Do Not Archive.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter Ten

XxXxXxXxXxX

At the sound of his voice, she quivered in her homemade 
prison.  He was talking to someone, someone else in her 
house.  Sam?  Mulder?  Whoever it was must have been far away 
because Tipton was shouting.  "All clear," he yelled, and 
Eleanor screamed inside.

No, I'm here!  I'm here!

The gag bit at her mouth, choking her, and she panted through 
her nose like a charging bull.  She twisted on the floor 
until she found purchase against the closet wall.  Raising 
her bare, bound feet as best she could, she banged her heels 
hard in hopes of attracting attention.  The thick cedar 
lining muffled her efforts, and a large splinter sliced 
through her flesh.

The door swung open, blinding her with sudden light.  Eleanor 
squinted in pain.  Tipton loomed, a faceless hulking shadow, 
and his hiss slithered over her.  "Do that again, and I'll 
cut them off now.  Understand?"

Her throat muscles convulsed.  She nodded, not letting him 
see the fear in her eyes.  The door went shut and darkness 
reigned again.  Fatigued, she rested her head on the dusty 
floor.  Already she was losing feeling in her right shoulder 
and the tingling in her fingers suggested they were next.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she berated herself, her eyes 
screwing up in shame.  Tipton had been in front of her, 
somehow invisible, every day for the last two years.

The door cracked again, his deadly whisper rasped inside:  
"When Sam's gone, we're leaving.  I don't want any trouble."

Her heart pounded.  Of course he couldn't keep her here.  
Already they were looking for her and there was only so long 
he could hold them off from the bedroom closet.  First rule 
of survival said Never Let Him Take You From the Original 
Crime Scene.  Once you crossed over onto his turf, you were 
dead.  He planned to take her where he had taken the others.

Except she had been there before and this time she wasn't 
sixteen.

Her terror melted into pure rage.  Bring it on you fucker, 
she thought.  Think you can clean up Coben's mess for him?  
Well, I survived that and I'll survive you too.

She rested.  Watched the door.  And waited.

XxXxXxX

He woke up face down in the mattress to the feel of someone 
clumsily patting his head.  Lifting up, he cracked his eyes 
open and saw Scully watching him in the half-light.  "Hey," 
he said, voice roughened from lack of sleep.  He blinked at 
her as his brain slowly came back online.  Her hand moved 
from the top of his head to his stubbly cheek.

"What are you doing here, Mulder?" she whispered.  "I thought 
you were going to Eleanor's."

"I did," he replied, remembering the smashed Suburban they'd 
found there with the remnants of Scully's Taurus decorating 
the front end.  "I went and now I'm back."  He moved up the 
bed and nuzzled her "hello."  She turned her face into his 
neck and her fingers bunched his shirt between his shoulder 
blades.  Exhausted as he was, he tried to keep his eyes open 
and his weight off her.  "How are you doing?" he murmured 
into her hair.  "Okay?"

She nodded against his shoulder.  "Mulder, you didn't have to 
come back."

"You want me to go?"  He drew back so he could see her eyes, 
black and bottomless in the dim light.  An angry bruise had 
spread down the left side of her face.

"No," she said, gentle fingers finding his ribs through his 
shirt.  "I just..."

"What?"

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to be here."  
She lowered her gaze.  "You know, because of the other 
night."

"Oh."  The memory warmed his face.  "That's not why I'm here, 
Scully."

"It's not?" she asked, and her touch fell away.   

"We found the car that hit you in Eleanor's garage.  It was 
stolen from in town.  But we can't find Eleanor anywhere."

"So it wasn't an accident."  She regarded him with narrowed 
eyes.  "She was trying to kill me and you're worried she 
might try again."

"That's the short version, yes.  Parker's still out looking 
for her now, and no doubt Garvey's got his people searching 
too.  I figured I'd at least make sure she wasn't headed back 
here."

"Why me?"

"You were the last one to see CiCi before she disappeared."  
He explained about the patterning of the kidnap victims.  
"She wouldn't have had time to stalk you for a year, and if 
she really means to close the circle--"

"--I have to die."

