly. He checked his watch every 10 minutes and kept looking around nervously, like he thought someone might be following them. She’d remarked that he seemed paranoid and he’d made such a bad joke in return that it’d killed any reply on her part for a good twenty minutes.

It was like he didn’t want to be here. Oh he’d still kissed her, he’d been doing that all day when he was certain they were alone (such as in her dorm room when he’d helped her with her bags, in an elevator on the way there, at breakfast in the little cafe they’d found) and had squeezed her hand on the ride over here, but it was like he had better things to do. It stung. For the first time she couldn’t work him out properly and that bothered her.

It didn’t help matters that he was dressed in the smartest black suit and tie she’d ever seen, he even had cufflinks on, his hair was styled with gel and he smelled like a very high-end corner of heaven. He looked expensive. That it didn’t seem to be for her benefit pissed her off. That he looked like he was going on a date pissed her off even more.

That he seemed to be doing it for the benefit of Lara Stone was even worse and set her teeth on edge too. She knew exactly who Lara Stone was, she knew the crap she peddled, how she got her information and her ‘exclusives’ by flashing her credit card and breasts at people. She’d done her research when she was reading about Lecter and had come across Stone’s name several times on the microfiche in the library at Quantico. She didn’t like her one bit and trusted her about as far as she could throw her.

What she couldn’t work out was what she wanted from Mulder and why he was willingly walking towards her after all the stuff she'd written about him. He was playing a dangerous game indeed and she was concerned.

She was not happy about him keeping it from her either. That hurt the most. She hated clandestine behavior and lies, she hated it from him. After everything they’d just been through too, after the night they’d just had. She still felt him, still had his loving words in her ear. When they’d eventually eaten, when he’d eventually turned up after being gone for over an hour, and they’d settled back in bed he’d whispered his plans for when this case was over. How he’d like to get away somewhere with her, date her properly.

She so badly wanted to shake him. If only he would just talk to her.

She trusted him and that wasn’t about to go out of the window. She did not trust Lara Stone however: sleazy tabloid hack and just as trashy. A vulgarian only interested in her own career and how quickly she could rise to the top. Stone used people. She would use Mulder too. She knew it. She just hoped he was smart enough to see it.

Scully banged on the apartment door they were currently standing outside of in frustration. She didn’t even know where the hell they were or who they were here to see. He’d been evasive. Or rather he’d been obstinate and obtuse.

When there was no answer Mulder thumped the door and looked up at the camera she hadn’t even known was there until he pointed it out.

“Open the damn door,” he shouted.

On the other side looks were withdrawn, chains dropped and a bolt lifted. She turned to look at Mulder and he just shrugged. Eventually a latch was turned and the heavy door opened and a smartly dressed man with a neatly trimmed beard appeared. Not as sharp looking as Mulder but he certainly looked smart, clean cut. Unquestionably he reeked of government. Or at least ex-government.

As they were ushered inside and the locks were slammed back into place she thought definitely ex government and extremely paranoid. Maybe he’d stolen too many office supplies she mused to herself, perhaps he was afraid the stationary clerk would catch up to him. She couldn’t think of any other reason why such an unassuming man would have a reinforced steel door on a loft apartment in the middle of sub-suburban DC.

He nodded at Mulder, then smiled at her and extended his hand, “John Byers, call me Byers. You must be Scully?”

She wondered if anyone actually used first names anymore. She already felt like she’d lost hers since she’d joined the FBI. She smiled politely and took his offered friendship though, “Nice to meet you.”

He gestured at the door, “You’re probably wondering about all the locks?”

“No, not really, can’t be too careful these days.” Paranoid or not they weren’t exactly in a nice area of town.

He beamed like she was on his level. It couldn’t be further from the truth. “Drink? We have milk and, um, wine?” He blushed, scratching his head awkwardly, “Not really had a chance to go shopping yet.”

“No thank you,” she replied, nervously laughing. “It’s a little early for me.” It was only just after 4.

As Byers and Mulder chatted about some magazine called The Lone Gunman and some crank stuff about UFOs and JFK she looked around. There were more computers than she could count or name, modems and fax machines, a huge desk covered with all manner of technical things and in one corner a lab area, in another what looked like a printing press.

She walked towards it, keen to see what it was spitting out, but a ratty looking man shot out of a side room and jumped in front of her to warn, “I wouldn’t, it’s a little temperamental.” He looked her up and down and leered, “Well hello pretty lady.”

She smiled awkwardly and backed away. She couldn’t decide if he looked like a toad or an angry gnome. He was a little bit smaller than she was but a fair bit wider, and smelt of stale weed and engine oil. He was wiping his fingers on an old greasy rag. His jeans were covered too.

“This your new partner Mulder?” he asked, rushing to smarten himself by straightening his hat and throwing the cloth away. He found a chair to recline in, picked up a long lens camera and pointed it at her. She moved out of the way of the lens and frowned at him. He looked around it at her and smiled. “You’re right, she is hot.”

She glared at Mulder as he said, “Down Frohike.” Frokhike shrugged and took her picture anyway.

A third man appeared, tall with long blond hair and wearing a Ramones T-shirt, younger than the other two. He looked cautiously at her, had a kind of epiphany, smiled, and introduced himself as Langly and then went about his day telling Mulder he looked ‘sharp’ and then entered into a pointless argument with Frohike about the differences between the words dapper and sharp. She stayed out of it. She thought they were the same thing. Either way, it didn’t surprise her that Mulder had strange friends. They looked like the before, during and after of a mental breakdown.

“Who’s the lucky lady Mulder?” Langly asked at the end of the argument.

“Yeah and does she have a sister, mother or daughter?” Frohike enquired hopefully. “If she's young enough I’ll even take a grandmother.”

Mulder looked worriedly from Langly and Frohike to Scully but wisecracked, “No and sorry Frohike but you’re too much man for her.”

“So it is a ‘her’?” Frohike leered, “Make sure you give her my number. You know, just in case it doesn’t work out.”

“Not a date,” Mulder smiled. “It’s strictly business.”

“Bullsh*t, you don’t dress up like that for business.”

“You do where I’m going,” he mumbled. It sounded bitter to her ears.

Byers interjected with, “Well, date or not it’s nice to see you getting back out there Mulder, you know putting some effort in. We were a little worried after Diana left.” The other men agreed.

While all this had been going on Scully had been watching from the sidelines, half amused to see how uncomfortable Mulder was and half exasperated over his behavior. She needed some space. It would be good to get back to her studies and not have to worry about any of this.

“I’d rather not talk about my personal life, if you don’t mind,” said Mulder.

Frohike shrugged. He reached over and grabbed a printed sheet of paper and handed it to Mulder. “What you asked for, you owe me big time for this.”

Mulder took it and heaved a sigh of relief. He tucked whatever Frohike had given him into his inside pocket and patted himself to make sure it was still there. Clearly it was a prize of some sort.

More secrets. More layers of her stomach that fell away.

“Name your price,” Mulder said. Frohike looked at Scully and he was quick to add, “Something tangible, something not best described as pissing in the wind.”

Scully couldn’t help laughing and Mudler smiled for the first time in a long time.

“We’ll talk later,” Frohike said, winking. Mulder merely rolled his eyes. “Of course your bug is a little outside of my purview but Byers thinks he might have something.”

“I have indeed.” Byers came forward, thankful to be of use, and typed something onto a computer and a whole host of insect images came up. “The image you faxed me was a little on the, shall we say, crappy side.” Mulder shrugged self-deprecatingly and Byers continued, “But, with the help of a friend at the Smithsonian who let me onto the ECSI, I managed to find and narrow a species down.”

“Sorry, what's ECSI?” Scully asked, coming over to the screen and looking at the page Byers was perusing. It looked fascinating.

“The Entomological Collections and Species Inventory,” Mulder replied, he was busy not looking at the screen, apparently bugs were not his thing. “They’re setting up a searchable online catalog for the general public, it’s still in its infant stage though.”

“That’s amazing!” She didn’t know anything about bugs and creepy crawlies and this information genuinely fascinated her. She would love to have access to that, all those latin names she could memorize!

“Right, but it really is still in its beta phase.” Byers replied. “I mean there are 900 thousand species of known insects so it’s going to take some time.”

“That’s 80% of this planet's population,” added Langly. “And even then the estimations are cautious. The Smithsonian puts a conservative estimate at 2 million but the number could be as high as 30.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure and insects probably have the largest biomass of the terrestrial animals. At any time, it’s estimated that there are like 10 quintillion individual insects alive.”

“Needless to say,” said Byers. “There are more insect species that have not been described than there are insect species that have been previously named.”

Mulder shuddered so she asked, “You don’t like insects, Mulder?”

“We haven’t had the best of friendships over the years.” He particularly hated maggots and praying mantises. “That's why I leave it to the experts.” He tipped his head towards Byers who went a little red under the scrutiny.

“Well, hardly an expert, just a dilettante.” He turned the screen more towards Scully. “Anyway, your creature is of the species Lepidoptera, a moth to be precise.”

“And how many species of Lepidoptera are there?” she asked.

“About 13,000, and that’s just in America. ” he replied. “The majority of which are moths, there’s actually only around 825 species of butterflies here”

“Well, all this is very interesting, but it doesn’t really narrow it down,” she sighed truthfully.

“On the contrary Agent Scully. Mulder, where's that sample you promised me?”

Mulder pulled the little jar out of his pocket and handed it over to Byers who held it up to the light, fascinated. He moved over to a laboratory area of the room and began switching on lights and moving an overhead magnifying glass around. She looked after him horrified.

“Mulder, that’s evidence.”

“Gee I hope so.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean shouldn’t that already be at the Bureau lab?”

“Have you seen the processing time there? We need this now, not in 3 weeks.”

“But what if someone asks where it is?”

“Then I’ll tell them the truth, that’s it’s with an independent expert.” He got up and walked away to join the others leaving her feeling prickly. “Are you coming or not?” he called.

She didn’t like this but he was right, the labs were ridiculously backlogged. She threw her hands up in the air in defeat and followed.

Byers already had the brown cocoon in a steel tray positioned under the magnifying glass and was using a pair of tweezers and a periodontal probe to ease out the moth from its sodden chrysalis. They were all hunched over watching.

“The trick is,” he was saying. “Is to remove the chrysalis without destroying it. The wings are just like wet tissue paper.”

She watched curiously as he began peeling back the layers and then spread the moth out, its large wings spread wide. She was perfectly happy to concede that Byers did at least know what he was doing.

“Meet Mister Acherontia styx.”

He moved aside for them all to have a proper look. It was huge, easily 4 inches, and long. That it’d been stuffed down someone’s throat was astonishing. She gazed intently and then gasped. Right on the wide furry brown back of the moth, right between the wing bases on the thorax, was the perfect reproduction of a ghostly human skull.

“Better known to his friends as the death’s-head moth.”

She looked at Mulder who was looking up at the ceiling in a silent condemnation of God and all that was holy. She didn’t blame him. “From Acheron and Styx, two rivers in the underworld, no doubt.”

In reply Mulder recited, "It is regarded not as the creation of a benevolent being, but the device of evil spirits, spirits enemies to man, conceived and fabricated in the dark, and the very shining of its eyes is thought to represent the fiery element whence it is supposed to have proceeded. Flying into their apartments in the evening at times it extinguishes the light; foretelling war, pestilence, hunger, death to man and beast."

“That’s chilling,” offered Frohike, turning to look at his friend.

To lighten the mood Mulder quipped, “In Danish they’re called doodshoofdvlinder.”

There were a few appreciative smiles. “But what’s its significance?” she asked.

“Change.” That was all he would say on the matter.

“Your man, he drops these girls into rivers, every time. Didn't I read that?”

Neither of them answered Langly’s question. Instead Scully asked, “Are they native to here?”

Byers shook his head and went back to the computer and read aloud, “They live in Malaysia and other parts of Asia.”

“So they’d have to be imported, raised from eggs?” Scully was awed by the discovery and had multiple lines of enquiry she wanted to take up.

Byers nodded.

Outside in the hallway a little while later, the bug packaged up carefully for transportation, Scully was excited, her words a rush as they walked quickly, “There are import and export logs to look at, breeders, we should probably cross reference exotic animal sellers too. Oh and I was thinking about observing the autopsy for our Clay victim.”

He smiled at her enthusiasm. “Why don’t you go back to Quantico and do that, I’m sure the body will’ve got there by now. If she gives you trouble, tell Nancy Spiller I cleared it.”

She stopped as they reached the car. “What about you?”

He tossed her the keys and stepped out to hail a cab. “I have dinner plans.”

“Oh?”

He was looking for a reaction. She gave none and he relaxed. “Just a work thing. Nothing important really.”

“Anywhere nice,” she sounded too casual even to her own ears.

“No.”

A cab pulled up and she watched him through narrow eyes. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

He laughed, “More than likely out of my depth yes.”

Chapter 35

Chapter Text

In the cab, and after telling the driver where to go, he took one last look at Scully out of the side window as they pulled away from the curb and slumped back in his seat. She looked angry. He didn’t blame her. He would be too. He hated lying to her. He was angry at himself, wondering why he could trust her with his innermost secrets but not this. Yes he was trying to protect her, if there was anything to protect her from, but he also wondered if keeping her in the know would be a better form of defense. Keeping her in the dark was already threatening their natural intimacy and it made him feel like crap.

He resolved to tell her everything tonight. Once he got this over and done with. Once he found out what exactly Stone wanted, what she had. He briefly looked at the piece of paper Frohike had given him and rolled his eyes.

Thankfully the journey to the Federal Triangle was mercifully short and he was soon being ushered to a booth at the back by the stiff maitre d'.

Trattoria didn’t just reek of pretension, it was pretension. Sure it looked nice: lots of polished oak and leather, nice low lighting, unobtrusive piano music and just the right amount of the obscure art he liked but it was the kind of place that charged $60+ for an appetizer and you had to wear stupid clothes to get in the door. It was fine dining to the extreme. Already his wallet was crying and he wasn’t even paying. Information costs indeed he mused.

He spotted Lara Stone from a mile away, looking her usual shifty self. She rather reminded him of a scurrying critter, afraid of light and always on alert whenever noise got too loud and close. To her credit she looked the part otherwise: she was dressed in a slinky black dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination and her long blond hair was in an elaborate French braid resting on her uncovered tanned shoulder. She was, he was loath to admit, rather nice looking tonight.

It was a real shame her personality was so slippery and he didn't really want to be here.

She rose up when she saw him and smiled, kissed his cheek when he reached the table. “You look incredible, I could eat you,” she whispered, meaning every word.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he whispered with a temper. He didn’t return the kiss and she glowered a little but didn’t sulk and offered him a seat opposite which he took, easing himself down gently.

“Would you like me to leave you alone to get acquainted or can I get you a drink?” the maitre d' asked.

“I’m actually ready to order,” Mulder replied and Stone raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. He knew this place, had been here before. He grew up with fine things so knew how to navigate them. Besides he was hungry and the magazine was picking up the tab so he was going to take advantage. “I will have the prosciutto crudo di parma followed by the pumpkin risotto and then the filet of seabass with broccoli, my friend here will have the duck foie gras, the pumpkin risotto followed by the pigeon on a bed of seasoned mushrooms, we would both like the cheesecake and a class each of the 1922 Chateau Lafite Rothschild.”

The maitre d' smiled happily and nodded his head, “Exquisite taste sir.”

“Exquisite indeed, expensive too” she said after the other man had left. He could tell she was costing everything up as her eyes watered when she reached a cool $1000 (including tip). “Never let it be said that you don’t know how to treat a lady.”

“And never let it be said that I don’t know how to spend other people’s money.”

She chuckled appreciatively. “Well it’s not mine either so what the hell. You look well, still bothered by the old war wound I see.”

As always when anyone mentioned it his hand went defensively to his stomach. At least she hadn’t come armed with a camera to take pictures of it like Lounds had done in the hospital. “It’s fine.” Their wine arrived and he took a luxurious sip. He wasn’t a wine person, he was happy with a cold beer, but at $250 a glass he was going to savor it. “So, why am I here?”

“Straight to business? You’re no fun anymore,” she whined. “There used to be a time when you preferred a bit more of a tête-à-tête, a little flirtation as I recall.”

“That was before you printed that bullsh*t in that rag of yours.” And he wouldn’t call it a flirtation, more gentle teasing. “And you tried to blow me.”

“Trash sells.” She lit a cigarette and smirked as she blew smoke up at the ceiling. “And, as I recall, it was your idea.”

“I was joking, I didn’t expect you to try!”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, “Stop being such a f*cking bitch baby, it’s not like I succeeded. Much to my disappointment.”

She made an obscene gesture with her hand and mouth and he crossed his legs. Their starters arrived after a bit of idle chit chat and he tucked in, “So enough about me, how is life at Tattle?”

“Can’t complain, our readership is up tenfold this last quarter.”

“That’s because you fetishize the depraved, publicize the perpetrators of terrible crimes and further deny the victims a voice.”

“Righteous indignation suits you,” she said as she finished her cigarette and picked up her fork. She contemplated him for a long while and then laughed, “I’m serious. I don’t think you’ve ever been sexier, you should get yourself a real cause, environmentalism or those UFOs you were telling me about last year.”

She actually did look like she meant it. Personally he felt he looked ridiculous in his suit and couldn’t wait to put on something a bit more casual: even if it was another suit. “f*ck off.”

“Like I said: no fun. You act so serious all the time. You’ve been acting like you died for far too long.”

She sighed heavily, mourning, and while she didn’t say ‘It's no wonder your wife left’ he felt it. He felt sad. She was right. He wasn’t the same person he used to be and he hadn’t been happy for a long time. Scully was helping though. His world felt brighter for her being in it. He woke up with a smile on his face and a skip to his step. She wasn’t a cure all but she certainly shined a light towards his darkness. It was actually blinding at times. It was good, she was good.

He finished his prosciutto in silence.

As their plates were swapped for their next course Stone remarked, “It’s nice in here, will you bring your girlfriend?”

He looked up suspiciously, tried to deny it, “I don’t have…”

She chuckled and pulled a file out of her expensive Italian handbag resting on the seat next to her and put two pictures on the table. One showed him kissing Scully in the cafe where they’d had breakfast and the other showed her greeting him at the door of their motel last night after he’d got back. She was wearing his shirt and a smile and her long hair looked damp, she most definitely looked like she was inviting him in.

“Where did you get those,” he demanded. “Are you following me?” Honestly he wasn’t surprised given she already knew about Scully anyway. It still annoyed to see the quick evidence though and his need to protect Scully kicked up another notch.

“Oh don’t look so surprised.” She examined the pictures and mocked, “She’s very pretty. Scully isn’t it? The endearingly innocent ingénue, all doe eyed and sweet.”

He was fuming. He grabbed his coat and got up to leave. He knew it was a bad idea coming here. He pointed at her, “Leave her alone. I don’t care what bullsh*t you print about me but she doesn’t deserve to have her name dragged through the mud in your filthy magazine.” He was loud enough for other patrons to look down their noses at him.

“Oh do sit down. I’m not interested in her, at least not yet, and she’s perfectly innocent, believe me I looked.” She scoffed, being innocent was offensive to her. “She’s as clean as a whistle. Though there was a youthful reprimand from the fire department for an out of control bonfire on prom night. Isn’t it darling that she put that on her FBI application?” she laughed. She looked at him pointedly, “Oh and an affair with a married man, her professor in med school, but we’ve all been there,” she waved it away. “She certainly has a type though, doesn’t she?”

Her past romances were none of his business. She could’ve f*cked Skinner for all he cared… Well maybe not him. The sentiment still stood for everyone else though. He sat. “So what is all this then?”

She ate some of her risotto, let him stew. Eventually, after she’d finished her dish she said, “Leverage. Imagine what the Bureau would think of an experienced officer, one whose divorce hasn’t gone through yet, and a young recruit. You could be censured. She could be asked to leave her training program. She’s a woman, she’s always more likely to be seen as the seductress. I also don’t think any of Lecter’s victim’s families would appreciate her repeated visits to him, that you're prioritizing a convicted cannibal over the welfare of the victims. I could spin it a certain way. Maybe it’s a flirtation, maybe it’s a love affair you know. In other words, I could make her very famous or I could leave her alone.”

He pointed at her, “I suggest you leave her alone.”

“And I will if you tell me about the woman in Clay and her connection to Lecter.”

“I’m surprised you don’t already know the details.”

She shrugged as the waiter came to check if everything was ok with their meals. They just glared at each other and he quickly left. “I know enough. However, those West Virginian bumpkins really can’t be bought.” She almost spat disdainfully. “And unfortunately my source only has limited access.”

He smiled slowly. “Your source is a jackass.”

“He has his uses.”

“Not for very much longer.” Her eyes narrowed and then her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He spelt it out for her. “You’re not the only one who deals in information.”

“You don’t know,” she scoffed.

“Tom Colton.” She tried to appear nonchalant at the revelation but failed. She looked f*cked. “He accessed the case files after the Clay victim came in and then used the bureau phone in his own room to call you.” It’d been easy to find out. Danny had looked into all the unauthorized access to the files and Frohike had traced the pathways through various extensions. To give Colton some credit he had tried to cover his tracks. It was a shame he was an idiot.

“f*cking moron.” She rolled her eyes. Lit another cigarette. “Oh well it was good while it lasted. And don’t look at me like that,” she remarked at his disapproving look. “You think it’s easy being a female journalist? I’ve had to work twice as hard as everyone else to get where I am.” There was no sympathy from him so she said, “So Lecter?”

“She has no connection to Lecter.”

“But you’re consulting him on a profile for Buffalo Bill?”

Some guess. He shrugged and finished his wine. “Are we done here?”

“We haven’t had our main course yet.” She pulled out more photos, the Clay victim. Crime scene photos from the ditch she’d been found in. Not quite Ophelia but still desperately sad. “My source gave these to me. We’re ready to publish.”

He put his hand up quickly. They hadn’t even identified her yet. “Don’t.”

“Tell me what Lecter has said.”

“So far nothing, just a promise if we meet his demands.”

“Typical bluster.” She rolled her eyes and laughed around her puff, “I wrote to him recently, he sent me back a recipe for an intestinal curry.”

“Delightful. I suppose you sold it.”

“Naturally I sold it to Mason.”

Mason would buy anything connected to Lecter and at a very high price. He wasn’t sure if he was building a shrine or destroying it so nobody could profit from such terrible acts. He had no time for Mason Verger though so didn’t care to find out. Occasionally he’d be summoned to the mansion but he always refused the invitation and someone in the justice department would boil their nut over his bad manners. He had no time for his kind though.

Hardly in the mood for chat he still felt the need to ask, “How is Mason?”

“His typical bitter and angry little self, still bed ridden for the most part. You know he has pet moray eels now. I heard he likes to threaten little boys with them.” She gagged and he grimaced. “Anyway, the matter at hand. I want details. I want exclusives. I want to know about victims as and when they come in and...”

“And?”

“And I keep Scully’s name away from this and your horny little self can go on f*cking her in happy anonymity.”

He contemplated it. He was only sure of one thing at the moment: he hated Lara Stone. He actually pined for Freddie Lounds. Lounds might’ve been a vulturous bastard but he had talent, his sleaze was at least sophisticated, and he worked out of a need to vindicate his tabloid related work. Stone was just a blackmailing bitch and she’d finally stepped that level lower into the sewer. She didn’t just swim with the rats, she was the rats.

He didn’t want Scully hurt though or her career ruined. He felt like a dead man walking as he knew what Stone was capable of. He chewed his lip. He had an idea as their main course was added onto the table, the waiter asking if he was alright as he hadn’t finished his risotto. “You can have exclusivity after this is over. Nothing else.”

“I want the victim details and Lecter’s involvement.” She tapped her photo pile.

“And you’ll leave Scully out of your magazine?”

She held her hands up. “Absolutely.”

He didn’t believe her but felt like he had no choice. “Ok.” He would make a deal with the devil to keep Scully safe and out of the public eye.

She grinned, “Good, now that’s all over and done with, I have something else for you, a little, shall we say, good will gesture.”

She pulled out a file from her bag and handed it over. He opened it and grimaced.

"You're a bitch, you know that, don't you?"

She grinned. "Only the best. But," she tapped the file in his hand, "I'm sure you'll agree even I have my uses."

He didn't reply. He picked up his coat and left.

Chapter 36

Chapter Text

Three days. That’s how long it’d been since she’d last heard from Mulder. Three whole days and not a single word. He wasn’t in when she called either his office or his apartment and when she went down to Violent Crimes he was conveniently out. A note had gone unanswered and in the end she’d given up. She didn’t want to look desperate. He would now have to come to her.

She didn’t know how to feel. Upset definitely, angry certainly. Confused too.

She knew she shouldn’t have gotten involved. Yet another inappropriate relationship in a long line of them. It was just history repeating itself all over again. Daniel had been both married and her teacher, Jack was her instructor and now Mulder was a trained Agent tasked with supervising her in the field (not to mention he was married too, albeit very separated).

How could she have been so stupid!

She cursed herself in frustration. What had she been thinking?

She was perfectly happy to take on Reyes’ advice and date whoever the hell she wanted to, guilt free, but that also meant choosing better mates surely? Not sleeping with unavailable men who wouldn’t even give her a courtesy call.

She tried not to think the worst of Mulder, he was definitely different, she knew that. He treated her as an equal, challenged her, pushed her, respected her, involved her in the case properly and even though they’d started sleeping together his professionalism hadn’t slipped. It was just this. She wanted to believe that Mulder’s silence was born out of a need to protect, that he was trying to shield her from the murky world of tabloid journalism, but it was hard, especially as she had no experience, or proof, to go on.

What she was more sure of was that she felt lost without his company. If she ever spoke to him again she’d already resolved herself to ask him to work on his communication.

She tried to not to dwell too much on it by hitting the books and getting stuck into her lessons again, rejoicing that she’d gotten her pathology posting. It would be a two year accelerated program and she’d have to teach alongside it but it was a dream come true for her. Even her father had been pleased as, in his words, it meant that he “didn’t have a daughter out in the damn field.” It wasn’t exactly a congratulations but it was a start so she’d taken it.

Away from casinos and money laundering she’d even started to love her training again and was soaking everything up. Learning about fiber collection and how the signature of fibers can be revealed with the aid of an electron microscope was fascinating. They’d even been allowed to look at some evidence from the Buffalo Bill case: two blouses that Mulder had shown her in the canteen. They’d analyzed how they were cut and how Bill used the same pair of scissors. She’d wondered if that was Mulder’s doing.

Now she was busy stalking down a grubby hotel corridor on the Quantico lot besides Colton, weapon in hand, advancing on a fake hostage situation. She was breathing hard in the dimly lit narrow corridor and sweating buckets. Ahead of them they could hear the fake hostage situation going down. Some maids (played capably by Agent Trainee Reyes and someone callen Janet Teller) and a bellhop (another Agent Trainee called Richard Dashwood) were pretending to sob and were crying out, their captors telling them to shush.

She pressed herself firmly against the wall and inched along it with her back. She patted her kevlar body armor, made sure her revolver was co*cked and ready (even though they weren’t using rounds, the chamber was empty, she still wanted to look the part, do everything right as they were being watched) and looked to Colton who motioned for her to hold her position. They wouldn’t advance and enter the room until someone gave them a radio signal via a headset. Another team were supposed to be going in via another door on the other side of the room.

He looked at her quizzically after checking around a corner, “You still working the Buffalo Bill thing?”

“Colton,” she hissed. “This is neither the time or the place.”

“But are you?”

Yes she was, in a roundabout way. She’d been helping out in the labs and the autopsy of the Clay victim had wielded some good results and she’d been keeping up with the investigation by asking around and reading about the latest salacious revelations in Tattle. She sighed, checked her position again, “That’s none of your business.”

He hissed, “I went down to violent crimes yesterday, Mulder had me up against a wall by the scruff of my neck and told me to f*ck off, I’m thinking of putting in a complaint.”

She lowered her weapon and stood straight. At least one of them could get hold of him. It meant he’d gotten her messages and was still choosing to ignore her. Her mood about it sank ever lower. “What did you say to him?” She guessed it was an open secret so didn’t see any point in hiding it any longer.

“Nothing!” he protested too loudly and she shushed him as someone in the room called out for quiet like they were listening for approaching policemen. It eventually subsided and he said, “I asked if there was any background stuff that needed doing and he called me an invertebrate sc*msucker.”

“That’s not very nice,” she smirked, thinking that actually it was probably accurate and Colton probably wasn’t telling the whole story. He spent every waking moment asking about active cases and whether or not he could help and join in. “Are you sure that’s all you said?” Thinking it was safe she checked around the corner again and inched a little closer, Colton following.

“Scouts honor,” he saluted.

The room where the hostages were held went quiet and they knew the moment where they’d have to go in was close.

“He’s probably just stressed, it’s a difficult case.”

“He’s a prick and I’m going to make sure he’s censured for it.”

She rolled her eyes. Maybe the name calling was a little over the top but there was no reason to file an official complaint. “Give him a day or two, maybe he’ll apologize.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he snorted. “You have any information, you know gossip, you can talk about though, if they’re any closer to identifying the Clay victim or closing in on a suspect?”

“Why?”

“I’m interested, I want this to end as much as the next man.” She eyed him and he corrected himself, “Or woman.”

“No.”

He looked at her and tutted disbelievingly and opened his mouth to say something else. However, as they navigated the corner properly and the room came into sight finally there was an almighty cracking sound like splintering wood, the sound and smell of a smoke bomb going off and voices in their ear shouting, “Go, go, go!”

Colton swung his foot up and kicked in the door, immediately the smoke cloud hit their nostrils but she could still see everything. Reyes was on the bed, her hands tied behind her back, Teller was on the floor by the nightstand. She couldn’t see the other hostage or the kidnappers but she could see the other Agent Trainees, guns raised.

Scully shouldered aside the shattered door and rushed inside, gun at the ready, held firm in both hands. She could see one of the suspects standing by a fake window, gun pointed at Dashwood’s red hair covered head. She dropped into a combat stance, gun extended, and shouted, “Freeze FBI!”

All sound seemed to disappear, time seemed to slow down, as the other suspect emerged from the space to the side of the bashed in door, the muzzle appeared right against her temple, pressing in painfully and she couldn’t react. She knew she was a dead woman as Marty Neal pulled the trigger, a metallic click in her ear screaming like failure.

A loud buzzer went off signaling the end of the simulation and the lights went up. Colton shook his head, deeply annoyed and muttered, “For f*cks sake Scully.”

She took Neal's offered hand and let him pull her up. He shrugged apologetically but she shrugged it off. She would learn.

“Scully, congratulations, you’re dead,” Willis said sarcastically while eyeing her up but he patted her on the shoulder as she passed to go and untie Reyes. “Keep an eye on your blindspots. Colton, good job. You looked around you, you assessed the room and knew where your danger points were.” He turned to address the room, “Good exercise everyone, let’s take an hour and then meet back in the classroom for a full debrief and discussion. I want honest assessments, people: what you thought you did right, where did you do wrong, how you could improve.”

Reyes now untied they decided to go and evaluate the role-play together. As they were leaving Willis stopped her, “Did you get my note?” he asked.

It was in the bin somewhere in West Virginia. Unread. “No, I’ve been so busy. I’m sorry.”

He nodded in actual understanding. “That’s ok,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m kind of glad you didn’t. I... I… I was kind of drunk when I wrote it.” He scratched his head and then shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets and generally being nervous. “Marriage proposals shouldn’t be made on the back of 8 beers.”

“Oh please tell me you didn’t!” She was horrified and embarrassed.

He laughed, “I figured that would be your reaction, don’t worry, I’m not about to sweep you off your feet, I just wanted to apologize in case you had read it.”

If he hadn’t said anything, she wouldn’t have known. That would’ve been for the best and now she couldn’t work out his motivations. She said thanks anyway and was about to leave.

“You wanna get together later, a catch up drink?”

“Jack…” Thankfully nobody else was around to hear, Reyes deciding to wait outside.

“Can’t blame a guy for tryin’ right, you seeing anyone?”

She didn’t know how to answer that. Was she in a relationship, was she just having casual sex, and was it now over? She didn’t know. “I’m just concentrating on getting through the academy, you know, spending some time working on myself right now.” She laughed, “Working on my blindspots.”

“Right,” he smiled. “When you graduate then?”

“Maybe.”

“Watch your back,” he shouted after her but she only half heard.

She walked away, feeling more laden down than ever before. What the hell was he even thinking telling her that? She caught up with Reyes who was quickly gesturing for her to hurry up. Ahead of them, in one of the recreation areas, people were crowded around a small television listening intently as a photograph of a larger woman flashed up on screen.

“Catherine Martin was at first listed as a missing person, but is now, according to FBI sources, believed to have been kidnapped by the serial killer known only as ‘Buffalo Bill’” The anchor, a middle aged black man in a smart suit and tie, appeared on screen as they quickly found a place amongst the throng of bodies, near the front, and listened intently to the man. “Memphis Police also indicate that evidence found at the scene has been identified as belonging to Catherine Martin and are calling the find a ‘grim calling card’. Catherine Martin is the eldest daughter of US Senator Ruth Martin…”

Scully looked at Reyes, surprised, stunned even. Catherine Martin was such a high profile victim. Their killer was taking risks. Other trainees filtered into the space, some whispering amongst themselves as the news anchor continued.

“...the Republican Junior Senator from Tennessee. Catherine Martin’s kidnapping is not thought to be politically motivated, however it has stirred the government to its highest levels with President Bush said to be, and I quote, ‘intensely concerned’. Just moments ago Senator Martin made this dramatic plea from her home…”

On the TV Senator Martin came into focus and filled the screen. Tall, late 40s and with a strong face she, understandably, looked troubled and had been crying before stepping in front of the jostling crowd of reporters who lit her with their lens flares. She was struggling to remain calm and get her words out but she did.

“I’m speaking to the person who is holding my daughter. Her name is Catherine. You have the power to let Catherine go, unharmed. She’s very calm and gentle, talk to her and you’ll see. Her name is Catherine…”

Disturbed by what was unfolding, Scully was nevertheless moved by what she was seeing and hearing. Senator Martin knew what she was doing, someone had coached her well. It was smart.
“Why does she keep repeating the name?” asked Reyes.

Her eyes still fixed on the screen she replied, in somewhat of a daze, “Somebody's coaching her... They're trying to make him see Catherine as a person, not just an object.”

“You have the chance to show the whole world that you can be merciful, as well as strong. Please, I beg you, release my Catherine…”

Pictures of Catherine Martin flashed up showing her in various stages of her life, a 5 year birthday party, a high school graduation, at a waterpark, with friends at a concert, a garden party, at a fast food restaurant.

All happier times.

The news article moved again to show a taped-off section of a parking lot outside of Catherine’s apartment. Technicians, with instruments, are kneeling by a crushed grocery bag, another was looking at something in a gutter.

A second news anchor, this time a woman, continued in voice over, “Meanwhile in Memphis, the investigation continued throughout the night, as state and local authorities were joined at the kidnap scene by agents of the FBI…”

She spotted Mulder walking towards the apartment of Catherine Martin, Purdue and Skinner in tow. Skinner moved quickly towards a patrolman indicating they should move the media cordon back. Some of the other trainees cheered at the sight of the three men but she looked away, she felt troubled by Mulder being out there on his own.

Reyes turned sympathetically towards her troubled friend. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Just thinking I should be out there, trying to be useful you know.” Comforting the family, helping gather evidence, talking to people. Anything. As it was she was here feeling powerless and on the outside.

Someone switched the TV off and she resolved to go to the lab and see what evidence was filtering in from the crime scene. Perhaps there was something she could do there. She wouldn't let this case go.

Chapter 37

Chapter Text

It was dark and he couldn’t see. There was only noise. Loud music, though he couldn’t make out the words of the intrusive tune, some echoey techno nonsense or maybe post-punk, it had a decent beat, what was it? Something about horses. It didn’t really matter beyond that it hurt his ears but if he could maybe pinpoint where it was coming from he’d know where he was. A keyboard, maybe an electronic drum. He quickly gave up. It was hopeless. Too many other noises. A cacophony of them. He could hear the heavy beating of wings all too close. They felt both above him and on him, making his skin itch. He tried to bat them away but they were always just out of his reach. So near and yet so far. He called out in fear and frustration and the noises stopped, the scraping of a chair a long way above, and then humming.

Footsteps too. Someone was moving around above him. He called out again but either they didn’t hear or they didn’t want to. Perhaps they did and were enjoying his screams. He stopped, tried to grope around a bit, all he could feel was slippery wet brick. He tried to think about where he was: in a hole somewhere. Not that farm. It was deeper than that. Where though and how did he get here? He couldn’t think. Too much noise. Another scraping of a chair, the buzz of electricity and the unmistakable slow and methodical thump, thump, thump of a sewing machine arm. He knew that sound anywhere, his mom had one, it was ancient, an old Singer from the 1950s or 60s. He covered his ears and sat back down. Something landed close to his foot and he cowered away. Another landed nearby and another and another. The moths he realized. They were going to embed themselves in his throat. His blood felt cold.

Above him a blazing light suddenly snapped on blinding him. He could make out the shape of a man standing watch if he shielded his eyes. He couldn’t see who but he could hear the man’s strange staccato laugh.

A high powered beep.

Mulder jerked awake, pulled out his troubled sleep by his answerphone kicking on.

“Fox, this is your father,” the cold stern elder voice behind his head was saying and he flinched and tried to reacquaint himself with the real world. “I saw you on the news tonight, the Catherine Martin case, this Buffalo Bill serial killer. I know Catherine’s mother, good friend of mine, nice family. I said I’d speak to you. So I’m speaking to you. Don’t let me down and don’t embarrass the family.”

More guilt and heavy expectation. Breathing heavily he groped in the dark for his lamp and switched it on. Sitting up on his couch he pulled his sweat soaked T-Shirt off over his head and reached for the glass of water that sat stagnating on the coffee table.

He felt rotten. He gulped the water down and went for some more from his kitchen while he tried to figure out his dream. Dreams like that were hardly rare, he only had to close his eyes and all the horrors he’d experienced and encountered would flood back, but rarely did he ever see himself in the place of the victim. Usually he was a bystander, in his BSU days he imagined himself as the perpetrator, though not any more. Bill Patterson had this idea that if you wanted to catch a monster you had to become one yourself. It was something he couldn’t manage, not totally, didn't believe in. He wasn’t about to start sizing up wells to fit victims in that’s for sure. He shuddered at the thought.

He shook it off and went back to the couch, trying to think of what he’d seen. A well. That was pretty much it. It’d been so dark. He shuddered again at the thought of those moths.

He thought he might be going mad. Madness was not a sudden enemy but a creeping plague, a conundrum that couldn’t be solved.

At least that’s what Lecter had said.

He was starting to think that Lecter was right. At least about madness anyway.

He dismissed it. He wasn’t mad. Not at all. He just felt like he was heading that way.

Stuck in an infinite loop of pressure, stress, expectation and a mounting workload. His brain felt like an extinguished fire. Once it burned bright, a huge flame of curiosity and knowledge, of wanting to learn and know more, pushing the boundaries of a limitless world. There was a lot of light. A lot of hope. A wife, talk of children one day, a nice enough place to live, a good job, everything a man should have at his time of life. An attempt at normality.

All gone.

Even the embers had had enough and any spark that might have ordinarily been there died in an instant, refusing the match. His brain felt foggy and his mind was full of dark thoughts. The world felt alien, strange and, while he’d always felt somewhat of an outsider, he really felt it now.

Empty.

That’s how he felt. A hollow shell of a man.

He looked up at the ceiling of his apartment from his position back on the couch and bit his lip. Thinking. He was always thinking. Maybe that was the problem: his inability to switch off.

He needed to concentrate on the good. He had his newly found X-Files. Thousands of files relating to unexplained phenomena. He read at least 10 a day, some of them multiple times. They fascinated and enthralled, it gave him plenty to think about, plenty to research, plenty of new books to buy. He loved books, his whole bedroom was now mostly a storage room (he’d not had much use for a bed when he wasn’t in much or had anyone to share it with), a library, baring a pathway to the bathroom.

