XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Five

XxXxXxXxX

   
Mulder awoke to the feel of a small, soft hand patting his 
cheek.  He squinted through sleep-sticky eyes and a boy of 
about three came into focus.  The kid's short copper hair 
stood on end like a campfire.  "Who're you?" the boy 
demanded.

"I'm Mulder," Mulder answered, his voice raspy from sleep.  
He felt bent like a pipe cleaner but resisted the urge to 
stretch and wake Scully.  "Who're you?"

"Matthew Allen Scully."

Bill's boy, of course.  He should have recognized the frown. 
"Matthew Allen Scully, huh?  That sounds like a pretty 
important name."

"It is."  The kid contracted, inchworm-like, as he dug around 
in his right pocket.  "I have marbles.  Wanna see?"

Mulder lifted his head from the couch pillow enough to see 
two blue orbs, clear and pale like the Scully family eyes, 
nestled in Matthew's palm.  "They're very nice," he said, 
sinking down again.  

He watched as Matthew took his marbles on a rolling tour of 
the living room furniture.  It was the same solemn gaze and 
cotton candy cheeks he'd seen on another young Scully three 
years earlier, when she had sat coloring with her unnatural 
mother on the floor.

His hand stole under the silk edge of Scully's pajamas and 
traced gentle patterns on her back.  She burrowed closer to 
him but did not awaken.

Matthew fell to his knees to race the marbles down the coffee 
table.  "Mulder is a funny name," he announced without 
pausing from his task.

"It's my last name," Mulder answered.

"Then what's your first one?"

Was this the age when they took what you said and repeated it 
a million times over, Mulder wondered.  Maybe it would just 
be safer to lie.  "Fox," he said, relenting.

Matthew stopped and gave him a perfect miniature of the 
skeptical Scully eyebrow.  "Is not!  Is it?"

"I wouldn't make up such a thing."

"Fox," Matthew said, testing the word and answering Mulder's 
question at the same time.  He grinned.  "Fox in socks.  Fox 
in a box!"

Scully shifted against him, and he thought he detected a 
muffled snicker.  "I see you've met Matthew," she murmured.

"Fox in socks in a box!"  Matthew was standing on the seat of 
an armchair, bouncing along with his new rhyme.

"You can make him stop that, right?" Mulder asked.

"Wrong."  She stretched and yawned.  "But food sometimes 
works as a distraction technique."

"Fox, box, fox, box...uh-oh."  Matthew stopped jumping.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Mulder tilted his head all the way back and saw Bill Scully 
in dress whites, standing over them.  Scully jerked away from 
his side to sit up.  "Bill, hi."
 
He ignored her.  "Matthew, your mother wants you upstairs."

"Yes, sir."  Matthew jumped down from the chair and ran out 
of the room while Mulder and Scully got up from the couch.  
Scully finger-combed her hair as Mulder refolded the blanket.  
He was glad he'd opted to sleep with his pants on.

"May I see you both in the kitchen, please?" Bill asked. 

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look behind his back, but 
followed him into the other room.  He stood on the threshold 
as they walked past, then closed the door behind them.  
Scully crossed her arms over her chest.

"Bill, I can appreciate that Mulder's presence is a surprise, 
but I am not a child and I don't need you to --"

Bill held up a hand to cut her off.  "I've been up since 
five-thirty this morning and the base patrol has passed the 
house at least twice.  Then I come down here and find him 
sleeping on my couch.  What's going on, Dana?"

Scully shut her mouth, clearly surprised by this unexpected 
tactic.  She rubbed her eyes with one hand.  "I need some 
coffee."

Mulder stood with Bill, watching as she stood on tiptoe to 
reach a mug from the cabinets.  She filled it in near slow 
motion and then stood leaning against the counter, staring 
into the cup and stirring.  Mulder cleared his throat.  "You, 
uh, you want me to tell him?"

She shook her head.

Bill looked sharply from one to the other.  "Tell me what?"

Scully took a deep breath.  "It's Carl Quentin," she 
murmured, setting her coffee aside untouched.  "He's here."

"Jesus."  Bill's gaze swept to the windows.  "Here?  He's 
here in San Diego?"

"We don't know where he is exactly," Scully said.  "That's 
why we asked for extra patrol around the house."

"Because he might come after you again."  Bill shoved a 
chair, scraping it across the linoleum.  "God damn."  Scully 
looked away, and Mulder concentrated on the floor tiles. 
"Wait, is there more?  What else are you not telling me?"

Scully hesitated.  "Nothing...nothing.  Everyone just needs 
to be vigilant right now."

"Mulder."  Bill's tone hovered between "let's take this out 
back" and "you owe me, so spill it."  Mulder met his eyes. 
"This is my family we're talking about here. I need to know."