He put his arm across her waist.  "Not going to happen.  
We'll find her."

She shifted under him.  "In the morning I can go back to the 
lab and double check everything.  If she tampered with 
evidence once, she might have obscured findings on the other 
cases too.  Tipton, maybe, he can get me the old files--"

He squeezed her lightly.  "Scully."

"It's possible she might not even have run all the--"

"Scully."  She stopped talking and looked at him.  "You're 
hurt.  Someone else can double check the lab work."

Her chin rose, challenging him.  "I can do it."

"But there's no need for you to," he said.  "A dozen other 
agents can do it easily."  He meant the words to be soothing, 
to relieve any pressure to drag herself into work, but from 
the way she fell suddenly silent he somehow felt he'd managed 
to say the exact wrong thing.  Since he didn't know what the 
right thing was, he kept his mouth shut and waited her out.

"Mulder?" she asked the ceiling.

"Hmm?"

"If I had left and gone to Utah, what would you have done?"

The abrupt conversation shift ground the gears in his brain.  
"Utah?"

She leveled him with an even gaze.  "Yes.  This summer when 
they separated us."

He stared back, still having some trouble comprehending what 
she was asking.  The answer was obvious to him.  He'd 
followed her to Antarctica; Utah would have been a cakewalk.  
"You weren't going to Utah, Scully.  You were quitting."

She swallowed visibly, and when she spoke again, her voice 
was almost inaudible.  "And were you... are you still mad at 
me?"

"Mad?  Scully, I was never mad."

"Relieved?"  Her eyes searched his face.  He still had not a 
clue what she was looking to find.

"I was relieved you stayed," he said, bewildered.  "You know 
that."  Her brows knit together, and he felt a rising sense 
of dread.  "You know that," he insisted again.  "I told you I 
didn't want to do this alone."

"But you are," she whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

"Ever since we got back from Antarctica, you keep running off 
on your own, often without even a word to me.  If you want a 
different partner, Mulder, I wish you'd just say so.  I know 
I haven't always been easy and that we don't always agree but 
at least we have always been honest.  If I'm holding you back 
and you want someone more--more flexible..."

She was gesturing with her uninjured arm and he caught her 
hand to shut her up.  "Scully, shhh.  Stop.  You're making my 
head hurt and I'm not the one with the concussion."  She 
wilted, small hand going limp, and he drew it towards him for 
stroking between his larger ones.  "I thought you would be 
the one who was relieved that we don't have to work the X-
Files right now," he said after a minute, and she tensed 
again immediately.

"How could you think that?" she demanded, rising from her 
pillow.  "I never said that."

No, but she had been a few steps away from walking out for 
good.  After their horrific ordeal in the tundra, he wasn't 
inclined to press his luck by dragging her after every ghost 
ship or demon baby that came down the pike.  "I thought you 
could use a break," he said.  She lay back down, blinking at 
him.  In the strange silence that followed, it dawned on his 
frazzled brain that all the time he'd feared *she* might be 
leaving him, she had been harboring similar worries about 
him.  "Scully," he began, and groped for better words.  
"Everything I said to you this summer was true.  I don't 
think I could do this without you, and I don't even know that 
I would want to."

Her hand curled in his.  "You never said that, Mulder."

"I did," he told her, frowning.  "At my house when you told 
me you were quitting.  You know."   He cleared his throat.  
"In the hallway."

Her blank look turned to confusion.  "We were in the 
hallway?"

"When you got stung?" he prompted.  She shook her head 
slowly, and he gripped her hand as he scooted his chair 
closer.  "Scully, are you telling me you don't remember?"

"I remember going to tell you I was quitting," she said.  "I 
don't remember being stung."

"Jesus."  He put his face down in the mattress again.  She 
withdrew her hand and laid it on top of his head.

"Mulder?"

"This explains a lot," he said, peering up at her.  "A lot a 
lot a lot."  He sighed and sat back in his seat.  She was 
watching him closely so he took her hand again and held it 
between both of his.  "Agent Scully, I wouldn't want to 
investigate alien mine shafts or mutilated cattle with anyone 
but you."