Some of the files were full of bullsh*t of course, for example: Jesus and Elvis couldn’t really be in all those taco chips, often UFO sightings really were just clouds of gas or Venus, and there were a few too many spurious reports of anal probes, but there was enough of everything else to warrant serious investigations. There were plenty of victims too and even if the explanations turned out to be of this world their voices still needed to be heard. They needed someone to believe them as much as he wanted to believe.

That’s where he felt his talents lay, in dealing with people and their problems (and hell maybe some of these so-called mothmen and lizard creatures, these aliens on a foreign world, needed a voice too). Yeah he wanted to prove some of this stuff too, and find his sister in the process, but actually talking to people, actually speaking to them personally about the things they’d experienced and documenting it for himself was what he really wanted to do. Profiling was just examining evidence, drawing up assumptions, and quite frankly he was sick and tired of having to deal with the worst of humanity, the dispassionate but violent sociopaths and the crazed psychotics with mommy issues. Circ*mstances that produced men whose pleasure lay on numerous porcelain and steel tables up and down the country.

The X-Files would be about dealing with the unknown and with real people with real, albeit otherworldly, issues and just as he applied his psychology training to his profiling and field work he would do the same with his paranormal investigations, he would do it properly. He’d already spoken to Senator Richard Matheson to try and drum up some interest in it. He would petition Skinner and the FBI director too when this case was done and dusted with. If he still had a job that was.

That was one positive. Another was Scully. He also had her.

Or at least he had Scully.

A few days ago he was making sense of the world again, feeling joy and waking up happy. Life was a straight line, logic was a fork in the road rather than a never ending loop. Scully was everything he’d ever hoped for in another person: studious, observant, knowledgeable, inquisitive, funny and the best thing was she rather liked him back.

She was beautiful too, stunning even. He knew she didn’t believe that of herself despite her outward confidence but god she was beguiling. He’d been smitten as soon as she’d walked into his office, touching his stuff and imprinting herself onto his soul. He thought of her long red hair that reminded him of the spirit of her personality, her freckles that hinted at the night sky outside, how he’d tried to trace them with his lips and tongue, how he’d been desperate to learn all of her.

God he missed her so much.

He sighed and thought about calling her but didn’t. He’d already convinced himself that not contacting her was for the best. If he kept her away from the meat of this case then she wouldn’t be in anyone’s sights.

He put the glass down and scrubbed his face in his hands before picking up the forensic report from the Clay victim. She had brick dust under her nails along with cement and skin from another of the victims which in a perverse way was actually quite helpful as they could connect the victims forensically, they now at least knew the women had been held in the same hellhole. The Clay victim also had the same moth species in her throat as Raspail did.

He looked at the photographs of the cocoons and the moths laid out in all their glory. A harbinger of death, omens appearing throughout literature from Bram Stoker to Thomas Hardy. The papers and books he had out before him told him that while butterflies were thought of as fairies and inherently good, moths were witches, demons and evil. There was even the Mothmen in the book he was reading about the Point Pleasant Silver Bridge collapse where some connected the disaster to sightings they’d had of strange human sized moth-like creatures with red eyes.
There was nothing supernatural about this case however.

He’d told Scully that he thought the moths represented change. He still believed that. Death and rebirth. Transformation. Regeneration. In changing from a mundane brown cocoon and caterpillar and going through stages of dissolution the species Lepidoptera emerged as a winged insect with delicate patterns and new motivations. It was significant.

But how?

That’s what he couldn’t figure out.

How it related to the person they were trying to catch, or maybe why it was significant to the victims. Was it something about them he was trying to change? Did they not meet societal expectations of beauty, the supermodels on the front cover of Vogue, for example, and that was why he was punishing them? The trouble with that was that there was no ritualistic element to the crime and there probably would be if he was punishing them for something.

There was something missing.

At first he’d thought this might be biblical, a pound of flesh, gluttony. But it made no sense, none of it did, and the missing bits of skin didn’t always add up to a pound anyway, sometimes it was a lot more.

Everything about these crimes was seemingly random, the victims unconnected, none of them knew each other. The treatment of them was dispassionate and standoffish. The killer didn't care, he knew that much. He would use Catherine Martin in much the same way as he had the others. He would take what he needed and cast her aside, leaving her to rot in a culvert or a stream somewhere. If they were lucky they might catch her before she drifted away.

They needed Lecter and he needed Scully.

He just had to go and interview Ruth Martin first.

Chapter 38

Chapter Text

The labs had resulted in more fascinating discoveries and a possible fingerprint match for their Clay victim: Rebecca Wheatley, 22, a college student from Charleston. They were just waiting to confirm it and for someone in her family to come and identify the body and they could give her the respectful burial she deserved.

If truth be told Rebecca Wheatley was the reason why she kept going down there. Yes she wanted to find the evidence that would catch the guy but she also wanted to make sure she was being looked after properly, that when it came time for the family to view their loved one as a corpse Rebecca not only looked presentable but that the horrors she’d endured didn’t show.

She’d had to use every bit of her training not to identify, not to imagine herself in the shoes of the victim, and so far it had worked but things were creeping in and she’d found herself missing Mulder even more. The routine of her classes didn’t help so she ran too many laps to compensate and swam so hard and fast she fell into bed exhausted each night. She swam until she thought about the floaters, those poor women, and then she didn’t want the water on her anymore. Water made her nauseous.

She'd checked her messages more times than she could count too, hoping. Hoping for what she didn’t know. It occurred to her then, as it had on a few other occasions in her life, that a seismic shift had taken place in her life and it’d happened in a small town in West Virginia. The person she was today was not the same person as two weeks ago. The Mulder stuff aside, she felt harder around the edges, she smiled less, she had fitful and restless sleep, she lay awake worrying in the morning about cabbage rose wallpaper and wound patterns, things were bothering her that shouldn’t, she thought of those women too much, she felt… Mulder. He’d probably have a word for what she was feeling. He seemed to know everything. He’d help. He’d know how to scrub it all from her skin. She didn’t usually pine over people but she missed him.

Later on, as she was sitting in her dorm writing up her notes from a two hour lecture on The Good-Faith Warrant Exception to the Exclusionary Rule in Search and Seizure, and listening to Reyes and Teller testing each other on it.

“The good-faith exception applies when officers conduct a search or seizure with ‘objectively reasonable reliance’ on, for example, a warrant that is not obviously invalid but that a judicial magistrate should not have signed,” said Reyes.

“Good,” replied Teller. “So what are the three exceptions to the Exclusionary Rule?”

Reyes sighed, took a one second look at her book, and answered, “The three exceptions to the Exclusionary Rule are attenuation of the taint, independent source and inevitable discovery.” When she was told that was correct she breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“I’m glad you two know what this stuff is because to me it sounds like Japanese,” Scully laughed self-deprecatingly.

It wasn’t that bad, she perfectly knew this stuff, but since someone had overheard a conversation she’d had with Reyes earlier about her lab findings and had made an obscene gesture that implied she was getting this work because of sexual favors she’d decided to stay under the radar. Whereas before she’d been rather miffed about not having been asked to go to Tennessee for Catherine Martin’s disappearance she was kind of glad of it now. She could only imagine the gossip if she’d gone along and her face had been on the news.

Teller put her book down to adjust her buoyant bob and with hairpins between her teeth garbled out, “Oh I’m sure you’ll do fine on the test Scully, you’re like superbrain. In fact I’m actually thinking of asking you to dress up as me and sit this test so I actually pass it!”

They all laughed, at least amongst some of her peers she was still liked and the jealousy wasn’t turning everybody bitter. It was actually refreshing.

“In fact,” Teller was saying. “Maybe you could tell us what exactly is attenuation of the taint, it sounds kind of rude!”

Scully laughed and she was about to reply that it had something to do with illegal police activity and whether or not evidence has become so reduced in value because of the activity that it serves no legitimate purpose to suppress it, however someone was knocking on the door and she couldn’t get a word in.

“Come in!” Reyes shouted.

It more than surprised her when Mulder came in and she couldn’t help the smile she gave, even if she was still a little pissed off at his behavior. He looked like he hadn’t slept much recently but otherwise he looked good, if awkward in his mannerisms as he fidgeted with his jacket and bag (which he soon dumped near the end of her bed).

“Hi,” she said softly as she stood up.

“Um, hi,” he replied, looking at her his heart beamed so much and he had to look away, that and he felt embarrassed about having ignored her. He looked around, taking in her room. Not much had changed since he’d last stayed in one, still the same cheap and crappy furniture and still the ugly red curtains and matching bedspreads. “Can we talk?”

She watched as both Reyes and Teller looked at him and then at her and she nodded, it was fine. Of course it was. She put her stuff away and cleared a space for him as they quickly made their leave. The door closed behind them and they stood awkwardly looking at each other for a moment before she broke the ice with, “You look like hell, where have you been?”

He smiled, “The Catherine Martin thing…”

“I saw you on the news.”

He nodded, “Yeah I just got back from speaking to her mother. Nice women, rather distraught. Understandable.” That was an understatement. The woman had howled for an hour before he could speak to her properly. He cleared his throat, “Listen, I um, wanted to…” the words fell away. She looked angry and he didn’t know what to say anyway though he was genuine in his apology. “Sorry.”

She sat down on the bed again, hugged a cushion. Was that all he had to say, really? It was quite inadequate. Nevertheless she patted the spot next to her and he sat gingerly, tentatively. “You haven’t been answering my calls, I thought…” She tried not to get teary eyed, tried to remain calm. “I’m so damn angry Mulder!” She looked up at him and he cupped her face in his hand. He looked at her solemnly as he brushed a feather light stroke against her lip as she spoke. “I needed you!”

“I know and I’m sorry. I’ve had some stuff going on and I let it get to me. I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you.” He moved his hand away and put it guiltily in his lap. “If it makes you feel any better I needed you too.”

“So why didn’t you come to me?” she accused.

“Because it’s complicated and I’m trying to protect you.” He looked at her again and hoped she could understand. She seemed to have sagged under the weight of everything and he only felt worse.

“From Lara Stone?”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised was an understatement. “You know about her, how?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

“What does she have on you?”

He slumped back against the wall behind him, “You don’t want to know.”

She nodded, the look he was giving her told her it was more about her than him and she balked. She didn’t want to know right now though. She had enough on her plate. Being trashed in a crappy magazine was the least of her concerns. “Why did you come here then?”

He chuckled, allowed her to take his hand easily, “I missed you. I can’t stop thinking about you and I just needed some decent company.”

It was enough to make her smile, though not forgiven totally she let him know she was moving in that direction, “Has anyone ever told you that you have sh*tty communication skills.”

“Funnily enough, yes. Only everyone I meet.” He raised her hand to his lips and tapped a kiss to her knuckles as she laughed. “I am sorry.”

She knew. “How’s the case going?”

“Good actually, thanks to your lab efforts. We have the Clay victim identified, and we matched the cocoon in her throat to the one we found in Raspail's. We’re also speaking to Raspail’s former lovers, though I think that one will be a bust, and the import/export list for exotic insect breeders is being narrowed down.”

“Well, it wasn’t just me. I only helped.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve been a real help, you seem to have given forensics the kick up the ass they needed.” He planted a kiss to her inner wrist and she sucked in a breath. Interesting, he thought, how many erogenous zones does she actually have? Still, as much as he'd love to find out, he wasn’t here for that and it didn’t seem right so he gave her her hand back. “We’re making the deal with Lecter,” he told her matter of factly. “I spoke to Skinner about it.”

That pleased her. “Are you sure Catherine Martin is one of Bill’s?”

“All of the victims seem to be of a certain type and seem to be targeted due to their size and she fits the victim profile.”

“When are you seeing Lecter?” She hoped he'd let her come along.

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

He let out a long breath and explained, “It’s not a good idea. Not for my mental health.” He shrugged trying to make it appear not as serious as they both knew it was. “I’ve been having dreams, not sleeping well.”

She was immediately concerned and edged closer, “What kind of dreams?”

He let go of his own hand to rub his face, “It doesn’t matter.” At her stern look he relented, “I… usually when I profile I see things, imagine things, horrible things.”

“As the perpetrator?”

“No, as an outsider, an observer but now I see myself in a hole in the ground.” He knew it was stupid and tried to laugh it off. He told her about the incident on the farm and how he was probably making an association.

She agreed, but also added, “Maybe you’re also identifying because of Lecter, because of how close you both are to this case and, Mulder, it’s not that long since you were injured yourself. It’s only natural to identify with those in a position of peril.”

She was probably right. He drew her into a hug and kissed the top of her head, smiling when she tucked her legs up and shaped her body to his. “You’re not doing that though are you?” he asked, concerned. Thankfully he felt her shake her head against his side.

“No but I have a sudden hatred of water.”

“The floaters?”

“Hmmm,” she sounded out tiredly. “I swim a lot but it gets too much as I start to think about the women lying there in those ditches.”

He pushed her slightly away to look at her, to examine her face. “You’re not compartmentalizing it?”

She shrugged. “The academy teaches you to compartmentalize, to deal with conflicting internal standpoints simultaneously by isolating and focusing on difficult issues separately and in different categories…”

“Right, it’s supposed to help avoid cognitive dissonance, mental discomfort, so you aren’t left feeling vulnerable in a stressful and difficult environment.”

“Yeah, but for the first time I’m realizing what a bunch of bullsh*t it all is.”

He kissed her head again. “You need to find a way, Scully.”

“Before I get a reputation as weak?”

“Not in my eyes.”

“No?”

“Never.”

He tilted her head up with his index finger and brushed his lips tenderly across hers. He pulled away, “The way I deal with it. Or at least try to,” he murmured, still close to her, “is through exercise. I run, sometimes for miles and miles and miles.” Other times he had sex.

He kissed her again and couldn’t help swiping his tongue against hers as she opened up to him. Need and want were quickly combining towards an inevitable so he pulled away, rested his forehead against hers as she panted and pouted.

“I guess nothing can really prepare you for it.”

“Because it’s impossible to imagine.” And if his hunch played off then it was about to get even more difficult. “Even in less violent circ*mstances death forces us to confront our own mortality, to look at ourselves in a way that might be uncomfortable, but death isn’t taboo or unnatural…”

"I know Mulder, as a doctor. It’s one of the most natural things there is.”

He smiled. “Then you know it’s best to approach it from that standpoint.” He sighed, looked into her wet eyes, her beautiful blue orbs. “Have you ever heard of something called post-traumatic growth?” She shook her head so he explained, “It’s the idea that people can grow psychologically through traumatic experiences. Thinking about the fact that we will die may be hard, but according to the theory it could also help us to get stronger psychologically.”

“Right. How does it work for Rebecca Wheatley?”

“You try and think of the person she was and would’ve been. You think of her as a person who had hopes, dreams and a good life, not as the shell of the girl you saw in the morgue. You think of how you can help her. You see her, not the person who did despicable things to her. You don’t let them win.” He pulled her tighter, and continued, “The existential anxiety that comes from what happened to her can be somewhat rebuffed with a positive worldview or your own sense of self-esteem and by thinking of what you can do to stop it happening to someone else.”

Looking up at him she laughed, “So you’re basically saying that compartmentalisation is a load of crap.”

He couldn’t help agreeing, “On its own.” He pulled away and turned properly to face her. “Of course, if you’re really struggling, you could always come round to mine and I’ll be your shoulder to cry on.”

He wiggled his eyebrows and she smiled. “I bet. Is that offer open for tonight?”

“On a school night? That’s a bit rebellious.”

“Well for once I’m open to admitting that I do have issues with that.”

“As much as I would love to get reacquainted with you I actually have to go and talk to Skinner.”

She wondered if it was the Colton thing. “Why did you shove Colton?”

“He’s an asshole,” he replied matter of factly. “He’s leaking stuff to the press.”

Her eyes went wide. “Seriously?” She was astonished, though now she understood why he was asking about the case so much and why there were so many details in Tattle... “Have you told Skinner?”

“Not yet, I want to let the little rat hang himself a little more.” Rather trickily he was setting Colton up. Any information he passed to Lara Stone was coming through a third party, someone he was instructing to give the information to Colton. Colton was in trouble anyway, most likely he’d be out of a job because of what he’d already done, so shortening the rope around his neck wasn’t going to make much difference to that outcome. Besides, there was no way he was walking into any trap Stone was setting, he didn’t want the information traced back to him. He wasn’t that stupid. “I’d appreciate you not saying anything either.”

She couldn’t think. How could Colton do that! “No, of course,” she said eventually.

“Thank you. There’s something else I’d like you to do?”

“Oh?”

“Would you go and speak to Lecter again? He trusts you now and I rather think he likes you.”

“My badge ran out.”

Reaching into his inner pocket he pulled another one out and held it aloft. “I had to speak personally to Paul Krendler, the Deputy Assistant Attorney General, and while he’s not exactly happy with you still being involved he is willing to let you speak to Lecter again since Lecter offered you the deal.”

She took it and examined it, this one actually had her picture in and lasted for a whole month. “I should send him my thanks.”

He raised his eyebrow at her. “My advice is to stay away from Paul Krendler. He can be a little, shall we say, self serving.” He cleared his throat, “It’s nothing to worry about, you just need to be aware.”

In other words if it all went wrong and Catherine Martin died she’d be the fall guy. She sank down a little on the bed. She took it on board though. She knew Krendler’s type. Everything was his idea until it went wrong. “What do I say to Lecter?”

“Whatever it takes.” Mulder lent down and picked a file out of his bag. “Catherine Martin has been missing for a number of days now, we don’t think it’ll be much longer before he kills her. We have to exhaust every available avenue and if that means playing up to Lecter’s dog and pony show then so be it. Go back in and offer him what he wants.”

“In exchange for Buffalo Bill?”

“In exchange for Buffalo Bill,” he repeated.

“Isn’t there a chance he could be toying with us?”

“I’ve thought about it, and he does like to toy with people, a scalp like a Senator would be a big coup for someone like him, but Krandler and the justice department is willing to do whatever it takes.” The unspoken line being that Krendler was willing to do whatever it took for glory and personal advancement. “If you’re certain Lecter will deal then deal.”

She wouldn’t hesitate. Dealing with Lecter had been her preference since he’d mentioned providing a full profile. “I think he will, I think he’s serious about helping.” She remembered his demands, “In exchange for a transfer to a new prison, one with a view: water, trees.” She wondered if it could even be done though and asked, “Is that even possible?”

Mulder shook his head. “It's state to federal jurisdiction we’re dealing with here. We could do it eventually but right now? Not a chance. We simply don’t have the time to sort out the clearances.”

“So you want me to convince him the deal is real?” More lies. At least they were being honest this time, though conversely here, perhaps it might’ve been better if she didn’t know.

“Yes, I’m sure you can convince him the deal’s already in place.”

She looked at the file. “That’ll back me up?”

“All the correct paperwork is there, it’s just a load of sh*t. However, for all intents and purposes, and for Lecter, it’s a real deal.”

She nodded and then picked it up. “Then I’ll try.” She opened it and pulled out the paper, it was indeed what he said it was. “But wouldn't this have more weight coming from the Senator herself?”

He hesitated, “She doesn't know what we're up to and we can't afford to let her find out. At her surprised look he continued, “She's the mother, Scully. She can't possibly comprehend what Lecter is, who he is and the damage he could do. She'd make the mistake of pleading with him. Begging him. He'd feast on her pain till the last second of that girl's life.”

“And I assume Chilton has been kept out of the loop?”

“We can't trust Frederick Chilton, either. He's greedy and ambitious. If he knew about Lecter's link to Bill, he'd go straight to the newspapers.”

She tucked everything away in her bag. “Ok, I think I can do this.” She said it more to convince herself. Mulder got up to leave and she grabbed his hand. “You’ll stay in touch?”

He smiled, leant down to kiss her hard on the lips and replied, “You try keeping me away.”

Chapter 39

Chapter Text

Scully was making so many trips up to Baltimore she was starting to get rather acquainted with the place, it felt familiar, nice. She was even starting to look past the ghastly Gothic terrors of the asylum and appreciate the architecture of the city, its classical lines, the ornate decorations, the turrets and flying buttresses on some of the older churches and buildings. It was a shame she didn’t have the time to explore the city properly as there were a few churches she'd like to check out.

If Mulder were here with her she’d take him to dinner, a nice dinner, not take out, and spend some quality time getting to know each other. She thought they needed it, they had things to work on. Just them. No FBI. No case. Though she didn’t think they were quite at the stage where she would invite him round to meet her parents, her feelings were definitely deep enough to consider it in the future.

It was a shame he wasn’t here now as she’d much preferred his company over Chilton’s who was currently falling into step behind her and trying desperately to stop her journey down to see Lecter. He was even pointing an expensive, and very shiny, gold pen at her accusingly. She rather found it amusing given that he was about as threatening as Barney the Dinosaur. Chilton was oily, not scary.

“As I was saying Miss Scully, what you’re doing is coming into my hospital to conduct an interview and refusing to share information with me. For the third time!” He smiled smugly, “Oh yes, I know about your late night visit here with Agent Mulder.”

She didn’t care and she only hoped her expression conveyed that. She carried on down the stairs. “Dr. Chilton, as I told you upstairs, this is just a routine follow-up.”

“He’s my patient, I have rights!” he shouted snottily.

She stopped and turned to face him angrily, just as he waved the pen under the tip of her nose. He had no rights and he couldn’t stop her seeing Lecter not as an FBI Agent and certainly not as a doctor. “Dr Chilton I can do this with or without your cooperation but if you do try and stop me here now it will go one file with the justice department.”

She turned to leave but as she did so he grabbed her arm and squeezed. She tried to wrest her arm away but he was stronger and she was forced to listen to him as he said, “I’m not just some turnkey, here at your beck and call. These are patients and I am a professional, a doctor, I can help you with Lecter.”

“That won’t be necessary.” She might not be able to push back physically but she certainly could verbally, and with authority. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a card, “I’m acting on instruction, Dr. Chilton.” She gave him the card and suggested, “This is the US Attorney General’s number. Now please, either discuss this with him or let me do my job. Understand?”

He let her go immediately and she tried not to flinch or react, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She really wanted to rub the spot he’d been squeezing as it hurt. She thought she saw steam coming out of his ears as she descended the stairs again.

“Well, I will call this number,” he called after her. “But, Agent Scully!” She turned to look up at him and he added, “I have tickets to Holiday on Ice if you’d care to join me?”

She stared at him with pity and distaste before walking on. She'd laugh if it wasn't so tragic. She could tell he was full of frustration and hostility as he was clicking his pen furiously. She didn’t give him another look and silently hoped she never set eyes on him again as she rubbed her arm (once she was out of his sight).

She hurried to Lecter’s cell, though didn’t run as she was conscious of his ability to smell her, and she knew he'd associate sweat with fear and try to claim she was frightened when she wasn't. She greeted him politely when she reached him.

“No Agent Mulder today I see.”

Well hello to you too she thought. As she took off her coat and took up the seat that was out for her she shook her head. “Agent Mulder is busy with other matters.”

Lecter looked up from his bed where he was languidly sketching something with charcoal on butcher paper. He was using his own forearm as a model, she didn’t ask what exactly he was drawing. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She did note that his belongings had been restored and his cell was in a better state than the last time she'd visited, even the television had been taken away.

“Catherine Martin?”

“Yes.”

He made no movement. He seemed to think for a long time. If she wasn’t already used to it she’d wonder if he’d died or had a stroke. “Wouldn’t you say, Dr. Scully, that for a United States Senator, you’re an odd choice of messenger?”

She raised an eyebrow, “I was your choice, Dr. Lecter. You chose to speak to me. Would you prefer someone else now? Or perhaps you don't think you can help us now.”

“That is both impudent and untrue... Now tell me how you felt when you viewed Billy's latest effort?” After a beat he smiled and put his work aside. “Or should I say, ‘next-to-last?”

“From a personal or professional standpoint?”

“Both.”

She cleared her throat. “Well, I was shocked by the level of violence. It felt like overkill.”

“You look tired. You think about them in your sleep? Do you imagine yourself in their place?”

“No.” What to tell him? How much? It was a quandary she still couldn’t reconcile. She decided not to go into too many details but give him just enough. “I see them but I don’t identify with them.” She busied herself with her bag and pulled out the offer, along with all the heavy case files. “Professionally, and in looking at the damage Bill inflicts on the victims I would go along with Agent Mulder’s profile assessment and class him as a sad*st. Buffalo Bill might not care for his victims, he might not need them for anything other than their skin, but I think he enjoys the act of killing.” She put the file on her lap and admitted, “I think he’s a textbook case, at least on that front.”

He turned to face her, it felt strangely intimate, like two friends chatting, and then got up to stand and lean against the wall to her right, near his letterbox sliding tray, when he noticed the file on her lap. She’d never seen anyone move so smoothly before. “Life’s too short for slippery books, Dr. Scully. Typhoid and swans come from the same God.”

She had no time for Lecter’s horrible theology, she knew from Mulder's file that he collected articles on church collapses, but she felt she had to indulge him. “By that argument we’re all as bad as Buffalo Bill, no? Given that we’re greeted in God’s image.”

“Now you’re catching on.” He looked impressed. “Killing must feel good for God in that sense, since he’s always doing it. He must love it.”

“Maybe so, but God gave us free will, Sir.”

“But he could stop it?”

“I have no answer to that. It doesn’t make believing any less easy and the question isn’t new, it’s a question that’s been asked for a very long time.”

“How long, O Lord, must I call for help? But you do not listen! ‘Violence is everywhere!’ I cry, but you do not come to save. Must I forever see these evil deeds? Why must I watch all this misery?”

“Habakkuk? I believe Job had a similar complaint.”

He looked impressed as he said, “Yes, you’re a good student aren’t you? Of the FBI and of the church, though you claim you no longer believe.”

“I don’t think I said anything on that front.”

“No, but it showed all over your face.”

She blushed and he caught it because he smiled. “Does Agent Mulder give you the answers you seek or does he just take you into his bed?” She didn’t reply. He continued, “Has he tamed you, or you him?” She didn’t answer. “Well I must say you’re a lot better than his wife.”

“I don’t know anything about her.” She wasn’t interested and she wasn’t likely to come back anyway so it didn't matter.

“Diana, nice girl, intelligent, tall and sinewy, hips made for childbirth and breasts made for suckling, has the makings of a good Soccer Mom,” he drawled out the last two words in a faux American accent. Watching her like a hawk, looking for a way in, he found it when he said, “I can tell you hate her already.”

“I have no opinion…”

“No, and yet you still seethe under that fine breeding of yours, are you jealous?”

She chuckled, “No.” Maybe a little. Not because of Diana herself, she had no real concept of the woman beyond tidbits, and what Lecter was saying, or even that she was married to Mulder, something she’d never contemplated, but because, “She’s seen Mulder at his best though.”

Lecter wagged his finger, as if he was telling her to stop being so hard on herself, “I don’t believe she has. I think you will though.” He even smiled at her properly. It was most unnerving. “Now, tell me, Miss West Virginia…”

“Her name is Rebecca Wheatley.”

He ignored her. “Was she a large girl?”

“Yes.”

“Big in the hips, roomy?”

“They all were. They all fit the victim profile Agent Mulder has drawn up.”

He hummed in approval, seemingly pleased. “What else?”

She shifted uncomfortably, remembering pulling out that horrible little beast from Rebecca’s throat. “She had an insect deliberately inserted in her throat. That hasn't been made public yet. We don't know what it means.”

He was intrigued, “Was it a butterfly?

She paused, staring at him. She wasn’t suspicious, nothing surprised her about him anymore, but she was always interested. “A moth actually. How did you predict that?”

He wasn’t content to give her any answers yet. “I’m waiting for your offer, Dr. Scully. Enchant me with the efforts of your labor.”

She looked down at her papers, collecting her thoughts about how best to approach this. She looked at him again evenly and decided that the best way to really sell it was by showing enthusiasm, it would make it seem real and he would expect her to be proud of the work she’d done.

She stood up and smiled, clutching the material tightly, and with a happy tone to her voice began, “If you help us find Buffalo Bill, in time to save Catherine Martin, the Senator promises you a transfer to the V.A. hospital at Oneida Park, New York, with a view of the woods nearby. Maximum security still applies, but you’d have reasonable access to books.” He was silent, listening intently but amused, like he was weighing the truth of it up. She almost faltered but caught herself, grinned and moved closer, shuffled her papers to reveal a map and pressed it to his glass wall, “Best of all, though, one week a year you'd get to leave the hospital and go, here, Plum Island. Every afternoon of that week you can walk on the beach or swim in the ocean for up to one hour.” She paused to add, “Under SWAT team surveillance, of course,” and shrugged.

She put the papers in his food tray and quickly removed her hands. He looked at them in a neutral fashion. Nodding at the tray she said, “A copy of the Buffalo Bill case file, Senator Martin’s terms. Her offer is final and non-negotiable. If Catherine dies...” she slid the tray back hard, “you get nothing.”

He looked down at the papers, no hint of emotion, and without touching them sneered, “‘Plum Island Animal Disease Research Center.’ Sounds charming.”

“That’s just part of the island, it has a very nice beach.” From what she’d heard anyway. She continued trying to convince him the deal was worthwhile. “Terns nest there.” He was calculating again and she braced herself for his next words.

He was unimpressed. He touched his red tongue to his red lips in thought. “Terns, Dr. Scully. If I help you it will be ‘turns’ with us too. Quid pro quo I tell you things, you tell me things. Not about this case though, about yourself. Yes or no?”

She was silent for the longest moment, her brain was screaming at her ‘no!’. She somehow knew he’d be aloof to the formal deal on its own, she knew that if this was going to work he’d insist on trading pieces of information.

“Yes or no, Dr. Scully. Catherine is waiting. Tick-tock, tick-tock.”

She realized how close they were standing and she was glad of the glass. Her mouth betrayed her, “Go, Doctor.”

“What’s your worst memory of childhood?”

She hesitated, she had so many: Bill Jr threatening her pets and the accidental bunny killing, her Sunday School teacher’s death, her father constantly leaving to go to sea and having to comfort her mother until she stopped crying only to be shouted at (before things returned to normal the next day once her mother had gotten over her father’s departure). She had a happy childhood, for the majority of it, but the death of her Sunday School teacher had certainly hit her the hardest.

“The death of my Sunday School teacher, he was a good friend, a guiding light when I was going through a difficult time at home.”

“Tell me. Don’t lie or I’ll know.”

She sighed. She couldn’t bear the feverish excitement in his eyes, he looked like a ravenous vulture. She looked past him, hesitating again, “I didn’t feel that I could talk to my parents about anything, I could with him. He called me Scout. It was a real shock when he died, I couldn’t reconcile it in my head for the longest time.”

“Did you love each other, was he killed because he interfered with you and too many others, did he f*ck you Dr. Scully?”

She looked at him, not bothering to hide her disgust, “He wasn’t like that, not at all. He was nothing but kind to me.” Struggling to get her emotions back in check she still managed to put him straight, “He ran a halfway house that had a 'no drugs' policy. One of the borders there broke the rules and brought drugs into the building, he took them away and paid with his life. They shot him as he was doing his gardening.”

“Was he killed outright?”

“No. He tried to call for help, he tried to get inside, and they shot him again, in the head.” She took a deep breath, trying not to imagine it, trying not to get upset. She focused on his smile, how he always beamed at her when he saw her. “He was a strong man, godly, he tried his best.” She shrugged, “I still think about him.”

“You’re very frank, Dr. Scully. It would be quite something to know you in private.”

So you can cut me the way you cut Mulder? she thought and hid a grimace. “Quid pro quo, Doctor.”

“The significance of the moth is change. Do you know what an imago is?”

Change. Mulder had said exactly that. Eerily she wondered how closely he could look into the hearts and heads of the people he chased. She shook her head and then remembered, “It’s a winged insect.”

“Entomologically speaking it’s the final and fully developed adult stage of an insect, typically winged. But it has another meaning.” He smiled, “Speak to Agent Mulder.” He tipped his head in an odd quirk, like he was reminiscing about their times together, and carried on, “Caterpillar into cocoon into beauty. Billy wants to change, too, Dr. Scully. But there's the problem of his size, you see. Even if he were a woman, he'd have to be a big one..."

She was puzzled. None of what he was saying made any sense. She knew from her own experience as a doctor that already Buffalo Bill did not meet the criteria of transsexualism. “Dr. Lecter, there's no correlation in the literature between transsexualism and violence. Transsexuals are very passive, gentle types…”

“Clever girl. You're so close to the way you're going to catch him, do you realize that?”

“No. Tell me why.”

“What happened next?” She dropped her gaze and he snarked, “I don't imagine the answer's on those second-rate shoes, Dr. Scully.”

“I ran away from home. It was stupid.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went to my grandmother’s house. They lived next to a farm up in the north of Maryland. I took a train and hitchhiked cross country.”

“That was brave. A cattle ranch?”

“No, horses and sheep mostly.”

“How long were you there for?”

“Not long, my parents beat me to it. I was glad to leave, I hated it there.” There were so many awful sounds, she hadn’t been able to sleep. It’d frightened her.

“How did your parents react?”

“They were crying. I’ve never seen them so upset either before or since.” It’d shocked her. She didn’t do anything like that again. Even her acceptance letter into the FBI hadn’t upset that much, though it was probably close.

“He didn’t beat you?”

“No, my father didn’t ever punish us like that. He’s a good man. Stern but good." She sucked in a breath, emotionally she was exhausted. "Quid pro quo Doctor.”

“Billy's not a real transsexual. He tries to be. He's tried a lot of things, I expect.”

“You said, I was very close to the way we'd catch him, what did you mean?”

“There are three major centers for transsexual surgery: Johns Hopkins, the University of Minnesota, and Columbus Medical center. I wouldn't be surprised if Billy has applied for sex reassignment at one or all of them, and been rejected.”

“On what basis would they reject him?”

“Look for severe childhood disturbances associated with violence. Our Billy wasn’t born a criminal, Dr. Scully. He was made one through years of systematic abuse. Billy hates his own identity, you see and he thinks that makes him a transsexual but his pathology is a thousand times more savage and more terrifying.”

“How would he test?”

Suddenly he snarled loudly and stretched. She took a sharp step backwards before he grabbed her, impossible, she knew. He smiled, turning his movement into a deliberate and elaborate yawn, and gathering the papers from his tray.

“That’s enough, I think. Happy hunting.”

She was shaken by his sudden and abrupt end to the meeting but nodded.

As she left, she knew she would go and see Mulder. It was late and she didn’t fancy the longer drive back to Quantico in rush hour traffic.

Far above her another problem was brewing in the shape of Dr Chilton who was listening into their private conversation.

Chapter 40

Chapter Text

In an anonymous house, in an every-day, nondescript, kind of suburb, one that most people would aspire to live in, the killer known only as Buffalo Bill cooed to his collection of winged devils and placed some fresh honeycomb on the floor of their caged room, it was only the best for them, and after enjoying the soft rush of air, and the feel of their fur against his face, as they all rushed as one to get at the food, he climbed out and closed the door.

For the longest time he stood watching with a smile on his face, watched as they fed and enjoyed themselves on the sweet food source. He didn’t like caging them, at one point he’d had them free in the house but a few had got free and the neighbors had complained so, keen not to draw attention to himself, he’d built a special cage that took up most of a room. They could fly and crawl and grow and mate and feast to their heart's content. They were happy. He was happy. It was symbiotic.

In the corner a hatchling wiggled tortuously free of its cocoon and clung, trembling and damp, to a sprig of deadly nightshade. He clapped his hands like a new father and whispered words of encouragement as it spread its wings, testing them out, and took its first flight. He listened to the slow pumping of its wings amongst the others and delighted when it landed assuredly and started suckling, imitating his new friends in their feeding routine. It fit right in. It pleased him immensely.

But he had work to do and so he reluctantly left them their food. He made sure to leave the light on for their play time though and closed the main door behind him. His trek through the dimly-lit warren of the cellar was long and he occasionally turned corners or skirted dark openings of passages he didn’t use anymore. He liked this part of the house the most. It was where he could be himself. Upstairs was pretty ordinary, if anyone came in they’d probably compliment him on the decor (though he hadn’t chosen any of it), but down here was his playground and he could express his personality.

He moved left and into a small chamber that housed his preparation area: a stainless steel table, a big sink, jars of chemicals and neat racks of gleaming, newly sharpened chef's knives, top of the range. He’d spoken to countless butchers to ascertain which was the best for removing the skin of large deer carcasses and they’d been only too happy to help. Beyond that was a larger space where he kept his ladies, his mannequins. All perfect, all adorned in various items of designer clothing. It was clothing he’d had to steal and some of it was knockoff stuff that he’d made himself, though there were a few choice items he’d picked out in various stores. It was all beautiful and he couldn’t wait to wear it.

It was in this room he picked out a pattern book and began flicking through the pages. He’d been taught to sew in prison, it was that or motor mechanics. He had no interest in cars but he did have an interest in looking good and in being the best version of himself. He tapped a page, a beautiful floor length hooded gown. It would need a few adjustments to fit the style he liked and his size, and he would turn the skirt into pant legs, but otherwise it was exactly what he was looking for for his hides. A suit.

He took it with him and entered his real workshop, his sewing room with the special maroon armoire, with its Chinese lacquer, that he kept his most prized pieces of clothing. The items he’d made with the help of his captives. He placed the book on the table next to his sewing machine and flicked the switch to turn it on. He bent down and tickled Precious behind the ear as she slept and sat. His garment would be the best he’d ever produced.

In the distance he heard It in the well screaming again. It was funny to him. It lightened his soul.

He pressed play on his tape player to drown her out though as he needed to concentrate, he couldn’t put a stitch wrong in this piece. He tucked his kimono in and sat down. He worked furiously, the foot of the machine zipping through expertly and he made quick work. He even started humming along to the tune, to the pounding horses. It was a good song, he’d play it again and again and again. He stopped only long enough to think about needing a real human hair piece. Looking at the one to his left he decided it wasn’t good enough any more. The blond hair of his second victim had deteriorated too much, he hadn’t preserved it properly. He knew better now. ‘It’ in the other room had nice hair, maybe he could use her scalp after he’d taken her hide. It was a serious consideration.

Next to him his little dog stirred, yawned, stretched and shook its legs out from the cramp of sleep and trotted around the room begging for attention. Receiving none, she knew when Master was busy on his machine he couldn’t be disturbed, so scurried out of the room, following the sounds of the screams. The sounds Precious was all too used to.

Panting happily and picking up scents the dog followed the same path her master had just come from, stopping occasionally to lick and sniff at things. The dog sniffed at the moth door, hoping for a snack, hoping to chase them around a little but it was closed so she moved on. Eventually she reached the pit and sniffed her way to the edge, wagging her tail and, looking over the precipice, she barked all too happily. Imitating her owner but still wanting the friendship of this strange creature who begged for it.

Far down below Catherine Martin looked up at the dog in curiosity and stopped her now hoarse screaming. A thought beginning to form in her head she didn’t quite smile but knew that if she was ever going to get out of here she just might have to do it herself and that little dog might just be her answer.

Chapter 41

Chapter Text

By the time she reached Mulder’s apartment she was tired, hungry and in need of a shoulder to cry on. Lecter had left her feeling more exhausted than any run or swim session she'd had and it would be nice to clear her head and mend her body. She knocked loudly on his apartment door and smiled as he opened it.

“Hi,” she offered breezily while looking him up and down. He was wearing a pair of gray briefs and a white dress shirt barely buttoned up and her heart beat a little faster and she bit her lip.

He raised his eyebrows but smiled broadly. “Scully! I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow.”

She looked behind her, down the long corridor and towards the elevator, suddenly feeling unsure. “If this is a bad time?”

He chuckled, “Not at all, come in. Just surprised, that's all. I know how tiring Lecter is, I just thought you might’ve booked a hotel room.” He emphasized how happy he was by grabbing her wrist and pulling her inside playfully. Door closed behind them he gave her a quaint kiss to her cheek and then took her coat and bag. “You want something to eat? I have pizza, salad and fries on the coffee table.”