Mulder glanced at Scully, who gave him a warning look.  But 
Bill was right.  He deserved to know.  "It seems likely that 
Quentin murdered an old friend of Scully's," he said. 

"What?  Who?"

"Carolyn Kraus," Scully answered, pulling out a chair and 
plopping into it.

"The girl who used to live down the street from us?  I didn't 
know you still talked to her."

"I hadn't spoken to her in twenty years."

Bill frowned.  "But you don't think it's a coincidence."

"No." Scully drew up one knee and rested her chin upon it.  
"He picked her because she was my friend."

Simple words, but Mulder felt each one punch into his heart. 
His sister, her sister, abduction and cancer and the little 
Scullys that would never be.  They lived in a ven diagram of 
tragedy that always seemed to overlap with them at the 
center.

"So he wants your attention and you're just giving it to 
him," Bill said.  "What the hell is that about, Dana?  You 
want him to take another run at you?"

Scully got up from the chair and retrieved her coffee cup.  
She emptied it into the sink.  "I wouldn't expect you to 
understand."

"Bullshit I don't understand!" He glared at Mulder.  "I used 
to think it was just him, but I know better now.  He's not 
the only one who doesn't know when to walk away, addicted to 
danger --"

"Leave Mulder out of this."

"-- and not just him who disregards personal safety and 
obligations --"

Scully whirled on him.  "Obligations!  What do you know about 
my obligations?"

"If you won't think about yourself, think about Mom.  Think 
about what you're putting her through!"

"This is not about Mom!  This is about --"

Maggie Scully picked that moment to enter the kitchen.  "What 
on earth is going on in here?"

Silence.  Mulder pressed back into a counter and eyed the 
door.

"Bill?  Dana?  Is something wrong?"

Bill's mouth twisted into an angry grimace.  "It's Quentin.  
He's back."

"Oh, my God."  Maggie turned round eyes to her daughter.  
"The case in Orange County.  He's here?"

"Yes," Scully whispered.  "He's here." 

"Tell me you are not a part of this investigation."

Scully's chin came up a bit.  "I have to be a part of it.  
There's no other way we can --"

Maggie Scully turned and left the room.  Bill shook his head.

"Mom..."  Scully sighed, walking out the door after her.  

"This is your old case, isn't it," Bill said to Mulder after 
she had gone.  "It isn't enough to chase aliens, now you've 
got her mixed up with serial killers, too.  Jesus."

Mulder spread his hands in front of him, palms up.  They were 
bisected with angry red lines from where he had been 
clutching the counter.  "I asked her to leave it alone.  She 
wouldn't."

"Ask again," Bill ground out.  

"I can't.  It's her choice."

"So you'll just let her go out there and risk getting killed.  
She's not thinking straight, can't you see that?  She's not 
in any position to make a decision like this!"

Mulder rubbed the side of his face with one hand.  "We know 
his name this time.  We know what he looks like.  We know 
roughly that he's in the area.  All of this is helpful, but 
it's not enough."

"It damn well is enough!  He never should have gotten away 
the last time."

"Forensic science," Mulder continued as though Bill had not 
spoken, "microscopic examination of Carolyn Kraus's remains 
for clues about how and where she died, is our best hope of 
catching Quentin before he kills again.  Your sister is 
currently the best forensic scientist in the FBI, possibly 
even the country."

Bill looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

"As someone who...as someone who cares for her..."  Mulder 
swallowed.  "I want her on the first plane back to DC.  But 
as someone who has lived with this case for almost a third of 
my life and watched a dozen women die, I can't imagine anyone 
else for the job."

Bill leaned both hands on the table, his head hung low.  
"There are other scientists."

"Yes," Mulder conceded.  He remembered Scully bleeding and 
shivering in his arms.  "But she wants to be the one."

XxXxXx

He found her upstairs standing over the racing car, her 
clothes in neat piles on the bed.  Knocking lightly on the 
door, he stepped inside.  "You okay?"

She turned to face him.  "I don't have any work clothes with 
me."

"I don't think it matters."  He kept his tone tender, but she 
didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, I'll be in scrubs most of the time anyway."

"Need any help packing?"

"No, I've got it."  He watched her swift, efficient movements 
as she laid the stacks of clothes inside her suitcase.  She 
paused with a pile of tee-shirts in hand.  "In med school, we 
had to do this task -- kind of a homework assignment about 
perception and the human body -- where we walked around the 
campus blindfolded.  I remember the trees.  Even from several 
feet away, I could feel them.  They blocked the wind just 
enough to make the hair stand up on the back of your neck."  
She slipped her clothes into the suitcase and zipped it up.  
"That's what it's like."

"What what's like?"

"Quentin."  She met his eyes.  "I can't see him, but he's out 
there.  Blocking the wind."

