XxXxX

Chapter Eight

XxXxX

The rain poured over his cab in sheets, but Carl sat warm 
inside with the engine idling.  Her apartment was just around 
the corner.  He had pulled over to wait out his ten minutes, 
and to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

Rope -- check.

Knife -- check.

Childproof locks engaged -- check.

Dana Scully was getting in, but she wasn't getting back out 
again.  He hummed tunelessly and drew a happy face in the 
condensation on his window.  Outside, a car rushed past him, 
and he saw it pause at the corner, its red turn signal 
winking at him through the rain-blurred windshield.  He 
leaned over the steering wheel to catch the license plate 
illuminated in his high-beams.

Government issue.

"Shit," he muttered, just as her phone rang.  His headset 
clicked on when she answered.

"Hello?"

"Scully, it's me.  I'm outside."

Carl sat up in his seat. "Shit, shit, shit!" he said, his 
voice growing louder with each exclamation.  He pounded the 
wheel with his fist.

"Mulder, what are you doing?  You're not supposed to be 
driving."

"Don't worry, I used my left foot."

"Mulder..."

"Kidding," he said.  "I'm feeling fine, really.  And I could 
drive this route blind-folded.   Think of this way -- I just 
saved you sixty bucks in cab fare."

"GOD DAMMIT!" Carl roared.  He shook the wheel hard enough to 
jostle the cab in place.  Grinding his teeth together, he 
gunned the engine.  The car fish-tailed around the corner and 
accelerated up the street toward Mulder.

"I'm driving to the airport," Scully was saying.  Carl barely 
heard her over the pounding in his ears.  He clenched the 
wheel until his knuckles locked.

"Fine, I'll--"  The crunch of metal on metal cut off Mulder's 
response as Carl dragged his cab alongside Mulder's sedan.  
"Jesus!" Mulder said, but Carl didn't slow down.  Still 
accelerating, he sped off into the rain without looking back.

XxXxX

"You're sure you're okay?"  Scully glanced at Mulder as she 
adjusted the rearview mirror.  Hunched and scowling, with his 
wet hair stuck in clumps to his head, he looked like a 
wounded sea monster come in from the cold.  "Maybe we should 
stop by the hospital and catch a later flight."

"It's just a dent," he said.

"What?" she said, alarmed.  She reached for his injured arm.

"The car, the car," he said impatiently, pulling away from 
her.  "I'm fine."

Her brow furrowed as she debated whether to override his 
insistence, but eventually she drew back and settled into the 
driver's seat.  "We'll be lucky to make it at this point, 
anyway," she said as the engine turned over. 

"Well, you're a hell of a lot better off with me than in that 
cab," he muttered.  "That guy didn't even slow down when he 
hit me."

"You said that cab was white, Mulder.  I called Yellow Cab.  
So you can rest easy...my life was never in jeopardy."

He didn't answer, instead turning his head to look out into 
the black, rain-streaked night.  The sidewalks were deserted, 
but he felt the seconds ticking down until the next murder.  
He was willing to bet the killer had already selected his 
next victim, perhaps was actively stalking her.

*I'm going to get you where you live* he willed to the empty, 
shadowed streets.  *By tomorrow night, you'll have a name, 
you sonofabitch.*

XxXxX

Carl skidded around a corner, still driving at speeds to 
match his racing heart, leaving arcing splashes of water in 
his wake.  "Think," he ordered himself, clutching the wheel.  
"She said the airport.  That means they're going somewhere.  
Where?  Where?"

Fuck, it was too late to follow and find out.  Maybe he could 
call and ask what flight they were taking.  "All wrong, all 
wrong," he muttered, shaking his head.  "Why the hell are 
they going to the airport?"

*Ohio* said a little voice inside him.  Carl screeched the 
cab to a halt in the middle of the road.

"No," he whispered.  

Car horns blared behind him as drivers flashed their beams 
into his car.  He squinted and pushed the mirror away with an 
angry shove.  "Fine!" he yelled.  "What the fuck do you know, 
anyway?"

It can't be Ohio, it can't be Ohio.

He drove without seeing anything, taking mindless turns, 
until up ahead...

...a woman.

Waving to him from under her umbrella.  Pretty legs sticking 
out from beneath her raincoat, all wet and cold in those 
sheer stockings.  And the shoes -- tiny pinpoint heels and a 
gold buckle at the front.

Carl licked his lips.  The rope was still there.  The knife.

Yes.

I'll teach you to leave town, he thought as he brought the 
car to a stop at the curb.  He punched the locks on the 
doors, and the woman climbed inside.

"Thank you so much," she said with relief. "I thought I'd 
never get out of that rain.  This has been the absolute day 
from hell."

Carl smiled.  "Sit back and relax," he said as he clicked the 
locks into place.  "Let me make it all better."

XxXxX

Mulder awoke with a jerk, as though someone had shaken him, 
but he was alone in the center aisle of the plane, sprawled 
across four seats.  He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the 
dim light.  The vibrating whine of the plane's engine hummed 
around him, but in his head, he still heard the echoes of 
screams and twigs snapping.

It was the dream again, with running and Nixon's face in the 
shadows.  Only this time he recognized the person who was 
screaming.

Him.

He twitched under the too-small blanket, which slid to the 
floor, and he retrieved it with a touch of surprise; someone 
had covered him up.  Still horizontal, he tilted his head all 
the way back until she came into view across the aisle -- 
upside down and frowning as she massaged her right foot.

"Hey," he said, and she paused to glance at him.

"Hey, yourself.  You timing is improving, Mulder -- the 
flight is just about over."