She nodded, replying, “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” as she took in his apartment. It was dark but he soon snapped on some lights and fussed with making it a bit more welcoming by tidying up some papers and books he had lying around, there were files everywhere. Overall, there wasn’t much to the place really but it was warm, the art was funky but interesting, there were a few plants he hadn’t managed to kill as well as a fish tank with a load of happily swimming Mollies bobbing around. All in all it was a typical bachelor pad, any trace of a woman’s touch had long been scrubbed away. Or maybe this was how they lived together, she wasn’t sure and grizzled at the idea of ‘Soccer mom’ still being present so she decided this was all him and that was fine by her.

“It’s nice,” she muttered as she had a look in the sparse but tidy kitchen, it seemed to be the cleanest bit of this place and that pleased her. Not because she had any interest in being the next Martha Steward but because she didn’t want a tummy bug from using his dishes and cutlery. She turned to look at him, he’d found a place to sit on the sofa and was watching her with an amused expression. “What?”

“Nothing!” he laughed, reaching for a slice of pizza and putting it on a plate for her. When she raised an eyebrow he expounded, “It’s just funny watching you.”

She wasn’t so sure about that but smiled anyway because she’d much rather be under his intense gaze than anyone else’s. She took his offered slice and sat down next to him, eating it so quickly she was soon eating another and wolfing down the majority of the fries. “Sorry, but I’m starving.”

“Fine by me, I've already eaten 3 slices. You gonna tell me how you got on with Hannibal the Cannibal?”

“I’m working up to it,” she answered around a mouthful of food. “You know you were right about the moth signifying change, he had the same idea,” she said after she’d swallowed. She quickly told him all of what had happened. “He also mentioned something called ‘imago’ and said I should speak to you about it.”

It wasn’t a word he’d heard in a while but it was typical double speak from Lecter. “You mean besides the entomological significance?” She nodded so he explained, “It’s a term from the dead religion of psychoanalysis. An imago is an image of a parent buried in the subconscious from infancy and bound with infantile affect. The unconscious idealized mental image of someone is supposed to influence a person’s behavior.”

“Right, kind of how an image of Barney the Dinosaur will drive someone insane,” she giggled, wiping her hands.

“Sure if one of your parent’s looks like Barney the Dinosaur.” He ate the last of the fries before she stole them. “Your father doesn’t look like Barney does he Scully?”

“No, you’re safe with me.” She patted his warm leg affectionately. It didn’t go unnoticed. “So I’m confused by what Lecter was saying about change, that our suspect wants to be something else but he’s not a transsexual.”

“I would agree with that. Transsexuals are passive and violence and destructive aberrant behavior are not statistical correlatives of transsexualism but...” He picked up his notes from the floor and looked through them.

“What?”

“He might think he is, he might try to be but he’s not.” He showed her his working profile and pointed at his scruffy handwriting, “He’s clearly very angry at someone, clearly trying to escape someone, possibly himself, and he might think that the ultimate way to do that is by completely rejecting his current form. You know John Lee Roche thought of himself as The Mad Hatter and Francis Dolarhyde wanted to be a Dragon and believed that by subjecting his victims to a process called ‘changing’ it would help him ‘become’ the Great Red Dragon of Blake’s painting. It’s a form of Dissociative Identity Disorder, you might have heard of it as Multiple Personality Disorder.” He paused in horror and frowned, he suddenly knew what Buffalo Bill was doing with his victims. He turned to look at Scully and said in shock, “Scully, I think he’s making himself a woman suit out of real girls, that’s why he takes the girls, that’s why he takes larger women, it gives him more material.”

Her eyes went wide and her stomach turned green. “Are you serious?” He certainly looked it. She was starting to retaste her pizza.

He nodded slowly as he contemplated it. He was shocked. How had he not seen this and connected the dots sooner? He flicked to the forensics and showed her photos of wound patterns, “Don’t they look like a tailor's pattern cuts to you?”

She wasn’t sure. They could be, she supposed. She knew nothing about pattern cutting. Melissa made her own clothes, her mom was a great seamstress too, but she’d not been interested in learning about any of that stuff. “I’m not sure Mulder, It could be.” She offered an apology with her hands after putting the file on the coffee table.

He nodded, he expected that. He needed more proof. He needed to get a hold of some dress making supplies and was quickly excited by his discovery. “You don’t know anyone nearby with a sewing machine do you Scully?”

“My mom does, she has a sewing room,” she said, frowning. “Why?”

“You think I could meet her?” He cleared his throat, “You know, just as a colleague rather than as your um…”

He rapidly pointed from himself to her and back again she couldn’t help smiling. She still didn’t know what they were doing but she kind of liked that it was undefined. “I can do that. I’ll just say you’re my field supervisor.” Which was kind of true.

“Great, when?”

He was eager but she was tired and in no mood. “In the morning.”

It was his turn to pout but he also had no desire to piss her family off by going through their stuff at 10 o’clock at night.

“Lecter said that we were close to the way we’d catch him, do you think this is what he meant?” she asked.

“Possibly.”

“Is there anything we can do in the meantime, a strategy we can think of?”

“Well you said Lecter had remarked that our suspect had probably been rejected for sex reassignment. We could check that out.”

“How?”

“We could contact the hospitals for a start.”

She wiped her fingers on a napkin and moved onto the salad. “On what basis would they reject him?”

He thought long and hard as this wasn’t his area of expertise. The only people that he’d come across seeking gender reassignment were few and far between and only when he was working towards getting his practise license. From memory he said, “Having a criminal record I think. Unless the crime is harmless, and related to the gender-identity problem, then he’d be disqualified. He might have a record for cross-dressing somewhere, it’s only recently that some states have stopped arresting people for it.”

She hummed, “Because of Stonewall?”

He nodded, “And other movements. I have a friend who was arrested in New York for wearing pants and a shirt recently.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, it’s called the three-piece law. In some places if you wear fewer than three items of clothing of you supposed gender, you're subject to arrest and incarceration on charges of ‘sexual deviancy.’” They both shook their heads angrily. “Shockingly some states still have variations of it.” He took her offered forkful of salad and around it he finished with, “If Bill lied successfully about a serious criminal record, then the personality inventories would get him."

“How would he show up on the diagnostics?" she asked, withdrawing her fork from his mouth. “Do you know the procedure for testing male applicants for transsexual surgery?"

“No. It’s been a while since I had to look at it.” He swallowed, eyeing her as she removed her boots and wiggled her toes. He wondered when he should tell her he had no suitable bed for them to sleep in as clearly she was intending on staying over, which he welcomed and certainly didn’t mind, it’s just his bed was his marital bed and he didn't like it. He picked up her left foot and started massaging it, she resisted for a fraction of a second but then turned towards him more and gasped. He loved her sounds so carried on. “But I would think the regimen would include the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale, House-Tree-Person, Rorschach, Drawing of Self-Concept, Thematic Apperception, MMPI of course, and a couple of others, the Jenkins, I think, that NYU developed.”

“That’s good,” she said squeakily as he hit a sensitive spot. It felt so good. Lecter was right about one thing: she had crappy shoes and tomorrow she was going to treat herself to something nice. Right now though if Mulder kept up his hypnotic motion on her arch she was going to turn into a puddle. “So we’re looking for a male who would fail all the known personality tests?”

“Uh huh.” He licked his lip as her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth fell open. Jesus, all he was doing was kneading her foot with the pads of his thumbs. It was starting to turn him on. “On the House-Tree-Person we’re looking for someone who didn't draw the female figure first. Male-to-female patients undergoing the process of change will almost always draw the female first and, typically, they pay a lot of attention to adornments on the females they draw. Their male figures are simple stereotypes, there are some notable exceptions where they draw Mr. America, but not much in between.”

She reclined and put her other foot in his lap and sighed luxuriously when he switched foot, she could get used to this. “So we should try to obtain a list of people rejected from all three gender-reassignment centers. Check first the ones rejected for criminal record… oh.” She closed her eyes again, “Just there Mulder.”

“Just here?” he repeated, stroking the ball of her foot. Her answering moan was all the reply he needed. “We should look at burglars, anyone who has tried to conceal a criminal record and we should look for severe childhood disturbances associated with violence. Possibly internment in childhood and if not that then abandonment. I think Lecter is right, I think our man could’ve been created by a system that did everything it could to fail him. See if there are pictures on file too, any house pictures he draws will have no happy future, no baby carriage, no pets, toys, flowers or sun, his trees will be frightful.” His hands moved from her foot to her ankle, his mind now totally elsewhere he still managed, “Our guy is puzzled and angry because they won't help him.”

“You know you’re good at this stuff.” She was still listening even if he was faltering. “How will he draw his females?”

“Hmmm?” Her spare foot was dangerously close to his hardening co*ck. He shook his head, remembered, “They’ll be crude because he doesn’t see women as something to be, he sees them as something to use. He’ll overcompensate somehow.” He didn’t know how. He shifted and her foot slipped onto him and he hissed. “Let’s talk about something else.”

She opened her eyes and smirked as she felt him under her toes, thick and lengthy. She needed him. “Something else, what do you have in mind?”

He licked his lips. He lifted her foot and placed a kiss on her inner ankle. “What do you think?”

“It’s a school night.”

He knew she was teasing, in more ways than one. Her other foot was still moving against him, slowly driving him insane. “Then you’ll just have to rebel and assume the consequences.”

“Dare I ask?” She thought back to their original conversation about kinks and pondered when he’d start showing his. “Or would those consequences scare me.”

He snorted, “You’re perfectly safe with me.” His proclivities were pretty straight laced for proclivities sake. “Mostly.”

“Where’s your bedroom?” she asked, intrigued, while looking round. There was a door behind him and she assumed it must be there.

“Ah, well, I don’t really have one.”

“Everybody has a bedroom, Mulder.”

He blushed bright red. “Well, yeah, but I don’t use mine.”

He had to be kidding surely. “Where do you sleep?”

“Here.”

On the couch! How uncomfortable. She couldn’t really face f*cking him where she’d just eaten. At least not tonight. “What’s through there?” she pointed.

“I haven’t used it since Diana left, too many bad memories.” He knew he probably sounded pathetic. The idea of inviting her round for a shoulder to cry on was turning out to be better than the reality. At least he could pretend to be normal in a hotel room. “It’s mostly a storage room now.”

She smiled sympathetically, extricated her foot and stood, holding her hand out to him. “How about we go make some new memories?”

He smiled at that and followed her lead.

Chapter 42

Chapter Text

In Lecter’s cell later that evening Dr Frederick Chilton was busy trying to make a name for himself.

“Bad news Hannibal,” Chilton said from his position on the cot where he lay casually reading Lecter’s large stack of private correspondence (occasionally he’d make an annotation or two with his treasured gold pen or wave it around to emphasize a point). “Gourmet magazine rejected your recipe for braised kidneys.” He snigg*red and remarked, “Though I see your recipe for intestinal curry has been published in Tattle.” He exaggeratedly licked his lips and laughed.

Across the room Lecter said nothing, just watched the imbecile Chilton closely, always watching, always waiting. If it was up to him he’d turn Chilton into a fine gourmet meal but, alas, as it was, he couldn’t move being that he was bound in a heavy straight-jacket with a crude hockey mask over his face to stop him biting and strapped to a hand truck at the chest, waist, legs and feet. To his left stood Barney with an apologetic look on his face. Lecter rather liked the simple orderly so he offered him a look to say ‘it's not your fault’ and the man half relaxed.

“Perhaps,” continued Chilton. “You should have been less specific about what kind.” He sighed happily, enjoying himself. “Such a lot of correspondence! People asking for your autograph, a marriage proposal! Serial killer groupies are the worst, are they not?” No reply. It didn’t matter all that much, Chilton wasn’t looking for one. They both knew the answer to that one anyway. “A few dull editors asking for contributions to articles for some of the lesser known journals. Trying to make themselves famous no doubt. Oh look this one here is amusing, ‘Dear Doctor Lecter, I have been fascinated by your case for years, you’re truly remarkable and one of a kind… blah, blah blah, miscarriage of justice, blah, blah, blah, if you let me represent you I am absolutely certain I can get you acquitted’.” He laughed heartily, “Preposterous!”

He picked up another stack, “More marriage proposals. Oh look, someone here wants to know about your relationship with Agent Mulder for a book he’s writing.” Chilton contemplated it, it was something he’d like to know himself, but brushed it aside, “I can hardly wait to analyze all this in more detail but first things first!” Tossing the letters casually to the floor and placing the gold pen on the cot he sat up and, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, pulled out a tape recorder from his suit jacket pocket. He was pleased when Lecter looked mildly interested as he waved it triumphantly. “I knew this would float your boat, I do believe you rather like Agent Scully, I myself must admit to being a little intrigued.” He chuckled at Lecter’s disgusted look. “No, I think we’re very much the same you and I, cannibalism aside, both men of learning and intellect, the top of their games, but she is where we part ways. Sex is where we’re very different creatures. I’d love to get her into bed but you…” he laughed loudly, rather mockingly. “I’ve always wondered, have you ever been with a woman? Perhaps it’s Agent Mulder that does it for you. Hmmmm?”

Chilton raised an eyebrow but Lecter didn’t respond. He had no interest in either Dr. Scully or Agent Mulder in that way. He never had. They were worthy adversaries, that was all.

He waved the tape recorder again and explained in his usual smarmy fashion, “I thought she might be looking for a civil rights violation in Miggs’ death, so I bugged you... Not a word to me in all these years, Hannibal. Then Skinner and Mulder send their bit of fluff over here, and you just turn to jelly. It's too pathetic.” He was genuinely disappointed. That said he would have his moment in the sun. If anyone was going to make money here it would be him. Perhaps Sally Jessy Raphaël would feature him on her show. Wouldn’t that be something?

Chilton stood and stretched languidly and walked up to Lecter to smile right in his face. Tauntingly close he examined the other doctor’s deep glittering eyes. They sparked even if the face didn’t. Chilton nodded as if a great discovery had been made.

“You still think you're going to walk on some beach, and see the birdies, don’t you? I don't think so, Hannibal.” He licked his lips and went in for the kill, “You know I called Senator Ruth Martin, and she never heard of any deal with you. She never heard of Dr Dana Scully, Trainee, either. They scammed you, Hannibal, set you up. Mulder’s getting his revenge, he intends to let you rot and I can’t say I blame him after what you did to him.” He cackled as Lecter’s eyes flicked to the cot, to the little gold pen, if only he could reach it. “When Mulder gets through milking you, he's giving you to Baltimore Homicide for the Raspail murder. And they're preparing some special surprises for you right now, in my electroshock room.”

Chilton threw his head back as he laughed long and hard. To him Chilton looked like an idiot but inside he was still fuming at the betrayal. Still, he could use it to his advantage. He still had the upper hand. He looked to Chilton’s moving lips as Chilton’s stale breath further offended. He grazed lower and looked at his soft white neck. If only.

When Chilton finally stopped laughing and slapping his thigh he mocked, “Those two c*nts want you to rot here, in this little box, till your teeth fall out and you're soiling diapers. You've seen the old ones, Hannibal. They weep when their stewed peaches get cold. That'll be you, too. Unless,” he tapped his head in thought, as if he was suddenly having a genius idea, when they both knew he wasn’t. “You trade with me.”

He moved to sit on the little desk, his chummy demeanor belying his deviousness. “There never was a deal with Senator Martin… but there is now. I've been on the phone for hours, Hannibal, on your behalf.” He smiled, best pals. “Here's what you get: if you identify Buffalo Bill, and the girl is found in time, Senator Martin will have you transferred to Brushy Mountain State Prison, in Tennessee.”

Lecter was listening, of course he was. His ears were always open and alert. But he couldn’t take his eyes off that gold pen. It was just sitting there. It took a lot of effort to look elsewhere but eventually he did and he forced himself to look at Chilton sitting there in his overpriced lambs wool suit that still managed to make him look cheap. If he grew a mustache he could easily be the heir apparent to Geraldo Rivera. Maybe they could go off in search of Al Capone’s loot together. It was about Chilton’s level.

Chilton tilted his body to make sure he was in Lecter’s eyeline. “The Governor has already agreed. You get books, a view of the woods, and plenty of exercise time and best of all, you'd be out of the reach of The FBI forever. The Senator will verify these terms on the phone and guarantee them in writing. In exchange, I get your full cooperation in publishing a professional account of this, my successful interviews with you. You publish nothing. And I get exclusive access to any material from Catherine Martin.” He clapped his hands like it was already a done deal. “So, do you accept my demands?” There was a long pause. “Answer me, Hannibal.”

Lecter was silent. He was doing it on purpose. It was too easy to wind Chilton up, too easy, and he was soon back in his face, agitated.

“You'll answer me now, or by God, you'll answer to Baltimore Homicide. Who is Buffalo Bill?”

Thinking about it he knew he might be able to work this situation to his own advantage. He would give the FBI what they wanted, he would teach them a lesson or two as well. As for Chilton? Well he was sure he could come up with something suitable given time. He finally said, “His first name is Louis. I'll tell the rest to the Senator herself. But only in Tennessee. And I have a few conditions of my own.”

Chilton smiled, happy for once. “Clean him up and get him ready to go,” he demanded of Barney.

He left quickly and as Barney started the process of sorting Lecter out the little gold pen lay on the bed, glistening and shimmering.

Lecter smiled.

Chapter 43

Chapter Text

“Do I look ok?” Mulder asked for at least the tenth time in an hour as they pulled up to the curb outside of the Scully family home.

“Breathe Mulder. You look fine.” She appraised him, a twinkle in her eye and a smirk on her lips, and meant every word: that he was fussing over nothing. He looked good in his charcoal suit: tidy, professional, very attractive. Her father would hate him. But then again he’d hated every man and/or colleague she’d ever brought home. It wasn’t personal. “We’re only meeting my parents for a professional reason. I wouldn’t have thought you’d care much.”

“Of course I care.” He adjusted his tie, made sure his hair was in place and only when he was half satisfied did he let out the breath he was holding. “If I make a good impression now then they won’t hate me when I meet them as your boyfriend.” Despite her warning him about her father and his overprotective attitude it still felt important to at least try and get on their good sides. Usually he wouldn’t care, and he had no time for anyone who judged him before meeting him, but he actually did want them to like him. It seemed like it would be important to her. He cleared his throat, “Not that what we have needs a label.”

“No, we don’t,” she agreed too quickly. Putting labels on things made her nervous, especially when she was enjoying the newness of everything, how simple it all seemed. Though she’d rather enjoyed the domesticity they’d had since yesterday, when she’d turned up at his apartment. They’d made love (after clearing a path to the bed and flipping the mattress), got ready for bed together afterwards and in the morning they’d eaten breakfast, or what constituted breakfast in Mulder’s apartment (two pop tarts each and some just-in-date orange juice), and gotten ready together. It was like they were a proper couple. Maybe they would be once this was over.

She followed him out of the car and led him towards the two story house with its proud American flag flying high in the wind of the day. She wanted to hold his hand, wanted to show her appreciation that he was determined for this to go well, but it really wasn’t appropriate given what they were here for and she really didn’t want her father jumping down his neck. She was nervous enough about seeing her father. She instead clutched her bag tighter and checked her own appearance. She’d already made sure to leave her new service weapon in the glove compartment so as not to incur any derision.

She rang the doorbell, listening to its shrill song. Close to You by The Carpenters, ruined by time. She shrugged when Mulder looked down at her, a question written all over his face. “They refuse to change it.” She had no idea why, her father had always raged about The Carpenters and called them hippies every time Missy had played her records.

It didn’t take long for the door to open and for them to be greeted by a smartly dressed woman with tidy shoulder brown hair. With her understated jewelry and middle class demeanor she was a woman perfectly suited to the smart suburban street they were standing on.

Maggie Scully noticed Mulder out of the corner of her eye and smiled at her daughter, delightedly exclaiming, “Dana!” before she enveloped her youngest girl in a tight embrace, “It’s so good to see you!”

“Hi mom,” she replied, squeezing her mom back in kind. She heard her mom whisper, ‘He’s cute’ in her ear and she hid a blush by rolling her eyes even though she knew her mom couldn’t see either. As she pulled away she adjusted her hair, suddenly feeling flustered.

“You must be Fox,” Maggie said, turning her attention to Mulder and smiling warmly at him. She extended her hand and they shared a warm greeting as Scully admonished, “Not Fox, Mulder.”
It didn’t matter to him. That he hadn’t been kicked to the curb already was enough for him. She could call him what she liked. “Fox is fine.”

“See,” said Maggie triumphantly. “Well come in, come in, don’t just stand there, it’s cold out.” She ushered them in, closed the door behind them and took their coats. She looked her daughter up and down and remarked, “You look good, you have some color to your cheeks again.”

“The FBI must be agreeing with me after all,” she replied with a good natured, though slightly biting, jibe while looking round and reacquainting herself with the family home and enjoying the warmth of the place.

Her mom’s smile faltered a little but she was quick to cover it. Mulder was rather reminded of his own mother. A lady until the very end even if the eyes were saying something different. She quickly changed the subject like a pro. “Yes, well, did you hear the news from Charles?”

“Um, no,” Scully replied. She felt disappointed but unsurprised by her mom’s move but more reassured when she felt Mulder’s hand at the small of her back, soothing her emotional ache. “I haven’t spoken to him in a few weeks. Why?”

Excitedly Maggie explained, “Lucy’s pregnant again, your father and I are going to be grandparents, can you imagine!”

She smiled a wide happy smile. “That’s great mom, I’ll call him tonight to congratulate them.” It wasn’t lost on her that her mom had forgotten that she already had grandchildren in the shape of Lucy’s two boys. They might not be biological grandchildren but it still irked. Still she was genuinely happy for Charles and was already thinking of a gift. “I spoke to Missy more recently though.”

“Well that makes one of us,” she tutted disapprovingly. “How is she?”

“Good, she’s in California. She mentioned something about a yoga retreat.” Her mother tutted again and she dropped the subject. “Where’s Daddy?” she asked, looking around. That he wasn’t here to greet her saddened her, though it too was unsurprising. She felt like a pariah and she knew already that he wouldn’t join them for lunch later on.

“He’s out back, polishing the lawn and cursing a mole he found,” she laughed pleasantly. “I’ll call him in.”

“No, that’s ok. I’ll go and see him.” Might as well get it over and done with.

Scully departed for the garden leaving Mulder making awkward small talk with her mother about the weather and their drive over here. Still, it gave him the opportunity to look around. To the left was a small office and to the right a warm sitting room filled with plenty of overstuffed furniture and more flowers and plants than he could count, it amused him that there were even real flowers in front of pictures of flowers. Beyond that was a dining room already made up for entertaining guests. The Scully family were clearly well off and comfortable.

More interesting though was what was in front of him. Ahead was the stairs with walls lined with pictures of all the Scully children and he went to take a look. They all seemed to have varying shades of red hair though her older brother and sister seemed to have lost it as they aged but Scully and the younger one, Charles, had retained it. In fact his was even brighter than Scully’s and he was sporting a red beard.

“So how long have you been in the FBI, Fox?” Maggie asked in between telling him about the photos.

He looked up at her from where he was looking at the two Scully sisters, identically dressed in red berets and blue coats, sitting on a large garden swing. “A few years now.” He could sense her fidgeting, knew she was worried about her daughter. Now that Scully was out of the way Maggie looked downright tortured actually.

“Do you enjoy it, the work I mean?”

He looked at another picture of Scully, aged maybe 12, in another back garden somewhere, an air rifle slung over her shoulder. She was like a little Annie Oakley. “I don’t know if ‘enjoy’ is the right word Mrs Scully.”

“Please, call me Maggie,” she said warmly. “I mean do you like what you do?”

Did he like what he did? Right now? No. Still, he needed to be sensitive to her worries here. “I get a great deal of satisfaction from making sure the streets are a little safer, yes.” It was as diplomatic as he could manage. “And it can be very rewarding.”

She supposed that was the best she was going to get out of him on that front. She didn’t blame him. She smiled, “Dana said you were her Field Supervisor.” She didn’t believe it for a second and even now it made her smirk. The way they’d looked at each other, the way he’d touched her, said something else. She knew not to overly involve herself in her daughter's love life but this man certainly looked a lot better than the last one she’d brought home, that ancient bag of bones heart surgeon.

He stood straighter, “Just for today, she’s doing very well.”

Dana was the brightest of all her children and she had no doubt she’d make a success of whatever she put her mind to. But it wasn’t that she was worried about. “And they recruited you, like they did with her?”

He touched her shoulder in what he hoped would be a reassuring manner and said, “I know you’re worried about Dana but she really is in the best possible hands, she’ll get a world class education with us which will fully equipt her to deal with all that the world of law enforcement throws at her and when this little bit of work is over she’ll go back to her training and her lab and for the foreseeable future won’t be in the field again.” That seemed to brighten her up somewhat and she relaxed a little, though not totally.

“I just can’t help worrying you know,” she said wistfully looking at Scully’s prom photo. “When she told us she’d been approached by the FBI we were shocked, we still are. Her father thinks she’s rebelling against him but I know this is what she really wants…”

“But it doesn’t make it any easier,” he finished for her. “Does it?”

“No.”

She sighed sadly and pointed Mulder towards the frame she’d been looking at. He couldn’t help but laugh. It was Scully in a vulgar early 80s shiny pink moire taffeta dress with a ruffled neckline and huge puffball sleeves. The color of it was shocking, the kelly green cumberbund around her waist didn’t match and her hair was in a big tight perm. Standing next to her was a guy sporting a blond feathered mullet and a wimpy looking ‘stache, his peach coloured suit looked like it was three sizes too big and probably belonged to his father (her mother told him his name was Marcus but to him he looked like a total Chad). Still, she looked a damn sight more attractive than his prom date. He’d gone to a rural highschool on the Vineyard and it’d been slim pickings in regards to dating, he had to make do with Selena Matthews, a girl with a bowl cut who’s fashion go to was a green and brown flared jumpsuit.

“It all seemed so much easier back then, when she wanted to go off and study Einstein, when she wanted to be a doctor.”

“I can imagine it was a bit of a shock.”

“Yes, just a bit.” She regarded him thoughtfully, knew he was a good man. “You’ll look after her, won’t you?”

He nodded earnestly. He would try his best and if he went down it would be because he was fighting for Dana Scully.

+++++++++++++++++++

Out in the garden the wind was still up and it was cold but the sun was beginning to peek out from behind a light gray sheet and she had to briefly shield her eyes as she went down the steps. Her father, not quite 60 and growing quite rotund in his middle age, was busy planting what looked like yellow, pink and red dahlias in between wiping sweat from his brow and adjusting her mom’s light green sunhat. Given the case and how dahlias were associated with death she grimaced.

“Hi, Daddy!” she shouted, giving him a little wave. She added, “Mom said you’d found a mole.”

On hearing the voice and approaching footsteps her father looked up, set his jaw, and then went back to his patch of earth, shoving the trowel into the mud a little too harshly. “Stupid thing ruined the bed,” he gestured at the now dead mole on the lawn that looked like it’d lost a battle with his shovel. “I have to replant it all.” He shook his head angrily. “Your mom said you were coming over.” He stopped to regard his wheelbarrow of flowers and without looking at her said, “Please tell me it’s because you’ve decided to quit the FBI to be a doctor again.”

She faltered, it wasn’t quite the welcome she envisioned. Between the front door and the garden she’d convinced herself that he wasn’t being obstinate and rude and had decided to bury the hatchet, so they could go back to being Starbuck and Ahab. It was a foolish mistake on her part and she was left with the feeling that Lecter was a much better prospect than her father’s ire and his cold mood.

“I am being a doctor,” she countered as she came to stand near him. “At the FBI.”

“You’re not treating people.”

She looked at the apple trees, at the not quite ripe fruit. She reached out and touched a low hanging branch and remembered sitting under this tree, many years ago now, waiting for a divine answer much like Newton had done with his apple tree three hundred and three years before her. None had come for her.

“I am, in a way,” She finally answered. She was doing vital work, helping heal people by providing answers to how their loved ones had died, making sure the evidence was good enough to convict. “I thought you’d be happy with my pathology posting.”

He threw his trowel down and dusted off his gloves. “I was until you called and told me you were working in the field. I don’t like being lied to.”

She frowned deeply. The hatchet wasn’t buried, it was in her back. “I wasn’t lying. This is part of my training.” She suddenly felt like a 5 year old being told off for eating cookies before a meal. Her father could do that in a second.

He scoffed, feeling disgusted, “Looking up women’s garments?”

“Looking up women’s garments for a case,” she said bitterly, matching his recrimination with her own irritation. “You were the nearest to where we were staying with a sewing room.”

He went to reach for a dahlia but had second thoughts and instead glared through her. “Where ‘we’ were staying?” She just rolled her eyes and he caught it and narrowed his own. His voice was sadder though when he admitted, full of concern, “You know, I looked up your friend in there, asked around. He hunts serial killers, is that what you’re doing? Hunting for a serial killer?”

She didn’t reply, just sighed at his distrust and clear hatred for Mulder already, it was written in every pore. She looked at the house, wishing to be there instead. She actually did appreciate her father’s concern but it was bound up in disapproval and she was reminded of her conversation with Melissa not that long ago. This was her life. “I’m perfectly capa…”

He grabbed a flower and shoved it into the hole he’d gouged out and practically spat, “You’re still training, this is nonsense. This is exactly why I didn’t want you in the FBI. Chasing around after… after those people.”

“I’m not having this argument again. I just wanted to say hello and introduce you to Agent Mulder. If you’re not going to be civil then that’s fine, I have work to do.”

She looked at her father, then at the tree and realized what Melissa had been getting at when she’d proclaimed that life wasn’t just a path it was about the people you meet along the way. It was Newtonian physics, gravity, things attracting and coming together, and she knew exactly where she needed to be. It wasn’t out here trying to please a man too stubborn to let his children live their own lives, it was in there with a man who was opening up the world and forcing her to ask the difficult questions. A man she was very much starting to develop deep feelings for. She felt it after the discovery of Rebecca Wheatley and it was cemented now. He was in her heart. There was a distinct cloudy before and a lucid bright after.

“Will you be joining us for lunch?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.

When he next looked up she was almost gone, rapidly marching towards the back door defiantly. He smiled bitterly and thought of his little girl, a woman now of course but always his Starbuck, headstrong and cleaver than anyone he’d ever known. She could rule the world if she chooses to but here she was wasting her time with the FBI and with men that hunted monsters.
He shook his head and went back to his flower bed.

+++++++++++++++++++

Still, if things outside were difficult then inside was a revelation. As she climbed the stairs she could hear voices and laughter coming from her mom’s sewing room. It pleased her a lot and she was able to forget about the pained relationship with her father, at least for the time being.

“And then she came home with soot on her face, reeking of campfire smoke, and with a sheepish expression, and we all knew what had happened because the police had been called, but she tried to tell us that they’d she’d been helping her friend Sylvia and her prom date Austin, god what was his last name? Berwood, that’s it, anyway she said they were trying to rescue a cat out of a coal shed. It was just the most ridiculous thing and neither I, or her father, had the heart to tell her off for it.”

There was more laughing as she pushed the door open, she smiled as she playfully admonished, “Mom! Mulder doesn’t need to hear about that!”

“Oh I think he does,” Mulder laughed at her reddening face.

“I tell everyone!” Maggie laughed, rubbing her daughter's arm. “You’ll just have to get your own back by listening to some of Fox’s stories.”

Scully raised an eyebrow wondering what exactly they’d been sharing and vowed to get him to spill the beans later on. “Oh I will, don’t worry!” That Mulder was now reddening was a minor, intriguing, victory. Her mom soon departed leaving them alone and he immediately asked her how it’d gone with her father. “About as well as I thought it would, sadly,” she murmured and gave him a quick recap. She didn’t complain when he scooped her into a tight hug and kissed her head but still said, “I’m ok, Mulder.” She actually was too. “Just annoyed.”

“I know, it doesn't mean I can’t give you support when you need it, it’s only what we’ve been doing since we met.”

She patted his back and reluctantly pulled away. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He wanted to tell her she meant the world to him but it felt too soon so he picked at the books Maggie had pulled from the stuffed to the brim bookshelf in the room and began leafing through a pattern book.

“I’m sorry for my father’s behavior.”

He didn’t look up, engrossed in something called McCall’s Costumes and Fancy Dress. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.” When he’d asked Maggie for patterns for larger women or men wanting to cross dress she’d looked at him oddly but pulled it out for him, along with a few others.

It’s not fair and you shouldn’t be, she thought. “Your own father?” She came to stand next to him at the sewing machine table as he sat down to peruse the pages on pattern cutting and the right tools for the job. On the table her mom had helpfully laid out some scissors, scalpels and strange looking cutting tools she couldn’t name even if her life depended on it. “What’s he like?”

“Hmmm?” he replied. The more he leafed through the pages and looked at these shapes the more he was convinced about his theory. He pulled out a photo from his briefcase, of one of the victims with a raw looking wound on her thigh and began comparing the large diamond shapes. He eventually realized he needed to answer Scully. “My father has always been distant.” Actually that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been distant since Samantha had disappeared. He knew why of course, there was blame but there was something else too, something he’d never spoken about and probably wouldn’t until he’d had a chance to speak to his father. On his departure for England, for school, his father had drunkenly told him he was too afraid to love him in case he was taken too. It made sense from a psychological standpoint but it still stung. It still hurt. Before Samantha’s disappearance they were an ordinary loving family, afterwards not so much. “Actually we don’t really talk anymore, not since the regression hypnosis. Things were said, on both sides. They can’t be taken back so easily.”

She looked out of the window ahead of them, her father was still at it but now he was joined by her mom and they looked to be arguing. “It’s a comfort to know my parents aren’t the only screw ups.”

He smiled in solidarity and handed over the book and the photo. “They’re just concerned.”

Taking the book and examining it closely she remarked, “They don’t have to be jerks about it.”

“No, that’s true.”

She stumbled back and hit the table with the back of her legs painfully as her stomach flipped, she was finally seeing what he had. Two diamond shapes, the one in the book neater of course and wasn’t made of raw looking human skin, but it was there. Buffalo Bill was making something with his skin samples. “How do you do that?”

He tapped his forehead and joked, “Not called Spooky Mulder for nothing.”

She swatted his shoulder good naturedly, leaned in and whispered, “Well, just so you know, smart is sexy.”

He immediately turned his chair to look at her, “Are you coming on to me?”

“Why are you going to report me to Skinner?”

“You’re flirty today,” he said, his tone matching the look in her unmistakingly fond eyes. His cell phone shrilled in his briefcase and he sighed, his shoulders sagging, as he looked towards it. “That’s probably him now.”

“Foiled,” she lamented playfully. While he fished around in his case for his clunky Motorola she imagined putting the pieces of skin together like a jigsaw in the lab and relished the prospect, though she tried to hide her excitement at undertaking such a ghoulish task. “I suppose the next thing to do is try and piece this all together to see if we can make something recognisable.”

He nodded as he answered, “Mulder.”

It wasn’t Skinner, it was Stone. “Hello gorgeous.”

He got up and left the room to stand on the landing, making sure there was nobody downstairs. “How did you get my personal number?”

“Access darling.” She chuckled. “I wanted to ask your opinion on something and I need it quickly as I’m about to board a flight to Memphis.”

“Yes Tennessee has the death penalty and out of lethal injection and electrocution I advise you pick lethal injection,” he jested, though there was a sting to his words. “At least you’ll be unconscious when they pull the plug on you.”

“Bitter,” she blew him a kiss that hissed in his ear. “No, I wanted to ask you about Ruth Martin, my contact says that she’s been speaking to the justice department, I want to know why.”

His mouth fell open. It was the first he’d heard of it. His mind was a whirr of activity. Surely she didn’t know about the fake deal? Only a few people knew of it and he was damn sure none of them would go directly to her, the media or anyone in the Justice Department. He groaned when he realized who it might be: Chilton. The prick probably had Lecter’s cell bugged.

Stone was making tick-tock noises in his ear, letting him know that time was of the essence. It was and now the FBI were playing catch up. “Leave it with me and I’ll make some enquiries,” he said.
“You do that. I’ll call you back later.”

He could hardly wait. He looked up as Scully poked her head around the door.

“Everything ok?”

“No.”

Chapter 44

Chapter Text

After a very quick, albeit delightful, lunch where Mr Scully had indeed followed through on his promise not to join them he’d raced back to Quantico and was waiting for Skinner with Jerry Lamana outside Skinner's office.

“I’m just saying, that’s all,” whined Lamana in his usual annoying way, “I would like to be kept informed and involved. I am your partner.” He smiled flirtily at the receptionist Arlene but she rolled her eyes so Jerry put his attention back at Mulder’s door. “Or supposed to be!”

Mulder sighed, he really didn’t have time for this. He knew Jerry was just pissed off because he felt he was missing out on a case credit. Mulder didn’t know why, one piece of work wouldn’t fix his reputation for being a clutz. “You are involved Jerry,” he sighed, watching the other man stuff candy into his pockets from a large bowl that was supposed to be for a charity prize giving. Eventually Arlene slapped his hand and Mulder couldn’t help but smile. “How did you get on with Johns Hopkins?”

Lamana nodded, stood taller and proud, he’d had a good morning it seemed and he groped around for his notepad. As he moved, Mulder was much reminded of a blond Gumby, his doughy mannerisms looked suited to Gumby’s clay-like movements.

“Well, I spoke to a doctor there called Danielson and he was kind of impatient.”

Mulder indicated he didn’t care and the doctor was probably right to feel aggrieved. “Well I’m sure he didn’t want a witch hunt on his doorstep.”

“That’s exactly what he said!” bristled Lamana.

He wondered how exactly Lamana had approached his task and assumed he’d probably gone in feet first. “Ok, but what else did he say?”

Jerry flicked through his pages and nodded to himself thoughtfully, “His patients were all non violent people, decent, hard working…”

Mulder put up his hand to stop him. He wasn’t interested in current patients, he knew they weren’t going to be suspects. “We’re looking for people who were never treated, Jerry, people that failed the initial tests and screenings.”

“I’m getting there.”

Mulder just smiled though he wanted to snatch Jerry’s notepad out of his hand and smack him upside the head with it. Jerry liked to put on a show and now he was having to suffer through it for information that was likely not going to help them anyway. If truth be told he wished he’d undertaken the task himself, Jerry would easily have researched sewing patterns and cutting techniques. He’d just got caught up in the idea of meeting Scully’s parents.

“Get there quicker Jerry,” he admonished. He wasn’t sure that Catherine Martin would appreciate his round-the-houses bluster. Time was rapidly ticking down for her and it was imperative they kick this investigation up a notch.

“Right, right,” he puffed. “He said all information regarding examination and interview materials is confidential and he would never violate an applicant's trust because it would jeopardize the hospital's ability to offer anonymity towards gender identity patients.”

It was the expected response but it was nice to know there were a few good men around. Still it didn’t help him. “Did you show him the photo of the first victim I told you to take?”

Jerry nodded enthusiastically. “I showed him the Emberg girl. The first victim.”

“And?”

“He told me off.”

Mulder sighed, his head dipping. “Great. So we’re still at point zero with this.”

“Well, not quite,” Jerry drawled. “After he explained how unimpressed he was by the photo I put him straight, got in his face a bit you know.”

He was exasperated, “Oh please tell me you didn’t?” They needed these people on side, not under pressure, frightened and drawing up battle lines and causing further delays to the case.

He had. Jerry smiled triumphantly. “I told him exactly what Buffalo Bill does to his victims, described how he cuts their skin off and warned him that the Justice Department would drop on him like a ton of bricks if he didn’t cooperate.”

“Jerry!” How many phone calls was he going to have to make today to calm the situation he wondered. “Why did you do that?”

“I was just doing what you told me to do, put some pressure on him.” He shrugged. “I only ruffed him up a little!”

“I said to make sure he knows the severity of the case, to let him know time was running out.” He couldn’t even look at Jerry anymore and turned around to catch his breath and temper his anger. Arlene who was mouthing a ‘for goodness sake’ to the ceiling looked down and offered a sympathetic smile and a consolation candy but neither helped.