She snorted and turned her head to the side, but he smiled 
down at her until she had to smile back.  

"Your turn," he told her, jiggling her arm.

She shook her head a bit, as if he was being ridiculous, but 
she opened her mouth to speak.  "And I," she said at last, 
her eyes on their joined hands, "wouldn't lie in the morgue 
freezer or crawl inside a dead elephant for anyone else but 
you."

Charmed, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.  "I think 
this means we're married now, Scully."  She hummed an answer 
and wrapped her good arm around him, holding him close.  He 
shifted so they could share the pillow without him crushing 
her.  

"You hated me at first," she said, her voice sleepy.

"I did not."

"You did.  You mocked me and tried to scare me off, when you 
bothered to notice me at all.  You ran everywhere so fast I 
had to scurry to keep up."

"If I mocked you, it was because you were laughing at me."

She shifted a bit so they were nose to nose.  "I never 
laughed at you!"

"I was a source of endless amusement, Scully.  Admit it.  You 
thought I was crazy."

"I thought you were cute."

He blinked.  "You did?"

"Mmmm.  Very."  Her fingers toyed with his buttons.  "Pressed 
white shirt.  Glasses.  Thick hair.  Very nice.  But you 
hated me."

"Scully," he said, pressing close.  She smelled like hospital 
soap and worn cotton.  "I never hated you.  I thought--"

She dragged open her eyes and looked at him.  "What?"

He studied her bruised and battered face, so dear to him now, 
and wished he could say he'd thought her lovely and amazing 
all those years ago.  Instead he'd found her dowdy and rather 
plain, tougher than he'd imagined, and smart, but with pound-
for-pound more arrogance than anyone her size had a right to 
possess.  She'd smirked at him, all right, but she'd also 
followed every step of the way and asked the hard questions 
no one had ever bothered him with before.  "I was glad," he 
told her, stroking her hair behind her ear, "that I'd found 
someone to talk to."

It must have been good enough because she gave him a faint 
smile before closing her eyes again.

"Scully?" he whispered a moment later.

"Hmm?"

"You didn't really love me way back then."

"No," she sighed, snuggling closer.  "Not then."

His tired face cracked with his smile, and he closed his 
eyes.  He drifted, warm inside from their talk and the soft 
weight of Scully pressed against him.  Her words floated 
around like dandelion heads in his fuzzed brain.  Not then, 
she'd said, and his heart had squeezed to bursting.

Not then.  But later.

XxXxXxXxXxX

In the morning he settled Scully back in her motel room.  She 
ate half of one of the bagels he'd bought, swallowed a bunch 
of pain medication and promptly passed out on top of the 
covers.  He found a spare blanket and draped it over her 
before scribbling a quick note:  "Gone to meet Parker at 
Eleanor's place again.  Back soon."

Outside the summer sun was still low in the sky, brightening 
the dewdrops on his car until they sparked like diamonds.  
Mulder ran the wiper blades and swept them aside as the 
engine roared to life.  He drove the winding roads past 
rustling cornfield and towering oak trees until he reached 
Eleanor's old farmhouse.  The Sheriff's cruiser in the drive 
signaled Parker was already there, and Mulder pulled in 
behind it.  Black birds chattered at him from the roof, 
dancing along the drainpipe as he mounted the weather-beaten 
steps.

The screen door banged shut behind him, and Mulder halted 
just inside the house.  "Mulder?  Up here!" Parker called 
from the second floor, but Mulder didn't move.  He looked 
around at the pale, empty walls and wondered why the hell he 
hadn't bothered to come inside sooner.  The old floorboards 
groaned under his weight as he finally ventured from the 
front hall into the living room.  The windows were all 
closed, odd for vintage house in summer, making the air warm 
and stagnant. 

"Mulder?" Parker yelled again from upstairs.  "Is that you?" 

His eyes fell on the closet.  Nailed shut, Scully had said.

"Yeah!  I'll be right up."

