XxXxXxX Chapter Seven XxXxXxX It was all hands on deck at the Los Angeles branch of the FBI, and they were all pulling for one case. Agents who had gone off shift only hours before returned; even one who had retired the previous week showed up to ask what he could do to help. They gave him a chair and a phone. Scully slipped through the busy hallways to find Mulder standing alone in a small seminar room. His tie lay on the table; his back was to the door. She knocked even as she entered, and he turned from the window. "The Denny's waitress wasn't much help," she said, handing him the computer-generated update of Carl Quentin's picture. "But it's clear he didn't want her to be. He wore a large hat and tinted glasses. She can only guess that his hair is now dark brown, and it sounds like he's put on a little weight this year. She didn't see what kind of car he was driving." "Great." Mulder returned to staring out the window. "Anything from the room?" "Prints confirm Quentin was there. The blood on the lamp is Russell's." "Grenier was right, you know. I never saw this coming." "No one did." She touched his arm, but he jerked it away. "She wanted off of this case, but I dragged her out here with me." He shook his head. "It's been almost fifteen hours now, Scully." Her stomach clenched. "You said you think we might still have a chance. That he might want to keep her alive for some reason." "I'm not a mind reader," he snapped. "He might keep her alive. But he might have strangled her right in the hotel room for I all know." "What good would that ---" "I don't fucking know! Okay? Jesus." He turned and shoved a rolling chair clear across the room. "I don't know why everyone keeps asking me this stuff. It's not like I've been so successful at predicting his moves so far! Twelve years on this case and he's still free. What does that tell you, Scully?" "You found me," she said softly. He froze, his mouth set in a grim line. "Yeah." He paused. "And what happens if I can't do it again?" "Mulder..." She struggled to swallow around the lump in her throat. His shoulders sagged and he waved a hand to brush her off. "You're right, I do think we have a chance that she is still alive. We're just going to have to go with that for now." "Grenier is leading the teams following every possible sighting of Quentin and Russell. We're circulating this updated picture to every precinct in California, Nevada, Utah and Arizona. I think Agent Cheng has arranged to show it on the news here, too. Carl Quentin's days of invisibility are about to come to an end." "That's good." Mulder's voice was hollow. "The forest rangers should be on alert, too." "You think he's back in the woods?" Scully asked. "He's a signature killer with an established ritual. The cabin in Virginia worked for him for eleven years. My guess is that he's recreated it someplace out here." She nodded. "The samples from the motel are here, and I've had Carolyn Kraus's remains brought from Orange County, too. I'm about to go see if I can find anything that might give us an idea about where his home base is. Give me a call in a couple of hours, or if any of the leads pan out." "Scully." She turned. "What?" "One thing I know for sure -- he's going to take a run at you if he can. Russell was convenient, but you're the real target here." She could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, but managed an outward calm. "Maybe we should let him come." "What?" Mulder was horrified. "You're not serious." "We don't have a lot of time here, Mulder. If putting me out in plain sight would flush him from hiding, maybe that's what we need to do." "No way. Bad, bad idea." He shook his head emphatically. "It could save her life!" "It could cost you yours! You could both wind up dead. Remember what happened the last time we set a trap like this?" She flinched as though he slapped her but stood her ground. "He would come out, you think. For me." "That's it," Mulder muttered. "I've heard enough." He brushed past her and stalked down the hallway. "Mulder!" She called to him from the door. "There's another way," he hollered back. "I'm not going to let you do that, Scully." She jogged after him, catching up just as he burst into the bullpen, which had been converted to Carl Quentin headquarters during their search. Grenier stood arguing with Arkin near a large map of California. Both men looked up as Mulder entered the room. "What's going on?" Grenier demanded. "Put Scully in protective custody." Behind him, Scully's jaw fell open. "What?" "It makes sense," Mulder said, ignoring her. "You want to antagonize Quentin and draw him out, take away his fixation point. So far we've just been giving him exactly what he wants." Grenier seemed to consider, then frowned and shook his head. "No, I need her down in the labs. She'll be safe enough there." "It's not enough! She needs to disappear completely. Once he sees she's not playing his game, he'll get angry. He'll make more mistakes." "He has Russell!" Grenier's face darkened. "I don't think we want to be antagonizing him any further right now." Scully had another flash of the cabin, with the ropes and