Mulder's phone rang then, and he answered it while she went 
to inspect the bathroom for more belongings.  "Mulder," he 
said.

"Mulder, this is Grenier."

He sank down on the racing car bed.  "Not another one?"

"Not that I know about.  I just called to say I'm in town.  
Where are you, anyway?"

"I'm with Scully in San Diego.  We're about to head back up."

There was a slight pause on the other end, and Mulder braced 
himself for an argument.  Grenier wasn't likely to want to 
share the case this time, either.  "Word has it from above 
that I should send your ass back to DC.  Scully, too."

Mulder knew better.  Grenier might scoff at Mulder's skills, 
but there was no way he would let go of Scully.  "Then you 
might as well book Quentin a return ticket, too."

"I have no plans to use her as bait, if that's what you're 
getting at," Grenier snapped.

"I'm not sure it's up to you.  Quentin's made that decision 
for us."

"That asshole makes no decisions for me."  Grenier's tone 
softened.  "But listen, the brass has a point on this one.  
She may be too close to work this case."

"She's worked tougher ones before."

"She's his victim, Mulder."

Mulder rubbed his eyes.  "Then she has more right to be here 
than either one of us."

"You'll face heat back home."

"Let me worry about that, okay?

"Fine."  He paused.  "On one condition -- I reserve the right 
to pull her off at any time, and I'll expect you to back me 
if I do.  I am not going to have a repeat of last year."

Mulder hesitated.  "Fair enough."

"Okay, I'm just reaching Orange County now.  What do you say 
we meet at the Sheriff's office, say in two hours?  We can 
compare notes then."

Mulder couldn't resist one small jab.  "I don't have any 
notes."

"Fuck you," Grenier answered, but there was no rancor in his 
words.  "I'm still trying to get a hold of Russell.  She's 
not answering her phone.  Have you heard from her?"

Oh.  Right.  Mulder remembered there was at least one very 
good reason why Russell might be avoiding Grenier's phone 
calls.  "I haven't seen her since last night," he said, "but 
I'll give her a ring and tell her about the meeting.  She's 
staying at the same hotel as Scully and me."

"I'll see you in two hours then."

Mulder clicked off with Grenier and was dialing Russell when 
Scully reentered the room.  "Trouble?" she asked.

He shook his head.  "Grenier is cool for now.  We're supposed 
to meet him at Nesbith's office in a couple of hours."  He 
waited, phone to his ear, as the ringing started on the other 
end.

XxXxX

She had ordered herself not to cry, but when her phone rang 
yet again she felt hot tears leak from the corners of her 
eyes.  I'm here, she thought, scraping her cheek on the rough 
carpet of the trunk.  Please help me.

The ringing stopped.  She closed her eyes.

They had been driving for hours, and she had been awake for 
every one of them.  Exhausted and unsuspecting, she'd opened 
the door of that motel room only to have the lights go out as 
he connected a lamp with the back of her head.  Just long 
enough for him to tie her hands and stuff her in the trunk of 
a car.

She twisted her wrists against the knots.  The gag in her 
mouth made it hard to breathe. One chance, she would have one 
chance when he opened the trunk.  Her heart pounded against 
her ribs.  Such a black small space with no air and no way to 
move.  She panted into the grimy floor, dizzy and nauseous.

Dana, was it this bad for you too?  Did you think you were 
going to die?

She lived.  She lived.  

Amelia repeated the words in her head like a litany.  

She braced her shoulder against floor, squeezing her eyes 
shut in pain as she inched to the left.  Her hair caught on a 
hook.

-- the forensics team, white-gloved with pincers, removing 
the strands as evidence after her death --

Nononono.  She moaned low in her throat.  Could the baby 
hear? 

Gonna get us out, gonna get us out.

Her left leg was numb and uncooperative, like a dead thing, 
but she dragged it with her into position.  One chance.  She 
whacked her wounded head on the metal rim and swallowed the 
bile that rose in her throat.  Choking was not an option.   
Her nostrils burned as she sucked in fetid air.

Up, they were going.  Into the hills?  

She remembered the cabin with the smell of blood and death.  
Shoes on the wall.  Determined, she pressed her feet 
together, her knees drawn against her chest.

Up up up.

They stopped.

Amelia twitched, time slowing as the crunching footsteps came 
around the car.  She flinched at the pop of the trunk.  
Bright sunshine exploded around his dark head.

"Good morning," he drawled.  "I heard you've been looking for 
me."

ONE CHANCE.

She thrust her feet forward into his face.

XxXxXxX

End Chapter Five.  Continued in Chapter Six as soon as I can 
muster the engery.

Thanks to Alicia, bugs, and Jerry for thoughtful beta.

Feedback?  Always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com

syn, of the industrial-strength headache