“Hey look, it worked,” Jerry defended, his hand on Mulder’s shoulder. As he turned his head to look first at Jerry’s hand and then at Jerry, Jerry added, “He said he’d confer with his colleagues and get back to me.”

He gritted his teeth and refrained from spelling out the obvious, that Jerry was an idiot and Danielson was more likely than not only conferring with his colleagues only insofar as to help him put together a complaint against the FBI. What had Jerry been thinking!

He was saved from shouting at Jerry by Skinner who flung his door open and said, “Mulder, in here now.” Jerry took a step forward and Skinner shook his head, “Just Mulder.”

Jerry threw his hands up and Mulder shrugged. He wasn’t interested and strode away from Jerry but not before telling him to check out the other hospitals and be a bit more polite this time. He hadn’t even closed the door before Skinner was pouncing on him.

“We have a problem. I’ve just been on the phone with Director Burke, Chilton has got to Senator Martin and revealed our plan,” Skinner seethed

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him even though he'd already guessed it. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s mad as hell, she knows about the phony deal and she’s asked Krendler to take charge of the situation.” Skinner looked sympathetically at Mulder as he chose his next words carefully. “Lecter’s in the air and bound for Memphis.”

Mulder nearly doubled over but caught his knees and leaned heavily on them as he struggled to breath. This was not happening! Bile rose in his throat and scorched it as he looked at Skinner. This was going to end badly, he knew it. He knew it when he’d been asked onto the case and he knew it after they’d gotten Scully involved and they’d had that argument right before he f*cked her and he knew it now. God. This was a living nightmare.

“They don’t know what they’re dealing with!” he warned. Having Lecter out of his cell and running around Tennessee was lunacy. He stood up and immediately put his hand to his mouth to disguise a heave. “What if he gets free?”

“He won't, I can promise you that.”

The promise sounded hollow to Mulder and even Skinner looked bothered by his own remark. He tried to think of what he could do but his thoughts were swamped with images of Lecter eating his victims and ripping out his heart. A sudden horrible prophetic thought occurred to him and he wondered if Lecter had planned all this, if he'd engineered the whole thing to his advantage. He was well aware Lecter was capable of playing them all, of manipulating situations to his advantage.

“What about the task force,” he needed to know if they were still in charge.

“We’re still in command of the task force but…” Skinner sighed and looked at his feet. “There’s talk of censure, of reassignments.”

Mulder didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was making sure Lecter was back where he belonged, locked up in a secure institution. “Lecter's plane can still be ordered back, right?”

“It’s out of my hands now.” He was in a difficult position, standing on a line that kept being crossed and, if truth be told, Skinner was well aware what reassignment for a man like him meant, it meant a trip to a satellite office out in the boonies of Utah or Montana. He wasn’t prepared for that, he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice his career for the sake of one madman or indeed for Mulder. The plane would land whether they liked it or not. “I’m sorry.” Skinner genuinely was. Despite everything he worried for Mulder and worried the effect this would have on his psyche. He knew one thing for certain when this was all over he was going to take a nice long holiday, and suggest the same for Mulder. “Walk away before you completely lose yourself.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.” He took a step closer and stopped midway when he noticed Mulder’s dark warning eyes.

“Is that what you’re officially advising, that I walk away?” He was unconvinced, to put it mildly.

“If you’re asking me what my best course of action would be right now then yes.” Skinner took his glasses off and cleaned them in an exaggerating fashion as he thought about Mulder. “I can’t deny I haven’t been worried about you, about the strain this is having on your mental health on you as a person. I’m worried about you. I’m worried about how far you’ll push yourself.” He put his glasses back on and smiled as Mulder stood there insolently. “I know what Lecter did to you, I know how badly he hurt you, how deep he was in your head. I was there Mulder and I was there when we found you in Lecter’s office.”

He knew all this. It made no difference to him. He needed to concentrate on the here and the now. “I’ve heard all this crap before but thanks for your concern,” he said sarcastically. “I don’t need your badly disguised sympathy.”

Skinner smiled tightly but there was a hint of friendship to his eyes. “I wasn’t giving you sympathy, Mulder, I was offering advice. Go take a vacation.”

His anger threatened to boil over but he held his nerve as he demanded, “I don’t need a vacation. I need to go to Memphis and I need people, for once, to listen to me when it comes to Lecter!” He took a deep steadying breath. “This is going to end up being a very big mistake!”

Skinner sighed and dropped back, letting the desk dig into the back of his legs as he perched. He knew Mulder was right but he couldn’t go above a Senator, he didn’t have that much clout. “Don’t go to Memphis, don’t get in Chilton’s way Mulder.”

“Why?”

“Right now they’re looking for a reason, any reason, to pension you off. They’re blaming you for the fact Catherine Martin hasn’t been found yet, they’re blaming you for sending in a trainee, don’t give them any more ammunition.”

They could do all they wanted to him, he honestly didn’t care. That said, he had an idea of how they could still get to Lecter, could still make sure he didn’t try anything stupid. And besides, he couldn’t live with himself if Catherine Martin died and there was a chance he could’ve done something. “If Catherine Martin dies I will make it known that Senator Martin, Paul Krendler and Lecter are all responsible.” He almost added an ‘and you’ but it felt a little unfair. “I need to go to Memphis.” He also needed to call Stone back urgently, with any hope she could actually be of some use to him as his eyes on the ground for when Lecter and Krendler landed.

Skinner nodded, “Be carefully and tread lightly.”

Chapter 45

Chapter Text

While everyone else was out enjoying a rare trip off base for a drink and dance Scully was in her dorm room desperately trying to catch up on her studies. Sat at her desk with a mountain of notes Reyes, Teller and Neal had offered (she wasn’t speaking to Colton any longer) and with more textbooks than she could count she was admittedly struggling. Time away with Mulder had offered her valuable real life field experience but it hadn’t given her the time to complete any of her assignments of which she had plenty of varying length to get done in too short a time frame.

She put her head in her hands and let out a dry sob as she realized the magnitude of her workload. There was no way she could put any of it off any longer, there were deadlines, and she couldn’t afford to lose her coveted forensics position. She would only be allowed to take it up if she passed her exams. If.

She had one on social disorder and civil unrest and the differences between the two, another on youth offenders, another on the death penalty and federal jurisdictions, yet another on blood collection and sampling techniques, interpretation and presentation of evidence and something on analyzing blood splatter where they had to interpret who out of 4 possible individuals was the shooter of a little old lady. That was even before she got to Advanced Fire and Explosion Investigations and The Forensic Analysis of Drugs and Poisons.

She was doomed. She knew it. She clawed at her necklace hoping for some divine intervention. None came but a knock at the door did. She sighed. She already recognised the knock pattern.

“Come in Mulder,” she called.

He did and looked around at the chaos, at her sitting at her little desk with her glasses on. “Busy?” She clearly was and he immediately felt apologetic.

She took in his disheveled suit and with his ruddy cheeks. It was a marked difference from this morning. “Have you been running in your suit?”

He looked at himself in the mirror absentmindedly and startled himself. “No, just walking and thinking. It’s still windy out.” He flummoxed down on her bed and lay on the pillow looking up at the ceiling. It was nice here he decided, surrounded by her. She was staring at him though, expecting more so he sighed and sat up, grabbed one of her cushions and hugged it tight to his middle. The world felt heavy and he was weary. Maybe he just needed some peace and quiet before his flight. Maybe Skinner was right, maybe he did need a vacation. “Am I interrupting?”

She looked at her work and then at him incredulously. “I have a mountain of work.”

“Don’t let me stop you, I can help if you like.”

“No, that’s ok.” She preferred studying on her own if her deadlines were tight. There was something on his mind, she wanted to know what it was, “What’s up.”

“Nothing…”

She sighed, threw her pen down and said, “Mulder, I thought you were going to work on your communication skills.”

He laughed and then held his hands up in half a shrug, added an exaggerated pout for good measure. He held his hand out and she stood, padding over in her robe and slippers. “I won’t keep you,” he said as she curled up next to him. “I just dropped by to tell you I have to go to Memphis for a little while.”

“Why?”

He sighed, kissed the top of her head. He told her about what had gone down in Skinner’s office and she was suitably furious. “I need to go.”

“Chilton's killed her, hasn’t he?” That man's actions would be investigated, she would make sure of it.

His gut wasn’t hopeful but he could only tell her, “I don’t know.”

She was on her feet and pacing. “God, that slimy little bastard!” She needed a cigarette. “We were so close with Lecter, he trusted us Mulder, we were Catherine’s best chance and now it’s all gone!” She picked up a cushion just to have something to throw and duly sent it flying towards Reyes’ half of the room.

“Feel better?”

“Not even close!”

He understood. He was furious. It was why he’d been walking around in the cold. He put his head in his hands. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Will you lose your job?”

He’d had time to think on that front and it was a long shot. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t make him scrub toilets for his supper though. “If I found Jimmy Hoffa on national television they would still find a way to say I knew where he was all along.” Never mind the fact he was only 13 when Hoffa mysteriously disappeared.

“These people Mulder.” She went back to pacing, trying not to punch a wall. “Who the hell do they think they are?”

If only he knew. He wasn’t really concerned about himself though. He was more worried that her reputation would suffer. “Opportunists.”

She agreed, they were certainly that. “What can we do?”

“You do nothing.” How could he risk her with Lecter out of his cage?

She was aghast. “Mulder we’re in this together.”

Grabbing her hand as she passed it was enough to stop her in her tracks and he gazed at her earnestly. “You’ve done enough,” he whispered. He brushed the back of her hand with his lips. “If you keep cutting classes you’ll be bumped down to the next intake group. It’ll cost you six months at least and while we could guarantee your readmission there’s no guarantee you’ll be given the same specialist route in pathology.” He stopped to examine her, her face a mixture of anger and pain. “Take your chances as they come, Agent Scully. Go back to class.”

With her free hand she reached out and touched his hair, that errant strand, and stepped in to tenderly cup his face. She couldn’t give up now any more than he could. She would get her chances again with the FBI. It was imperative she stayed with Mulder and helped Catherine and all those other girls. It would stop her nightmares. “If you didn’t want me with you, you wouldn’t have kept me involved, you wouldn’t have extended my badge and you wouldn’t have come here tonight.” Leaning down she kissed his forehead, the bridge of his nose and then his lips. “We go together.”

He watched her steadily even as his voice shook with the adulation he felt for her, “I can get you on the flight, it leaves at 10.”

“Thank you.” She let out a shuddering breath as she sat back down next to him, her back against the wall, Mulder shifted back to do the same. “Lecter is still the key to all this, I just know it.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. As reluctant as he was about Lecter he knew he still held a lot of cards.

“Whatever he told us about Bill is just as good now as it was before.”

Then again Lecter could still be playing them. There was something afoot here. Lecter was planning, scheming. He felt it bone deep. Even if he was only out to use them to get to Buffalo Bill like he’d used him to get to Dolarhyde he felt like he was being dragged around a chessboard. “Or just as worthless.” He needed her to test that out. “I think we can find out.”

“How.”

“I can get you access to Lecter, he’ll talk to you again. I’m sure of it.” It would be tricky and he’d probably have to sneak her in but it could be done.

She looked at him, concerned as to how exactly he was going to pull that off. “Mulder if Krendler is in charge up there there’s no way he’ll let us close to Lecter.” And that was before they even thought of Chilton. “Chilton won’t either.”

Lecter was a man of habit. He knew after he finished putting on a show he’d get bored with those he didn’t consider worthy of his time. Chilton certainly wasn’t and a senator might be a big coup for him to play with but it was nothing in the grand scheme of things. “He’ll get bored of the Senator.”

“And that’s where I come in?”

“That’s where you come in.”

“I lied to Lecter, he knows that for certain now.”

“I don’t think it matters any more.” He took her hand and held it, giving it a little squeeze. “I think you know how to handle Lecter, I think you’re more than a match for him.”

She smiled at the acknowledgement but the knot in her stomach was twisting tightly. “Mulder, what if Lecter’s goal is to get to you?”

“Lecter stabbed me because I was a hindrance to his freedom.” That was the truth. “I don’t think it was personal.”

In disbelief she sat forward and turned to face him. “Mulder, how can you say that!”

He shrugged but he wouldn’t apologize. “I think Lecter admires me too much to want to kill me.” If anything he was convinced Lecter appreciated him, maybe even loved him on one level, not a romantic love or a fatherly level but as a companion, as an equal.

“But he can certainly hurt you.”

“If anyone gets in Lecter’s way he’ll hurt them.” He wasn’t special on that front.

“And what if he hurts me?” she asked.

“He won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“What would he get out of it? A trainee FBI Agent isn’t going to get him the headlines he wants.” He smiled, “And I hate to break this to you but while you’re certainly my type, you’re not his.”

She supposed he was right. Other than the nurse in the asylum Lecter went after men. There was no record of him killing or hurting any other women. She thought of how she could regain his trust and thought of his cell. “I’ll need some kind of peace offering, can I get the drawings from his cell?”

“Good idea!” He thought about what he needed to do. Starting again was pretty much the only course of action. “I’ll concentrate on Catherine Martin, go to her apartment again, try and get a feel for her. We should speak to her friends too.”

She concurred, “We need to work out how he might’ve stalked her.” She got up and dragged her bag out from under her bed and started stuffing it with clothes. “I just need to let my anger subside.”

“No, don’t do that. Use it to your advantage.” She had an outlet if it got too much. “Just don’t let it keep you from thinking clearly.” They just had to keep their eyes on Catherine, time was running out.

Bag packed she threw off her robe and kicked off her slippers, grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans and threw them on the bed. “I’ll get changed and we’ll head out, pick up some food.” She pulled her cami top off over her head revealing her bare breasts and laughed when she heard Mulder suck in a breath.

She leaned down to grab her shirt but he stopped her, his strong hands holding her firmly as he scooted forward to kiss her belly button. “Mulder, we don’t have time,” she admonished.

“I can be quick,” he replied, his voice laden with desire already.

“I’m sure you can,” she said, ruffling his hair. “But we need to get a move on if we’re… oh.” His tongue made contact with her skin and then his lips did and it was all she needed. Still they had stuff to do, “We shouldn’t…” She gasped, her words stolen away when he began trailing kisses along the hem of her silk shorts.

Her fate sealed, she tilted his head up and bent down to kiss him.

“Good girl,” he said in between her rapidly intensifying kisses, her bruising kisses that nipped and excited and dragged him into a state of quick arousal.

She rather liked it when he called her that, it drew out a side she didn’t know existed. She kissed him again, hot and hard and her lips demanding, her tongue sweeping over his when he opened his mouth. She felt wild. Her hands raked through his hair, pulling occasionally, spurring them both on. She felt exactly as she had in that hotel room when he’d taken her against the door and she needed to feel that again.

He was quickly, excitedly, pulling his shirt out of his pants and tugging at his belt, desperate to release his hard co*ck, clamoring to be inside her as fast as possible. He dragged his pants and boxers down in one quick movement.

He made to pull her down and she put a hand on his shoulder to still him. She wanted to be on top this time. She pulled away long enough to slip her shorts down and off her legs and marvel at his expression, how in awe he always was of her.

“Are you taking charge, Scully?”

“Does that bother you?”

He loved control, he wouldn’t deny that he got off on it. That said he was happy to relinquish it if that’s how she wanted to play things. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

“Come here,” he whispered, holding out his hand.

She did just that and positioned herself on his lap, groaning loudly when his hand cupped her aching sex and his fingers slipped down through her arousal drenched curls. She was so swollen and ready for him it was ridiculous. Thankfully he was clearly in the same state as when she reached between them to stroke his co*ck it was already pulsing and hot and extremely hard. He bucked up into her hand when she wrapped her delicate fingers around it.

She scraped her teeth along the carotid artery of her neck and he whimpered and then cried out when she bit just enough to excite but not enough to leave a mark. She soothed with a lick and a kiss and then did it again.

“More,” he whispered, enjoying her movements, the way she was spreading his precome over the head of his co*ck. “Harder.”

“You’re sure?” She was conscious of leaving a mark, conscious of hurting him. He was wild though and she loved it. As his hand continued to move against her puss*, alternately stroking her cl*t and dipping into her heat, his other hand found its way to her right nipple & squeezed hard causing her to cry out against his neck as she bit, the slight pain causing deep arousal as adrenaline coursed throughout her body. “f*ck!” Her eyes fluttered close and she begged, “Again.”

He did just that as he plunged two fingers inside her hard, curling them to reach that spot inside of her that would make her fly. She let go of him and threw her head back and sobbed his name as she rolled her hips against his hand. He wouldn’t make her come from this though, he wanted her to come on his co*ck and after a minute of watching her writhe and cry and beg for release he withdrew his fingers.

“Mulder!” she whined, looking him in the eyes. “Why did you stop?”

“Because I want you to f*ck me,” he replied matter of factly.

She responded with a sharp intake of breath but raised her hips and, taking him in hand again, positioned him against her soaked opening and lowered herself on the fat head of him. His hands came to rest on her hips as she guided him in, relaxing to his size, stretching to accommodate. She still couldn’t believe how big he actually was.

They were both urgent though and as she let go of his co*ck with her hand to sink down quickly he bucked up into her hard and to the hilt and she lost it, fluttering and clenching around him, squeezing his co*ck and coming hard. The collision of their bodies rippled through her entire being to the point she felt her sudden org*sm from the tip of her toes to the top of her head.

Mulder could only manage a, “Jesus,” as he held her with strong hands and watched her come apart on top of him, burying her head into her neck, muffling her loud cry against his skin. He thrust his hips up into her, desperate for his own release and he was chanting his thanks as she kept up her urgent passionate rhythm to prolong her own. His pulse jumped as she bit his neck to stifle a scream.

He was so damn close, her moans were incredible and spurred him on. He moved her body against him hard and fast and then he stopped, a deep frown on his face, his breath panting rapidly. She looked at him confused and then she gained the same wide eyed panic that he felt. Voices outside the room, approaching laughter.

It was too late to do anything about it as the door was flung open wide and Reyes and Teller barrelled in, half drunk and giggly and then stunned.

Reyes laughed, “Oopsy.”

Teller turned and left, angry and already sober again.

Scully looked at Mulder horrified. “sh*t.” She panicked and grabbed her shirt from the bed to cover herself.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Mulder mumbled stupidly as Scully jumped off him and he quickly grabbed a pillow to cover himself, giving her a dirty look for exposing him to her dorm mate.

“I suppose you were just taking her pulse,” Reyes laughed but turned around to give him some dignity.

He didn’t find it funny. He was panicking. He stood, grabbed his trousers and yanked them up, awkwardly tucking himself away. He looked at Scully but she wasn’t looking back at him. Already dressed she was thrusting her feet into a pair of sneakers and her face was red with anger. He reached out to touch her but she shrugged him off.

She was out the door before he even had a chance to say anything.

+++++++++++++++

Only three words were going through her head as she raced after Teller and they were sh*t, sh*t and sh*t. It was just her luck to have been caught by someone. Reyes she didn’t care about as she knew she’d keep the confidence but Teller? She wasn’t so sure.

She raced along the corridor, found Teller’s room empty so ran down the stairs towards the lobby, passed students coming home who looked a mixture of drunk and bewildered.

She didn’t have to go any further to see where Teller had gone. She was shouting at Willis, her arms gesticulating wildly as she rushed to explain what she’d seen. Scully stopped on the stairs and listened as Teller said, “It’s not fair. This is why she’s been missing, she gets all the cushy jobs because she’s f*cking the Agent in charge.”

She made to turn around but Willis glared at her and issued an interrogation, “Is this true?” She didn’t reply so he told Teller to go back to her dorm and he’d deal with it. As Teller passed she sneered smugly at Scully. She had to look away.

Ahead of her, not 10 feet away was Willis though and he was looking at her with the same disappointment as her father did.

“It’s true isn’t it?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed the floor with his shoe, “You and Mulder.”

She nodded.

He scoffed a disbelieving laugh. “You know he’s married, right?”

“Seperated,” she squeaked.

“Potato, potatoe.” He shook his head sadly. The embers of his drunken proposal dying in his heart. He might’ve been off his face when he’s written it but he’d meant it despite his words to her to the contrary.

“It’s not really anyones…”

“Business, yeah I get that. Makes it easier for you to sneak around and screw the whole faculty.”

She pursed her lips. If she was near enough she’d slap him for that remark. “It’s not like that.”

“No?” He sighed. “Were you seeing him when you were seeing me?”

“No.”

“Really?” He glared at her. “Why don’t I believe you?”

She didn’t reply. He could believe what he wanted to believe that was on him, not her. She wasn’t responsible for him. “I have to go. I have a flight to catch.”

“Yeah that’s probably for the best.” He shook his head. “It’s not like I can offer you any shiny badges to play with.”

Rooted to the spot she seethed, could feel the heat of her own anger. “You know what, Jack, f*ck you.”

“You already did.” He was waiting for a reaction, he didn’t get one. “What does he have that I don’t?”

She slumped a little, not really wanting to get into any of this. Part of her thought he was entitled to an explanation, the rest of her thought it was none of his business. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“I need to know.”

“Why?” She knew why. He would never say it though. Jack wasn’t a man that talked about his feelings, everything was bottled up. She couldn’t deal with that, she had enough issues talking about her own feelings.

“I just think we could be great together,” he said finally.

“It’s not what I want. I just don’t feel the same way.”

For a while he didn’t say anything and then he looked her dead in the eyes and damned her, “I’m really disappointed in you.”

“Join the cue,” she replied bitterly. She turned and ran up the stairs and straight into Mulder who was looking a little less flustered than he had 10 minutes ago and was carrying her bag.

“Woah, you ok there Scully?” he asked with genuine concern. He looked down at Jack who was condemning them both with a narrow eyed gaze. He wanted to roll his eyes.

Tucking her hair behind her ears she nodded a yeah. “Can we get out of here?”

“Absolutely.”

They both hurried down the stairs, passing Jack who took a step towards Mulder and then thought better of it. As they walked out the door Jack called out, “Mulder, you hurt her and I’ll hurt you.”

He looked back at Jack, a smart reply on his lips. Instead he just nodded.

Chapter 46

Chapter Text

At the rather dusty National Guard hangar in Memphis Chilton’s plane had already landed and Lecter was being wheeled off on a trolley towards a large crowd of police officers, Chilton insisting on the five point restraints and adapted hockey mask (though this time he’d tightened it to cruelly squash Lecter’s nose flat).

Besides them were several prison officials and ahead were two sturdy, and very well armed, prison guards (along with an ambulance, four patrol cars and a riot van and assorted police officers with sniper rifles), with more than enough experience to please even a skeptic like Chilton, who were waiting to sign the official handover forms. One of them, the older of the two, his nametag proclaimed Boyle, announced, “Welcome to Memphis, Dr. Lecter. I'm Lieutenant Boyle, this is Sergeant Pembry.” He thumbed towards the man next to him, slightly younger but not by much. “You’re our guest here and we aim to treat you just as nice as you treat us. Act like a gentleman and you'll be treated like one with three hot meals and a cot.”

Lecter gave a curt nod before Pembry leaned in and warned, “But we ain't puss*-footin' with you, Sir. You get cute with us, try to bite somebody, we'll tie your asshole in a knot. You savvy?”

Lecter was unmoved by the display. He knew it was testosterone writ large, macho posturing, probably meant for the reporters he would surely sell his story to later on. “Oh yes, Officer Pembry. I certainly do.”

As Boyle turned away to deal with Chilton and the various paperwork Pembry leaned in, and under his breath, remarked, “sh*t, you’re just an old fart with a broken dick. You won’t be no trouble at all if you flip out.”

It was just low enough for Lecter to hear but not Boyle who was impatiently waiting for Chilton.

“Must have left it on the plane,” Chilton murmured, instinctively patting himself down, looking for his gold pen. “It’s gone.” He searched his other pockets with a sense of growing unhappiness. Surely he hadn’t left it in Baltimore. Damn it he thought. He wanted to use that pen to sign with a flourish and show he meant business.

“You can use mine,” Pembry said, handing over a well chewed biro.

Chilton recoiled but took it anyway and signed, afterwards checking his hair in the window of one of the nearby police cruisers when he spotted the stretch limousines belonging to the Senator and her entourage outside. He was determined to do this right and get his name about, later on he’d called a press conference and he knew someone from Tattle would be there. His name would surely be all over the globe if Tattle were involved.

The two black stretch limousines glided smoothly into the hangar and pulled to a stop. Secret Service agents in the lead car poured out and set up a corden, they looked aggrieved that there wasn’t already one there.

From Lecter’s point of view it was all rather ridiculous but he watched with mild indifference, waiting for the Senator herself to step out. He had to wait for the procession of authority on the grand stage however as it was Krendler who stepped out first, followed by his assistant, clutching a briefcase, then the senator’s assistant and, after a long pause, the Senator herself. He wasn’t sure if it was for him or the other people here they were putting this show on for. He wasn’t sure he cared, it was a pointless charade no matter who the intended audience, but he had her in his sights now and that pleased him. He would be cordial but have his fun before putting his plan into action.

The Senator walked over, strained from the loss of her daughter and tired through lack of sleep. Her makeup team had done an excellent job but it wasn’t enough, not even close and Lecter was taut but excited.

She stopped several feet away, struck by the bizarre spectacle of his restraints and the way he was strapped to the trolley. To her he didn’t even look human. He looked like a captured devil. Externally he looked mild mannered, an ordinary man you wouldn’t think to look twice at if passing him in the street, but his eyes told a different story. His eyes were pools of deep horror that told a story of a truly vicious animal. She looked to her men, dismayed to see that they had fallen further back, keeping an instinctive distance.

Chilton leapt forward with theatrical relish, like a stage magician about to pull apart the two boxes of a lady he’d just sewn in half, and loosened Lecter’s mask so he was better able to speak more ably. He didn’t totally remove it though, he valued his fingers. “Senator Martin, meet Dr Hannibal Lecter.” He even waved his hands as if to say ‘ta-dah!’.

It was distasteful and left a really bad taste in Senator Martin’s mouth. She was only here because she had to be, because she wanted to give Catherine a fighting chance. Under any other circ*mstances she wouldn't give either of these men the time of day but right now she had no choice but to stare uncomfortably at Dr. Lecter.

“Dr. Lecter, I’ve bought you an affidavit guaranteeing your new rights, you’ll want to read it before we sign.” Her voice was shaky and matched her haggard look. She looked for an attorney that might be representing him but there was none. That pleased her as at least this could be done quickly. Beside her, her assistant unsnapped his briefcase and reached in for the form, holding it aloft when he found it. “I’m sure you’ll find everything is above board.”

Lecter looked her up and down. If he was capable of feeling sorry for her he would, if only a little bit. She was a mother in grief and no match for him. How disappointing. Still, he could take a little pleasure here. His voice flat and unemotional he said, “I won't waste your time or Catherine's time bargaining for petty privileges. Dr. Scully and Agent Mulder have wasted far too much already. I only pray they haven't doomed the poor girl…” He let that sink in and when he was satisfied he’d cause a bit of turmoil he carried on, “Let me help you now, and I'll trust you when it's all over.”

“You have my word,” she looked to Paul Krendler and he raised a pad, poised to take notes.

“Buffalo Bill’s real name is Louis Friend,” he announced to Krendler’s furiously moving hand. His words careful and deliberate he continued, “I met him only once. He was referred to me in April or May, 1980, by my patient Benjamin Raspail. They were lovers you see, but Raspail had become very frightened. Apparently Louis had murdered a transient, and done things with the skin.” He shook his head remembering, his eyes never leaving the Senator's face as he watched for a reaction. “He thought if I could cure Louis, then Louis’d be safe from the police, and he'd be safe from Louis... Obviously, he was wrong.”

Krendler looked up. It wasn’t enough. “We need his address, a physical description.”

Too bad. He wanted something from the Senator first. He wanted his fun and he would get it. Lecter looked at the Senator, at her ladylike anger and trembling features and shocked her further with his designed-to-torment question, “Did you nurse Catherine?

“What?” She replied slowly, startled. Disgusted. There were audible gasps from those around her.

“Did you breast-feed her?” He licked his tongue obscenely, knowing it would unnerve the poor dears in the room.

Krendler startled, “Now wait a minute...”

Senator Martin stilled him with a hand. She was trembling but she was motivated to do all it took to help save her daughter. If that meant giving this animal whatever he wanted she would do it.

“Yes,” she breathed. Glad that while there were only a few people here actually able to hear them interacting. “I did.”

“Toughened your nipples, didn’t it?” he drawled, looking into her wet eyes that refused to weep for him.

Krendler startled again, “You son of a bitch!”

“Amputate a man's leg and he can still feel it tickling. Tell me, Mom, when your little girl is on the slab, where will it tickle you?”

She’d had enough. “Take this thing back to Baltimore,” she demanded, turning on her heel.

Her move was no surprise but he was bored with her already. She just wasn’t any fun. Still he didn’t want to go back to Baltimore or Chilton’s cell. He barked out, catching her off guard but she did turn around to face him again, “Five foot ten, strongly built, about 180 pounds. Hair blond, eyes pale blue. He'd be about 40 now. He said he lived in Philadelphia but may have lied. That's all I can remember, Mom, but if I think of any more, I will let you know.”

She gave an imperceptible nod, thankful, but she needed to get out of here. “Let’s go,” she whispered in her Tennessee accent.

As she departed Lecter called out one last thing, because he always liked to have the last word, “And, Senator, just one more thing.” She looked at him again. “Love your suit!” he mocked cruelly.

Chapter 47

Chapter Text

Catherine had long given up trying to climb out. It was too high, the walls were too wet and the stains of other women meant that she couldn’t even look at where she was putting her hands for very long without feeling sick.

She paced. Why weren’t the police here yet? Why was she still down here? Had her layabout boyfriend even reported her missing? Her mom would be upset, she’d give her that. She wanted to scream but she knew it would only give that man up there ammunition to taunt her. She knew he’d hose her again or turn his stupid music up.

A giant moth landed nearby and she jumped. She’d been seeing a few of those recently and they freaked her out. She’d spent a long time thinking of what kind of place she was in. She assumed a house as it didn’t have their air or a larger building and sounds of the upstairs felt too close by. She wondered if this pit was dug by the man upstairs or if it was already here when he bought the place. She shuddered as she thought of him house hunting and getting excited when the realtor showed him the basem*nt. Most normal people got excited over extra storage space, wainscoting and laundry shoots, this guy got his ya-yas out on places to stash women.

She slumped to the floor and grabbed at her bottle of lemonade and gulped it down. It was the only source of nourishment he ever provided. She was starving, really starving. She hadn’t eaten in days and her body was starting to hurt. She’d asked him for food when he was in here last, taking his damn pictures and making her put lotion on, he’d even made her measure parts of her body, and he’d just laughed and thrown chicken bones down at her, stupid little things that Precious had already sucked clean. She swore that when, not if, she got out of here she was going to get her own back on him and shove them where the sun don’t shine. There was a special place in hell for men like him.

She picked at the bones, gathered them into a pile, twelve in total, only two were of any real size. One the length of her pinky and the other her middle finger. She picked these two up and licked them both, desperate.

She looked up at the top when she heard a whine. That f*cking dog again. It came to check on her several times a day. She could swear it was gathering information to pass back to its master. It behaved in such a creepy way but she couldn’t help appreciating the company and it was a cute little thing, it’s white fur was as pure as snow, and she loved her little ears, and sometimes she skipped around and danced to her voice. It was a bright spot to a dark situation.

“Precious,” she called lightly.

It yapped in reply to tell her it was there.

“Tell me how to get out of here, please.”

It whined. It sounded like ‘no’ to her. Bastard.

She kicked the rest of the bone pile and then up at where she thought Precious might be, listening out for her panting (and she knew it was a girl because she’d heard that freak upstairs cooing to it), and for the first time smiled. That dog might just help get her out of here after all.

Chapter 48

Chapter Text

Mulder was wasting his time, he knew it. There was nothing to be found in Catherine Martin’s apartment. He had the same opinion now as he had the last time he’d been in here. He slammed the fridge door close that’d been left from when the place had been searched. He was hardly a connoisseur when it came to food hygiene but even he was disgusted by the smell emanating from it.

He clicked his tongue looking around at the wreck of the place. The police had been through this place with a fine tooth comb and it looked like it. It would take a lot of work and effort to make it look nice again. He bent down and picked up some cookbooks and restacked them on a worktop rack, it was a start. It wasn’t enough but he knew Catherine Martin would be horrified about having her things violated, her mom would be too. He was.

In the dark a red light by the phone blinked and he rolled his eyes, he knew it was a rerouter. The FBI had set up a tap on the line in the hope that the kidnapper would get in touch. He hadn’t with the previous victims so he knew it was a waste of time, besides, he would’ve contacted them already by now. Skinner, Purdue and Krendler might think the abduction of a senator’s daughter might change the perpetrators mind and cause him to deviate from his M.O but Mulder knew that the modus operandi of a killer rarely changed, it certainly didn’t change this late in the game. The FBI were also convinced a ransom would be offered. This was never about money or fame.

This was about being someone else.

He sighed as he made his way back into the living room and through to the bedroom, in disarray to the point he had to fight to get to the bathroom. There were bedclothes on the floor, books and clothes and someone had broken some ornaments, nice ones too.

He took a deep breath against his rising sadness, at his inability to find the guy who’d done this, and got down on his hands and knees to shine a light under the bed. It was just junk and dust that had already been searched but there were a few interesting medicine bottles behind the boxes that he quickly bagged and stuffed in his pocket.

After brushing away the dust he stood and poked his head into the bathroom and turned on the light, illuminating the mildew smelling room. It was very much in the same manner as the other rooms: chaotic, the bath full of lotions and potions from the set of drawers next to the tub. He ignored it and instead slid the bathroom cabinet open, carefully poking at the bottles of skin lotion that hadn’t made their way to the sink. He bagged a forgotten hairbrush. They might get some of her DNA off it if her other brushes wielded nothing.

Back in the bedroom he sat down at the little white bureau, dragged all the scattered makeup into a box he found. There was plenty of costume jewelry and Tom Petty CDs, REM too, but he left them alone, instead he picked at a multi-tiered jewelry box that reminded him of the one he’d bought his sister for her eighth birthday for all her silly bracelets and beads. He’d saved up for ages, done lots of jobs around the house and for the neighbors to get her a nice one. He opened the lid and smiled as a note twinkled and a ballerina twirled to the music.

He quickly snapped it shut when he heard a crunch, a footstep, and slowly put it down while reaching for his weapon. He stood slowly, his eyes trained on the door frame, waiting. A light came on in the living room and he stepped out carefully, his gun raised and called out, “FBI, I’m armed!”

A well dressed man in a long black overcoat put his hands up immediately and turned slowly. Paul Krendler. Mulder rolled his eyes and relaxed. “It’s just me Mulder, try not to crap your pants.”

He reupholstered his gun. “What are you doing skulking around here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Krendler replied disdainfully while looking at the mess of the place. “I came to pick up some things for Senator Martin.”

On seeing that Krendler was picking at a pair of purple panties he went over and took them out of the man’s hands and placed them carefully on the TV table. “They’re not your size.”

“That’s about as funny as cancer,” Krendler intoned. Neither man had much time for the other and Mulder especially disliked and distrusted Krendler, the man was a creepy letch. He was still looking at the panties. “What are you really doing here, Mulder?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Checking to see if we missed anything.”

“And?”

He shrugged and turned to look at the disorder, catching the sight of Krendler sniffing his fingers in the reflection of the television screen. The man was disgusting. “I’ve found a few things, nothing of any significance.”

Coming to stand next to him, Krendler remarked, “Doesn’t seem to be much of anything, you guys have really fumbled this. Questions are being asked back in Washington.”

“Of you?” he said, looking between Krendler and an upended waist high bookshelf. He indicated Krendler should help him but Krendler rolled his eyes dramatically. He knew it was a long shot so he did it himself.

Krendler smiled knowingly, “I’m well enough connected to avoid any flack, you know that.” After a pause he added, “As are you it seems.” Mulder raised his eyebrow, wondering if his father had said something and Krendler only confirmed, “Don’t act so surprised, your father is a powerful man, as are his cronies.” He looked Mulder up and down and coldly remarked, “Just as well really as if it was up to me you’d be out on your ass.”

They both bent down to pick up some books and magazines, “Oh, why’s that?”

Krendler laughed loudly, “Seriously? You’re a liability, Mulder. This case has been a mess from the start and you’ve only added to it, you shouldn’t even be here and I’ll be making it known.”

It was Mulder’s turn to roll his eyes. Krendler was full of bluster. “You’re part of it.”

“It was never my idea to lie and claim that I had a senator's authority to remove a prisoner, and I never jeopardized anyone’s life, that’s on you and your little girlfriend, that trainee.”

Mulder sighed, fed up. It might not have been his idea but he sanctioned it and he’d given her temporary field agent status. “No, but you did move a prisoner,” Mulder said pointing. “And if anything happens your name will be in lights.”

Krendler yawned, “Nothing is going to happen Mulder, you need to get some help for your Lecter fetish.” He picked up and rifled through an underwear catalog and nodded his approval of the models. “Besides, if Catherine Martin dies none of this will matter.” He stuffed the magazine in his coat pocket much to Mulder’s disgust. “Go back to Quantico.”

“Is that an order? Because I take my direct orders from Purdue and Skinner, not you,” he said defiantly. He turned to face him.

“You’re losing it, Mulder.”

“So they’ve been telling me since I started.”

Krendler was unmoved, “There’s a plane in 90 minutes, be on it.”

“Lecter still wants to talk…”

“Lecter has talked,” Krendler said confidently, a little smugness to his tone. He pulled out a printed sheet from his pocket and handed it over. “He gave us a perfectly good description, a name, and we're on it now, so we won't be needing your little novelty act any longer, or his, either. He's under close guard at the courthouse, pending a further transfer flight the day after tomorrow.”

Mulder took the paper and read. While he thought Lecter was telling some truths with his description there was also nothing there that would help catch the man responsible for Catherine Martin’s disappearance and the murder of all those women. It was so vague and random he could even be describing someone in the airport hangar. As for the name, he knew instinctively it was fake, another clue they would mostly likely have to beg to get the answer for. “If I were you,” he chuckled. “I would make sure you had a description of everyone there at that handover.”

Krendler’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“Louis Friend? Doesn’t it strike you as, I don’t know, kind of vague?”

“No, not at all. Lecter gave us it without even signing the affidavit, he had nothing to gain.”

“But everything to lose.” Mulder screwed up the page, threw it in the air and kicked it away. Lecter was playing them. He walked towards the door and opened it, nodded a polite ‘I’m done here’ to the officer guarding the apartment, handed over his bagged items and called to Krendler, “When you’ve done sniffing her panties, put them back where you found them.”

He shut the door on Krendler’s rage. Hoping that Scully was having a more productive time of it than he was.

Chapter 49

Chapter Text

The neoclassical Shelby County Courthouse, the state’s largest, was a beautiful building she was keen to admit: tall, imposing and featuring a long portico topped by a cornice supported by Ionic columns. It easily beat out the Gothic asylum of Baltimore. She could even make out the female allegorical figures Integrity, Courage, Mercy, Temperance, Prudence and Learning as she sneaked along the north facade trying to avoid the large media crowd amassing for a photo opportunity with Dr Chilton out front.

She had to wait until he stepped down before she could sneak behind him and rush up the steps, passing by the oversized seated figures embodying Wisdom, Justice, Liberty, Authority, Peace and Prosperity on the way, to slip inside. She was thankful it was dark and the cameras of the reporters and the sirens from the armada of police cruisers parked at the curb blinded the entrance otherwise she might’ve been in trouble (and she still averted her gaze from Chilton and hid her face behind the thick roll of Lecter’s drawings) as she knew Chilton wouldn’t let her near his prize otherwise.

She could hear him as she shook some of the rain off, preening grandly and boasting about his accomplishments, how he had an insight into Lecter’s mind and made the breakthrough. If she wasn’t trying to remain incognito she’d laugh sarcastically. She turned around briefly as she pushed the door open and spotted Lara Stone in the crowd asking Chilton a question and if she was paranoid she could’ve sworn Stone winked back at her.