the shoes and the garden shears. She rubbed her wrists. "He has a point, Mulder." "No, he doesn't," Mulder snapped at her. He spread his arms. "You all want my insight? Well, here I am giving it to you. Pull his focus away from Russell and on to Scully. The best way to do that is to make him wonder what's happened to her. As long as she's here cleaning up his mess and following his tracks, he's going to remain one step ahead of us because that's exactly what he expects her to do." Grenier looked from Mulder to Scully and back again. "No. I will not sacrifice one of my best agents for a hunch. Not with Russell missing." "Fuck that! You're the one who wants to use her to get to Quentin. You're the one who said you wouldn't use her as bait!" "I'm not using her as--" "The hell you aren't! Sure, you'd love to have her in the labs, but the real reason you're so hot to keep her is you know he'll come looking for her." "And your grand plan is to gamble Russell's life!" "It's already on the table. I'm just calling them as I see them." "Well, I am not on the table," Scully cut in, angry. "And I am not a card to be played. By either of you." Mulder shook his head. "You are, Scully. I'm sorry, but you are." "Okay, it's up to you," Grenier said to her, folding his arms over his chest. "Your call." Scully felt Mulder's eyes on her, and she turned to meet his furious gaze. "I think you're right," she said, turning back to talk to Grenier. "I think there are personal feelings in the way here. I came to do a job, and I'd like the chance to do it. I don't need protective custody." Mulder muttered a curse and walked away. Scully didn't bother to try to stop him. XxXxX Like the rest of the FBI staff, the lab personnel had also halted dinners and days off to work overtime. Scully found a half dozen people already poring over the microscopic evidence found in Mulder's motel room. As she located a white coat, Scully heard whispering behind her back and knew the story of her own clash with Quentin had preceded her. "Dana Scully," she said, introducing herself anyway. She shook one young man's hand and caught him eyeing the scars that encircled her wrist. She tugged down the sleeve on her coat when she pulled away. "What have you got so far?" "We've got Quentin's prints on the lamp." The woman, middle- age with thin brown hair and a slight lisp, walked over to where the pieces of the lamp lay under a bright light. "We also recovered blood and hair samples belonging to Amelia Russell." "We know he did it," Scully said, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. "Now we have to figure out where he is." She paced the long tables, studying the collection of evidence. "Did the skeleton arrive from Orange County?" "It's over there," said the lisping woman. Scully found the smaller table and discovered that her other request had been met, too -- they had included samples of the dirt from the desert where Carolyn was found. She grabbed a microscope and began sifting. XxXxX Feeling bold, Carl dared to drive past the motel. He was careful not to slow down too much, but with all the gawkers on hand he didn't have trouble blending in with the crowd. Yellow tape flickered in the ocean breeze while cops crawled like black ants all over the parking lot. Just like old times, Carl thought with satisfaction. After his first California kill -- a prostitute with neon blue sandals -- had gone unnoticed, he had been worried he was losing his touch. Still, it seemed like the big players had moved on from the motel. He saw no trace of Grenier, Mulder or Scully. "Dammit!" he said, smashing his hand on the steering wheel. It was that bitch Russell's fault. If he hadn't had to grab her the night before, he wouldn't have lost track of the other agents. Maybe they had returned to Santa Ana? As he was driving around considering his next move, the song on the radio faded out and a serious-sounding DJ began speaking to him. About him. He nearly stopped the car in the middle of the road. "Police are asking for your assistance in apprehending a man believed to be behind the kidnapping of a federal agent. Carl Quentin is six feet, four inches tall and weighs approximately two hundred and eighty pounds. He has dark hair and may be wearing a large white hat and tinted glasses. If you see someone matching this description --" Carl clicked the radio off with one swift jab. "Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck." He slipped the hat from his head. Better cut his losses and come back later, after he had taken care of Russell. He turned the car around and headed back towards LA. XxXxXxX Scully's find was a mere speck to the naked eye, but under the microscope its importance magnified along with its size. Round on one end with a tiny, dagger-like point sticking out from the other end, the seed seemed ready to burst. She found two others like it in the dirt that had surrounded Carolyn's remains, and about a dozen more plant species as well. With a little luck, at least one of the plants would prove to be foreign to desert soils and localized somewhere else. She sat back from the oculars and rolled her neck to