Mulder crossed over for a look at the closet and saw that the 
nails had been removed.  He fingered the tiny holes before 
trying the door.  It opened.  The smell of sweat-stained wood 
assaulted his nose as he peered in the dark, cramped room.  
Kneeling down, he found what looked like a few drops of dried 
blood.  He pulled out his pocket light and shone it into the 
back.

The closet was empty except for a length of rope.  

Mulder stared at a minute and then closed the door again.  He 
took the stairs two at a time and joined Parker in Eleanor's 
equally stark bedroom.  "You'd better look at this," Parker 
said as he entered. Parker stood in front of Eleanor's open 
closet.  "There's blood in here, and it's fresh."

Mulder looked in at the cedar closet and found it a mirror to 
the one downstairs.  "Did you see the one in the living 
room?"

"Yeah."

"You think she brought the victims here?"

Parker wiped a hand over his face.  "God, I hope not."

"There are claw marks on the inside of the door here.  Did 
you get that?"

"Jesus, I had no idea she was this far gone," Parker 
muttered.

"What the hell are you talking about?  You're saying you knew 
about this?"

Parker looked stricken.  "Not--not everything."

"Just what the hell did you know?" Mulder said, advancing 
toward him.

"Derek Corbett," Parker blurted.

"Bea's boyfriend?  What about him?"

"Ellie got mixed up with him after Bea disappeared.  I 
thought it was over, but then I saw him here a few days ago."  
He nodded at the closet.  "Doing that -- with her."

"I'm afraid I'm not following you."

"Derek likes it rough, if you get my drift."  He sighed.  
"And I guess Eleanor wanted it rough."

"You knew, and you never said anything?"

"She never said a word to me about Coben!  She was the one 
pushing to have these cases investigated all these years!  
You knew about Coben better than anyone and you never 
suspected her for a minute!"

Mulder pulled back and tried to focus.  "This isn't helping 
us find her.  We've got to think.  Where would she go?  
Derek, maybe?"

"I thought of that.  Had a black and white go roust him last 
night and he said he hadn't talked to her in days."

Mulder looked around the barren room for clues.  "What about 
the Chevy?  Did you get anything from it?"

"Michael and Lindsey Brooks didn't even know it was stolen 
until we knocked on their door, so no help there.  The lab 
went over it last night and the techs say it was wiped 
clean."

"What?"  Mulder stopped pacing and looked at him.  "The whole 
car?"

"Yeah, why?"

"That isn't right," Mulder said, already heading for the 
door.  "If she wiped her prints clean, why would she bring 
the car here to her house?"

XxXxXxXxX

Scully woke up to sunshine and Mulder's silhouette near her 
window.  Her arm hurt inside the heavy cast, and her ribs 
felt cracked in two.  She decided to postpone her trip to the 
bathroom until absolutely necessary.  Mulder heard her stir 
and looked up from his files.  "Hey," he said, putting down 
the folders from his lap and crossing to the bed.  "How are 
you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a car."

"Ouch."  He sat next to her and she saw that the events of 
the night had worn on him as well.  He was still wearing 
yesterday's tired clothes, and his eyes had bags that would 
have made Samsonite proud.  "You want some water or 
something?"

Water would just make the bladder situation worse.  "No, 
thanks.  I'm fine."  She glanced beyond him to the spread of 
paperwork he'd amassed on her table.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm going through the copies of Eleanor's old files."  He 
told her what he and Parker had found at the house, along 
with Parker's revelation that Eleanor had been using Derek to 
reenact her kidnapping.

"As the victim?  Does that really fit with her as the killer 
too?"

"It might if she's somehow splintered into two kinds of 
personalities, one that masters her past trauma by reliving 
it and one that wants to exorcise it by becoming the person 
who hurt her.  It might also explain why she wiped the 
fingerprints off the stolen car but then left it in her own 
garage.  However, there's still something that's bothering 
me."

"What?"

"The last two cards."  He got off the bed and fetched the 
photographs.  "It says that the circle is closing, right?  
And we now think that one of the cards was for CiCi and one 
was for you, meaning the circle should be closed by now."

"You think that's why she disappeared?"  Scully winced as she 
struggled to sit up against the pillows.