She walked over to the command desk, a kind of temporary control area that’d been setup to manage the situation. She was glad to see it. She was also glad of the number of officers here (there were cops on the doors, both ends of the large airy hall, the foot of the stairs and by the single elevator), half of Memphis had turned up either to guard Lecter or get a glimpse of the myth. She wasn’t sure which but she was pleased to see them all nonetheless.

She withdrew her badge, still not entirely used to doing so, and said “Agent Scully to see Dr. Lecter.”

The man in front of her, Sergeant Tate, took her badge and checked his list of approved people. She wasn’t on it but she was hoping he wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“Are you one of Dr Chilton’s people?”

“Well, I just saw him outside, Sir.” She hoped her lies weren’t written on her face as it warmed up. ”I just left him in fact.”

“Access to Lecter is strictly limited,” he hesitated, looking around at his fellow officers. “We've been getting death threats.” Tate looked her up and down and must have decided that she was ok and on the level because his next words were, “Log in, and check your weapon.” He picked up the phone and called someone upstairs to let them know someone was coming up.

While she unholstered her gun and handed over her badge to another officer, a young female officer who seemed pleased to see another woman in law enforcement, she glanced around again. There seemed to be a nervous energy about the place, people were on edge and jittery. One young officer, walking up and down the room, kept his hand on his weapon, nervously ready if something went down. It unnerved and set her at ease all at the same time but at least they were taking this seriously and weren’t taking any chances with their detainee upstairs.

She nodded her thanks to the woman and to Tate when he indicated she could go up and made her way to the elevator. Once inside she was trapped with a man called Stamp who’s giddy excitement and morbid curiosity reminded her of her brother Charles, they even had the same shade of red hair.

He waited until the old-fashioned & creaky metal cage was on the move before he said, “You know every cop in Tennessee wants a look at this guy. 'Sit true what they're sayin', that he's some kinda vampire?”

If only he was she mused. He’d probably be either to deal with. She could borrow a silver bullet from Mulder, given his reading material, and all the books on the paranormal he had in his bedroom, she was sure he had one. If not they could always fashion a stake from a bowling pin or just take Lecter into the sunlight. “I don't have a name for what he is,” she replied finally.

“Pity.” He breathed deeply. “You know they have a suspect now?”

Lecter must have already spoken. She had to pretend she was already aware of it. “Yes, such an odd name, what was it again?” she asked coyly.

“Louis Friend, can you believe it?”

“Yes, that’s the one!” Louis Friend? Another anagram surely. She sighed as she tried to work it out.

“When are you going to arrest him?”

“I’m not.” That just confused the poor boy so she shrugged an apology as they reached their 5th floor. It wasn’t her place to add to the legend. He opened the door in a rather frustrated fashion and left her to Pembry at the desk by the door, an unfussy sort he was nevertheless polite. The Memphis police could surely teach that lot in Clay a thing or two about etiquette.

She handed over Lecter’s drawings for him to examine and frowned. There were only two officers up here and they didn’t seem to be armed with anything more dangerous than mace. It seemed rather lackluster. It wasn’t a big room but it was a dark stuffy room for study (signs on the wall told her that it was the Historical Society Room) and octagonal in shape with plenty of doors leading off from it which meant it afforded plenty of places to hide. It just wouldn’t do and she made a mental note to tell Mulder that more armed guards needed to be up here.

“You know the rules, ma'am?” Pembry asked, dragging her out of her reverie.

“Yes, Sir. I've questioned him before.”

He nodded, satisfied and waved her away, retaining the drawings for the time being. Her heels clicked loudly in the chamber as she made her way over to Lecter housed in a massive temporary iron cage which had been installed in the center of the room (around which was a ludicrous police barricade). It didn’t seem anywhere near secure enough and she was left feeling exposed as she wondered why they hadn’t done a straight transfer or at least found him an asylum to stay in overnight, she knew Memphis had one in the form of the Western State Hospital so this seemed ridiculous. It was probably Chilton’s doing, he was probably displaying Lecter in much the same way as they had with circus freaks back in the day. As a doctor herself though it still appalled, Lecter might be many things but he was still a human being, still a patient, and he still deserved to be treated with some humanity.

Inside the cage Lecter, now in a prison jumpsuit, was seated at a small table, reading the Buffalo Bill case file. Internally it wasn’t any different to his cell in Baltimore: there was a cot, the aforementioned table and chair and a flimsy paper screen that hid a sink and a toilet. On the table she noted a small cassette player chained to the table lulling out a soft classical tune she easily recognised as The Goldberg Variations by Bach.

“Good afternoon Dr. Scully,” he said without looking up.

She stopped at the barricade and didn’t even ask how he knew it was her. He could probably smell her (thankfully she’d been able to get a quick shower in at the motel before coming here) or knew her step pattern and the drum of her heel. “Dr. Lecter, how are you?”

“You have new shoes,” he said, not bothering to answer her question, a smile to his voice. “Suede, a good sole, height but not too much, sensible for work but feminine to accentuate your shapely calf muscles. I would say you’ve chosen well.”

She looked down at her feet and almost clicked them like Dorothy and smiled. She really couldn’t afford them but she was sick of him commenting on them and quite frankly she deserved them after everything she’d had to endure on this case.

“Not quite the Italian designers preferred by Diana but not far off.”

“Is that supposed to undermine me, Dr. Lecter? Make me question my place in Agent Mulder’s life? I think you know by now I’m a bit tougher than that.”

He turned his head to look at her, smiled. “Any yet she bothers you.”

No, you bringing her up all the time does. She didn’t say it but she thought it. “She’s your preoccupation Dr, not mine.”

He hummed in disbelief. “Do you think Agent Mulder would go back to her if she came back? Do you think he’d run from your bed to hers?”

She smiled tightly. It wasn’t something she thought about because she didn’t think Mulder was a man who behaved in such a way. “I thought you might want your drawings back. Just until you get your view.”

He almost clapped at her deflection but said, “How very thoughtful, Or did Mulder, or Skinner, send you here for one last wheedle before you're both booted off the case?”

She already believed she’d be off the case anyway, especially now that she was about to become base gossip. “Nobody sent me. I came on my own.”

He spun in his swivel chair and stopped neatly when he was facing her, a coy smile on his lips. “People will say we're in love.”

“That’s not possible Dr.”

“Oh and why not?”

“Because I’m already in…” she stopped herself quickly and chastised herself. She couldn’t say it and she couldn’t admit it either. Not here and not in front of this man.

“Well, well.” He thought for a second, caught off guard it would seem. Eventually he nodded. She wasn’t sure what it meant but it was clear he wasn’t done with her. “Pity you tried to fool me, isn't it?” He spun his chair again, playfully and away from her and she had to circle the cage to keep his face in sight. “Anthrax island. That was an especially nice touch, was that your idea?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“That was good. Pity about poor Catherine, though. Ticktock, ticktock, ticktock.”

“Your anagrams are showing, Doctor,” she said, still moving. Desperately thinking but she knew she had it, it was so easy. This one was for her, she knew it, to test her chemistry knowledge, “Louis Friend? Iron sulfide, also known as fool's gold.” She was on a roll now, “There’s nothing in your patient histories about a Louis Friend and you couldn’t have talked with this man, even once, and known so little about him. You made him up, didn’t you?”

He finally stopped moving once they’d done a full circle, “Oh, Dr. Scully, your problem is you need to get more fun out of life.”

She had plenty. “You were telling me the truth back in Baltimore, Sir. Please continue now.”

“I've read the case files. Have you?” He raised an eyebrow at her and tapped the case file. “Everything you need to find him is right in these pages, whatever his name is.” He tutted, “Ask Mulder to see me.”

“He won’t. You have me, tell me how!”

He smiled. “First principles, Dr. Scully. Simplicity. Read Marcus Aurelius. Of each particular thing, ask: What is it, in itself, what is its nature...? What does he do, this man you seek?”

She didn’t know what he meant. What does he do? “He kills women…”

He put his hand up and stopped her, his tone sharp and admonishing, a teacher telling off his wayward student, “No! That's incidental.” He rose from his seat, clearly pained by her ignorance. He crossed over to the bars and tried again, “What is the first and principal thing he does, what need does he serve by killing?”

Thinking about her lessons, the model of behavior (the guiding principles) that the FBI used, she answered, “Anger, social resentment, sexual frustration…”

He watched her, studied her, put her under the microscope, “No, he covets. That's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Dr. Scully? Do we seek out things to covet?” It was painful to him but he wanted her to make the next step, he wanted to help (almost despite himself). “Make an effort to answer.”

What would Mulder say? He wouldn’t go to the model, he’d have his own answers and explanations. He’d make a leap, a flight of fancy that would astound and amaze and be right. Why couldn’t she think like him, like Lecter? “No. We just…”

He interrupted, “‘No’. Precisely. We begin by coveting what we see every day. Don't you feel eyes moving over your body, Dr. Scully? Those law enforcement officials over there and downstairs? I hardly see how you couldn't. And don't your eyes move over the things you want?”

Yes, yes of course she did. She knew how people looked at her, how Mulder did and she did the same to him in return. “All right, then tell me how…”

He wagged his finger, “No. It's your turn to tell me, Dr. Scully. You don't have any more vacations to sell, on Anthrax Island. When you ran away and finally made it to your grandparent’s house, you hated it, why?”

It was such a stupid reason. She’d thought she was mature, she wasn’t, she was just a stupid kid who got frightened at the smallest things. There wasn’t even any time for this! “Dr. Lecter, when there's time I'll…”

“We don't reckon time the same way, Dr. Scully. This is all the time you'll ever have.”

She wondered what he meant by that but it was soon out of her mind. “Listen to me. We've only got five…”

“I'll listen now. After your parents came to get you, you spent some time at your grandparent’s house next to the farm, and?”

She sighed, resigned to her fate once more. “And, I just begged to go back home. I threatened to run away again.” Like any stupid kid would.

He pressed closer, gripping the bars. Like a vampire on the hunt only instead of her blood he wanted her fear, he emotions. “Not "just," Dr. Scully. What set you off?”

“I couldn’t sleep, I kept hearing noises.” Even now, as she remembered, she shuddered.

“What was it?”

She thought back to lying in bed at her grandparent’s house, waking up in the middle of the night frightened out of her skin as she heard the screams of the animals next door, how she’d thought it was something else. The horror of it coupled with the horror of her Sunday school teacher’s death had made her imagine all sorts of awful things and she’d become fearful of the shadows that danced and played on the ceilings and walls. She’d been terrified.

“At first I didn’t know so I went to have a look,” she said as if in a trace. She’d looked out of her bedroom window and seen bright lights across the field, and lorries, men. Men carrying mysterious bundles. She’d thought they were human bodies. “There was a lot of noise. Screaming. I thought it was someone asking for help. My Sunday school teacher, calling out to me.”

“What did you do?”

She looked up at him and frowned, almost surprised he didn’t know already. “I got dressed without turning on the light. I went downstairs, outside.” Nobody had been about, though she could hear her grandfather’s false teeth slipping as he snored and her father mumbling about trains in his sleep and she’d slipped down the stairs, grabbed her coat and boots and had noiselessly walked outside and towards the fence that separated the two properties. “I climbed over a fence and crept up to the barn. I was so scared to look inside but I had to. I thought he needed my help.”

The smell had hit her first, the copper tang of blood, and she’d gagged. She hated the smell of blood but an autopsy didn’t even begin to compare to a slaughterhouse. In a morgue there are drains attached to the tables to easily remove it, in a slaughterhouse the drains are on the floor meaning the blood pools and someone has to sweep it away. There was a river of blood in that barn, she’d drowned a thousand times over in it. She could still remember the ankle deep crimson puddles washing over her red and white boots that had Marcia Brady’s face on them.

“What did you see, Dr. Scully?” he asked too eagerly. He was studying her again.

“Lambs.” She’d seen lambs. Snow white and strung up by their ankles. Her vivid imagination had convinced her she’d seen her teacher amongst them. “They were screaming.”

“They were slaughtering the spring lambs?”

She nodded, feeling cold and shaken. She wished Mulder was here. “Yes! They were screaming. It was so loud.” She shivered at the memory. She remembered the farm hands with their captive bolt pistols and knives. How they would stun the poor animals and string them up before slitting their throats. “I couldn’t think.” She knew that wasn’t how Mr Joffrey had met his end but it seemed like it had been at the time.

“Did you run straight back to daddy?”

Shaking her head she explained, “No. First I tried to free them. I opened the gate of their pen but they wouldn't run. They just stood there, confused. They wouldn't run.” She was saddened at both hers and their stupidity.

“But you could, you did?”

“No. I... I took one lamb. And I ran away, as fast as I could with it.”

That surprised him, and he actually looked like he might be feeling something for her, something akin to sympathy. “Where were you going?”

“I didn’t know at first, I had no food or water and it was cold. So cold. I went back to the house.”

“Why?”

“I thought if I could even save just one I might help Mr Joffrey but the lamb got so heavy. So heavy…” her arms ached just thinking about it. She’d not been able to go far before she had to drop it back to the ground. “I didn’t get very far, the farmer came after me.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Yes, he slapped me round the face,” she said, touching her own. “He dragged me back to my father.”

“And what did he do?”

“Nothing. He sent me back to bed and told me never to speak of it again. We haven’t.”

“You disappointed him?”

“Well, not for the first time or the last.”

“No, seemingly not.” He nodded, looking at her with respect. “What happened to the lamb?”

“The farmer killed him in the field and left him there. I saw it the next day.” A macabre warning never to go there again. “That's why I wanted to leave.” She stopped, unable to say any more.

“You still wake up sometimes, don't you? Wake up in the dark, with the lambs screaming? Thinking it’s Mr Joffrey?”

She nodded slowly, realized that all the while she’d been opening up to him he hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Do you think if you saved Catherine, you could make them stop? Do you think, if Catherine lives, you won't wake up in the dark, ever again, to the screaming of the lambs? Your guilt and fear will be expunged?”

She didn’t know. She hoped so, for her, for Mulder. “I don’t know.”

He seemed oddly at peace as he said, “Thank you Dr. Scully.”

She didn’t know what for. It was his turn to reveal now. “Tell me his name, Dr. Lecter.”

He stepped back and she wondered if she’d been had and then he remarked, “Dr Chilton. Nice to see you again. I believe you know each other?”

Lecter looked at her and then above her and she whipped her head around and, startled, she saw the fuming face of Chilton just at the point he roughly seized her elbow. Pembry and Boyle, the other officer at the desk, were beside him, looking grim.

“Let’s go young lady,” Chilton gritted out while pulling her along.

Pembry offered an apology, “Sorry, ma'a m, we've got orders to have you put on a plane.”

Scully struggled desperately, twisting and turning against Chilton’s oily grip. She managed to pull free for a moment as Lecter said, “Brave Dr. Scully. Will you let me know if ever the lambs stop screaming?”

She managed to get close to Lecter’s cage, “Yes, I’ll tell you. Tell me his name Dr!”

He went back to his table and she thought she’d lost him and resigned herself to Chilton grabbing hold of her again but he grabbed her case file and thrust it through the bars of his cage. “Take your case file Dr. Scully. I won't be needing it anymore.”

With a strength she didn’t think she had right now she rushed out of the grasp of Chilton and after a millisecond of hesitation took a hold of the file. At the point of exchange his index finger stroked her hand and lingered, just for a moment. Internally she struggled, externally she was stoic. His eyes widened at the touch, crackling at the touch, like sparks in the dark.

“Goodbye Dr. Scully.”

She could only look at him and wonder what he meant as she allowed the men to bundle her out of the room, Chilton shouting in her ear that she was ‘finished.’

She missed Lecter’s smile and his soft, “Give my last regards to Agent Mulder, won’t you.”

Chapter 50

Chapter Text

Back in the basem*nt Catherine Martin was working feverishly on her plan and putting it into action. She felt renewed, afraid still but determined. Feisty. It was a word she hated but it was a word that best summed up what she was about to do, what she was going to do to get out of this hell-hole.

Hunched over in concentration she muttered to herself as she worked, musing under her breath, “Close enough to f*ck is close enough to fight.”

She had the plastic bucket in her lap, having yanked the thing down from where it was tied above, and was now busy tying the largest chicken bone to it. She was tired and her fingers were numb from the cold but thoughts of what she’d do to that prick kept her going, “Get my legs round your neck, you goddamn creep, I'll send you home to Jesus.”

Once finished she tied the other end of the string to her wrist so that if she accidentally let go of the sting and the bucket flew too far away would still pull it back for another try.

She stood up, took a steadying breath and swung the bucket by its handle, calculating the distance up to the basem*nt floor. The creep had left the light on after a quick visit about an hour or so ago and she knew she didn’t have much time left. “Ok, Precious, time for a treat!”

She hurled the bucket upwards towards the dog she knew was still pottering around and hoped for the best. She couldn’t help the smile that formed when it sailed up. It didn’t last as the bucket bounced loudly against the side wall of the pit and came back down heavily. She cried out, “No!” as she took evasive action.

At the top Precious peered over, co*cked an ear at the commotion, the smell of the bone too, and growled. Satisfied that the dog was at least where she needed it to be, she swung the bucket up again, trying another cast. It landed two feet beyond the pit’s edge, rolled for a little bit, tugging at her wrist and stopped. She laughed in triumph.

Precious looked at it curiously and moved towards it, too enticed by the chicken bone it trotted over and sniffed. The dog twitched as Catherine tugged on the sting, slowly and carefully edging the bucket back towards the pit. Precious wagged her tail and barked playfully, greedily.

Down below Catherine was staring upwards, waiting until she felt a pull on her wrist. The bucket scraped along the ground above and she had her cue. She pulled, ever so gently, on the string and called softly, “Preeeeecious...! C'mon, girl, nice yummy bone... c'mon, you little sh*t…”

Above Precious reluctantly shifted as the bucket jerked before suddenly rushing into the tub and seizing the bone with her shiny white teeth. She tried to run away with it but below Catherine pulled strongly, dragging the pup and the bucket to the hole, even digging her toes into the ground was no match.

Below Catherine was staring desperately upwards and pulling. Unable to see what was happening she could only hope. “Hang on, girl... hang on…” she muttered.

Precious was still fighting for the bone, growling between licks and chews as the bucket rocked precariously on the edge of the pit, a battle of wills. Eventually, as a hind leg slipped over the edge, Precious panicked and let go, leaving the bucked to flop over the edge.

Below Catherine crouched low, covering her head as the bucket landed on her. She knew it was empty and cried in frustration, “Nooooooo!”

While Catherine sobbed in utter despair Precious looked down at her, barking furiously that someone had ruined their game. She trotted away in disgust leaving Catherine to her woes.

Chapter 51

Chapter Text

Little more than an hour later and back in the courthouse, Pembry (with Boyle at his side) crossed the floor carefully, moving closer to Lecter’s cage, an elegant dinner try in his firm hands with a meal fit for a king. “Ready when you are, Doc,” he called, nodding at his companion Boyle who was readying his keys to open the cage.

In the cell Lecter seemed to be on the john, the screen was around him tightly and his shadowy form was still and concentrated and Bach was still issuing from the cassette player. It went over Pembry’s head, he wasn’t a classical music fan, he preferred classical rock.

“Just another minute please,” Lecter called.

Pembry grunted in reply and set the tray on the floor as Boyle handed him a riot baton which he fastened to his belt. He also made sure to check his mace. Boyle did the same. They both thought the measures they had in place would be enough to counteract the aging man ahead of them.

While they waited Pembry tutted, “Son-of-a-bitch demanded lamb chops for dinner, extra rare.”

Next to him Boyle rolled his eyes and laughed. “What you reckon he'll want for breakfast, some f*ckin' thing from the zoo?”

Pembry laughed appreciatively. “Wish someone would make me rare lamb for dinner. Second helping an all.” He picked up the tray again waiting. Lecter seemed to be rocking from side to side. Probably loosening his bowel movement, he did the same. He rolled his eyes.

“You’ll have to eat a man for that one,” recounted Boyle.

Pembry snorted.

Inside the screen Lecter sat, fully clothed, swaying slightly, his eyes closed in concentration, as he worked on regurgitating the thin metal strip he’d swallowed earlier, the pocket clip from Chilton’s prized gold pen. Chilton put him in here, he'd get him out too.

He coughed gently as it moved past his larynx and into his esophagus. He worked it the rest of the way up with his tongue and finally when it was in his mouth he pushed it out and grabbed the protruding piece with his nimble fingers. He opened his eyes, smiling at it victorious, and tucked it into the space between two closed fingers. It would be more than enough to get the job done. Now all he needed was the two flat-foots to play their part.

He stood, flushed the toilet for show and emerged from behind the screen. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

Pembry acknowledged him with a curt nod. “Ok, Doc,” he said to the rather jaunty figure of the vampire. “Grab some floor, same drill as before please.”

Lecter did as he was told and sat, his legs straight out ahead of him, then wiggled backwards until his back hit the cold bars. Stretching his arms behind him and through the bars he clasped his hands together. “I’m ready when you are, officers,” he said as Boyle cuffed him just as he’d expected and hoped. He felt Boyle test the cuffs, tugging on them harshly, and walk away to rejoin Pembry. It was all falling into place. He would wait a little while longer however and wouldn’t chance anything just yet, he needed the men actually inside the cell otherwise his plan wouldn’t work.

He saw Boyle nod in satisfaction and go to unlock the cell door, pulling open the heavy gateway enough so that Pembry could pass through. As he passed he took the tray from his colleague and walked towards the table as Pembry manned the opening. To Lecter it was such an odd dance. It almost amused.

On the table, where Boyle hoped to set the tray, Lecter had placed his drawings across it and he grumbled in annoyance. Sure, they were good, he couldn’t draw like that, and perfectly captured the likeness of that FBI lady that was in here earlier, but he needed the table.

“Mind the drawings, please,” Lecter called as Boyle looked to set the food on top of his art. Behind his back he began working on his cuffs, moving the makeshift key, held between the tips of his right index and middle fingers, searching for the keyhole. He found it first time.

Just in front of him Boyle set the tray down on the floor next to him and he looked at the lamb wantonly. It was a shame he wouldn’t get to eat it. “On the bed please,” he said to Boyle after he’d rolled up the drawings.

Boyle nodded and did as he was told. He was soon back though and moved the cassette player aside also before moving back to Lecter and stooping to pick up the tray, his hands on it he quickly startled and then gasped loudly as Lecter’s now freed hand darted out and snapped a handcuff to his wrist. “Watch it. He's cuffed me!” he managed to call out. He looked at the doctor, astonished.

Lecter only grinned back as he rolled and snapped the other cuff around the bloated down leg of the table. Pembry was already moving, startled into action and already removing his baton from the tight loop on his belt. He wasn’t quick enough however and Lecter dived into him, tackling him to the ground expertly. Lecter had him pinned across the chest before he’d even had a chance to draw breath. He tried to reach for his radio but Lecter anticipated the move and grabbed it, slamming it painfully into the wooden floor. He tried to look to Boyle for help but he was busy desperately trying to dig the handcuff key out of his pants pocket.

Pembry strained against Lecter who was chasing him with his eyes. He stared in horror and called out loudly as Lecter bared his teeth and lowered his jaw towards his head. He took evasive action but he was no match for the doctor who gripped his face in his jaws and began shaking it like a dog with a favorite chew toy. He screamed in agonizing pain, called out to Boyle and heard a dooming sound in reply: Boyle dropping the keys.

Pembry was fighting hard for his life and ordinarily Lecter would be impressed. Right now he needed the man to give up quickly so he reached for the man’s mace can and sprayed it shortly into his eyes where it quickly burned and stung and reddened the skin. It was enough to incapacitate the man and he was able to release his grip long enough to drop the can and grab the baton.

Lecter raised his arm and clubbed Pembry bloody, his bones crumbling with a wicked crunch and his skin loosening around the wounds.

Boyle watched in open mouthed horror, on a scream that wouldn’t issue forth, but he grabbed at the keys again, desperately drawing them to the cuffs. He heaved a sigh of relief as the cuff came free, his skin sighing in pleasure and it came free of the bond. He started to rise but it was too late, Lecter was already above him, baton raised, his chin stained in thick red blood, his white shirt sodden.

Pembry was groaning and trying to drag himself away, moving slowly towards the elevator.

The last thing he thought as Lecter swung viciously down again and again and again and he rapidly lost consciousness was that he was glad he’d be unconscious for this, unlike poor Pembry.

After the savagery Lecter stood and closed his eyes, not even bothering to wipe the blood of the stricken officer away, as he lost himself to his favorite passage of the music. His bloody fingers swayed through the air as he imagined how he would conduct the piece himself.

He allowed his breathing to slow back down to normal and sighed contentedly afterwards. He opened his eyes and looked at the sprawled legs belonging to Boyle and at the various objects that had spilled out of his pants pocket: a coin, a comb, a small wallet for notes and a big pocket knife with a rather ornate white handle.

It was that knife that interested him the most. He picked it up happily and flicked the blade out. It was a good size. He turned it over thinking, plotting. His initial idea was just to kill these two and put a uniform on. Now he had an even more brilliant idea.

He turned towards the whimpering sounds of Pembry crawling away with torturous slowness and a mix of frantic determination, no doubt on his way to the phone on the desk and the gun in the lockbox.

+++++++++++++

Mulder stared idly at his phone display in the vain hope it would ring as climbed the steps of the Courthouse. He hadn’t heard from Scully in a number of hours and was getting worried. Lecter could talk the hind legs off a donkey when he got going, when the mood was ripe to impress and the need to dazzle was strong, but his unflagging and wearying persistence wouldn’t last this long and neither would she put up with it.

He flashed his badge at the women on the door as he passed and rushed over to the desk, his badge still high in the air. “Mulder FBI, I’m looking for an agent who stopped by here earlier.”

“Scully, right?” Tate asked as he fingered his mustache. “Sure she was here, with Lecter. She left though.”

“Are you sure,” he demanded, pocketing his wallet.

Tate nodded, “Yes Sir, I had one of my men escort her off of the property after Pembry and Boyle bought her down.”

Damn it! “Where did she go?”

“Chilton wanted her taken to the airport so that’s where she went.”

“For f*cks sake,” Mulder muttered under his breath. He didn’t care that Tate looked unimpressed. “Who gave you that order?”

“Like I said,” Tate replied, more than holding his ground. He knew he could more than handle this young upstart. “Chilton wanted her taken to the airport…”

There was no way Scully was still at the airport. She would’ve called him. “And you’re sure she didn’t come back here?”

“I saw her off myself, Sir,” said Stamp coming over. “Drove her right up to the entryway myself.”

So where the hell was she now? He looked at his phone again. “Come on Scully,” he willed. He looked around and spotted the elevator. Perhaps Lecter had offered her another clue, maybe she was on an errand. He had to speak to Lecter. He stuffed his phone in his pocket and announced, “I’m going up to speak to Lecter.”

“I have orders…” Tate began.

“You don’t take your orders from Chilton and if it wasn’t for me Lecter wouldn’t even be up there.” It was bull but it was enough for Tate to nod and make him sign in and check his weapon, which he did begrudgingly.

Stamp took him to the elevator but before the young man could join him inside he closed the door on a mock apologetic gesture, he wasn’t sorry at all. He sighed as the carriage moved upwards and scrubbed his face in his hands. His nerves were shot to pieces and he was tired. He really, really needed a long sleep, a decent shower and some good food. He jumped as his phone rang and grabbed it hurriedly out of his pocket, feeling hopeful.

Lara Stone’s number flashed up and he groaned, he did not need this now. Really didn’t need it. He pressed the disconnect button in anger and repocketed it.

Looking up, the golden arrow of the floor indicator ticked over from 4 to 5 and slowed to a stop with a ping to indicate he’d reached his destination. He almost rolled his eyes.

The door slid open smoothly and his eyes narrowed. It was dark, too dark. Someone had turned most of the lights off. In front of him the desk was empty. His heart pounded in his chest as he reached out to stop the elevator doors closing while his other hand instinctively went for his holster. He muttered a, “f*ck!” when he realized it was five floors below him in the hands of Officer Dibble at the desk. “f*ck, f*ck, f*ck!”

Stepping carefully out he cautiously moved with his back against the wall, listening out for any sound as he put his training into action. He heard nothing, perhaps what sounded like a groan but he couldn’t be sure over the noise of his own blood coursing through his veins. Still, his mouth might be dry but he was trained, a qualified and skilled agent and he moved assuredly.

Nothing prepared him for the sight he saw when he reached the end of the short wall and turned however. The two officers, he assumed the officers Pembry and Boyle that Tate had mentioned earlier, were lying not that far from him, their bodies a mess, their faces gone.

His legs were suddenly heavy, like lead, and it took him a long time to move. When he did it was backwards, edging towards the elevator.
He didn’t get far before he felt a rush of breath against his neck. His eyes wide he spun around quickly and came face to face with a blood soaked sweaty nightmare. He froze, his mouth agape.

“Agent Mulder, so nice of you to join us,” Lecter said, raising his arm high and bringing Pembry’s nightstick down quickly against the side of Mulder’s head.

He fell to the ground unconscious, his arm still raised in half-hearted defense.

Chapter 52

Chapter Text

On the ground floor Tate did a patrol of the lobby area while feeling the same nervous energy as everyone else, it wasn’t everyday he got to be in charge of a serial killer and everyone was jumpy. At the end of the lobby, near the elevator, he turned and walked back to the desk, crossed to the entrance doors, turned back, went to the stairs and back to the desk and then finally from the desk to the other end of the lobby (which led to a small cafeteria) and back again.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d done it today but he was sure he could see a groove starting to appear in the checkered pattern on the floor. People were already making jokes that if he carried on he’d end up burrowing through to the other side of the world and end up in the middle of the Indian Ocean. He seemed to be their only source of entertainment.

It amused him but he couldn’t idle like them. The sooner they were all out of here and back to normal duties the better. This job was starting to get to him. He wasn’t even getting that much overtime for it which greatly pissed him off. Still, he was a professional so he made two more circuits of the lobby while he counted down to shift change.

Eventually he grew bored or people staring at him and went back behind the desk, checked his clipboard and counted the 15 names of the officers on the piece of paper, his own included, and counted heads. Two correctional officers and Mulder upstairs made 18 in total. He checked his watch again, Mulder had been up there a solid two hours now and, now he thought about it, he hadn’t heard from either Pembry or Boyle in a good long while. He was just about to ask Stamp to go up and check if everything was ok when the elevator floor indicator crawled down to 4 and then swung back up to 5.

He hoped to God that it was just an anomaly but in the quiet of the late evening they could all hear a distant ping echoing down the elevator shaft and a loud thud he couldn’t quite recognise. He looked to his deputy down here, Jacobs, but she was already up on her feet and walking around the desk for a better look.

“Did anyone go up?”

Jacobs and Howard shook their heads. “No Sir,” Jacobs replied, continuing to shake her head until her ponytail hit her in the face, “Sweeney took some food up earlier but he’s back now.”

“Then what is this sh*t?” he asked the whole room. “Did somebody else go up on five?” He moved from behind the desk to join her, not taking his eyes off the elevator for a second. He didn’t know what he expected but his gut was telling him something was very wrong here. He picked up the desk phone and dialed upstairs, nothing. In his confused state he pointed at Jacobs, “Get on the radio and call Pembry, ask him what…”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence because moments later the echo from a series of quick fire gunshots (a .38 he reckoned) traveled down the stairwell nearby and down the elevator shaft. There was a brief moment where everyone just stared at each other in a confused state of shock. Two more shots echoed out and that was Tate’s cue to wake the f*ck up again.

He grabbed his radio from behind the desk and walked over to the elevator as several others began to crowd around. He spoke into his radio quickly, “Command post, shots fired on 5. Repeat, shots fired on 5! Outside posts look sharp, we've got a... Ho-ly sh*t.”

The arrow began to descend again, passing through 4, as they watched almost in a trance. The lower it got the more they began to react, the cops behind him were quickly in full uproar, shouting and pulling out their weapons, ready for whatever was coming down to greet them.

“I swear to god if this is Mulder, I’m going to shoot him myself,” he muttered, his anxiety through the roof, along with everyone else's. A commotion started and he attempted to quiet everyone down, “Shut up! Everyone, now.” He looked around him as a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face and into his shirt collar. He didn't dare move to wipe it away. He did address the others however, “Everyone make sure you have a vest on, make sure your weapons are loaded too.” He pointed at two officers, “Rainey, Howard: cover that f*cking elevator if it comes all the way to…”

There was a gently far away ping and someone remarked, “It’s stopped,”

Tate looked up. It had indeed stopped on, caught on 3. He lifted his radio up again. “Seal off a ten-block radius, get me the SWAT team and an ambulance and double quick.” Both to the man on the other end of his radio and the room he added, “We're going up.”

He gathered a few men and women together and after checking his own vest and weapon he began leading the group up the tight narrow stairwell. The lights were low and he could barely see but it was enough to offer them the cover they needed. They didn’t know what the hell was lurking up there and couldn’t take any risks. His mind was racing at the possibilities.

They moved fast but carefully and in silence, the only noise coming from their footsteps, heavy breathing and the sound of their own blood rushing through their veins. Tate was convinced they were all making annoying echos but knew in reality it was just his own paranoia born out of the fraught situation. He was worried for his men and damn it he was actually worried for that stupid FBI agent too.

Covering each other from landing to landing they reached the third floor, and Tate could see the elevator ahead of him, its door open and a thin rectangle of light illuminating the wall opposite. More sweat beaded and dripped but this time he did wipe it away.

Cautiously, with a steel he didn’t know he possessed until now, despite all his years on the force, he aimed his gun and approached warily, motioning for his officers to follow as closely as possible but to fan out to cover all angles of the elevator and to check the surrounding doors that lead to various offices.

He kept his back against the elevator wall as he slid along it. He’d been right downstairs, something wasn’t right, he could feel it all the way down to his bones now. He’d only ever felt that way once before and that was in Vietnam when his platoon had accidentally happened upon a village hiding a bunch of Viet Cong soldiers. Panting he reached the door to the elevator and spun into it, gun raised and ready, poised to shoot at anything.

It was empty. He let out the breath he was holding but he didn’t dare lower his weapon, didn’t deviate from his two pounds of pressure on his nine pound trigger. Too much experience told him not to even think about it. In policing there were too many variables, he’d lost too many great men.

He shouted out the names of his men loudly, hoping for a response, “Pembry? Boyle?” There was no reply and a new wave of nervousness hit full force but he held firm. “Mulder?”

Nothing. There was only one thing to do. He motioned for a few people to stay put, to keep guard, and the rest to keep following. They would have to go all the way to the top. It would be the only way they could find out what was truly going on here.

Two more floors up, outside the historical society room, the piano music coming from inside hit hard. He didn’t recognise it, just knew it was the same crap Lecter had been listening to ever since he got here. Next to him Jacobs gasped and he stopped in his tracks. The glass was frosted but he could still make out a winged creature through it. The light coming from within made the shadows of it dance grotesquely as he moved closer. He crossed his chest in prayer and hoped to god it wasn’t some kind of demon. He wasn’t much of a religious man but there were moments, like now, that he wondered if the fight was on between God and the Devil. He prayed when he needed to and right now he sent up a silent one.

He motioned for Stamp to open the door and the man did so, shouldering it hard enough to shatter the glass as he crashed into it and it ricocheted off the wall inside, thankfully Stamp caught it on the rebound and, moving low, they entered the room as one behind Stamp, carefully, with precision, and froze in horror at the scene before them.

“Jesus Christ!”

Tate wasn’t sure who’d said it but he knew it was from multiple people, himself included.

He was wrong about there being a war between God and the Devil but he’d still stepped into hell on earth. He’d seen some horrific things in his time, you did as a cop, it was something you either accepted or you found something else to do. He’d once witnessed a man cut in half by a train, he’d seen some truly nasty injuries in Vietnam, evidence of torture too. He’d seen fights, murders, rapes and things not even comprehensible to the average guy on the street….

This though, by his reckoning, was the worst thing he’d ever had the misfortune to witness. This was the worst humanity had to offer. There was blood everywhere, chunks of flesh too, and he could see entrails. Worse still and strung up on the bars of the cell was one of their own, the creature he’d imagined. The other man was sprawled on the floor not far from the cage. Nearer was Agent Mulder lying on his front. Mulder was the only recognisable one, he couldn’t tell the other two men apart, they’d been savaged that ferociously.

Nobody dared move, nobody said anything. He needed to take charge, he needed to lead here and be their rock. He didn’t even know where to begin. His whole body was leaden and for the first time in a long time he was properly scared and without words. He thought back to his training and got a grip, pulling the walkie-talkie from his belt and almost dropped it. He was shaking that much.

Into the radio he said, nervously, “Command post, this is Tate on 5. I have 3 officers down.” He cleared his throat and eventually his men started to move. He motioned for Stamp to check the windows, Murray to check on the men. “Prisoner is missing. I repeat, Lecter is missing.”

Ahead of him Howard thankfully shut off the music and was in the process of checking the officer strung up even though they all knew it was hopeless. He went to Mulder and bent down to check his pulse. Someone had cracked his head pretty hard and there was a large puddle of blood underneath him but he was alive, he was warm. His breathing was a little off but he moaned when he was touched so that was a good sign.

“Where the f*ck is my ambulance?” Tate shouted at nobody and everybody. He grabbed a nearby dust sheet and tore a huge square from it and pressed it to Mulder’s head and told Jacobs to hold it in place until help arrived and she bent down and began talking to him in a soft reassuring tone.

At the other body Murray gently removed the revolver from the bloody fist of the man before him and tossed it out of reach. He had to muster all of his resolve not to throw up. There was no recognisable face at all, it was slashed to pieces, and he could see what looked like muscle and bone protruding out, there was an eyeball hanging out and resting by a nostril. The only way to identify this man was via the name badge at his chest.

He took a deep breath and, with a shaking hand, checked for a pulse. He wasn’t sure if he’d felt anything so leaned down, bringing his ear reluctantly close to the ruined face and listened. A bloody bubble appeared and popped, spraying his face a little and he pulled back in shock. The wreckage of the man groaned softly and he startled, “Pembry’s alive!”

Tate rushed over to the green looking Murray and knelt to see for himself. There was a pulse. Thank god! He ripped some more cloth away and pressed it to the Pembry’s chest and face, creating a competent enough field dressing. “Take a hold of his hand, son. Talk to him.”

“What do I say?” Murray stuttered disbelievingly.

“It’s Pembry, now talk to him, God dammit!” He felt more himself again and felt ashamed for his momentary weaknesses earlier. He looked up as someone shook their head that Boyle was beyond saving and mentioned his gun was missing. This was getting worse by the minute. Into his radio he relayed everything with a little more confidence, “Boyle’s dead, Pembry and Mulder are bad. Lecter is missing and armed, I repeat Lecter is armed. He took Boyle’s gun.”

“You’re gonna make it,” Murray whispered to the body. “You’re lookin’ just fine, buddy, hold on.” It was the best he could do under the circ*mstances and even though he didn't believe a word of what he was saying he still tried. What was left of Pembry began to groan and shake in a kind of fit so he sent up a silent prayer that Pembry wasn’t made to suffer any more.

+++++++++++

EMS finally made their way into the room a few minutes later and it wasn’t hard for Tate to spot that they too were shocked, though they dealt with it better than he had. Two paramedics removed Mulder from the scene quickly, deciding that while he was by far the least injured his head wound was still a concern. Furthermore, while they didn’t say it explicitly, they also knew that he was more likely out of the two that were still alive that could, and would, be saved.

Two other orderlies came to stabilize Pemby, put a better bandage over his face, to try and stop the bleeding, and soon had him on a gurney. Intravenous lines added for fluids and blood they decided to move quickly. The patient had started convulsing and his oxygen levels were dropping fast.

Tate cleared the way quickly, forging a path to the elevator through the men that had already tried to form a guard of honor. “Lecter’s still at large people, seal off the building. Nobody but known personnel and EMTs come in or out, you got that?”