ease the ache. The clock on the wall said it was approaching midnight. With another yawn and stretch, Scully got down from her stool and joined the brown haired woman at the next table. "Dr. Corvasce," she said, and the woman looked up from the carpet fibers in front of her. "Did your team find any sign of vegetation in the motel room?" "Why, yes, we did," answered Corvasce, her lisp slightly more pronounced as she tired. "We found a small piece of what looks to be a fern leaf and several plant seeds we couldn't identify." "May I take a look?" "Certainly." Scully put the unknown seeds under a microscope and saw they were identical to the ones she had found in the desert dirt. "I'd like to have all the specimens identified," she said. "Can we do that here?" Corvasce nodded. "Probably, but we can always get help from UC Berkeley if we need it." Scully smiled. "A great school." "Class of eighty-eight," Corvasce said with an answering smile. Scully yawned again, long and large, and Corvasce regarded her with a sympathetic look. "You should go home and try to get a few hours of sleep. We can call you right away if we get a hit on the fauna." Scully hesitated; out of the corner of her eye she could see the human jigsaw puzzle that used to be her good friend. Time was one thing she didn't have if she was going to save Amelia Russell from a similar fate. "I don't know," she hedged. "I'd like to examine the dirt again in case I missed anything the first time." "I'll be happy to do it. You look like you've been up for days. Go. Get some rest." Dimly, Scully tried to recall the morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago. The couch, she remembered at last, and Mulder. She wondered where he had gone after their angry words in the bullpen, if she should track him down or if she should let him go. She wasn't sure had the strength to stand in her respective corner, let alone tussle in the ring with him. The mental argument alone was enough to make her teeth ache with fatigue. Already her brain had to replay Dr. Corvasce's sentences twice inside before she could comprehend them. Outside she felt raw and exposed, like someone had worked her over with a Brillo pad. "I don't even have a room to go to," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "Oh! I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you. There's an officer outside -- Agent Grenier's orders, I think he said -- and he mentioned he would take you to a hotel when you were ready to leave." "What?" Scully walked across the room to the main door, pushing it open with one palm and peering into the hall. A uniformed officer stood from his chair. "Ma'am," he said. "Hal Jackson at your service. Are you ready to leave now?" At least five inches taller than Mulder, Jackson's bulk belied his baby face -- red hair and chubby cheeks with freckles -- sort of like her brother Charlie at age three if someone had blown him up like a parade balloon. "Uh, yeah." Scully cast one look back at the labs, but she was so tired her vision was beginning to blur. "I should go now." Officer Jackson had to nudge her awake at the hotel. Catching her reflection in the mirrors in the lobby, she was dismayed to see that she had a nice car door indentation on her right cheek. She learned her room was one eleven, and that Mulder had a room just down the hall and around the corner. They passed it on the way to her room, but she didn't see any sign of him. "I'm really fine from here," she told Jackson when they reached her door. "You have a good night, Ma'am," he said. "I'll be just outside if you need anything." Scully opened her mouth to protest, but the set of his jaw told her it would be fruitless. "At least let me get you a chair," she said with a sigh. "That would be very kind of you, Ma'am. Thank you." She opened the room and found that someone -- Mulder? -- had been thoughtful enough to put her suitcase inside. She handed the desk chair out to Jackson and the shut the door with a soft click. Leaning against its solid length, she closed her eyes and let the even hum of the air conditioner wash over her. So many nights in motels with grinding, groaning air units, it was a wonder she could sleep without one. She pushed away from the door and unlocked her suitcase, taking out her pajamas and toiletries. After she had changed and splashed some water on her face, it occurred to her to check for messages. The light on her phone shone a steady red. No Mulder. She dug out her cellular and checked her voice mail, but there she found only Grenier informing her of her personal night watchman. She set the phone on the bedside table, just in case, and crawled under the covers. She was surprised to find the room was spinning. Still her eyes would not stay closed. She slid her palm across the wide expanse of bed; the king- size ocean of coils and cotton seemed silly with just her small presence. Her toes ended miles before the edge of the bed. After blinking away several more long minutes, she threw off the covers and fished around in the darkness for her robe. Outside, Jackson seemed startled to find her squinting at him. "Is everything