"Don't know.  But look at this."  He pulled out a sketch he'd 
made of the victims.  "I can't close the circle as it stands.  
Bea connects to Shannon, Shannon to Mark, Mark to CiCi and 
CiCi to you.  It's a chain, not a circle."

Scully took the paper and studied it.  "So for the circle to 
be complete, I would have to connect back to Bea somehow.  I 
don't see that there's anyway to do that, Mulder.  I never 
met her.  I've never even been to Woodsbury before this 
case."

"Exactly," he said, sounding re-energized.  He took the paper 
from her and pulled out an eraser.  "You break the pattern, 
Scully.  Every other victim was abducted after weeks, maybe 
even a full year of surveillance.  You got plowed with a 
Chevy."

"I remember," she said dryly.

"So what if you weren't supposed to be in the circle at all?"  
He erased her name and held up the list again.

"Okay, but then who would the second card have been for?"

"I don't know," he said, drooping.  "That's where I'm stuck."  
His cell phone rang and he pulled it out. "Mulder."

Scully picked up his paper as he talked.  If his theory were 
correct, then the victim intended for the last card would 
have to connect back to Bea somehow.

"Really?" Mulder was saying.  "Okay, I guess that's not a 
huge surprise.  Thanks."  He hung up and looked at her.  "The 
blood in Eleanor's closet appears to belong to Eleanor.  In 
any case, it's definitely not CiCi's.  There's a bloodstain 
in the bedroom closet from a male, too.  Parker is betting 
that it's Derek Corbett's."

Scully shared her latest insight.  "The last victim would 
have to be the one who connects back to Bea, Mulder.  See?"

Mulder looked down at the paper.  "Eleanor," he said 
suddenly, lurching from the bed.

"What about her?"

"She's the one who fits.  Bea connects to Derek and Derek 
connects to Eleanor.  That card was always meant for 
Eleanor." 

"Mulder, wait -- even excepting the fact that she sent the 
cards to herself, it still doesn't fit.  Derek's not in the 
circle."

"He is if he's the killer."  Mulder picked up his jacket.

"Mulder---"

"I'll call you, Scully.  Get some rest, okay?"  And in a 
whirl, he was gone.

XxXxXxX

Okay, he thought as he drove, he hadn't worked it all out 
yet.  But it was an answer that made sense.  Derek played 
power games with Eleanor, and the birthday cards were another 
extension of that.  If he'd been intimate with her, it was 
possible he'd managed to rig it so that her DNA was on the 
envelopes.  Hell, maybe he forced her to lick envelopes when 
they were together.

The car fishtailed around the last corner and he came to an 
abrupt stop in front of Derek's apartment building.  Ringing 
the bell, he found no one at home.  "Dammit."  He pulled out 
his phone and called Parker at the station.  

Jimmy Tipton answered instead.

"Tipton, it's Agent Mulder.  I need to get a warrant to enter 
Derek Corbett's apartment.  Do you think you can help me with 
that?"

"Sure, what are you after Derek for?"

"I don't have time for all the details, but I think there is 
a possibility he might have abducted Eleanor."

Silence stretched on the other end.  "So she's not the 
killer?" Tipton asked at last.

"Maybe not, no.  Can you help me?  Corbett isn't answering 
his door."

"If he's your killer, Agent Mulder, there's no way he brought 
the victims to that apartment building."

Mulder looked up at the plain brick building that house 
perhaps thirty units.  "It seems unlikely, but I'd still like 
to see inside.  His relationship with Eleanor should be 
enough to get us inside, I think.  Will do you do it?"

"Sure." A pause.  "But Derek Corbett's family bought him an 
old fixer-upper outside of town that he uses as a studio.  
Have you looked there?"

"No, I haven't.  Can you give me the address?"

"I'll do you one better," Tipton said.  "I can meet you at 
Derek's, and we'll go together."

XxXxXxXx

End Chapter Ten.  Continued in Chapter Eleven.

Thanks to Amanda for proofreading!  Any mistakes left are 
mine alone.

Questions, comments, general rambling to syn_tax6@yahoo.com