Blood Ties Chapter 1
(Blood Ties Series
by Dawn





127 S. Cambridge
Eagle Rock
Sunday
3:10 p.m.


Mulder leaned against the counter, watching Grey rummage through the
refrigerator. He was tired -- not just the pleasant physical fatigue of
well-used muscles, but an almost mind-numbing weariness of spirit.
They'd walked back from the park in silence, a wall replacing the bridge
between them. Mulder was still trying to figure out how he'd managed so
quickly to alienate a man he'd begun to like and hoped to respect. The
look in his brother's eyes when he spoke of his wife was a look he'd
seen in the mirror on numerous occasions. He longed to take back the
angry words, but knew it was impossible.

"Hey."

He looked up, startled from his inner ramblings, only to have Grey toss
him two objects in quick succession. The first was a bottle of water,
the second a small ice pack.

"Put that on your lip, it'll take down the swelling," his brother said
gruffly.

The cold stung at first, then felt soothing. "Thanks," he said quietly.
After a moment he added, "Scully's going to kill me."

To his intense relief, Grey grinned. "Bet she can be a real spitfire."

Mulder rolled his eyes. "You have *no* idea."

"Kate was like that," Grey said, a wistful note creeping into his voice
though his smile remained. "The little bit I've seen of Dana reminds me
of her. She was the gentlest person I've ever known  -- but hell on
wheels if you crossed her."

"How long were you married before...?"

"Four years. Sometimes I regret that we never had kids. Most times I
think it's for the best." He sighed. "We thought we had plenty of time."

"Scully can't have children," Mulder said, setting down the ice pack and
opening his water. "They did something to her when they abducted her."

He seemed to miss the significance of his own remark, but Grey didn't.

"I have to say this once, Fox, and then I'll let it lie. Life is too
short to wait for a perfect moment. Tell her."

Mulder looked at him sharply but didn't pretend ignorance. "It's
complicated."

Grey chuckled. "*You* make it so, little brother. It's actually very
simple."

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier," Mulder said, attempting to change
the subject. "I didn't mean to open an old wound."

Grey shrugged. "It's all right. I'm doing okay now."

"I didn't notice any pictures of her."

A little of the sadness crept back into his brother's eyes. "Not *that*
okay." He downed a few swallows of water before continuing. "I've got a
picture upstairs in the bedroom. I'm not ready to see her everywhere
yet."

He deposited his empty bottle in the sink and stripped off his shirt,
rolling it into a ball. "I'm taking a shower. Make yourself at home, I'm
sure Dana won't be back for a little while yet."

With that he ambled down the hallway and Mulder heard the thud of his
feet as he ascended the stairs. Still sipping his water, Mulder wandered
into the living room, idly taking in the comfortable furniture that was
surprisingly free of knick-knacks. Something told him that more than
just pictures had been packed away after Kate's death.

A large coffee table sat in front of the sofa, and he saw that it was
littered with file folders, their contents spilled out over the surface.
Curiosity piqued, he drifted closer, not really surprised to discover
that they were case folders. Almost without thinking, he sat down and
began to read, spreading out crime scene photos and autopsy reports.

A serial killer, with four victims to date. All dead from blood loss
caused by deep slashes inflicted to the forearms from elbow to wrist.
The bodies were mutilated post-mortem, gutted to remove the heart from
the chest cavity. The selection of victims appeared to be random --
males and females, various ethnic backgrounds and professions, ranging
in age from twenty-seven to fifty-eight. The Raleigh P.D. had consulted
with the local bureau to obtain a profile of the killer, and a suspect
was presently in custody.

Completely immersed, Mulder never heard Grey's footsteps on the stairs.

"Hey, Fox, I can loan you a pair of sweats if you want to shower."

Grey broke off, frozen in the doorway when he saw how his brother had
been occupying his time. A momentary flash of annoyance crossed his
features before he walked into the room and plopped down onto the couch.

"I'm not sure how ethical it is for you to be doing that," he said.

"I'm FBI. It's not like I'm a civilian," Mulder murmured, never lifting
his eyes from the report he was reading.