okay?" he asked. "Fine. I'm just going down the hall." "I'll go with you." "No," she said, stopping and holding up a hand. "That's not necessary." "It is," he insisted gently. "It's my job." Resigned, Scully set off at a brisk pace with Officer Jackson trailing along behind her. She hesitated at Mulder's door, then knocked twice. He opened immediately. He still wore the same clothes she had seen him in earlier, though his sleeves now flapped unbuttoned along his forearms. A day's worth of dark stubble covered his face, and his eyes narrowed as though he didn't have the energy to open them all the way. He glanced behind her at Jackson, then wordlessly widened the door to let her inside. Unlike her room, which smelled of hotel air freshener and bleached linens, Mulder's room permeated with old newsprint, stale pizza and the slight tang of sweat. She halted at the entryway as he collapsed into a low armchair. Mulder had constructed a psychological war room. Crime scene photos were tacked in haphazard rows on the wall, reports and articles littered the dresser and desktops. Crumpled paper balls sat by his wastebasket, and she could see sheets of writing next to his computer. "Mulder..." When he turned to look at her, half his face glowed blue from the laptop screen. "Did you get anything from the lab results?" "Some plant samples," she said, still distracted by the controlled chaos in the room. She took several slow steps toward the table where his computer lay. "What about you, Mulder? Any leads?" His eyes were nearly black in the low light. "You know my position. It hasn't changed." "Neither has mine. I will not be shut out of this case, Mulder." He tilted his head, inspecting her. "Sounds to me like you're the one letting personal feelings get in the way." She brushed her bare foot on the carpet, frustrated. "Of course I have personal feelings! You've got a great collage here of what Quentin thinks, of his motivations and his whims, but let me tell you what Amelia is feeling. She thinks she is going to die, Mulder. She's remembering all the bodies from before and trying to not panic even though she knows exactly what he wants to do to her. He's big, and she can't move and maybe there's no way out but she has to keep thinking, has to keep trying...can't let up for a second because then he has her and it's over." Her breaths came in uneven jags, her hands shaking. She stilled them on the back of a chair. "Of course I have personal feelings," she repeated finally. He got up without a word and wrapped himself around her. She stiffened but then returned the embrace, running her hands down his shoulder blades to the strong muscles of his lower back. His face was hot and rough against her neck. "I would lie to you," he said. "I would lie to you and lock you up if that's what it took to keep you safe." She squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed closer. Tears burned behind her eyelids. "I am safe," she murmured as she stroked him. He pulled away and looked down at her, his hands moving to grip her arms. "But I'm not lying, Scully. I believe that putting you in protective custody, cutting Quentin off cold turkey, is the best chance we have of forcing him out into the open." She searched his face even as she imagined giving up. "I'll think about it," she said at last. He held her gaze for a minute and then nodded. "Okay," he said, pulling her against him once more. The slow sweeps of his hands down her back eased some of her tension, and she lay her cheek on his chest. "I think that's the most I've ever heard you talk about it," he said quietly. "You must have read my statements." "It's not the same." She considered how shaky she still felt after her outburst. "No, I guess it's not." His fingers found the painful knot at the back of her neck and rubbed it away. "We'll find her," he said, and Scully forced herself to nod in agreement. "Yeah." She leaned back and brushed the tear streaks from her face. He followed her movements with his thumb. "I should go," she said. "Yes," he agreed as his hands slipped inside her robe. The sash loosened. So tired she was floating away. She let fingers play along the sculpted ivory of his rib cage. "Scully." His breath on her cheek, her neck. The hot pinch of arousal opened her up inside. "The man...outside," she breathed, her fatigue popping Jackson's name like a bubble. Mulder captured her earlobe in his mouth and nursed it gently, then ran his tongue along the curve of her ear. "Shhh," he said against her sensitized skin, and the whisper tingled all the way down her back. He pulled her closer, his thigh sliding between her legs. "Scully," he repeated. Low, urgent. Needy like she was. She squeezed his leg with her own. "Muldermulder, please..." He picked up the pace of his caresses, rubbing circles on her nipples through the silk. She pressed the flat of her teeth against his neck and tasted the salty hollows there. "Like this," he said, stumbling backward to the chair. His hands tugged her pajama bottoms half way down her legs, and she brushed them off at her feet. "Here, here," he said as he reached for her, his hands skimming