“Already done, Sir. All floors and stairways are secured and we’re about to send the sniffer dogs through,” Howard said. Office phones started ringing and they all jumped. “News travels fast,” he said.

Tate nodded. No doubt the press had already gotten word that Lecter had barricaded himself somewhere in the building. They were probably hoping to connect to him, get a quick word on the evening news. “Cut the phone lines to the building. Radio communication only from now on.”

Howard nodded and set off.

The elevator opened and Tate, Jacobs and the EMTs loaded the injured Pembry onboard ready for transport to hospital. As they moved down through the building nobody dared say a word. Occasionally the orderlies would check their patient and mention something to each other but that was it.

Something hit Tate on the top of his ear, wet. He thought it might be more sweat, from a strand of hair or something, but a dollop of something landed on his shoulder and then on his shoe. He frowned as he looked downwards.

Jacobs reached out and wiped a red drop from his cheek. “Sir…”

They both realized it was blood and, along with the EMT orderlies, looked up at the ceiling of the elevator. Blood was now dripping steadily from around the service hatch where it had pooled. He knew there was a body up there and realized the thud was probably a body falling down the shaft. Lecter. He put his index finger up to his nose, motioning for absolute silence while he willed the elevator to finish its journey quickly. Like most things of this magnitude though it felt like it lasted forever.

They hit the ground floor and Tate and Jacobs drew their guns slowly and backed out of the elevator, once the EMTs were out of the way on their way to the hospital he reached in and pressed the button to lock the elevator into position.

Other officers soon rushed to join them, wondering what was going on and he signaled for more silence before whispering into his radio to SWAT, “He’s on the roof of the elevator, get it covered from above by SWAT.”

+++++++++++

Up on the third floor, high above the elevator, Officer Peterson of the Memphis SWAT team slowly turned his key in the lock and let the elevator door slide open. Getting down on his hands and knees and inching towards the opening he slid a small mirror over the precipice and looked down the dark shaft. He could just about make out a human shape sprawled on top of the car, a man in a white prison uniform. He didn’t look to be moving but there was a revolver near the man’s left hand.

Peterson nodded to his partner a little way away to confirm there was someone there and pulled at his radio and relayed a message, “I see him. There’s a weapon by his hand and he’s not moving.”

The voice of his commander came back, “Can you get a shot?”

He whispered back, “Clear as day.”

“One warning, then take him out.”

Peterson stood, nodded to his partner who inched over and threaded a flashlight over the edge to illuminate the hole and the man below. The man still didn’t move.

He leaned in and called, “This is the Memphis City police department, put your hands on your head!” There was no response. “Put one in his leg,” he said to Kubell.

Kubell raised his rifle and expertly did as ordered, firing one shot which roared, echoing loudly in the shaft. The slug ripped through the trousers of the man’s leg below, pulling flesh and bone apart. The figure didn’t stir and it bewildered them all.

Peterson raised his radio again, “No movement.”

“Fire one more.”

Kubell hit the man’s other leg and it had exactly the same effect as before. Kubell shrugged, “Maybe the fall got him.”

“Maybe.” Peterson was on his radio, “Nothing.”

“Ok, hold your fire.”

++++++++++

A small army of cops had now surrounded the elevator, covering it from both sides, and the SWAT commander had reached Tate and they’d seen the bullets fired from above dent the ceiling of the elevator. They knew even before Peterson had spoken they hadn’t worked. They looked furtively at each other in a form of unspoken communication that only cops had before the SWAT commander nodded. Into his radio he said, “We’re coming into the car. We're opening the hatch. Watch his hands. Any fire will come from us. Affirm?”

“Got it,” Peterson’s crackly voice said over the airwaves from high above.

The SWAT commander handed his radio over to someone else and shared another tense look with Tate before waving a signal to his men. Immediately four SWAT team members, in full body armor, rushed into the elevator car. Two men moved to the corners and aimed their high powered rifles at the hatch, a third put a step ladder in place and the fourth, armed with a big Colt pistol, hurried up the step ladder and unclipped the hatch, a difficult task given he could feel the weight of someone lying across it.

Due to the increased weight the hatch dropped open and a body tumbled head first down through it causing the fourth SWAT team member to jump from the ladder and take evasive action. The body lay there dangling, caught by the waist on the hole above and swayed perversely. They all knew it was a dead man by the way it moved limply.

Tate rushed into the elevator, along with the SWAT team commander, to take a look and shouted, “That’s Pembry!”

+++++++++++

Already far away and out of reach, Lecter stepped over the bodies of his latest victims and exited the ambulance heading stealthily towards the Memphis city airport two miles away.

Chapter 53

Chapter Text

When she finally made it to the hospital, after forcing her way out of the airport, Scully could barely part the tide of men in the hospital guarding the bodies of their fallen men. It was admirable and she appreciated their loss, even nodded her head somberly at a few and offered condolences, but there was a man here who didn’t need mourning and she desperately needed to see him, to hold him and know that he was going to be ok.

She stabbed at the elevator button impatiently, willing it to get a move on, but the electronic display soon told her the car had other ideas as instead of traveling down it went up. She groaned in frustration and stabbed at it again, “Come on!” A passing nurse caught her eye and she practically shouted, “Where’s intensive care?”

“Third floor…”

She was off and running to the stairwell before the woman could even breathe another breath, never mind utter another word. Breathing hard, her anxiety through the roof, she took the stairs two at a time and burst onto the floor, making it to the admitting desk in record time.

“Fox Mulder, he was admitted a few hours ago. I need to see him,” she pleaded.

The woman behind the desk, a nurse in her mid to late forties, looked down her pince-nez glasses at Scully and, while not unsympathetic, was nevertheless business-like, “Family only I’m afraid.”

She fished around in her bag for her badge, a badge that she desperately wanted to throw away right now, and showed it off, “I’m FBI.”

The other woman sighed, “I appreciate that ma’am but it’s family only for the time being, why don’t you take a seat in the waiting room.”

Tears pricked and fell, “I need to know how he is, I’m his…” She faltered and then more confidently said, “I’m his girlfriend.”

“I appreciate that ma’am, I really do.” The nurse put her notes to the side and more forcefully announced, “But I have a job to do. You’ll have to wait like everyone else. I can get a doctor to come out and talk to you if you’d like.”

No, she didn’t want that. She wasn’t about to give up, “Can you at least tell me what’s wrong with him?”

“He has a fractured skull, it caused a blood clot and they had to operate.”

She nearly crumpled as the nurse explained in more detail. This was all her fault, she knew it. She took a deep breath, she needed to see Mulder and nobody was going to stop her. Teary eyed she proclaimed, “You can stop me as his girlfriend, you can stop me as an FBI agent but you can not stop me as a doctor. I just need 5 minutes. I just need to know that he’s going to be ok and I need to tell him that I’m here, that’s all. Just 5 minutes.”

For a second the nurse looked like she was about to remind her that while she might be a doctor she didn’t have any authority in this hospital but something in the nurse's eyes flashed from anger to sympathy and her whole demeanor softened. She looked around to make sure nobody else was about and nodded. “You have 5 minutes and then you go to the waiting room like everybody else.”

“Thank you!”

The nurse led her over to the far end of the room, passed bays with beds she didn’t dare look into, to a bed where the only light came from a soft lamp to the side and the glow of machines measuring everything from heart rate to blood pressure to the level of oxygen in the blood. There were so many wires she soon lost count. Mulder lay motionless amongst it all his head heavily bandaged and a tube helping him breathe.

“Five minutes,” the nurse reminded her softly and left.

Scully quickly went to Mulder, sat down in the chair close to his side and took his hand, finally letting all her emotions spill forth. Wracked with sobs she kissed his palm wetly and then held it to her face. He felt warm and the machines beeped softly but he didn’t react in any way.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “It’s all my fault and I’m sorry.” She sniffed loudly, unable to stop the tears. “I should’ve listened to you, I should’ve heeded your warning, you knew…”

It was all she could get out before she lost her words. Mulder had been right about Lecter, he knew Lecter was up to know good, he’d protested the deal, told her it was the wrong course of action to take, and she hadn’t listened. She’d pushed and pushed and pushed until she’d belligerently gotten her own way like a spoiled child. She felt guilty and ashamed. Mulder was here because of her and now a dangerous serial killer was on the loose with four more deaths to his already long list. For all she knew Lecter could be planning on finishing the job or could come after her.
What would Mulder say when he woke up? What would her bosses say? Her father? They would all be so angry, so disappointed in her. She knew she’d earned it, there was no greater disappointment than the disappointment one feels of themselves, but it stung and cut deep.

She lay his hand on the bed but kept hold of it tightly, watching him for a while, flooded by how much she’d come to care for him in such a short time. How much she’d come to love him. They’d only known each other for a short while, there was still so much to discover, but she knew she’d never loved anyone so thoroughly, so passionately, so profoundly. It was a love so deep it made her ache. If he never woke up she’d never forgive herself.

“Hello.”

Scully startled and looked up at the heavily accented voice, an older woman, easily in her 80s. She was smartly dressed in a maroon suit, her hair in a fashionable gray bun and had the jewelry and posture only old money could carry. She guessed this was probably Mulder’s grandmother.

Scully wiped her eyes quickly to compose herself and went to stand up to greet her but the woman waved a hand to stop her. Still, she introduced herself, “Dana Scully.”

The woman smiled, “Oh I know who you are dear, I guessed by the hair. Fox told me all about you.”

“Oh?”

The woman smiled, a twinkle in her eye, but ignored the question and went to fuss over her grandson for a few minutes speaking in her native tongue and placing a prayer book under his pillow and tying a string of knots, a tzitzit, around the bar of his hospital bed. Scully really didn’t know what to make of it and she wondered where his parents were.

After a minute or two the woman came to sit primly next to her in the other visitors chair and remarked humorously, “He’ll kill me for that, he’s not one for religious trinkets. He’ll accuse me of superstitions.” She laughed gently, “He’ll believe in flying saucers and swamp monsters but he won’t even entertain the idea of a God.” She rolled her eyes but looked over at the figure in the bed fondly. “But I see you do,” she said, pointing at Scully’s cross.

She touched her necklace and replied, “It was a gift from my mother, I’m not sure what I believe any more. Right now it feels like a rather heavy and pointless trinket.”

The woman nodded sagely, “I know that feeling, when my granddaughter disappeared I felt it very keenly.” She took an emotional breath and shook her head, “All you can do is be humble and never give up, lord knows I’ve wanted to a thousand times over, but with all hardships I use it as a lesson to grow. My faith is important to me, as I’m sure yours will be to you again, just as I’m sure Fox’s will be to him too, even if it is gobbledegook.” She smiled, “I don’t think I introduced myself: Sophia Kuipers.”

Scully nodded in recognition and relaxed a little, “Mulder, sorry I mean Fox, said he wasn’t allowed to touch your stuff.”

She chuckled, “No, well, he was a clumsy child. Always running around and bumping into things and breaking my vases. Samantha was dainty and mild, Fox was a force of nature, as wild as the four winds. He has no appreciation for furniture, for the arts. We tried to teach but what can you do?” She shrugged. “Of course I should tell him that these things don’t matter, not really, a vase is a vase you know, a silly thing. It’s people that matter.” She looked at him sadly and said, “Maybe I will when he wakes up.”

Scully sniffed again, “He’d appreciate that.”

“I should call his mother soon, give her an update.”

“She’s not going to stop by and visit?”

She dragged out a long ‘no’ and added, “Teena is too afraid of hospitals, that she might lose another child.” She patted Mulder’s hand. “The doctor’s told me only positive things so that’s what I will tell her. That’s all she needs to know.”

Not visiting your own child in hospital felt rather cold to Scully but she wasn’t about to make a point here, people dealt with grief in different ways. “I should probably get someone from the Bureau to speak to her.”

“Oh you leave all that to me dear, Teena will only want to know when the man who did this is caught, are you near catching him?”

She looked at Sophia devastated, her guilt winding her again. “No,” she whispered. “Um, we’re still trying to apprehend him.” New tears fell and she wiped at her face furiously with her hand, “It’s my fault he escaped.”

“How so?”

She explained what had happened and Sophia raised her hand to stop her but she still felt the need to apologize. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I should never have let it happen, I blame myself.”

Sophia patted her hand, “We all do in these circ*mstances.”

“But I…”

“No, no,” she soothed. “You cannot take responsibility for the actions of 10 men. Besides, whatever you think you did, well, I’m sure it won’t feel so bad when Fox wakes up and tells you to stop torturing yourself. I know my grandson, he won't let you suffer.” She picked up her handbag and took out a hanky and handed it to Scully. “The funny thing about blame is that people spend too much time trying to apportion responsibility that they fail to learn how to move on and live their lives. You can’t live in the past, it will destroy your future. Dwelling won’t help you catch the man who hurt my grandson now will it?”

“No,” she replied, wiping her eyes with the hanky.

“No,” she repeated kindly. “You love him don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Sophia smiled. “Then I dare say I shall see you later on today.”

Sophia stood up and kissed Mulder on the head and Scully knew it was her cue to leave. She gave Mulder’s hand a long squeeze and told him she’d be back soon.

Chapter 54

Chapter Text

A hard knock on her motel door woke her up not 3 hours later and she stared groggily at the door. She didn’t have the will to move from her bed even though the morning sunlight burning through the semi open blinds was giving her a headache. She closed her eyes again and sighed as whoever it was knocked again. She knew she needed to face the world again but she still felt rather traumatized by what had happened. After finding a motel she'd sat pouring over the files in hopes of finding something. There was nothing. Eventually she'd fallen on the bed exhausted.

“Go away,” she muttered, rolling away from the door.

There was another knock and then, “Dana, open the door, it’s Monica.”

She sighed and threw the thick duvet off of her, feeling more than a bit relieved that it wasn’t Skinner. She’d briefly seen him when she was leaving the hospital in the early hours of this morning and the look he’d given her could’ve floored a thousand men. She hadn’t stuck around long enough for him to admonish her.

She opened the door to her smiling friend and immediately shielded her eyes from the light. Really she could do with a week's worth of sleep. She let out a little ‘oof’ sound when Monica flung her arms around her and squeezed tightly.

“Dana, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

She patted Reyes on the back and then quickly pulled away before walking back into the room. “And you found me.” She climbed back onto the bed and hugged her legs. Secretly she was glad to see her friend. “How?”

Reyes dumped her bags and then laughed, “You’re a creature of habit, you always go to dives when you’re feeling emotional.” That and Skinner had pulled a few strings to trace her credit card, but she didn't tell Scully that. She didn’t mention that Skinner was the reason she was here either. He’d called her up and explained that Scully probably needed a friend. “People are worried. I’m worried,” she stated, taking in her friend’s disheveled state and her red puffy eyes. “Especially after what happened.”

Scully scrubbed her face almost desperately, “Have they found Lecter?”

“No, but they did find another body. He killed a tourist, stole his clothes, cash and identification documents. He could be anywhere now.” Reyes pulled out a magazine from her bag and handed it over, “I’m afraid you made the headlines.”

She took the magazine and rolled her eyes dramatically and muttered an expletive as she took the offered edition of Tattle. She only hoped to god her parents didn’t see it. ‘Bride of Frankenstein!’ the headline screamed. Underneath was a byline that read ‘A Love Affair with Lecter!’ and then her picture. It was a flattering picture of her going into the asylum but she still groaned angrily. She wanted to run and hide. This was soul destroying and she knew some of her other classmates would be lapping this crap up. If she ever met Lara Stone she would surely give that woman a piece of her mind!

“I’d ask you to autograph it,” Monica said, treating the magazine with all the seriousness it deserved. “But I’m afraid you might hit me.”

“I would.” She flipped through the pages. Lara Stone had written quite the article and had doctored a few images to make it look like she was sitting on Lecter’s lap, another had been made to look as if Lecter was looming over her, ready to bite. Pure garbage. “Lecter would think this as puerile as I do.”

“Do you think he’ll come after you?”

She shook her head. “No, and I don’t think he’ll come after Mulder either.”

Reyes found a place to sit on the bed and agreed. “Skinner had Mulder moved to a private room and put two armed guards outside, I don’t think Lecter has a chance…” she trailed off, she thought Lecter was capable of anything. “You’re sure?”

Bitterly Scully threw the magazine aside and remarked, “He would consider it rude. He wouldn’t see it as much of a challenge and besides he likes his games. If he came after me he wouldn’t be able to ask any more of his asinine questions.” She took a deep, traumatized, breath, “We need to focus less on Lecter and more on Catherine Martin. God Catherine…” Her heart broke for the woman.

Reyes nodded and touched Scully’s arm in comfort. “You did the best you could for Catherine, you tried, you stuck your neck out and put yourself on the line for her. Don’t you see how important that is?”

“I got my butt kicked and Mulder is in intensive care. Some victory.” All those dead people too.

“It’s not your fault it ended how it did, you shouldn’t blame yourself.” She wondered if Scully’s guilt was manifesting itself in her choice of attire; she was wearing a giant blue Oxford sweatshirt that dwarfed her. Mulder’s she assumed. “Nobody could’ve predicted that! If there was a break in the security chain it didn’t come from you.”

She knew Reyes was right. It didn’t make her feel any better however. “The worst part, the thing that’s been driving me crazy, that’s been bothering Mulder, is that Buffalo Bill is right in front of us and I can’t see him,” she waved her hand in the direction of the table in the corner where she’d been working. “Lecter said everything I need to catch Bill is right there in those pages.”

“Lecter said a lot of things, can you even believe him?”

She didn’t know. She felt like she could but she didn’t want to admit it for fear of looking insane. “He’s here Monica, I know it.”

Reyes looked at her and bit her lip, she worried. Still, she could try and help at least even if she wasn’t overly familiar with the real ins-and-outs of the case. She got up and went over to the table and sat down, picking at photos and forms and examining various mountains of notes. It was a giant maze and she didn’t even know where to start.

Scully got up and joined Reyes, sitting on the chair opposite, her legs tucked into the warm sweater. “It’s a bit of a mess, I went a little crazy trying to sort through it all.”

Reyes laughed, “Doesn’t matter.” She read for a little bit, putting things aside if she deemed them important, and then she gasped, looking up at Scully in astonishment when she found a map detailing the kidnap and dump sites. There was a scribble on it. “Hey, is this Lecter’s handwriting?” She held up the folded map to show Scully.

She took it off of Reyes and looked at it hard. In newly inked words written in Lecter’s precise, elegant, hand he’d written a message. She read it aloud, “Dr. Scully, doesn’t this random scattering of sites seem overdone to you? Doesn’t it seem desperately random, like the elaborations of a bad liar?” She looked up puzzled but feeling excited again, how could she have missed this! She laid the map out flat on the table and stood up to examine it. “‘Desperately random’, what does he mean?”

“Not random at all, maybe. Like there’s actually a pattern to it all.”

She sighed in frustration, “But there is no pattern, there’s no connection at all among these places. The computer’s didn’t find anything and neither did any of the agents working on the case, myself included.” She bit her lip and sat down again, “They were even found in a random order.”

Reyes thought for a moment and picked up the victim files and began searching through them, “Well, except one girl.”

“What girl?”

Reyes was desperately thumbing through them now, she knew she was onto something. “The one that was weighted down, where is she? Fred something.”

She knew exactly who Reyes meant and picked the file out of her hand to pull out the girl’s graduation photo. “Frederica Bimmel, she was from Belvedere, Ohio. The first girl taken but the third body found, why?”

“‘Cause she didn’t drift, she was weighted down.” Reyes was ready to admit that even she was excited now.

“But why?” Scully asked. “He didn’t weigh down any of the other bodies, what makes her so special?” She stood up and began to pace, unable to keep still. She felt awakened, like she did when she was making a scientific breakthrough. Like she had when she’d met Mulder and he’d started challenging her, forcing her to look beyond the ordinary, to look between the spaces in the dark. “What the hell did Lecter say about ‘first principles’? He said ‘simplicity’. What does this guy, Bill, do? He covets. How do we first start to covet? ‘We covet what we see…”

She stopped, turned and took the photo out of Reyes’ hand and stared at it. She knew. She had it! She looked at Reyes, trembling. “We covet what we see everyday.”
“Jesus!” Reyes was astonished but full of recognition for what they'd just discovered.

Scully agreed, “He knew her.”

She threw her stuff down, grabbed her stuff and went to the bathroom. She needed to get dressed. She needed to speak to Skinner but before that she wanted to check in with Mulder again.

Chapter 55

Chapter Text

Mulder’s hospital room was quiet, bar the beeping from the machines surrounding his bed, so she took advantage and sat updating him on her breakthrough with Reyes. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t respond right now, it just felt important to be here with him and speak. If nothing else it was offering comfort to both of them: her because she always felt like she had an ally in him and him because it was therapeutic to hear voices. She even read aloud his cards, of which there were many, mostly colleagues but the gunmen, his grandfather and even his father had bothered (though the message was surely curt enough and said only, ‘from dad’ in it, no ‘To Fox’, no ‘Get well soon’, no message of any kind just ‘from dad’.).

The glass door to his room slid open while she was contemplating who had the sh*ttiest father and Skinner asked, “Not interrupting anything am I?”

She looked at him nervously and briefly attempted to tidy herself up, flatten her unbrushed hair and smooth down her rumpled clothes, but quickly gave up. She didn’t care and neither did he. “No, not at all, Sir.”

He smiled and closed the door, “I stopped by for an update, the doctors tell me he’s doing well.”

“Um, yeah,” she stumbled. Though in truth she was glad he was bypassing small talk. “He’s responding very well to treatment.” It had helped that they’d given him burr hole treatment rather than a full craniotomy. “They tell me they’re going to try and move him off the ventilator today.”

“That’s excellent news.”

“The best,” she smiled.

“I had to tell his wife, Diana,” he said while taking off his coat. “They’re still married. Besides his parents she’s still listed as his next of kin.”

She faltered, soured a little but let it pass over her. The fear remained however. “Is she coming back?”

“No but she sends her warmest regards for a speedy recovery.” They shared an eye roll. “I think Mulder’s in capable enough hands anyway,” he said, gesturing her way. He noticed the blush and put his hand up and smiled, “Save it, I don’t care.”

“We're not going to get in trouble?” That surprised her given the line all of her instructors had touted. Surely after what had happened with Teller ratting her out she'd get in trouble?

“Not on my watch.” He couldn’t care less what agents did in their private time together. It's not like he hadn't indulged once or twice, before he'd married anyway. He certainly had no time for dorm room crap. People telling tales was childish. “No, it’s frowned upon but it’s not against the rules as long as you keep the work separate and don’t compromise an investigation. I don’t see that you have.” He shrugged. He didn’t really want to talk about this. Other people’s sex lives were the least of his many concerns. Truth be told, it made him uncomfortable. He found a seat and sat down and rubbed his face in his hands. “You know,” he smiled wearily, and changing the subject, “I can’t even tell you how many hospital rooms I’ve been in with Mulder. I was kind of hoping the last time really was the last.”

She nodded and sat down next to him heavily while she thought things over, the weight of the case threatening to overtake and overwhelm her once more. “I can’t even imagine what you all went through back then and how it must feel knowing Lecter is on the loose again.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Same sh*t, different day. The justice department is fuming, and that’s putting it mildly. Nothing the Bureau can’t handle.” Ahead of him Mulder’s chest rose and then fell and he realized he didn’t have another bedside vigil in him. Selfishly he was glad of Scully’s presence here, of someone else to share the burden and take the load. She was a whole other world from Diana. He had no doubt that Diana had once cared for Mulder but there was a coldness, a rigidity to Diana that he’d never liked, especially not in her final year with Mulder, especially not after his recent phone call with the woman.

“I want to apologize for my part in all this, if it wasn’t for me then Lecter wouldn’t be free.”

Dragged from his reverie he shook his head at her, “Look, this isn’t your fault, none of it. We have risk managers, we have decision makers, people at every level looked at the options presented and chose to deal with Lecter because it was the only viable option when it came to finding Catherine Martin. Nobody, not you or I or Mulder can claim to know that anything could go wrong, nobody thought he’d escape from a heavily fortified courthouse. It’s unthinkable.”

“But Mulder did warn me. He knew something like this would happen.”

He looked at the prone man in the bed and then turned to her anguished face. “Then it’s my fault too for not listening to his fears about Lecter, he came to me too.” He would feel the burden for a long time and wouldn’t rest until Mulder woke up and Lecter was back in custody. “I didn’t listen.” He chuckled mirthlessly, “I promised Mulder that Lecter wouldn’t get free.” He shook his head at the conversation they’d had in his office. “I knew he was right. I was too scared to act, too worried about my own career.” The only thing he should really have thought about was the Agents under him and the victims.

God, she thought, what a mess this was all turning out to be. She took Mulder’s limp hand and gave it a squeeze. Diplomatically she decided that it was pointless trying to apportion blame to anyone. It was a collective error, a collective decision and while they all might play a part they needed to put that behind them and move forward for Catherine and for Mulder. She knew Mulder would be more concerned about the victims rather than the bureaucracy.

“I think,” she said evenly. “We need to concentrate on finding Catherine.”

He rubbed his eyes, knowing she was right. Unfortunately he also had to think about Lecter too. “There’s been no more leads, nothing has come through on the tip line and there’s been no sight of Lecter. Ruth Martin is, understandably, devastated, she feels her last chance of finding Catherine alive has gone.”

“I don’t believe that’s the case, Lecter left us a clue in the files we gave him, Reyes found it this morning.” She went to her bag and pulled out Mulder’s map, showing him what Lecter had written on it, “I think our suspect might actually live in Belvedere, Ohio. I think he saw her every day, I think he knew her. Not intimately but enough that she wouldn’t be scared of him, just general chit chat.” She was speaking quickly now, desperate to get it all out before Krendler stopped her, “I think she was a spontaneous kill, I think he was chatting to her, maybe about the choir she was involved with or the 7-up she drank. I read the notes, it was her favorite drink, it’s why he gives the girls lemonade!”

“Scully…”

“But then he tried to cover her up, making her seem just like all the rest of them. That’s what Lecter was hinting at. I bet if we searched that area again there might even be an old bug cocoon nearby that he placed at a later date!”

Skinner held up his hand to stop her. He was pleased by her enthusiasm but he didn’t feel what she’d found to be a workable clue, or even a clue at all and neither did he believe that they would find anything. In fact sending agents back out there felt like a big waste of time. “I hate to say it Scully but the market in Lecter hints is down today, nobody wants to hear what he has to say anymore.” He certainly didn’t. He gestured at the bed and then added, “There are multiple people dead, I have one of my agents seriously injured, I still have a kidnap victim in the wild and we’re no closer to finding this Buffalo Bill.”

She started to protest, “But sir, if we could just concentrate on Belvedere, I feel this is the right way to go…”

He shook his head. “I can’t waste man hours going over old ground, it’s just not possible. I’m sorry.”

“But what if…”

He quickly added, “And what if it’s another trap?”

Tears began to prickle at the corners of her eyes again and she sat quietly for a long time, an awkward silence settling over them both. Secretly she was fuming, she knew in her heart they had to go back to Ohio. If only they would listen…

She looked up at Mulder, knowing exactly how he felt, swamped in politics and bureaucracy, shouting at the world only to have no one listen. Mulder’s grandmother came into the room and she’d never been more thankful for a distraction.

Chapter 56

Chapter Text

It was several hours before she was able to see Mulder again, family had to take precedence at his bedside and while his grandmother was accommodating to her presence, even seemed to like her company, with his grandfather also on the scene, as well as doctors and nurses filtering in and out at regular intervals, it was making the room rather crowded. She’d retreated to the relatives room and had a little nap in a bad chair, dreaming of poor Catherine and of time running out, but when she did see him she was more than happy to see he was awake and sitting up against his pillows.

She slid open the glass door and smiled widely at him, immediately crossing the small room and taking his hand before kissing it. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he smiled weakly, still feeling somewhat groggy and fragile. “Didn’t think I’d get to see you again. Thought I was a goner.”

Touching his face tenderly with her other hand she admitted, “When they told me you were injured I was so scared, so afraid.” She’d imagined all sorts, she’d imagined Lecter taking something from him or worse: Lecter doing to him what he’d done to Pembry or Boyle. “I prayed hard for you.”

“You’re not the only one,” he rolled his eyes towards his bedside table where he’d piled the trinkets left by his family.

She couldn’t help laughing. “She means well, she talks a fair bit of sense.”

“You’ve met her?”

“We’ve spoken a little.”

He nodded, happy. His grandmother was hard to please, if Scully was still here that must mean his grandmother liked her. Usually his grandmother banished anyone she took a dislike to or simply froze them out by not even acknowledging their presence. It pleased him she’d met with family approval, not that he’d care if she hadn’t, he loved her and that was that. He closed his eyes, feeling sleep fast approaching. “Skinner’s been in. Told me what happened.”

“You don’t remember?” She sat a little on his bed, her hand never leaving his. Part of her was glad of it but the doctor in her worried.

He gently shook his head. Given what Skinner had told him of the crime scene he was more than a little thankful for being unconscious. “I don’t remember… just Lecter behind me.” He touched his heavily bandaged head. “Skinner said you’re no closer to catching him.” Skinner also told him about her hunch. He thought Skinner was stupid for ignoring it.

“No.” She looked away, guilt steadily climbing from the bottom of her gut. “Mulder I...”

He knew where this was going and stopped her. “Don’t.” He squeezed her hand and she looked at him. “This isn’t your fault. It’s just not.” He sat up as far as he could manage and pulled her into an embrace. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine and I need you to be strong right now because this isn’t over, not by a long shot.”

She frowned, wondering what he could mean. “Mulder, you’re in no fit state to be doing anything.”

He laughed against her shoulder. He wasn’t going anywhere. For once he was willing to listen to his doctors. “No, I’m not going anywhere, you are.”

She pulled back, feeling shocked. “What?”

As he settled back against his pillows he remarked, “Skinner told me about Lecter’s note, you have to follow it, go to Ohio.”

“I can’t, Skinner forbade it.”

“No, he told me he couldn’t send other agents out there, he didn’t say you couldn’t go did he?”

She thought about it long and hard, going over her conversation with Skinner. He hadn’t said she couldn’t go at all. She smiled on reflection but she really couldn’t go, could she? “What if it’s a trap?”

He didn’t think so. He thought Lecter was most likely out of the country by now. “Do you think it is?”

“No.”

“Then trust your instincts, Padawan.”

“What?”

He laughed, he’d have to school her in sci-fi movies when this was over. “If you think something is important, work the clues, don’t ignore them.” He closed his eyes. “Go to Belvedere, look at the crime scene, speak to Frederica Bimmel’s colleagues, her friends.” He remembered faintly, “Her father too, she lived with him.” Her house was full of tailor dummies and pattern books; there was a sewing room like Maggie Scully’s. His eyes snapped open and he stared at her, on a revelation. “She worked as a seamstress, Scully!”

Scully was up and immediately digging in her bag for her notepad, “You're sure?”

“Yes!” He tried to sit up and failed and soon gave up when she told him to go easy. “It might be how she met him, maybe they did some work together or worked somewhere they came into contact but you’re right, they knew each other. He couldn’t help himself and he took someone local.”

She was scribbling his information fast, thinking about catching the next plane out. “We covet what we know.”

“Exactly! You need to see if she did any recent work for anyone. She had a friend…” What was her name? She worked at a bank… “Stacey something or other, she works at the savings and loans on the main thoroughfare in town, she’ll know. You need to get the next plane out.”

She didn’t want to leave him, she couldn’t. The idea ate at her gut and pained her at every turn. “Mulder, I can’t leave you.”

“Hmmm?”

She watched him for a few moments, he seemed to have fallen asleep. She let go of his hand and helped him lie down, adjusting his pillows accordingly. She kissed his forehead. “Good night Mulder.”

He yawned, he had to stay awake. He opened his eyes and implored, “Go to Belvedere!” God only knew what was out there but she had to go. He had a feeling the end of this case was there. He only wished he could go with her.

She looked at him. His beseeching tone reminded her of Lecter’s dramatic demands. If she didn’t know the man so well she’d find it strange. “Mulder, no.”

“Yes, go and go now.” Sending her out there alone was not his ideal plan of action but he trusted her and her abilities. She was more than capable. “You’re the only one who can see this through Scully. You’re the only one I trust and you’re the only one who can help Catherine now.”

She didn’t need to hear any more. He was right. Nobody else was advocating for Catherine but her and Mulder. She grabbed her things but as she was about to leave she stopped and turned back to Mulder who was watching her through droopy eyelids.

She went back to the bed, took off her cross and carefully placed it round his neck, “I want you to have this.”

He smiled at the gesture. “I don’t believe in god.”

“It’s not about that Mulder, it’s about you knowing that I’m coming back for it, I’ll have you know that that cross is very important to me.” She watched him play with it and added with a smile, “Look after it.”

“I will.” He grabbed the tzitzit from the side table and tied it securely around her wrist. “You don’t need to give this back to me, my grandmother makes hundreds a year, but I want you to remember something when you touch it.”

“What?” she asked, feeling the knots one at a time.

“I want you to know that I trust you, I have faith in you and,” he looked her in the eyes and said, “And I love you.” She smiled beatifically at him and he knew instantly she felt the same way. “Now go and please be careful.”

At the door she turned around once more when she realized she hadn't said anything in return to his declaration. “I love you too Mulder.”

Yes she very much did and she couldn’t wait for this to be over so that they could look forward to the rest of their lives.

Chapter 57

Chapter Text

Knowing Scully was out there alone, and that she could come into contact with their suspect, was eating away at him, causing him to worry and even panic, but what could he do? Despite Skinner assuring him he would listen in future he was still blind and deaf to the cause. Purdue as well. He was left staring blankly at his four walls cursing his ability to get injured at the most inopportune time and hoping Scully would get in contact soon. He’d already lost count of the number of times he’s picked at the cross around his neck. He already knew how many links it had, how long the chain was and who made it.

Still, he trusted her, trusted her instincts and her capabilities and knew she would do whatever it entailed to get the job done. He also knew she wouldn’t intentionally put herself in harm's way, she’d weigh up any risks and act accordingly. She had more sense on that front than he did. At least he hoped she did.

What annoyed him the most was that they couldn’t take this final step of the journey together. They worked so well together, actually got things done. They’d achieved a lot in the last few days and weeks. He puffed his cheeks out as he contemplated calling her but he knew that realistically she was probably still in the air and her plane not likely to land for a good while yet. If she had something to tell him she would.

The door to his room slid open making him jump and he looked up at Jerry Lamana, the last person in the world he wanted to see right now. Still he greeted the man pleasantly, glad to see a different face if nothing else. “Hey Jerry.”

Jerry grinned, dumped his stuff and began picking at the cards and flowers, shifting from one foot to the other awkwardly. He spotted some candy and stuffed a handful into his pocket. Put a hat on him and he could easily be confused with the Pillsbury Doughboy Mulder thought.

“Mulder, how’s the noggin?” Jerry asked.

He wasn’t going to lie, “Sore.”

“Hmmm, well I’m not surprised,” he sulked, looking up at him. “You know if you’d let me come out into the field with you this might have been avoided.”

“Seriously Jerry, you want to do this now?” Professional jealousy from him was starting to really rankle. Besides, somehow he doubted Jerry would’ve been any help. In fact if Jerry had gone with him Jerry would be dead now. No ifs, ands, buts or maybes about it. Lecter might like him but he hated Jerry, thought him crude and oafish. He was starting to think Lecter had a point. He looked down at the large brown bag Jerry had placed on the floor. He sighed, “What’s in the bag, Jerry?”

He was busy with his candy and it took him a while to acknowledge Mulder but when he did he looked down stupidly and saw the bag as if for the first time. “Oh, that…” he shrugged. “Just your clothes from the crime scene. I was supposed to hand them in but I kind of forgot, sorry.” He looked around sheepishly before adding in a rush, “I’m on my way to do it now, just thought I’d check in on you again.”

Again? He didn’t remember another time. It didn’t matter. None of this did. Referring to the clothes he said, “It doesn’t matter, they’re probably too contaminated by the doctors and EMTs anyway.”

Grinning like Mulder had saved his ass again he agreed, “Well yeah exactly.” He picked up the bag and dumped it on the bed, right on Mulder’s legs. “Anyway I was following up with the hospital lead you gave me, looking for patients with histories of being turned down for reassignment surgery.”

“And?” Curiously Mulder opened the bag. His clothes were ruined, crusty from being caked in blood that’d now dried and cut open from where the doctors had removed them from his body. He soured, he loved that suit. It’d cost a fortune. Clothes and travel were about the only things he spent any money on.

“I have about 6 names.” He watched Mulder noisily pry apart his suit jacket and pull a piece of paper from the inside breast pocket. “What’s that?”

“A note.” He held up the stained piece of paper, the words still legible. Unmistakably the ornate scrawl was written in Lecter’s hand.

“I can see that, looks Italian.”

Close. “Latin.”

“Ok but what does it say?”

He stared at the words again and translated for Jerry’s benefit:

“We two alone will sing like birds i' th' cage.
When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down
And ask of thee forgiveness. So we’ll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news, and we’ll talk with them too—
Who loses and who wins, who’s in, who’s out—
And take upon’s the mystery of things
As if we were God’s spies.”

“That’s kind of pretentious,” laughed Jerry and Mulder smiled. “But I still don’t get it, is this another one of your jokes with him?”

Was it? He thought about it and dismissed it. What did Lecter mean by the words though? “It’s from King Lear not long before he dies. I think Lecter is apologizing but I also think Lecter is telling me that what we might perceive as important really isn’t. What really matters are the simple things.”

Jerry scratched his head, “I still don’t get it.”

Mulder smiled at him. Of course he didn’t get it, it wasn’t meant for him. “Lear realized too late that all the things he held dear, wealth, power and the finery of court, are inconsequential. It’s a sad moment of realization which cost Lear a lot to achieve.” He looked at the piece of paper, traced the words with his fingers and realized what Lecter was actually saying. That not only should he give up searching for Lecter but that he shouldn’t fall into the same trap as Lear, and indeed Lecter himself, had.

“You’re married, aren't you Jerry?”

He grumbled dispassionately, “Sure.”

“Then you know that it’s also about love.”

“Lecter loves you?”

He laughed. That was a strong possibility but no. “No Jerry, but Lecter is saying that we, I, need to place more value in what’s right in front of me. Not in the work but in love.” He gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed and barely managed to stand up. “Lear came to cherish his daughter Cordelia above everything else and place his own love for Cordelia above every other consideration, to the point that he would rather live in prison with her than rule as a king again.” It was exactly how he felt about Scully and for the first time in a long time the work, the chase, the thrill of arresting a suspect was fading into insignificance. It didn’t matter. None of it did. All that mattered was her.

“Woah what are you doing buddy?” Jerry asked as Mulder reached out to grab his bag.

“I need to get on a plane.”

Jerry put his hands up in protest, “No way!” He started to feel green too and looked towards the door, hoping that Skinner or his mean grandmother were around to talk some sense into him but sadly neither were coming to his rescue. “I’ll be canned if you walk out of here.”

“So turn around,” he smiled. “I need to go to Ohio.”

“Why?”

“Scully’s there, following a lead.”

“So? Let her get on with it!”

“I love her Jerry, I need to be with her on this.” He'd told Scully he was going to follow doctors orders, that was stupid.

Jerry was confused. “What about Diana?”

“Who?” He paused briefly, remembering and muttered a soft, “Oh!” and shook his head. She didn’t matter. Being with Scully did. This was the end of the road. They needed to finish the journey together.

Jerry moved to block the door. He thought of ways to stall his partner. He was talking crazy nonsense again and was actually worried he was seriously unwell. “What about my lead?”

Mulder pulled a monitor off his arm. A machine immediately beeped in protest and an alarm sounded. “It doesn’t matter.”

Jerry looked on in horror as Mulder removed more monitors and the needle in his hand. Jerry knew they all thought him stupid but he sure knew a thing or two about medical matters and was pretty sure that if Mulder got on a plane the pressure would probably cause a lot of harm to his head. “This is insanity.”