"Doesn't matter, I suppose. We caught the guy yesterday. I was downtown
filling out the paperwork when you first arrived."

"You've got the wrong guy." There was no hesitancy, no uncertainty in
Mulder's voice. He continued to flip through the folder that he was
holding, oblivious to the thunder in his brother's face.

"The Raleigh bureau gave us a profile. He fits it perfectly," Grey said
tightly.

"I know. The profile is wrong."

"It's wrong, huh? And you were able to determine that after reading the
case file for all of twenty minutes? We've been working this case for
*three months*! I think you should stick to aliens."

*That* grabbed Mulder's attention with an almost physical jerk. His head
whipped around to fix Grey with a furious glare and he clenched the
papers in his hand until they crackled. His brother didn't shrink from
the venom in his stare, arms folded belligerently across his chest.

"I'm not an idiot. I used to be a profiler," Mulder said, teeth clenched
so that the words came out like slivers of ice.

"And we aren't just a bunch of stupid good ole boys who don't know how
to run an investigation," Grey retorted, his accent thickened by his
anger. "You aren't profiling any more, Fox, and you're out of your
jurisdiction. Leave it alone."

He began shoving papers and photos back into the folders, his movements
rough. Mulder bit back another retort, breathing deeply in an effort to
calm down. When he spoke again, he kept his voice reasonable and
detached.

"Grey, listen to me. I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds, but the files
just caught my eye. You have to believe me when I say that I know what
I'm talking about here. The man you've arrested did not commit those
murders. Your killer is still out there, and he'll kill again."

Grey looked at him, his eyes still narrowed in annoyance, but his own
anger in check. "Because the profile is wrong," he said sarcastically.

Mulder ignored his skepticism and nodded. "Look, the profile assumes
that the killer is a middle-aged male, probably thirty-five to
forty-five, who didn't finish high school and works a manual labor job.
It also supposes that his motivation for the murders stems from a sense
of inadequacy. That he picked the victims because they were all well
educated and in successful careers -- something he wanted but could
never attain."

"I've read the profile."

"So you arrested..." He trailed off picking up a folder and consulting
it. "Patrick Booker, thirty nine, an assembly line worker at a local
company that makes plastic containers."

"That's right. A company that just happens to be within five miles of
where three of the four victims lived and two miles from one of the dump
sites," Grey said defensively. "He never graduated high school, and his
co-workers said he's always mouthing off about people in white-collar
jobs thinking they're better than he is. Plus he knew two of the victims
personally. He had Janet Lange's business card in his wallet."

"But the autopsy results say that the victims all had large amounts of
Ativan in their bloodstream, most likely injected. Patrick Booker
wouldn't have access to that drug or the smarts to use it. His I.Q. is
barely above one hundred. In addition, the profile presupposes that the
UNSUB murders out of rage. I just don't see that from the presentation
of the bodies. The victims were essentially anesthetized before their
arms were slashed, and the mutilations were performed after death."

And *your* theory is?" Grey uttered the word with derision.

Reining in his temper Mulder continued, his voice becoming more detached
and clinical the longer he spoke. Scully would have recognized the signs
that he was distancing himself from the horror of exploring the killer's
mind.

"The killer is younger, probably in his twenties. He was severely abused
-- physically? Sexually? I'm not sure, though, since none of the victims
were violated I'd suspect the former. Whatever the case, the system let
this guy down and the abuse was never exposed and stopped. He's out from
under it now, but he can't move on. The victims represent the people who
should have been able to help him, but didn't. A teacher. A doctor. A
school counselor. And a social worker. All jobs that come with the
obligation to report child abuse. Even his method reflects his state of
mind during the years of abuse. Think about it, it's the classic means
for committing suicide by slashing your wrists -- vertical cuts so that
the blood won't clot as easily. It speaks of my sense of despair,
hopelessness. I'm trapped and alone and this is the only way out for me.
Cutting the heart from the body is the ultimate expression of my
despondency."

He realized he'd been drifting, caught on the in between plane where
only his own mind and the mind of the killer existed. He brought himself
sharply back to focus on his brother, only to see Grey watching him as
if he'd grown a second head. Mulder flushed, mentally kicking himself
for going in so deep. Before either one could speak the doorbell rang.