her bare thighs and making her shiver. His erection bulged between his legs. She climbed over him half-clothed, spread open and precarious as they kissed. Her hair fell forward and surrounded them in a soft curtain. She whimpered and then whispered for him to be quiet. Half-trembling, half-laughing, he shut them both up with his mouth. Her hips jerked in his lap. "Scully, god," he murmured, and suddenly she was the one in control. It was her tongue searching his mouth, her finding the seam of his zipper, her pushing his hand between her legs. He teased aside the cotton and gave her his hand. Not quite wet, she gasped as he pushed his finger inside. Tears of almost pain pricked her eyes but she thrust for more, moaning as she rocked in his lap. Not enough. It was not enough. She groped for the button on his pants. He steadied her with one hand so they didn't tip the chair, arching into her fingers as she slipped him free from his boxers. "Off," he grunted, tugging on her underwear. "Hmm, yeah." But she merely yanked the barrier aside. She pressed her forehead to his as their hands together helped him find his way into her body. Slowly, she relaxed her thighs and sank down. His breaths were light and fast on her face. "Scully," he murmured, kissing her again more languidly, his tongue sliding side to side in a gentle rhythm. But she couldn't slow down, couldn't stop the roar in her ears. She pulled her mouth free as her hips began a quick fuck that threatened to topple their chair. Mulder gasped and threw his head back, his eyes slitted and his mouth hanging open. She bit her lip to stifle the sounds rising up inside her. So tired, fuck me. More, more, more. She feared she might collapse in exhaustion before the orgasm hit. "Mulder," she said. A plea for help. He threw his hips into the action, found her swollen clit with two fingers. She grit her teeth and shook herself apart, gasping and thrusting down on him as the waves buffeted through her. She fell forward and sobbed into his shoulder. "Okay?" he panted, combing her hair roughly with his hand. She tried to stop crying long enough to finish him. "Okay," she said, but could only hold on weakly as he arched into her a half dozen more times. He crushed her close and groaned near her ear. She shifted, curling in his lap so her leg muscles could stop burning. He kissed the top of her head as she continued to sniffle into his shirt. "I'm so tired," she murmured, her voice thin to her own ears. "Bed," he agreed, sitting up. She squeezed his hand and allowed him to lead her to the bed. He took off his pants, but besides that they crawled under the covers still half- dressed. She had already closed her eyes before he pulled the blankets over them. Maybe she said goodnight, but maybe it was only in her head. A few hours later, she awoke with a small jerk, blinking and disoriented. Mulder sprawled on his back next to her. The only illumination in the room came from his laptop, and she used the eerie light to find her way to the bathroom. Wrapping her robe tighter, she paused to turn down the air conditioner on her way back to bed. May as well shut that thing down, too, she reasoned as she crossed to the laptop. But her hand froze in midair. Pregnant. The word stood out from his notes, a stream of consciousness list of everything he knew about Amelia Russell's abduction. "Oh, my God," Scully murmured. "No." She clasped her hand over her mouth, holding her middle with her other arm. Her heard pounded against her ribs. Tied up and frightened and pregnant and goddamn there was something she could do about it. "That's it," she whispered fiercely. "This is the end, you sonofabitch." Shaking but certain, she walked to Mulder's dresser and found his back up weapon, determined to come at Quentin with everything she had. Determined to leave no other innocent people on the path between the monster and herself. Bet you're not expecting this, she thought as she checked to see if the gun was loaded. She located her underwear and pajama bottoms on the floor and dressed silently. Smoothing her hair, she cast one last look at Mulder. I'm sorry, she told him silently, I can't wait for the safe way. She opened the door with care, clicking it back into place with a minimum amount of noise. Officer Jackson didn't even blink. "Heading back to your room now, Ma'am?" he asked. Shit, she'd forgotten about him. "Yes," she said. "Back to the room." Once there, she changed in a hurry, securing Mulder's smaller weapon under her pants leg and checking the ammunition in her own. Next she put on her robe again and stuck her head out the door. "Excuse me," she said. "Would you mind terribly getting me some ice?" "Ice?" Jackson looked dubious that anyone could want ice at four-thirty in the morning. "Please," she said, handing him the bucket. He looked down at it and shrugged. "Okay. You just stay inside there, all right? I'll be back in less than a minute." "Thank you." She smiled. He took the bucket and disappeared around the corner; Scully took the opportunity to disappear herself. XxXxXxX End Chapter Seven. Continued in Chapter Eight. syn_tax6@yahoo.com