Jerry reached out to hit the emergency button just as a bunch of nurses and doctors ran into the room followed by Skinner, no doubt alerted to the numerous alarms going off. Skinner looked more angry than he’d ever seen one man look, which was something for him, and he was already thinking of plausible deniability.

“What the hell is going on?”

The ire of Skinner’s tone even stopped Mulder in his tracks and he looked sheepishly as doctors started fussing around him, insisting he get into bed. “I need to get out of here.”

“Over my dead body, and yours,” Skinner growled.

Mulder found himself being dragged back to bed and plugged back in and he sulked. “I need to go to Ohio.”

Skinner’s head dropped in exasperation. “Not this again.” He looked up, “There’s nothing there.”

He felt like making a quip about Ohio’s sports teams and the state's scenery but thought better of it. Instead Mulder replied, “Scully’s already on her way there.”

Skinner scowled and then looked up at the ceiling like he was searching for god in the spots of light he found up there. “For god’s sake Mulder!” He wanted to throttle Mulder. If the doctors weren’t carefully tucking him back into bed and resetting the equipment around him he’d be a dead man. “Why?”

“Because that’s where our suspect is!”

Skinner set his jaw tightly and looked at Jerry who shrugged. “Mulder, we need to move on from Ohio.”

“No!” He tried to snatch his arm away from the doctor who was trying to inject him with something. “We need to go back there.”

Skinner turned to Jerry, “What did you find out from the hospitals?”

“Not much, just a list of names.”

“So we’ll start there and see where that leads and if any correlate to Ohio I’ll get in touch with the field office there.”

The doctor managed to get his needle into Mulder while he was listening to Skinner and he quickly felt the heavy tug of sleep. “No!” he protested weakly. “You bast…”

“Sorry Mulder.” Skinner murmured as Mulder’s eyes fluttered closed. On his way out he ushered Jerry out of the room. “Tell me about those names Jerry.”

Chapter 58

Chapter Text

Scully knocked on the door of the Bimmel house and waited, looking up and down the neighborhood as she did so. The Bimmel house was typical of the lower working class neighborhood in which it was situated: rough around the edges and in desperate need of a lick of paint. All up and down the street beaten up trucks and cars lined the pavements of flaky white clapboard houses and large dogs barked loudly in warning, patrolling yards as if they knew trouble wasn’t far away. It was a tidy place, there was no litter anywhere, she’d give it that but from what she’d been reading of the town on the plane she knew Belvedere wasn’t a place many people escaped from (for Frederica that had been too sad of a truth). School drop out numbers were high, petty crime was on the increase and people were turning to alcohol and opioids to pass the time. The FBI had rated it a D- on their crime statistics report for Ohio.

There weren’t many murders though, it was a small town of little over thirty-four hundred people and Frederica was an anomaly. Or at least her type of murder was. Most murders here were domestic disputes and while sad they were at least solved quickly. Frederica was still on the books, already the longest unsolved in Belvedere’s history. Her father, an honest type, who’d tried to do his best for his daughter with little money and resources, had been very quickly ruled out as a suspect. Not only had he a watertight alibi but according to the reports in the file he was aging and in ill health and simply not capable of the strength levels involved in moving his daughter’s body around.

She gave it another minute and decided to walk around the back of the house to see if anyone was there. She could hear animals cooing and making a general noise with their wings, pigeons perhaps. It would stand to reason that someone might be feeding them.

She stepped down from the porch, walked to the side of the property and carefully unlatched a squeaky metal gate. Behind her, up on the hill, a freight train trundled by and she turned to look. It had to be at least 100 wagons, she always counted, and most were painted in names of the towns it passed through on its trip through Ohio. When she saw Belvedere rattle past she gasped and remembered one of her first conversations with Lecter. One of his drawings that she’d admired of Florence: “the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo, seen from the Belvedere.”

“Son of a bitch!” she muttered. It was all clues, all of it! How had she not seen it! Skinner had told her to look at his drawings, to make note of them. God if only she’d read Lecter’s work as she’d been told to, if only she hadn’t been too disgusted by Miggs and Lecter and Chilton! Lecter knew Buffalo Bill lived here and he was screaming it in her face and she’d missed it! Hell they all had but she kicked herself hard because it was something she was supposed to have looked out for, it was a clue revealed only to her ears.

She cursed herself and thought back to that initial meeting. It wasn’t that long ago but she’d changed so much since. She was much more vigilant now, more open to seeing things and following the clues. She wouldn’t let anything pass her by now and she wouldn't make the same mistake again.

As she moved down the narrow space between the Bimmel house and the one next door she got a sight of the awesome huddle of pigeon coops sprawled along the shore of brackish water beyond. In front of the coops, and throwing handfuls of seed from a bucket, was Frederica Bimmerl’s father, Frederick, a gaunt man in a gray knit cap.

He looked up as he saw her approach and she noticed his red rimmed watery blue eyes and down-turned mouth, his face deeply lined with grief. For a second she wondered how best to approach him, she’d never spoken to a witness or a grieving relative outside of her training before.

“Mr Bimmel?” she asked cautiously. He stared back at her warily but eventually nodded. “Mr Bimmel, my name is Special Agent Dana Scully, I’m here from the FBI. I was hoping I could talk to you about your daughter Frederica.” She hoped by mentioning her name it would give the message loud and clear that she cared about his daughter and only wanted to catch the person who'd killed her, so that in time he could remember her as his daughter again and not as a victim.

He put his bucket down and dusted off his hands. “Not sure I’ve got anything left to say. My baby’s still gone and you’re still asking me the same questions I’ve told you the answers to a thousand times.”

She nodded in understanding. She would be frustrated and angry too. “Sir, I’m sorry for your loss, I really am, but if you could just give me a few moments. I really think you could be of help, we have a new lead.” Really she knew she shouldn’t tell him that but at this point she would do anything to get him to talk to her.

It seemed to work as when he’d finished weighing it up he nodded, “I suppose I can lend you a few minutes if you have a new lead." He didn’t look or sound entirely convinced but it was enough and he led her towards the house, to a steep flight of stairs that lead up to an old swing door, and sat down on the creaking wood, which sagged under his feeble weight. “But you know,” he exhaled against the frosty air. “I don't know nothin' new to tell ya. Fredrica went into Columbus on the bus to see about a job. She left the interview ok. She never came home.”

She nodded, “We’re looking for someone, a friend perhaps, a boyfriend…”

“She had no boyfriends,” he said, annoyed at the suggestion that his daughter was anything other than innocent.

“Sir, I’m a daughter myself. There are things I don’t tell my father, things that a papa shouldn’t hear you know?”

He nodded, “Well that be, I ain’t seen no one and she never talked about a man either.”

“A friend?”

“She was a good girl, even if she did have… boyfriends.”

She nodded. It was frustrating but she also knew he was trying to preserve her memory. She wouldn’t push it as she would probably do the same thing if their roles were reversed. “Do you know if she worked for anyone casually, as a seamstress?”

He smiled then, lovingly. “Oh sure, she helped out all the old dears in the town, fixin; frocks and helpin’ out at the launderette when they needed some socks darned or a hem taken in.” He looked away wistfully, “She was a really good girl, nice and friendly, crafty and talented with a needle and thread.”

“You were close?”

“She was my only daughter, my only child, I miss her terribly.” He looked away, out towards his pigeons and over the water, lost in another world.

She reached out and touched his arm in sympathy and he gave her a look of thanks for the gesture. “Do you know who the ‘old dears’ were, was there anyone who worked with her?”

“Her friend Stacy will know. Thick as thieves, those too.”

She thanked him warmly and asked, “Would you mind if I looked at her room?”

He sighed but agreed, “Sure. Her room is exactly how she left it. Jus’ make sure you close the door behind you when you leave.”

“Yes Sir.”

She politely bade him farewell and climbed the steps, the banister under her hand felt weak so she let it go and went unaided. Inside, she found it cold, uninviting, grief stricken. The rooms were nice though, and tidy, a little old fashioned but not garish or totally out of place. Portraits of Frederica littered the downstairs rooms: the framed graduation photo she’d stared at a thousand times already, others showed her enjoying birthdays and Christmases, trips to the park and an ice-cream parlor. She was a young girl, toddler, infant, girl and graduate, hopeful at each age. The stairs leading to the bedrooms were similarly decorated. The walls showed nothing but a close, tight knit, family and, barring the death of the mother, Moira Bimmel, they seemed happy enough.

It was all stained in grief now however and she wondered how Mr Bimmel coped on his own, especially now. Belvedere was a close community, hopefully he was being looked after. She hated to think of him permanently on his own. She looked out of the landing window and saw him stroking a pigeon and murmuring away to it. It was sad but she wouldn’t begrudge the man his coping mechanism.

Moving slowly along the hallway she noticed that all the doors were open bar one. She peaked into the master bedroom and noticed nothing out of the ordinary so moved on past a sewing room which looked closed down, a very clean bathroom and Frederica’s room. Her pink name plate on the door. She touched it before opening the door and stepping inside.

The air was stale: old perfume and disuse. It was very girly and much the same as her old room at her parent’s house had once been: magazines strewn on the floor, books everywhere and posters dotted all around. Their musical tastes might be vastly different but the posters of Madonna and Blondie resonated all the same.

She lifted up the comforter on the twin bed and noted nothing hidden. Not that she really expected to find anything under there. Agents had been in and out of here numerous times and had stripped it more than once. What she was looking for was proper hiding places, places men wouldn’t think to look, places only a teenage girl would know.

She bit her lip, took in more chintzy wallpaper and the big sewing machine in the corner by the window. She would start there. As she riffled through sewing patterns and pin boxes she realized that from here she could still see Mr Bimmel in his garden, occasionally looking up at the house and shaking his head sorrowfully. There were marks in the carpet where the desk had been moved from further away and she wondered how many times Frederica had sat in the chair making her costumes while keeping a watchful, protective eye over her father.

She thought to her own father, back home, and realized her bedroom window, her old bedroom window anyway, looked down upon the garden tended by her father. At the bottom of her parents house his workshop which she only just realized now was positioned to look up upon his children’s bedrooms. As she looked through Frederica’s room, absorbing its nuances and uniquely female aesthetic, she could only sigh. Both men were mourning. Only one was mourning a dead person though and her sympathies were not with her own father.

Scully closed the bedroom door halfway to look on the back of it, noticing a half finished little black dress. It was fashionable, something she could easily see herself wearing, but out of place amongst the drab of the town. It was actually on course to be beautiful. Frederica was certainly talented and the cuts and stitches were expertly done, from what she could tell of sewing anyway. She touched the shapes from the pattern book which were still attached and tried not to think of a dress made of the woman herself.

She opened the door again as a little tortoiseshell cat slunk its way in and settled on the windowsill. She acknowledged it briefly before moving to the twin bed again to pull out the draws from the side table to look underneath, nothing though the word ‘I wish’ had been scrawled on one of them in lipstick and there was old scotch tape which had obviously held something in place. It was a shame there was no sign of it now. After picking at it she put the draws back and went to do the same with the desk.

Like the side table it revealed nothing so she sat down to think, to put her mind inside of someone else’s, to think like they did. Not for the first time she wondered how on earth Mulder did it, how he saw so much and had such a deep understanding of the thoughts of other people. It was… spooky. She smiled and touched the string of knots around her wrist, thinking of him back in Boston and wishing for inspiration. Wishing he was here by her side.

The cat meowed, stretched and watched her suspiciously, a guardian of Frederica’s stuff, causing her to jump out of her reverie. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring her home properly,” Scully murmured, reaching out and stroking the animal’s ear. The cat purred appreciatively and settled again, happy once more.

In front of her was a thin high school yearbook and she flipped it open. Colorful comments and mustaches had been drawn on some people but on others there were nicer messages, hearts and hopes of getting back in contact one day. On Frederica’s own page there were tales of marching band, debate clubs and textiles but a big unhappy face had been scrawled in Biro over and over again on her own face.

She touched it sadly and flipped to the back where a loose leaf had been added: a post graduation class update. Tammy Wiseburough is married now to her high school heartthrob Dean, they’ve just graduated from the local community college together! Kelly Daniels has become a mom for the second time! Mikey Wallender is taking on more responsibilities at his dad’s garage! Peter Norris is the school janitor now! Lauren Hobbs is training to be an attorney! Stacey Ann Conners is an advisor in a bank (Scully noted the full name down).

The list went on and on until it reached Frederica’s name. She read it aloud quietly, “Frederica Bimmel is still being a good citizen and looking after her father while pursuing various and exciting opportunities!” Next to the quote Frederica had written ‘what a loser’.

Scully decided she didn’t like this place, it wasn’t just the grief holding it in a time capsule. There was an echo of loneliness, desperation, under the steeply pitched ceiling. A story of a girl who’d lost her sense of being while caring for her father, a girl who had ambitions and goals who was being stifled by small town America, lack of money and duty. She hugged the book and then placed it back where she’d found it to carry on her search.

A wardrobe revealed an extensive array of frocks and projects for friends, ample amounts of neatly arranged sewing supplies, and more sewing machine magazines, with various machines circled hopefully and blue dressmakers tissue with pattern outlines. She held one pattern up to the light and shuddered but nothing here was telling her anything new however, nothing that wasn’t already in the numerous reports. Even places she thought she’d hide things (under loose flooring, behind skirting boards, picture frames and under furniture) were proving fruitless.

By the desk was a shelf with childhood knick-knacks all over it and she went to look. A shabby dollhouse that resembled, somewhat, the house she was standing in, a barbie with a homemade punk rocker hairstyle, a collection of thimbles, a framed photo of her father in a cowboy outfit, one of her mother at a party, some dried flowers and a music box which she picked up.

It was only small, and the lid was loose, but it was stuffed to overflowing with cheap but pretty costume jewelry and she smiled. She’d never been one for such things, she owned three pairs of earrings and two necklaces, but the box reminded her of Missy and how every time she got a new piece she’d find a special place for it. Missy even had a box with teal coloured lining and an annoyingly shrill musical ballerina like this one.

She turned the box over and over, removed the junk inside it, hoping to find something, and then picked at the lid. She was just about to give up when the lining gave way and she almost yelped in surprise as a series of Polaroids flopped out along with pages from a diary. She flicked through the pictures becoming more nauseated at the implication of them as she went. Frederica in various stages of undress and then naked. Frederica was giggling at whoever took the pictures and they were clearly consensual but she knew that whoever had taken the pictures had also taken Frederica’s life.

She was angry. The trust Frederica Bimmel had placed in this man, both with her body and no doubt her mind, and to have him then turn around and destroy that for his own selfish end was galling and probably the most heinous thing about all this.

She put them in her pocket, tidied the room and hurried out of there.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

By the time she’d made it back to town the bank had closed so she’d opted for a cheap McDonald’s and had gone back to the motel for a shower and change of clothes. She was pacing the room like an angry tiger in a too small cage, phone in hand and waiting to be connected to Mulder. She should probably let him rest but she needed to get things off her chest.

Eventually he answered with a very sleepy, “Hello?”

“Mulder,” she breathed a sigh of relief and immediately calmed. “Sorry to wake you.”

There was a long disorientated silence and she thought about hanging up and trying again in the morning but he eventually asked, “What time is it?”

“A little after 10.”

He yawned. “Jesus…” He'd been asleep a long time.

She bit her nail in worry, “I’m sorry for waking you, I can call you back another time.”

“No, it’s ok. I wasn’t sleeping, I was under enforced unconsciousness.”

“What?” Now she was worried. "Dare I ask?"

He laughed though and replied, “It was for my own good. I actually feel great now.”

He didn’t sound it. “I won’t keep you long,” she said. “I just wanted to update you.”

“Did you speak to Stacy?”

She stopped pacing and sat down on the bed, tucking her legs up. “Not yet, I went to the Bimmel house.” She could hear his smile as he mentioned the unnerving atmosphere inside and she sadly explained, “I don’t blame the man, he’s been through a lot, but I got the impression he’d been grieving his whole life for something.”

“He’s not had an easy life,” he agreed. They'd been a lot of grief and failed ambition. “Did you find anything?”

She suddenly felt jumpy as she thought of the photos, like someone was trying to tickle her spine with an annoying ghostly hand. Cradling the phone between her shoulder and chin she again touched the knots at her wrist and felt comforted, “I, um, yes. I have a theory if you want to hear it.”

“Go on,” he said, perking up.

“I think they were lovers.”

“Who?”

“Frederica and Buffalo Bill.”

“You found a picture of him?”

“No, but I found pictures of her. Undressing and naked, they felt…” she took a deep breath and added, “like he was sizing her up for something.” There was a sad pause at the other end and she felt the sadness emanate through the phone wire. “Isn’t that sad?”

“Yeah… you trust someone with your most intimate secrets, your body, and then they use it against you. It’s the f*cking worst.”

He sounded like a man who was speaking from experience, so she asked, “Has someone ever done that to you?”

He cleared his throat, “A girlfriend at Oxford. Phoebe. Mind player extraordinaire. Maybe another time though Scully.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“So-k,” he yawned again.

“There’s something else, a diary. Or at least parts of one. I couldn’t find the journal it came from but there were little notes, confessions, talk of their first time together and hopes for a new life with this man.”

“Anything that would tell you where you might find him, a name?”

“No, sadly not. It’s just details about how he makes her feel, the confidence, the certainty that he could be ‘the one’. It’s just so sad that she’s been let down. Why do they do it, Mulder?”

“I don’t know, Scully. Some people kill because they can’t help it, it’s an impulse, some do it because they want something, revenge or a gain, and others do it because they’re trying to fulfill a need, a want.” He sighed, “Other's do it because they like it like Luther Lee Boggs. In the end though, and in cases like this, does it really matter when it boils down to the same old story?”

“Which is?”

“Violence against women and misogyny.” He thought for a second, "Our man might claim he's doing it because he wants to transform but really he just wants to rule, to dominate, to possess and covet."

She nodded. He was perfectly right. She knew there was a reason why she’d fallen in love so quickly, why she adored him. He told her the truth and didn’t sugarcoat the hard parts. “I think that’s the most sane thing you’ve ever said.”

“Thank you,” he laughed loudly. There was a long silence before he asked, “You ok Scully?”

“Yeah,” she replied quietly. “I wish you were here to make it better.”

“Me too, I hate being apart.”

“What’s going to happen when this is all over?”

“We move on with our lives,” he said matter of factly and she smiled. “I should probably let you go, try and get some sleep.”

“Yeah…” she sighed, not wanting to hang up at all.

“Oh, um, if it’s any help, Jerry left his list of names for the rejected reassignment surgery patients here if you need it.”

“Who’s Jerry?”

“My partner.”

She laughed, “I didn’t know you had a partner!”

“Well, he’s more like an errand boy. I don’t set him loose in the wild very often but he has his occasional, albeit accidental, uses.”

She laughed again. “Who’s on it?”

He read the names and she jotted them down, perhaps, when she spoke to Stacy tomorrow, one would correlate. He yawned again and added, “I better go, Nurse Ratched is staring daggers at me. Night Scully.”

“Night Mulder, love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hung up, after telling him she’d call tomorrow, feeling a lot better just hearing his voice. She looked at the names. Nothing was jumping out at her, the names were nondescript but she also knew their killer was amongst them. She climbed into bed and turned out the light.

Chapter 59

Chapter Text

When he was sure the coast was clear he swung his legs out over the side of the bed and stood gingerly upright. He still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent and his head was definitely a little tender but all in all he was feeling a lot steadier than he had yesterday and the nausea had dissipated completely. It was enough to put his plan into action anyway.

He carefully removed the needle from his hand, placing a band-aid someone had conveniently left on his table over the tender and bloody skin, and then he disconnected the sensors for the monitoring equipment, making sure to turn the machines off before they started beeping obnoxiously and alerting all and sundry. Finally he picked up his clothes to get dressed.

“What are you doing?”

His heart sank and he looked up guiltily at the face in front of him. Monica what-was-her-name? He couldn’t remember. Scully’s roommate. He’d spoken to her once on the phone briefly when he was looking for Scully and she’d caught them in flagrante delicto not that long ago. He reddened at the thought and decided that he really ought to invite Scully round to his place next time they wanted some privacy.

“Getting away from the sound of horses and holes in the ground.”

“Sorry?” Reyes asked, somewhat confused.

He decided not to talk to her about his dreams and recent thoughts. “What do you think I’m doing?” he replied instead, his rising intonation just questioning enough to make it seem he was acting in a purely innocent capacity and if she wanted to make assumptions it was all on her.

She smiled tightly, “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing Agent Mulder, Assistant Director Skinner and Dana have both tasked me with keeping an eye on you.”

“Well, turn around and walk away and then we can both pretend that what you think you’ve seen isn’t what you’ve really seen and I’m in a fine fettle.”

She put her hands on her hips admonishingly and pursed her lips. “I think everyone can agree that’s not the case.” Her eyes went wide as he started pulling his robe off defiantly. She just about managed to turn around as it slid over his chest and past his waist. “I won’t let you leave.”

He scoffed. He was done here, there was work to be done. Good luck to her if she was going to try and stop him. “If Skinner thinks I’m just going to sit idly by while there’s a madman still on the loose then he’s even stupider than he looks.”

“I can’t let you leave.” She puffed out a long breath, weighing up her options, wondering how on earth she was supposed to stop him anyway. “Dana is going to kill you, you know that, right?”

He chuckled, he knew. “She’ll probably kill you too.”

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid.” She turned to look at him, thankful he was now dressed. “Are you even fit to leave here? Do you even know where you’re going?”

The answer to that, he realized, was, “I have a list of names and I need to get to Belvedere.”

“And how are you planning on doing that?”

He sighed, not unkindly, “Do you always speak in questions?”

She smiled broadly, “Only when the person I’m speaking to is as exasperating as you!”

He couldn’t help laughing. He rather liked this Monica what-was-her-name and could see why Scully was so close to her. “You’ve seen nothing.” He picked up his bag, ready to leave, and said, “Close your eyes and count to ten and pretend you got here after I left.”

“No way!” She grabbed his bag and took it off of him. “You’re in no fit state to fly or drive.”

“Try and stop me.”

“I don’t think that would be too hard right now,” she remarked sassily. “You have a lot of height and weight on me Agent Mulder but even I could probably take you out right now.” She doubted she could but she needed to appear tough. She weighed up her options again and realized she only really had three. She could call Skinner and he could stop Mulder, though she really didn’t want to do that or get a reputation as a tattle-tale and by the time Skinner got here Mulder would already be long gone anyway, she could physically stop him herself though she really didn’t want to get into a fight, or she could go with him and drive him up to Belvedere and help out there in any way she was needed. She handed him his bag back. “I’m coming with you.”

“What!”

“You’re in no fit state to drive. I’ll drive you up there. Help you and Dana out.”

“I could get in trouble…”

“Oh?” she interrupted, laughing in a disbelieving tone. “You care about that now?” Agent Mulder really was something else but he had a good aura about him, one she liked instantly. He seemed pure.

He shrugged. He supposed it didn’t really matter what he did. His name was already mud anyway. “No, not really.”

“So, it’s settled then. I can come with you, keep an eye on you and nobody can say I was in dereliction of my duties.”

He didn’t really like the idea but the way she was looking at him told him he had no choice. Besides, if she did the driving it would give him time to make phone calls and try to figure out where everyone was up to in the investigation.

He finally relented with a “Fine.”

Chapter 60

Chapter Text

Mulder quickly discovered that Monica Reyes wasn’t all that bad and her company was really quite pleasant. Her conversation was questioning yet respectful, and mostly based around the case or her time at the academy, and she was funny. She’d even bought a ton of healthy drinks and snacks, even if he did only stick to ice tea and sunflower seeds. He was actually glad of the company on a drive that was stretching into the hours already.

If he had one complaint it would be in her choice of music, if you could even call it music. She was driving so she’d commandeered the radio and had some god awful transcendental new age instrumental stuff on she said helped her relax. He was ready to throw it out of the window after half an hour but he had to sulk quietly as he knew the rule of the radio, he remembered employing it with Scully on one of their first trips together so knew he couldn’t bitch about it now.

He thought of her now and only hoped she was having a more productive time of it than he was. So far his list of names wasn’t getting him very far. Numerous calls had wielded nothing and most of the names had been traced already with various men either having died, moved on or in prison for a whole list of things unrelated to the matter at hand.

He knew he needed to bite the bullet and call Skinner and/or Purdue to see where they were up to.

“Is he really making himself a woman suit?”

He looked up at Reyes and her pale face and nodded, “That's the theory, it’s why he’s choosing the women he is.” She went back to staring at the road. “That's why we need to stop him,” he added. He tapped the pages in front of him heavily, pages that threatened to fall to the floor as they turned a sharp corner, “and I think our most likely suspect is this guy.”

Below his hand was the unsmiling face of their suspect and Reyes leaned over a little and looked at the man. She couldn’t believe that this nondescript guy was their guy, “Kind of uninspiring, isn’t he?”

“They usually are.” Most serial killers he’d come across were normal looking men, not the demons or bogeymen of people's nightmares and imaginations and they had pretty ordinary lives and held down jobs. Some even had wives and children. “But this guy, he fits the profile. Look at him, he’s got extensive experience with sewing and dressmaking, having learned both in prison, and he travels for his job doing deliveries, plus he has a violent background.”

“Why was he turned down for surgery?”

He fished out the report and read, “‘Too psychologically disturbed and not fitting the profile of a true transgender person.’” If this wasn’t their man then he didn’t know who was. “He also lied about his name, age and profession on his application…” His mouth fell open as he read the next part, “He also knew and had a relationship with Benjamin Raspail.” It was right there in black and white: Raspail had attended one of the prerequisite therapy sessions.

“The head?”

“Yeah…”

"Is there an address for him in Belvedere?"

"Not that I can see but we know he knew Frederica Bimmel, we know they had some kind of relationship, so it's not outside the realm of possibility that he's still there."

Beside him Reyes pressed harder on the gas and ran a stop light.

Chapter 61

Chapter Text

The first thing she was going to do once she got out of her hole in the ground was punch that bastard up there. The second thing she was going to do was break all his sh*tty records and bust up his boombox or whatever the hell he was using to play his sh*tty disco tunes on. All morning he’d been listening to music at a high volume and dancing around heavily on the floorboards above her. It was getting to her, the bass was making her vibrate and her teeth rattle, it was that bad. She couldn’t think and she needed to think. This was her moment. She needed to be resolute, brave.
Not that she felt like either. If anything she felt sick with nerves.

She patted the head of the dog in her arms, whimpering still from its long fall, trying to soothe its aches and pains. She was sure it had a broken leg. Usually she’d feel sorry for inflicting pain on an innocent creature but she didn’t really have the time, space or luxury to dwell on such things. Not when time was now of the essence and she had some negotiating to do. The f*cking police weren’t about to turn up anytime soon so she needed to get herself up and out of here.

In the distance she heard the sing-song voice of her captor bellowing over the music and her heart leapt and thudded loudly in her chest.

“Preeeeecious...!” he called again and she shuddered. His voice, a little closer now, echoed and traveled down to her along with the beat of his footfall. “Precious, come on Precious! Busy day today, a new outfit for momma…”

She looked up and bitterly murmured, “Busy my ass you sick motherf*cker, ain’t no one murdering me today.”

More insistently the voice called, “Precious!” and Precious whined and then yapped, responding to her name being called. If the dog wasn’t her ticket out of her she’d sooth it some more, as it was she wanted it yapping, wanted it to draw attention to them. She knew how much that son-of-a-bitch loved his dog and she was sure he’d do anything to get it back.

“Precious! Momma needs you…”

By the sound of him he was only in the next room and she stole a breath to calm herself down. A door opened and closed loudly somewhere and a light powered on and she knew what room he was in. The bug room. She could tell by the frantic flapping of their wings, the ding of creatures hitting the bulb as they sought out the light… it made her sick to her stomach, especially as at lunch he’d been watching her, sizing her up, while she licked at the tiny scraps. He didn't often speak to her (other than to shout and issue commands) but today he’d sat on the edge of the pit showing her different sized plump brown cocoons and telling her all about his 'babies'. Thankfully he’d left the bucket and the light on when he'd left which meant she’d been able to have another go at luring Precious. Thankfully her efforts had paid off this time around.

Precious yapped again and Catherine hugged her closer. “You listen to me you little sh*t, both you and I are about to get the hell outta here. You play your part and I swear to god I’ll buy you the biggest, juiciest, bone you ever dreamed of.”

The door to the room she was in creaked open. “You come here this minute, you little scamp, momma’s got something to show you.” Catherine could hear rustling, things being moved around. “Precious!” he said again. This time there seemed to be a note of alarm in his voice as he couldn’t locate his dog. “I have snacks for you! Yum, yum.”

Precious nipped at her and threatened to jump out of her arms but she managed to hold on firm. “Hey mister, she’s down here!” She tried to keep her tone even but within the frequent shivers of fear was also a sense of victory.

The man leaned cautiously over the precipice, his face emerging from the shadows much like one of his bugs from their shells. His face registered first disgust at her and then shock that she had his beloved companion. If he didn’t currently have a stainless steel Colt Python with a six inch barrel tucked loosely into his ratty pants Catherine would’ve registered the moment as one of triumph for her, the tables finally being turned.

His eyes were wide and his mouth was busy twisting into a sharp grimace. When he spoke he was alarmed, his voice shaky, “Precious? Sweetheart?”

She couldn’t help it, she actually laughed, even if it was a bitter one. “That’s right you sack of sh*t, she’s down here with me!”

His hand went shakily to his waist, for the gun, but thought better of it and retracted it quickly when he realized that if he took out Catherine then he could also lose his dog in the process and he didn’t want that. Instead his hand flew to his mouth and he sagged backwards as if he was ready to cry, a groan escaping his lips.

Precious whimpered and groaned again and when her captor next appeared he was more composed though his voice belied the fact, and he was clutching his gun over his heart, emotionally wounded, “Precious, are you alright?”

“She’s fine you sick bastard! Now get me a telephone! Do it now mister, I don’t want to have to hurt your dog again.” With a cry of fury he tried pointing the gun at her again but she was ready, fast and a step ahead. She held the now continuously yapping dog up to his line of fire. “You shoot motherf*cker you better kill me quick or I’ll break her f*cking neck, I swear to god: I’ll do it!”
She didn’t want to but she would. Anything now to save herself. Tucking the dog under one arm she grabbed it’s muzzle and twisted it’s head a little. The dog whined piteously and she did all she could to block it out.

“Now back the f*ck off!” she screamed.

The man above cried out, clearly in a quandary, but it was enough. Her ploy was working. He lowered the gun again, slowly this time. He looked like a man who had lost his last play. Thinking always thinking. She could hear his breath heavy and confused.

“That’s better!” she panted, adrenaline almost overwhelming her senses. Not for a second did she let go of the pup. “Now get me a live telephone with a long extension and lower it down here. You better do it fast mister because I’m in no f*cking mood and neither is Precious. I think her leg is broken. She’s in pain, mister, she needs a vet.”

He stood and watched for the longest time. Thinking. Contemplating. Planning it looked like to her. His features hard he ground out between gritted teeth, “You think she's in pain? You don't know what pain is. But you're going to find out…”

He left abruptly and she felt lost again. “f*ck!” she shouted after him.

She hugged the dog tighter, burying her face in its now dirty fur, her hands and arms twitching uncontrollably, and sobbed, not knowing if she still had the upper hand or not and feeling more lost and scared than ever.

Unbeknown to her he was already back in his insect den, his eyes already settling on a big pair of infra-red night vision goggles which he quickly grabbed. He switched off the light in the room, his painted toes creeping silently around as he tested out his equipment, his macabre tool raised high as the moths fluttered past his face, his mouth set in a grim line as he absorbed their power, his only thought: ‘this ends today'. He would wait no more.

Chapter 62

Chapter Text

It’d taken a long hour stuck on hold, every second ticking by loudly, like a death sentence, but finally she’d gotten through to someone from the Bureau, even if the connection was to Paul Krendler, a man she didn’t know personally but one she’d been continually warned against. Of course she was understanding why now and given the direction the conversation was taking she almost wished she hadn’t bothered picking up the phone.

“Miss Scully, do you have any idea of the damage you’ve caused here…”

She paced in her room, the phone with its long wire trailing behind her, amidst the worn furniture and sighed but not able to get a word in edgeways. “Sir…”

“A US Senator who’s half out of her head because her daughter’s likely going to be killed pretty soon, all because of your mind games and parlor tricks with Hannibal f*cking Lector!”
With the way he was admonishing her she felt like she was speaking to her father, however in the last few weeks she’d become better at confronting bad behavior and standing up to bullying tactics from these types of men and wouldn’t allow Krendler, or all people, to lay false blame. “Sir, if you hadn’t interfered, or let that jackass Chilton lead the show then Lecter would still be in custody in Baltimore!”

“Excuse me!” he fumed. “Let me just remind you who you’re talking to here, you’re nothing but a rube here Miss Scully, a green recruit with a phoney f*cking offer.”

And you’re an asshole, she wanted to reply. “Look, Sir, Lecter is on the loose, Buffalo Bill is still out there, I’m just trying to…”

“To what?” he scoffed. “To let more people escape?”

She scoffed herself and let him have it, “You’re just trying to cover your own ass for letting him escape. This is your fault, yours and Chilton’s alone, nobody else's. You wanted your name in lights, and if Catherine Martin dies then I will make sure you damn well get it.”

“Don’t threaten me young lady…”

“Then damn well listen.” She took a deep breath as he finally silenced, both struggling for composure as well as the upper hand. She wouldn’t give his antics any mind however. It seemed to her that his type was someone she would encounter a lot and she would, unfortunately, have to deal with it in her own way. “I need you to get hold of Skinner or Purdue, I need you to tell them about Buffalo Bill, about the type of man he is, about what he’s planning to do.”

“I think we know what type of man he is, Miss Scully.”

“It’s Doctor Scully, Sir, or Agent Trainee Scully.” He snored his derision but she ignored him and carried on. “He's making himself a ‘woman suit’ out of real women. He can sew, he’s skilled, a tailor or dressmaker…”

“Scully…”

“That's why he takes the woman he does, because he needs the skin, he keeps them alive to starve them awhile, to loosen their skin, so that…”

There was a sigh before a bitter rebuke, “Agent Trainee Scully,” he spat bitterly, like saying her title was a personal affront. “We know all this from Mulder, from the reports you’ve been filing. Why are you telling me all this again now?”

“Because I think he’s in Belvedere. I think he’s been there all along and I think we need to concentrate all of our manpower there, set up a command center.”

“More tax dollars wasted! Pointless anyway.”

“If you would just patch me through to Skinner so I could explain.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because Skinner is on his way to Calumet City.”

“What’s in Calumet City?”

“You mean outside of all the rubes and unattractive prostitutes? Buffalo Bill.”

She wanted to scream, not just at his current crude bullsh*t but at his obtuseness. “Then he’s going to the wrong place.”

“Oh you think so do you? Is that because of your years of experience and understanding of criminal profiles? Unlike you Scully, Jerry Lamana has unlocked this case after lots of diligent work and done more in the last day and a half than you and Mulder have done in the last few weeks. We know who Buffalo Bill is, we know where he is and we have people on their way now to arrest him and return Catherine Martin to her mother’s ample bosom.”

“Who?” she asked, surprised. She had the list with her and had narrowed it down to a few names but nothing too definitive.

“His name is Jame Gumb, sometimes known as Jamie Gumb or John Grant. We ran the name’s John Hopkins gave us through the known offenders database and came up with a hit. Lecter's description was accurate. He just lied about the name.”

She marched over to the table in her room and opened up her Mackintosh Portable and quickly established a connection to the Bureau’s main server to look up Jame Gumb. Unfortunately she didn’t have the clearance to look at any of the finder details, like his arrest warrant and photo, but she could at least look at the work Lamana had done to get to this point, which was little more than piggy back off of her’s and Mulder’s own work. She rolled her eyes and searched the name, and variations of it, on the immigration and customs database, while Krendler continued to talk in her ear, and got an immediate hit.

“Customs have some paperwork on him. They stopped a carton of insects two years ago at LAX. Live caterpillars from Surinam,” she said. “Moth caterpillars.”

This seemed to be news to him but he still derided her mini achievement. “See what a little work does for you Agent Trainee Scully. Let me guess the addressee was Jame Gumb?”

“It was.”

“Now what was the address on that?”

He was mocking her, she knew it, but she answered anyway. “An address in Calumet City…”

“An address in Calumet City that matches the one he had when he went to Johns Hopkins, an address which we’re hitting with SWAT in about an hour. What your little computer there won’t be showing you is that this Gumb's a real beauty. His mother was an alcoholic prostitute and he grew up in foster care until he was 10. His grandmother, being the upstanding member of society that she was, retrieved him and he went to live with her and her husband. Want to know how he repaid their kindness? When he was 12 he killed her along with his grandfather, took both of their heads clean off with a hunting rifle while they were preparing a Sunday meal. He did nine years in juvenile psychiatric, where, Scully, he took vocational rehab, and learned a useful trade: sewing and tailoring.”

She didn’t know what to say. She was actually quite stunned. She could have guessed the past of this Jame Gumb, it wasn’t like serial killers had great upbringings and uncomplicated lives, but it was still shocking… And yet she couldn’t and wouldn’t doubt herself, not now. Couldn’t doubt her work or Lecter’s clues. She was convinced he was here, in Belvedere. Everything pointed to it. She could feel it in her bones. “If Skinner and Purdue knew what I’d found here in Belvedere…”

He cut her off fast, angrily, “You’re in Belvedere?”

Like a deer in the headlight she could only think of one word as she froze on the spot; ‘crap’. It took her a while to form others. The truth was the only thing that would save her. “I’m working on linking Frederica Bimmel to Buffalo Bill. We want him for murder, not just kidnapping.”

“Catherine Martin will ensure he never leaves jail.”

“This is about all the victims, Sir.”

He laughed, “You really are a rube. This has never been about the victims, this is all political. It’s about making sure that, in the end, this looks good for Washington and the FBI. The sooner you understand that the better. Now I suggest you get on a plane and get your ass back to Quantico asap before I report you to the Director. Until then you’re suspended. Your temporary badge is revoked and if I hear of you running around any more yokel towns I’ll personally....”

She slammed the phone down and muttered, “Asshole. Total and utter asshole.” That men like him existed didn’t surprise her, what did was that they were so blatant about their terrible, sh*tty, behavior.

She slumped back in her chair and sighed. She picked at the remains of her early lunch and looked at the time. In about 10 minutes she had an appointment with Stacey Conners and she wasn’t about to miss it. Sure she could do as she was told and go back to base but nobody was going to stop her now, not even that sleazeball Krendler. She was here to finish a job and she would finish it. Who was going to stop her anyway? Even if he had revoked her ID, and even if she knew impersonating a federal officer was a felony, as a private citizen she could do as she damn well liked.

She grabbed her keys and purse and set off.

Chapter 63

Chapter Text

Like everybody else in Belvedere Stacey Ann Conners smelled strongly of grief, it seeped from every pore and she wore her head low and her brow frowned. The young woman was clearly trying to disguise it with a perky half smile but she was weary, nervous and prone to picking at the items on her desk and staring off into the distance to look at the lines of waiting customers and the other bank tellers.

Scully of course had every sympathy and allowed the girl her veil of mourning but she needed to get through to her too and when Stacey was in danger of drifting off she tapped her pencil against her notepad to draw her thoughts back to the present.

“What can you tell me about the day she disappeared?”

Stacey stared at her and shrugged. “Nothing to tell.” She played with her cigarette smoldering in the ashtray, stubbed it out and got another out of the packet and lit it with shaking hands. “At least no more than I already told the other FBI Agents and the cops.” She took a deep drag and shook her head, “They said she was just rags when they found her, like somebody....” She shook her head, unable to finish. “It’s just f*cked up, it wasn’t enough they killed her, they had to skin her too.”

She sniffed and Scully allowed her the moment before asking softly, “Stacey, did Frederica ever mention a man, a boyfriend, someone she was close to, someone she might have kept secret from her father?”