He checked his watch and stretched.  "Tell me you saved my 
bag of peanuts, Scully.  I'm starving."  A moment later the 
foil packet landed squarely on his chest.  "What a partner," 
he said as he sat up and tore it open.  It ripped in half, 
launching peanuts all over his lap and the surrounding seats.

"Well done," Scully observed.

"I don't know my own strength," he replied as he popped the 
several of the stray nuts in his mouth.  "This physical 
therapy thing really works."

"Good to know," she answered, still rubbing her foot.

"Maybe I'll be like the Bionic Man, rebuilt to be better than 
before."

She stopped massaging to look at him.  "Promise me you will 
only use your powers for good."

"I'll start right now," he said, downing the last of the 
peanuts.  He stood up and moved to take the aisle seat next 
to her.  "Cramp?" he asked, nodding at her foot.

"Yeah, but it's a little better now."

"Let me see."  He tugged her slightly off balance, placing 
her stocking-clad foot in his lap.

"Mulder, what..."

"Here?"

"Ow, yes!"  Her foot jerked, but he held her still.

"Just a second," he promised, kneading the spot below the 
cramp.  He knew he had the right place when she relaxed and 
leaned her head back against side of the plane.  "I've been 
thinking about the Nixon mask," he said after a moment.

"What?"

"Why he wears a mask," Mulder clarified, using his thumb to 
press against her instep.  "It's not something I would have 
expected.  This guy is proud of his killings.  He leaves them 
out for everyone to see.  Killers who wear masks -- 
particularly masks depicting another person -- are generally 
uncomfortable with their crimes, at least at some level."

"Maybe deep down he is uncomfortable with them," she 
answered. 

"Maybe."  He squeezed her foot.  "When we catch him, we can 
ask."

"Mmmm."  She had closed her eyes, and he smiled as he slid 
his palm over the top of her foot and down the other side, 
comparing their size.  Sometimes he forgot how very little 
space she did take up in the world. 

"You know the average person walks enough in his or her life 
to go around the earth three times?"  He stroked the arch of 
her foot with one finger.  "No wonder it hurts."

She flexed her foot once, her eyes still closed.  "I feel 
like I've clocked that much just today."

"One day would be more like nine thousand steps," he 
corrected absently.  He was busy tracing the bumpy slope of 
her toes.  "I wonder if there could be a Jungian aspect to 
the shoe fetish," he said a minute later.

"Mulder, if there's anything in our collective unconscious 
about shoes, it's probably because Nordstrom's spends so much 
on advertising."

He smiled.  "But there's evidence that our ancestors wore 
shoes as far back as ten thousand years B.C. -- that's about 
250,000 generations of half-off sales."

She opened her eyes and regarded him with interest.  "For 
someone who owns a grand total of three pairs of shoes, 
Mulder, you seem to know a lot about the subject."

"I read," he said with a shrug.  "It sticks."  He gave her a 
sideways glance.  "I guess this means my brain still works 
okay."

"Mulder."  Her voice was soft and full of affection.  "You 
have the best brain I know."

He ducked his head, surprised at the flush of pleasure he got 
from her words.  "Really?"

"Really."  She wiggled her toes in his lap and smiled.  "And 
your hands aren't bad, either."

He knew a hint when he heard one, and resumed his task two-
handed, rolling his thumbs over the soft flesh covering the 
ball of her foot.  "How's that?"

"Not...bad," she said with a sigh, relaxing against the plane 
once more.  Her eyes closed.  "I do love you," she said, and 
his hands froze.  Only his heart continued moving.  

His sudden stillness caused Scully to open her eyes again, 
and he turned his head to look at her.  She was calm and 
certain, and, he realized, so was he.  He gave her a slow 
smile.  "I know," he said, and she arched an eyebrow.  

"Yes?" she said.

"Yes."  He leaned over her out-stretched leg.  "I just didn't 
think you would actually say it out loud unless the plane was 
crashing."

"Very funny."  She nudged him playfully with her foot.  
"Actually, Mulder..."  He felt her toes creep up his inseam.  
Again, he stopped breathing.  "If this plane *were* falling 
from the sky, I'm not sure I would waste my time talking."

"Uh, no?" he managed.  She was kneading the inside of his 
thigh, warming the skin there with her slow caress.

"No."  At her ankle, her pulse fluttered under his 
fingertips, and he began unconsciously mimicking her rhythm 
by sliding his palm along the underside of her leg.  She 
arched her back and squirmed, sending pulses of pressure down 
his thigh.

"What...what would you do, Scully?"

Her fingers trailed over her throat as she considered the 
question.  "Mmm, I could show you," she allowed, "except..."

His insides lurched.  "Except!"

"Except the captain has turned on the seatbelt sign."  She 
leaned across her legs to stroke his cheek.  "Time to get 
upright and securely fastened, Mulder."

Before he could react to her touch, she was gone -- feet back 
on the floor, seat belt around her waist.   "Upright, 
fastened," he muttered as he fumbled with his belt. 

"Need some help?"  Her tone was so innocent.

"You have done quite enough, thank you."  To his credit, he 
tried to sound upset.  Her laughter said she wasn't fooled.

The plane began its measured descent, and Mulder felt like an 
astronaut returning from the moon -- a strange and beautiful 
place he'd seen every day but had never been allowed to 
visit.  Her hand slipped through his, soft and strong and 
unfamiliar, and Mulder sat back and let the universe spin 
around him.

XxXxX

End Chapter Eight.  Continued in Chapter Nine.

Thanks to Marasmus, for the shoe facts. ;-)

Syn_tax6@yahoo.com