Still scrutinizing Mulder as if he were a particularly interesting bug,
Grey got up and returned a moment later with Scully. Her relaxed smile
froze when she sensed the tension between them and her eyes narrowed as
she took in Mulder's split lip.

"I thought I told you boys to play nice," she said, eyes darting from
one to the other.

Grey had the good grace to flush and duck his head. "Guess it runs in
the family after all. Can I get you something to drink, Dana?"

"Grey..." Mulder began, the folder still in one hand.

"I told you to let it go, Fox." Grey cut him off, scooping the papers
off the table and plucking the folder from his hand. "We have plenty of
support from the Raleigh bureau. Your input isn't needed or wanted on
this."

Mulder's temper snapped and he lunged to his feet. "Why are you being so
pig-headed? Why can't you just listen to what I have to say? Are you
worried little brother is going to show you up?"

"I did listen! All I heard was some half-baked idea put together in a
few minutes that completely contradicts a profile refined over several
months! Stick to your X Files, Fox, and leave real life to me."

The words hung in the air of a room that was suddenly very still.
Mulder's eyes shone over-bright in a face devoid of color. Scully
reached out as if to lay a hand on his arm, but he shook it off.

"I knew this would never work," he said bitterly, and stalked out of the
house without looking back.

Scully turned a furious glare on Grey, only to see him squeeze his eyes
shut and bury his face in his hands. "I can't believe I just said that,"
he groaned, honest regret in his voice.

Scully's face softened, but her tone was steel. "I can't either."

Grey dropped his hands and sighed, looking up at the ceiling in a "why
me?" gesture. "He can just be so...infuriating! It's like he pushes all
the wrong buttons in me, you know what I mean?"

"I've been his partner for six years, Grey. I think I can grasp the
concept."

"Then why do you put up with it?" he asked, and she saw it was not a
rhetorical question.

The answer came with surprising ease, leaving her to wonder what that
told her about herself. "Because he needs me. And although he can be
boneheaded and insensitive at times, he can also amaze you with acts of
utter selflessness and compassion. He's a truly good person, Grey, and
I'm better for knowing him. Give it a try."

Grey ran his hand through his hair and started for the door. "I need to
apologize."

"Don't."

The single word stopped him with its intensity, and he turned back
perplexed. "Don't?"

"Give him some time to cool down and call him in the morning. You know
where we're staying, right?" At his nod she continued. "We planned to
fly home tomorrow night, so you've got one more day to fix things. He
wants it to work, Grey."

"So do I, Dana. It's just not going to be easy."

She smiled and squeezed his arm as she moved past him to the door.
"Well, you know the clich. Nothing really worthwhile ever is."

The door snicked shut behind her and he stood in the middle of his
living room, staring at the file in his hand. Mulder's words, spoken in
that odd monotone, ran through his head and he shivered. Feeling
foolish, he dropped the folder back onto the table and went to make
himself a sandwich.


Continued in part 11


Blood Ties (11 of 17)
By Dawn


Holiday Inn
Raleigh
Sunday
6:00 p.m.


"Let me get this straight," Scully said, fishing around in the cardboard
container until her chopsticks snagged another shrimp. "You basically
told the man that the last three months of his life have been a complete
waste of time -- professionally speaking anyway. You then followed that
revelation by enlightening him as to what he ought to have been doing
instead. And all after perusing the case file for less than a
half-hour." She popped a shrimp into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
"Does that about sum it up?"

"Scullee!" Mulder groaned from his position draped across the end of the
bed. "You make it sound so...so..."

"Insensitive? Inconsiderate? Tactless?" Scully finished, setting aside
the container and leaning back on the headboard.

"But it's the truth!" Mulder said petulantly, his lip stuck out slightly
in defiance. "Everything I told him, Scully. I'm sure of it."

Scully sighed heavily. "Mulder. A passion for the truth doesn't
supercede the need for simple courtesy. You sandbagged him. It's no
wonder he closed his mind to anything you had to say."