“Not really. She had fairy tale dreams of white weddings you know but nothing serious.”

“Nobody?”

She shrugged, “I was her best friend, we told each other everything and there wasn’t anyone. Sure she liked a few guys around town, giggled at the jocks and the bikers, but nothing serious. She was shy, gentle. I never saw her approach anyone and if a guy showed interest in her she lost the power of speech.”

The last part was said with such fondness that Scully smiled. “So there was no mention of a man named Jame Gumb or John Grant?” she asked, looking down the list of names and reading the others aloud in the hope one would register. The blank expression across from her was all she needed to know and she tried not to sigh too loudly in frustration. She knew from Lecter’s clues, the sign on the train and the pictures she’d found at the Bimmel house that Buffalo Bill was around here somewhere. She just needed to find out where exactly. He was within touching distance and that she couldn’t quite grab a hold of his coattails. It was torturous.

“If she’d had a guy, I’da known, believe me. The only passion in her life was her sewing. It was her life.” She puffed up at the ceiling and contemplated, lost in another memory. “She was really great at it. Poor Freddie.”

She wiped a tear away and Scully handed her a tissue from the box on the oak desk between them and contemplated the relationship between Frederica and Buffalo Bill and Frederica and her friends, there were secrets everywhere. “Did you ever work with Frederica?” she asked in the hope that she could perhaps get some clients names and go and speak with them.

Stacey brightened, “Oh sure, me’n Pam Malavesi….”

“Pam Malavesi?”

After blowing her nose loudly Stacey clarified, “We all went to the same high school, she’s one of the few who escaped this place. She moved to California to be with her grandmother at the start of the summer, she’s a hairdresser or sumthin' now.” Scully took the offered, hastily scribbled, phone number and Stacey continued, “We all used to do alterations for old Mrs. Lippman. Lots of people worked for her, she had the business from all the local retail stores but she was like, totally old, it was more'n she could handle so she tendered out the work to us.”

Finally she felt like she had a lead. “Where does Mrs. Lippman live? I'd like to talk to her.”

Caught in a reminiscence, Stacey explained, “Man, I’ve not seen her around for ages! I think she might’ve moved down to Florida, like a year or two ago.”

She didn’t even try to hide her disappointment this time around and sagged. The trail was once again cold. She had to think on her feet, and fast, “Do you know if she left a forwarding address?”

Stacey shook her head, her harshly cut hair becoming untidy in the process. “Not with me but there’s a guy living in her house now.” She reached into her desk drawer for her address book while she chatted shyly, “Is that a pretty good job, FBI Agent?”

She couldn’t help smiling. Despite the case the FBI was the best thing that had ever happened to her. “I think so.”

“You get to travel around and stuff? I mean, better places than this?”

“Sometimes.” It hit her then that Stacey was very much like she was not so long ago, looking for something, anything, to get her out and away from the drudgery of the everyday and the weight of expectation, to prove she could be more than what other people said she was. “You know, they’re always looking for financial analysts at the Bureau…”

Stacey perked up, seeming like for the first time someone might be taking her seriously. “I go to community college part time you know, tryin’ to get some accountancy qualifications.”

She smiled kindly, “That’s great, keep it up and you never know.”

“Yeah well, still a way to go…”

Half distracted, Scully still fished around in her purse and handed over her card. Recently she’d had some official cards printed up and while it had seemed premature at the time it now felt good to be able to offer a bit of hope to someone else, much like someone had done for her not so long ago. “You call me up when you graduate and we’ll talk.”

Stacey sat taller, a proper smile on her face for the first time. She fingered the card like it was a sacred object. Scully supposed it was in a way and knew if she couldn't save Catherine she could at least offer a ray of light to someone else. Eventually Stacey put it away and returned the favor by giving Scully Mrs. Lippman’s old contact details.

“Freddie was so happy for me when I got this job. This…” she said, waving her hand to showcase the dreary room and the awful music emanating from a ratty old speaker somewhere. “Toaster giveaways, Barry Manilow on the speakers all day, she thought this was really hot sh*t. What did she know, big dummy…”

Suddenly she was fighting tears. Scully reached to hug her knowing that it wasn’t just about the people who died but the people they left behind too and the whole town would probably take a long time to recover.

Chapter 64

Chapter Text

No one seemed to be home. Or at least that was the illusion emanating from Mrs Lippman’s tatty Victorian era property. In fact it didn’t look like anyone had lived here in a long time. Whereas all the surrounding houses had new white paint and flowery gardens this place looked neglected. The garden was little more than dry gray dirt, the windows either had their curtains drawn or were fully netted and covered in dead flies and the garage was boarded up. There were signs all over the place about keeping off the property too.

She rang the doorbell again, an old style electric buzzer that blasted throughout the building and underground from what she could tell from the resonant echo at her feet, she could almost feel the porch vibrating every time she pressed it. There was something under this house, a mine maybe she thought idly. This area had a lot of mines.

She waited and then pressed one last time, her bag clutched firmly in her hand. She looked up and down the street and sighed. Nobody was around, not many cars in any of the driveways, everything was neat and tidy. Except the old Lippman house. It set her on edge. She didn’t even know what she was looking for here, other than a forwarding address, but fulfilling her enquiries and doing her door-to-door was the least she could do. Sure she might not find Buffalo Bill or Catherine here but she could at least put that she tried in her final report. Nobody could blame her then (though she was sure they would).

Shoulders sagging, she turned to walk away just as the door opened. She turned back and smiled at the man peeping out from the chained door. “Hi.”

“Yes, can I help you?”

She smiled again at the figure, the figure that didn’t look too happy to see her, and took him in quickly. He seemed harmless enough at first glance, a man who wouldn’t necessarily stand out too much in a group of people really, but when you really looked there was a strange quality to him, his shoulder length silky off blond hair didn’t quite suit and his clothes were mismatched, like he’d dressed in a hurry. He also, despite his slim physique, held himself powerfully and tall.

She tried to shake it off. “I’m looking for Mrs Lippman, or someone from her family” she finally said.

The man frowned but seemed to visibly relax. He closed the door just enough to remove the chain and opened it wider. For the first time she was able to see him in all his glory and was able to look at his bland, pale eyed, moon face. Seeing him fully and in natural light did nothing to assuage her opinion that he was strange looking.

“They don’t live here anymore,” he replied in his odd voice. Each note seemed sharply detached from the others.

He started to close the door again but she reached out and stopped him, pushing politely but firmly against the chipped paint of the heavy door. Every fiber of her being was telling her to persist here. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her ID. He didn’t have to know it had been revoked. “Excuse me but I really do need to talk to you. This was Mrs. Lippman's house wasn’t it? Did you know her?”

He dropped his head but opened the door wide. “Just briefly. What’s the problem Officer…”

“Agent…”

He leaned in and read her name, “Agent Scully.”

“I'm investigating the death of Fredrica Bimmel. Who are you, please?” she demanded as she put her ID away.

“Jack Gordon.”

Scully looked him square in the eyes and squinted at him disbelievingly as she connected the dots. “Jack Gordon?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Jack Gordon, John Grant and Jame Gumb. It was all too similar not to be a coincidence. Oh god, she thought, what if this was Buffalo Bill? What if she’d found him after all? She tried not to show any emotion, tried not to panic. Jack Gordon was a common enough name and she knew nothing about this man, he could be perfectly normal. She hoped Jack Gordon really was just Jack Gordon and not a piss poor attempt at creating another alias. Her sixth sense certainly was tingling however and when she looked down at his ruby red toenails her suspicions only grew stronger. She needed to find a way to keep him talking.

“I heard Mrs Lippman went to Florida,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off of him. “I was hoping I could find a forwarding address.”

“No, she died.”

To Scully that was strange and conflicted with what Stacey had told her. “She died?”

“Uh huh, about two years ago now.” Jack Gordon, or whoever he was, looked briefly over his shoulder, towards the middle of his disarrayed living room, before turning back to her with a smile and announcing, in his strange manner, “You know, Mrs. Lippman had a son, maybe he could help you. I have his card somewhere. Do you mind stepping inside, while I look for it?”

Every cell in her head was screaming at her not to, lactic acid was forcing its way into her limbs as if to stop her physically and she knew she should probably call someone, the local sheriff, but she still didn’t have enough evidence. She offered a watchful, “Thanks” as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, a loud click of the latch that made her flinch. Thankfully his back was to her and he didn't see it.

She pulled her notepad out of her bag and poised her pen as she watched him searching his filthy, musty smelling, abode. She wasn’t sure he’d be able to find anything in here, the room was overstuffed with junk, too many porcelain figurines to count and boxes and boxes of paperwork. Even the sofa, with its moth-eaten cover, looked condemnable.

He was talking again and she forced herself to focus as he made casual conversation. “That horrible business with Frederica, I shiver every time I think about it.”

“Did you know her? Frederica I mean.”

He stopped rifling through old letters long enough to answer, “No.”

“Are you sure about that, Sir? Frederica worked for Mrs Lippman for a while.”

“Uh-uh.” He threw the letters down on a desk that had one of its legs propped up on a small stack of paperbacks and picked up some more. To Scully he didn’t really look like he was looking all that hard as he’d pick stuff up and only give a cursory glance before moving on. He looked over at her, sizing her up. “Oh, wait. Was Frederica a great, big, fat person?”

She forced herself not to react. She wanted to size this guy up herself, not cause a commotion. “She was a big girl, yes.” She noted the unnerving twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah, then I may have.” He changed his mind, covering himself and his tone became neutral. “No, I read about her in the newspaper.”

She didn’t believe him for a second. “It’s big news around here though.” A loud buzz, like the rapid beating of wings, coming from an alcove ahead of them, where the kitchen lay, caught her attention and she tried to spot what it was coming from. She craned her head but saw nothing.

He shrugged as he moved to rummage through a stuffed tallboy. “Are they close to catching somebody, do you think?”

The noise was getting louder and then she saw it: a giant dark brown moth with a distinctive white skull type pattern on it. It flew into the room and landed near some old cotton reels above ‘Jack Gordon's’ head before crawling out of sight along the top of the cupboard he was pulling things out of. Her eyes went wide and she immediately knew that this was the man she was looking for. She was face-to-face with Buffalo Bill. Alone and in his living room. The realization hit her hard. Her heart pounded in her chest and her mind went to ways of escape, of getting out of here to alert the authorities so that they could come in and find Catherine.

“I think we may be, yes,” she breathed, a hint of fear even to her own ears, while willing her frozen feet to move and her body to stop shaking.

He stiffened almost imperceptibly but she knew he’d figured out that she had the measure of him now. He continued rustling papers, opening drawers and pretending to search for that card. While he did so she carefully put her notepad and pen down along with her bag so as not to make any noise and reached into her coat until she found her holster and undid the clasp that held her weapon in place. The pop of the button echoing around her skull to the point she thought she was practically waving a flag under his nose for attention.

She took a deep breath and tried to summon up energy, tried to remember her training and realized frighteningly that it would never be enough for real world situations. Her heart was beating out of little more than pure fear now.

And yet he was as casual as anything as he continued to talk. “Well I’m sure you’ll get your man… or woman.”

She was sure she would. She just needed to work out how. He had a lot of physical advantages over her and while she had her gun he could still overpower her if he lunged at her. She needed to get him into a position where she could arrest him without too much of a commotion, she needed to do it without giving away any of her authority and without making herself vulnerable in the process. Perhaps if she pointed her weapons and tossed him the cuffs he could secure himself.

“Did you take over this place after Mrs Lippman died, is that right?” she asked nervously.

“Yeah, I bought this house two years ago.”

“Did she leave any records along with her forwarding address? Any business records? Tax forms maybe? A list of employees?”

He was moving more cautiously now, edging further away and it only further aroused her suspicions. She took a small step in his direction. Mindful that if he moved out of this room he would definitely have the advantage as he knew this house inside out and she’d only seen one room. She dreaded to think of what rooms lay hidden in this place, what nightmare existed beneath their feet.

“No, nothin' like that at all.” He looked up at her and smiled, his tone casual but his eyes watchful and probing. “Say, has the FBI learned something? The police around here don't seem to have the first clue. I mean, have you got, like, a description, fingerprints, anything like that?”

“No,” she lied. Swallowing a heavy painful breath of air she added quietly, “No, we don't.”

He picked up a small card and announced, “Here's that number.”

With a tremendous effort to keep her voice under control she muttered, “Very good, Mr Gordon. May I use your phone, please?” She was aware her line of vision hadn’t left him for some time now, she realized she hadn’t blinked for a long time either. Her eyes felt as dry as her mouth. She wondered if he was sizing her up, wondering what piece of clothing he could turn her into. She doubted she’d make a dress for him, a purse maybe.

He licked his lips suspiciously as his breathing slowed and he set his jaw. He knew he’d been figured out, she could tell by the way he somehow managed to roll his eyes without rolling them, by the way his head tilted and by the fact that he was struggling to remain in control, gulping air in and looking like he was weighing up whether or not to charge at her.

“Sure, you can use my phone,” he said, almost grinning behind his hand.

She grabbed her gun, whipping it out like she’d been taught to and raised it in one fluid movement, utilizing the stance that Marty Neal had taught her at the firing range. “Freeze!” she bellowed. “Put your hands over your head and turn around!”

The gun felt heavy and her hands were already shaking and sweating but she remained resolute as he raised his hands, letting the cards he was holding cascade to the floor.

She tried to force more authority into her voice as he wasn’t following her orders, in fact he looked positively smug and was still smiling at her. “Spread your legs. Spread your legs! Put your hands behind you and then get down on the floor slowly. Hands and legs spread, move it...”

It seemed to work as he lifted his hands and turned slowly so he was facing the other room. However, it was all he needed to make his escape. He took two quick steps and disappeared around the corner into the alcove and then the kitchen, a door slamming behind him somewhere. She tried shouting after him but it was pointless.

“f*ck!” she shouted, cursing him and admonishing herself for hesitating, thinking that she might have actually had a chance to shoot him as he was retreating. It would’ve been a clear shot too, right between his shoulders.

It was too late to think of that now and she followed after him instead, shrugging off her thick winter coat as she did so, knowing that whatever happened here today, whether they found Catherine alive or dead, or if she herself befell some grizzly fate, there would be an ending to all of this.

Chapter 65

Chapter Text

]Breathing hard and erratically she moved into the dilapidated kitchen, careful not to leave any of her body exposed as she didn’t know if he was armed or not, and went to the back door, moving past an abundance of takeaway cartons and stacks of old newspapers as she did to. It was locked so she definitely knew he was still in the house somewhere.

The only other door in the grease covered room was a battered green barrier which she pulled open quickly letting it ricochet hard off the wall. It led to a stairwell leading downwards and her heart leapt into her throat again. Her only thought was Catherine. If she was down there and Buffalo Bill felt cornered it might provoke him into doing something rash, she had no choice but to go after him into the abyss.

She moved slowly, her back firmly against the wall, swiveling her gun downwards as she did so, making sure to keep an eye on everything in front of her, she didn’t want anyone jumping out at her, and called out, “Jame Gumb, I know you can hear me, come out now with your hands up.”

She didn’t expect a reply and got none, as there was no sign of her suspect, so she began her descent on the creaky stairs, forcing her eyes to adjust to the fading light and her breath to accommodate the stale air. She wanted to gag, already she could smell the putrid stench of death. She only hoped it wasn’t a fresh kill.

Below was a small landing and beyond that more stairs that led to three doors, all in the same green color as before. She briefly looked back up, at the heavenly light that beckoned her towards safety, but shook her head. Catherine needed her. She kept telling herself to be brave, one step at a time, even though it was the last thing she felt.

The deeper she went the staler the air became, the more putrid and thick it felt, until she was in front of the doors, her ears ringing and then popping. It was hot too and she was glad she’d removed her coat as she was already sweating, her shirt and sweater clinging to her flushed and too warm skin. They were deep down here, someone had dug a long way underground. Someone had done this with only one purpose in mind and that was privacy for a kill.

Her hand reached for one of the handles and then she hesitated. What if it was the wrong one? What if he was lurking behind one of them waiting to pounce? She craned her head, listening intently. There was nothing, a distant muffle, a voice maybe calling out. Was it Catherine? Was he doing something to her?

She switched to the middle door, it seemed the least threatening, and pulled it open. She was hit by the stench of sweat and bodily fluids, the unmistakable odor of decomposition and bleach, she could recognise it anywhere after spending time in the labs and morgues of Quantico and med school. If she wasn’t so concerned with keeping her weapon, her only advantage here, leveled in front of her she would have shielded her nose and mouth because the smell was intoxicating and making her eyes water.

The voice, which she thought she could hear, only became more distinct as she edged along the bare brick walls of a long dark corridor. It was definitely female. Definitely Catherine. Definitely pained and panicked and frightened, hell she was frightened too as they were both lost somewhere down here to the killing maze, the catacomb that was Buffalo Bill’s playground.

Despite the horror here, despite the screams, she faced the almost absurd feeling of wanting to cheer, of wanting to celebrate the fact Catherine was still alive, that she’d made it this far.

Still, any real celebrations would have to wait. With a maniac on the loose it was impossible to feel anything proper besides dread. She wasn’t even sure what she should be doing or where she should be going right now. She couldn’t see anything, the only sign that anyone had ever been down here was Catherine’s voice and a state map of the US with pins and string all over it showcasing where Buffalo Bill had picked up and dumped his victims.

She did the only thing available to her and concentrated on the voice, on where it was coming from. There were too many doors leading off the brick walled passage though, too many options and she couldn’t think or concentrate, couldn’t push past her fear long enough to put a rational plan into action. She felt suffocated in the claustrophobic space. She’d never been more scared in her life, it was only adrenaline, a fight response, that was stopping her from falling to her knees and sobbing.

Wiping sweat from her brow with her wrist she felt the knots of the Tzitzit scraping her sensitive clammy skin and felt a wave of calmness wash over her, a sense of goodness. Though she didn't put any weight behind any spiritual significance, or think of it as any intervention, it was exactly what she needed, and felt the string was as important to her now as her necklace was. She felt Mulder with her and knew that he would trust her instincts. She knew he would tell her to get the job done, keep safe and don't endanger yourself or anyone, but get it done.

She advanced, more assured, picking a door at random and pushing it open. Inside was a T shaped junction that looked like it looped around on itself. The lighting here was dim but better and she could make out separate rooms, work spaces by the look of it. A sewing room, a place to display garments, a toilet.

She balked when her eyes caught sight of a mannequin display. Most were dressed in what she would politely describe as ‘party wear’ but one stood out from the rest. Sitting in front of a wall of pinned newspaper headlines, Buffalo Bill’s greatest hits, was his woman suit. A patchwork of several women forced together to create an all-in-one cover-up, complete with a left breast and pubic mount. The upper right side was missing and she could only assume that Catherine was meant to finish the piece. The skin was leathery and curling at the edges but it’d been well preserved and lovingly looked after.

Scully lowered her gun long enough to gag, bile forcing its way up through the meager lunch and burning the back of her mouth. She spat it out and wiped her mouth, not even caring that she’d contaminated a crime scene. There was enough evidence here to condemn Jame Gumb for the next 999 years plus life. That was if he didn't get the death penalty.

Edging passed the suit, and a wall of Polaroid pictures of the crimes, she almost stumbled as she was forced to look at it, a gruesome artifact to a horrific crime. She’d read about cases involving the use of human skin for furniture, had even seen pictures of Ed Gein’s living room with its chairs upholstered in the pale epidermis of a woman he’d stolen from the grave, during her reading of Mulder’s thorough profile but there was nothing to seeing it first hand.

A dog yapped and then whined and Catherine screamed louder and she thought for a second that she could feel her suspect looming over her. She was as vulnerable as Catherine here, the junction of the room left her exposed so she put her feelings behind her, leveled her breathing and moved on, there was nothing she could do for anyone here anyway though she did think that if it took the rest of her life to figure out the jigsaw garment made up of multiple victims so that everyone got a fit and proper burial, and the families received peace, then she would do it. Nobody deserved to have parts of their loved ones missing.

Up ahead and to her left was a door that had a big bolt on the outside and she figured that would be her best bet. She didn’t want to give her own position away but she still whispered a desperate, “Catherine?”

The only reply was a scream and she knew she had chosen correctly. She heaved the bolt back as silently as she could and pushed the rickety door in. She was immediately hit by the loud sobs of the captured woman, the yelp of an injured animal and the horrendous smell of bodily fluids and death.

And yet she could hear Catherine but not see her. The only thing in the cold, dark room was an old well with a bare light bulb hanging above it. She hoped to god Catherine wasn’t down there but she already knew the answer.

“Hello?” Scully called desperately. “Are you there?”

She waved her gun around, making sure the room was clear and grabbed at a shovel she found to her right and, speedily slamming the door closed and forcing the shovel against it. If Buffalo Bill wanted to take her out he’d have to earn it.

“I’m down here!” came the relieved reply. “Help me!”

“Catherine Martin?” she asked, advancing on the oubliette, checking obvious nooks and crannies and holes in the wall for evidence of her target.

“Yes, I’m down here. Please help me!”

“I will Catherine, I’ll get you out of there I promise…” she tried to keep the conviction in her voice but knew she wasn’t succeeding very well. There were more doors ahead of her and she knew she couldn’t cover them all, she was totally exposed. “My name’s Dana, I’m with the FBI.”

She leaned over the edge of the pit briefly and nearly recoiled. Though otherwise alive Catherine looked bruised, battered and filthy. Her blond hair was matted and coated in dirt and blood and Scully knew her mental state must be utterly frayed at this point, she knew hers was and she wasn’t going though anywhere near the same level of stress as Catherine.

“You’re safe now,” Scully told her while fighting the urge to climb down there and physically comfort the woman as she pondered how on earth she was going to get her out of there. “You’re going to be ok.” She wasn’t sure if she was saying that to Catherine or to herself or to them both.

“Safe, sh*t, get me the hell out of here!”

I’m working on it, she thought. She didn’t want to tell Catherine that it still might be some time to go yet. “Where is he?” she asked, hopelessly looking around.

“How the f*ck should I know?” Catherine raised her voice becoming hysterical again, “He’s got a gun, get me outta here! Please!”

She waved her gun around again, gripping it more tightly than she ever had, and began walking off towards the exit. “Catherine, it’s ok now, you’re ok” Scully said, trying to reassure the woman and failing. Catherine’s voice was only getting louder, as was the dogs, and Scully realized she might have to be a bit stern here, the last thing she wanted as she could perfectly understand why Catherine was so frantic. Scully was the only hope she’d seen in weeks. “You have to be quiet.”

“Get me out of here!” she screamed hoarsely.

Scully retreated back to the pit, looked over the edge again and warned, “Be quiet! You have to be quiet!” She knew it was a lot to ask but she needed Catherine and her dog to shut up so that Bill wouldn’t know her position. “Shut that dog up too,” she snapped impatiently, her nerves shot to pieces. She felt cruel shouting at her but if they were both going to get out of here alive it had to be done and it wasn’t like a reassuring tone was working.

“Please!” Catherine sobbed.

“Catherine, I'm going to get you out of there, but right now you listen to me…” she was already off, determined to find that son-of-a-bitch. “I’m going to leave the room but I’ll be right back.”

It clearly wasn’t what Catherine wanted to hear again as she was screaming, “No! Don't you leave me here, you f*ckin' bitch! Don't you leave me here! This guy's f*ckin' crazy! Please! I gotta get outta here!”

As she left the chamber she replied, “Catherine, the other officer will be here any minute now.” She didn’t dare tell Catherine that not only did the police not know that she was here, neither did anyone else. “I need to go and find a ladder or a rope.”

“Wait! Don't go! Please!”

“Quiet!” she warned one last time. ”I need to hear.” She didn’t wait for an answer though Catherine was happy to give one, calling her a ‘whor*’ and a ‘f*cking bitch’ again. She supposed in her situation she would say the same; a glimpse of freedom only to have it cruelly snatched away. Hope snubbed out in an instance. It wasn’t fair, none of this was, and terrorized shouts soon turned to sobs.

Chapter 66

Chapter Text

After getting her breath back and blocking out the sounds of poor Catherine’s crying, and the annoying sound of her own nervous breathing, Scully found herself in a curved passageway which lead to a kind of an antechamber to a bathroom, there was an old rusting boiler and a place to hang coats anyway. She still couldn’t figure out where Gumb might be, the advantage he had here was immense and she was starting to think her endeavor was hopeless and she was lost.

Still, she wasn’t ready to give up just yet and crouched low, listened and then in one swift movement burst forward through the door frame and stopped dead in her tracks, disgusted and scared all in one measure.

The room she was in was indeed a bathroom, old fashioned and tiled, a standard sink and toilet, a big free standing tub with claw feet. It hadn’t been used in a very long time, at least not by any living creature. Above the bath was a dirty yellow and plastic shower curtain.

She pulled it open and nearly screamed. In the bathtub was what remained of an older woman, her wispy gray hair and patchy skull poking out from a thick brown soup of human tissue and waste and god only knew what else. Absurdly it reminded her of her Aunt Olive’s lump gravy. The smell of rot and bleach was indescribable though. Before she closed the curtain again she noticed a dark and shriveled hand with pink nail polish and a dainty wrist watch still attached.

She was no anthropologist but she knew a lot about decomposition and there was no way that this was a recent kill. Two years had been mentioned upstairs and it looked about right. She instantly felt for the person who would have to fish Mrs Lippman out of there however. She couldn’t believe that there were people who actually wished for crime scenes of this magnitude but they were gung-ho idiots, idiots like Colton.

She turned to leave but just as she reached for the door the old clank of a relay hit and the lights went out.

Catherine’s cries got louder, turning back into screams, and Scully knew she’d shout too if she wasn’t so scared and could actually find her voice, as it was only a little frightened squeak issued forth and she felt even more hopeless. For the first time in a while she sent up a genuine prayer, a call for some divine intervention. It was like the world had ended, it was so dark and she could swear the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

The worst thing about all this was that she didn’t have any time to react or process any of this because as soon as she became acquainted with one sensation her body and mind was forced to deal with another. She was back feeling like she didn’t know what to do again: not knowing whether she was supposed to wait for him to find her? Wait for death? Wait until she groped around long enough in the dark that she fell into the pit too…

Well she wasn’t waiting for that and she wouldn’t wait around for Krendler to get his head out of his ass and call Skinner. She needed to save herself because nobody else would.

She began groping around with one hand, moving nervously and weaving back and forth, gun forever out with no question that she would put it away, shaking and half out of her mind in the inky dark but nevertheless determined. Her face glistened with sweat again but she could do nothing about it.

The walls around her were like ice in the heat and she had no clue as to where she was headed. She tried to remember the path she’d taken to get here and recalled that the main space, with Gumb’s lab, looped around on itself so the bathroom must have another exit somewhere as there was nowhere else to go unless she went back towards the pit room.

She soon found what she was looking for when she groped around and found a door handle. She turned it and fell forwards hitting what felt like a swivel chair and then a sewing machine, she recoiled and righted herself but soon found she had another issue to deal with; bugs. Moths to be precise. She could feel them everywhere, all over her skin, flapping her ears and causing dissonance. Above they crashed into lightbulbs with a ding and swooped back and forth between her and their hiding place, no doubt looking for food. They were everywhere and he must have let them loose.

Rationally she knew it was probably only one or two, three at a push, however in the dark everything was amplified. She attempted to bat them away but they came unabated so she took a deep breath, dragged the sewing table in front of the door and left the area as fast as she could.

She could tell she was back amongst the mannequins when one of them toppled onto her as she pushed past, its plastic fingers scraping harshly at her cheek and drawing blood. She yelped and then immediately willed herself to stay quiet as she could swear she was being followed. Gumb had to be here somewhere after all. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was watching her though a surveillance camera.

A sudden click and a hum caused her to jump. She spun around and almost shot blindly before noticing, at the last second, the light from a small refrigerator, its thermostat just switched on. She dreaded to think what was in there but used it as a guide, a light in the metaphorical darkness as well as the literal.

Fighting for calm she battled through the moths again, slashing at thin air with her free hand as she did so. ‘Where are you?’ she thought. ‘Come out you son of a bitch!’ Blood was oozing from her cheek causing it to itch, hair from the moths was probably irritating it too and sweat was causing it to sting but still she moved. Occasionally she’d smack into an armoire or a sink, the dripping faucet as loud as a fog horn, clutched at a counter top and felt razor sharp knives under the tips of her fingers, not even caring when they scratched, and jars of what smelled like caustic soda and other irritants. This was his skinning area she realized, some of the chemicals she recognised as preserving agents.

She heaved a sigh of relief when she reached the refrigerator, an old fish tank with murky water and a dim blue neon light not far off, and realized that she could close this part of the cellar off, there was a door which she closed. She was well aware that while it might narrow the space and her options for escape (as she’d be stuck in the central junction of the cellar and a few of its side rooms) it nevertheless gave her an advantage in that if he burst through the door she would at least have a direction to fire.

She used the poor light to seize a chair, wedging it in the door handle until it was stuck firm and then began softly feeling the wall out and around, retracing her steps until she came to a previously overlooked area. Her foggy memory reminded her that the area was near the mannequins and probably a storeroom of some kind. She went in after her gun, deciding that she needed to find a proper space to shelter.

She crossed the space carefully, her feet hitting boxes and her arms hitting old furniture, and listened. She could still hear Catherine, so distant now (but otherwise safe in her own shut off area of the cellar) but otherwise she couldn’t make out anything. She needed to get to the back of the room and hide so that when he inevitably came looking for her she could surprise him.

She wanted to ask him where he was, wanted to call out, but she also wasn’t stupid so continued to grope in the dark. A creek caught her attention but it soon disappeared so she shoved some boxes in frustration, wanting to kick out at them.

There was another creek and then something altogether not right, a high pitched sound, almost like a camera shutter being switched on, which made her jump and then she felt it, a puff of air against her skin, too close. It made her skin crawl, it felt like the moths all over again. It was soon replaced by a flick to her hair and she knew someone was in here with her. Someone was playing with her. She’d walked into a trap and put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from crying out. If this was the end it was a poor way to go.

She pushed forward, her arms outstretched, stumbling to her knees, trying to get away, and then she saw him reflected in a piece of broken mirror. He was glaring at her through the eerie green glow of a pair of infra-red night vision goggles. It illuminated parts of his body and she could tell he was wearing his terrifying, half-completed suit of human skins. In the raw darkness he looked like a monster, otherworldly. Coupled with her own terrified breathing and his excited puffs of air (that he was no longer trying to hide) the room sounded like it housed one too.

He advanced on her, his arms spread wide like a high priest, a weapon in his hand, a Colt Python she recognised, and she spun around quickly, Quantico trained, and ready to end this. She aimed at him as he co*cked his own weapon, the sound registering as a loud metallic click but a beacon in the dark, something other than the green light to focus on, and fired point blank into him. A calmness washed over her for the first time since she'd stepped foot down here. It was either her or him and she wasn't going to lose.

The echo of her weapon firing roared and crashed hugely as she hit him square in the chest, the right shoulder and then the head. His own gun firing automatically as his brain went through the motions or life before he faded away and fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

She didn’t stop until her chamber was empty, like she’d been taught, letting bullets fly into the wall behind him and then into the shutters of windows which poured light into the room as soon as they were splintered to pieces.

After what felt like forever she stood gasping for breath, desperately sucking in air and covering her eyes against the sun streaming in. Never had she been so happy to see Belvedere though. She went to the window and pulled the shutters open, not caring about her own wounds or the ugly powder burns on her hand, she didn’t even care about Gumb. After a brief death rattle on his part where he coughed up some blood she knew he was dead and despite sliding the muzzle of her weapon against the remains of his forehead she knew another shot wasn’t needed.

Guided by the light she grabbed his goggles off his head and left him there, a bloody mess condemned to stare blankly up at the ceiling with only the moths to mourn him. Intending to go straight to Catherine and to find a means to turn the lights back on she closed the door behind her, he didn’t deserve a second thought from her and she vowed never to give it, legends and eulogies for the damned were for other people, not her.

Chapter 67

Chapter Text

By the time they emerged it was dusk out and they were both exhausted. The front of the Victorian house bathed in a glare of sirens, TV lights and ambulance chasers. Cars, vans and emergency service vehicles blocked the street and more people than she could count swarmed the ineffective barricades, including, she was unhappy to note, Lara Stone shouting at her, begging for an exclusive.

Scully stared blankly at her, she was too dazed to deal with reporters, and helped Catherine and her new pet, a dog she wouldn’t let go of, even on the climb up the ladder from the pit, into a waiting ambulance and closed the door after promising she would soon follow behind in her own car. She hadn’t left her side since she’d climbed down the ladder to her, a protective arm constantly around the younger woman’s shoulders, but Catherine seemed to have already transitioned from frightened to relieved and while Scully knew that Catherine would probably suffer in the long term for now she was ok with the paramedics at least.

She watched it depart and then turned to look at the house, a smile crossing her face for the first time in a long time as she spotted Mulder watching her from the porch, a concerned look on his own battered face. He’d arrived not that long ago with Reyes and she hadn’t been surprised to see him at all, she somehow knew he’d be there at the very end. While she hadn't had much of a chance to talk to him, they were both concerned with getting Catherine sorted out and both had to deal with various police officers, she desperately welcomed his comforting presence and went over to him.

She allowed him to fuss over her and her bandaged face and hands. “I’m fine Mulder.”

“Are you?” he asked, chewing his lip. He wasn't sure he believed it. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

“Not as much as Catherine has.”

“But still a lot.”

She was determined not to let Gumb get to her, and yet she couldn’t stop the exhaustion of the day wash over her. When Mulder pulled her into a tight hug she let him, reveling in his warmth and his love. She nodded against him, biting her own lip, finally allowing herself time to process what she’d just been through and let the emotions take over. She’d been so scared and let out a small sob, her knees threatening to give way but he had her, always ready to catch her.

He clutched at her tightly and kissed her hair. “I’m so proud of you Scully, what you did here today, what you did for Catherine...” he had to stop as he was choked with pride for her, with sorrow for her ordeal and with nothing but pure love. For a second he was unable to find any more words and then he tipped her chin up, wiped a tear away with his thumb and found something, “I love you.”
She nodded and allowed him to pull her back to him, to his fierce hug. She loved him too and later she would tell him how much, right now though she couldn’t speak.

“What happens now?” she managed some time later as they made their way out of the crime scene and towards her car.

“We go to the hospital, get you checked over properly and speak to Catherine, make sure she’s ok, and then we go back to the motel and sleep.”

“I meant in the longer term, with the case.”

“For you, nothing.” He opened the door for her and helped her stiff limbs into the passenger seat and then crouched down next to her and took her hand. “You go and graduate.”

She frowned wondering if she had a training position to go back to. “What about Krendler? You know I…”

He kissed her hand and smiled. “Leave him to me.”

“Mulder…”

“No, you go live your life, finish at the academy, take up your pathology position and live happily ever after. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”

“And you?”

He chuckled, “Well, hopefully, I get to be there with you.”

She smiled thinking that would be very nice indeed.

Chapter 68

Chapter Text

“Dana Katherine Scully!”

When her name was called by the Director she stood with a huge grin on her face and to rapturous applause from a packed auditorium. She made her way to the stage and quickly had her photo taken after shaking the hand of her new boss and held her new badge with pride as she made her way over to Mulder.

“Congratulations Agent Scully,” he beamed while leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I can’t think of a more deserving person.”

“Thank you Agent Mulder,” she replied, soaking up his compliments. She’d worked damn hard to get to this point, having had to cram all the weeks she’d missed into a very short space of time to make sure she graduated with everyone else. On top of that there was the enquiry into Gumb that had to be dealt with, her part in it too, and Lecter’s disappearance and trying to help the investigation into where he might be, and finally Catherine who was now undergoing intensive counseling and who she was helping as much as she was able to.

He snorted, “I think you can drop the formality, Scully, I think everyone knows we’re a couple now.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Though may I say, in private, how beautiful you look.” She was thoroughly resplendent in her dark blue dress and light jacket. "Though I also can't wait to take it off of you."

She laughed appreciatively, and relaxed into him. Their relationship really wasn’t a secret anymore, she knew, and now that the final stage of his divorce had been finalized they could be even more out in the open about it. They had only gone from strength to strength in the months since she'd found Catherine and were even talking about getting a place together near the base since they were both going to be working from there for the time being, at least until he figured out what he wanted to do with his own career. She was getting a happily ever after after all and she couldn’t be more ecstatic. She took his hand and squeezed it before reaching up and kissing him gently on the lips.

Behind her Reyes name was called and she broke the kiss to applaud her best friend. Reyes gave her a little wave in reply before she joined her family. It was strange to think that only 20 weeks ago they were embarking on a journey as new inductees and now here they were graduating, a few men down, Colton amongst them who’d been escorted off the base after his relationship with Stone was exposed fully, but otherwise a unit ready to take on the criminal world and about to be scattered to the four winds (though she vowed to keep in touch with them all).

She admired her badge for a little while longer as she chatted to everyone, congratulating her friends and colleagues while they in turn patted her on the back and offered more plaudits. She spotted her parents speaking to the Director, and various other dignitaries, and smiled widely, she hadn’t thought they were going to make it but here they were. Her father spotted her, nodded in greeting and grinned joyously at her as he saluted, a smile only a proud father could offer a well loved daughter.

She smiled back at him, offering her own salute in reply, an understanding at last that this was her life and all he had to do was support and encourage even if he didn't always agree. She was about to take Mulder and go and see them but someone interrupted, she noticed it was the messenger who’d handed her the notice to go and see Skinner all those weeks ago and hoped it wasn’t a similar directive.

“You have a phone call in the lobby,” he announced.

She looked at Mulder who shrugged so she excused herself and left him with Marty Neal and an approaching Reyes.

She hurried out of the room, spotted Skinner talking to Purdue and knew the person on the phone couldn’t be either of them. She frowned as she went to the phone bank. “Special Agent Scully,” she announced.

“Special Agent Scully, isn’t that something.”

She froze as she recognised the proud, almost fatherly, voice on the other end, stunned by its familiarity, and whispered, “Dr. Lecter?” She craned her neck to look back into the auditorium and spotted Mulder who frowned at her, knowing immediately that something was up.

“Good to see your powers of deduction are still intact.”

“What do you…”

Her hand drifted up to summon someone and as if he could read her mind he smiled down the phone, “Don't bother with the trace. I won't be on long enough.”

She lowered her hand. “What is it, Dr. Lecter?”

“I just wanted to ask if the lambs had stopped screaming yet?”

Mind games. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. “Where are you, Dr. Lecter?”

“I’m far away now with a beautiful view, glittering with countless stars overhead and a view I’ve longed for. Orion is looking splendid tonight, and Arcturus, the Herdsman, with his flock…” he mused. She wondered if that was a clue to his whereabouts but he stopped to chuckle, “I have no plans to call on you, Dr. Scully. You or Agent Mulder so you can relax.”

She looked at Mulder again and he began making his way over to her.

He continued, “I’ve decided that the world is much more interesting with you both in it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, so you take care now to extend me the same courtesy.”

Ah, so now she knew what this was about. Quid pro quo. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. “You know I can't make that promise.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Mulder arrived and she mouthed the word ‘Lector’ at him and although his face paled he nodded. He immediately pulled out his cell phone and started dialing the number of their trace specialist.
Lecter sighed at her and she thought he knew what they were up to, his strange sixth sense. “I do wish we could chat longer but…” There was a knowing to his voice, a great pleasure. “I'm having an old friend for dinner.”

"Who Dr. Lecter?"

“Goodbye Dr. Scully, give my regards to our mutual friend besides you.”

“Dr. Lecter…”

The phone disconnected and she stared at Mulder numbly.

Mulder looked up feeling frustrated, the trace wouldn’t go through. Lecter hadn’t been on the phone long enough. “What did he say?”

“Said to give you his regards and that he’s having an old friend for dinner.”

They shared a look, both knowing what it meant, both knowing that Lecter wasn’t about to stop his little crusade and that one way or another they hadn't heard the last of Dr Hannibal Lecter.