Mulder growled and flopped onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes.
Scully waited, expecting a rebuttal or at the very least a carefully
thought out defense. The response she got instead caused her mouth to
drop open slightly in surprise.

"I hate it when you're right."

Scully smiled softly, allowing affection to color her voice. "He'll call
you tomorrow, Mulder. You can work this out. As for the case, Grey was
right. You need to let it go and trust that they know what they're
doing. Your relationship with him may hinge on whether or not you do."

The shrill ring of a cell phone aborted Mulder's reply and they both
fumbled to answer before Mulder remembered that he was in her room. He
watched in amusement as Scully's relaxed posture snapped to attention,
knowing that the caller must be Skinner. The conversation was brief and
one-sided, with their boss doing most of the talking. The overall point
of the conversation was clear -- Skinner needed them in D.C. on the next
available flight.

"He needs us back." Mulder stated, scanning her face as she closed the
phone.

"Not us, me. There's an autopsy he wants me to handle. He was sketchy on
the details, but he's faxing the report now, so that I can read through
it on the plane. Kim booked me on a seven-thirty flight." She climbed
off the bed and began packing her suitcase as she spoke.

Mulder sat up and swung his legs over the edge. "I'll just get a seat on
the same flight, Scully. We can fly back together."

She startled him by stopping her flurry of activity and staring at him
intently. "Don't, Mulder. You have to make things right with Grey. If
you get on that plane tonight, you won't come back. We both know that."

Mulder met her gaze silently for several moments before expelling a
large puff of air. "You're on a roll tonight, Scully. Finish packing and
I'll go check on that fax."

An hour later they stood outside the gate, waiting for the call to board
Scully's flight. She finished running down her mental checklist,
reassured she'd remembered everything, when she realized Mulder was
staring blankly at the plane. She knew that look.

"Mulder."

He blinked and looked down at her, though several seconds passed before
he was really all there. "Hmm?"

"Where were you just now?"

His eyes slid away from hers, a sure sign that he was hiding something.
"I was right here, Scully. I just got distracted for a moment."

"You were thinking about that case."

She hid her amusement as he practically began shuffling his feet,
looking like a little boy caught snitching cookies.

"Mulderrr..."

"I heard what you said before, Scully. It's just hard to turn it off."

She considered the words, touched by his candor. An image of her partner
during the Mostow case surfaced -- gaunt from skipping meals, eyes
shadowed from lack of sleep but burning with determination that had
crossed the line into obsession. "Hard to turn off" was an
understatement.

The call for boarding interrupted her thoughts and she reached out to
grasp his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Good luck with Grey. I'll pick you
up at Dulles tomorrow night."

To her surprise, he used their linked hands to draw her into a hug,
tucking her head under his chin. She stiffened momentarily, then relaxed
into the embrace, his tee shirt soft against her cheek and the steady
beat of his heart soothing.

"Thanks, Scully," he said softly, the words a rumble in the ear pressed
to his chest. "I don't know what I would've done without you this week.
You've been my anchor."

Flustered by his uncharacteristic profession of gratitude, she fell back
on the easy response. "That's what partners are for."

Mulder surprised her yet again by pulling away to gaze into her face,
his hazel eyes green with emotion. Slowly he shook his head. "Grey was
right. This was above and beyond the call of duty. And I want you to
know, Scully, that it means everything to me that you were by my side
through this."

Scully tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. "It was my
pleasure."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but before he could remark the flight
attendant repeated the boarding call. This time Mulder was the one
startled when Scully reached up to cup his cheek with one hand, pressing
her lips to the other. She let her hand linger a moment longer before
scooping up her laptop and heading for the line of passengers.

Scully had disappeared from sight before Mulder realized he was still
standing in the lounge area, an idiotic grin plastered on his face. He
hastily removed it, fighting the impulse to look around and see if
anyone had noticed.

With Scully gone there was little to occupy his thoughts on the way back
to the car, so they inevitably returned to Grey's case. Mulder's
conviction that the wrong man was in custody had only strengthened with
time, as did his foreboding that the killer would strike again soon. Who
would be the next victim? A mother? A policeman? A vivid image of Grey,
lying in a pool of his own blood with his heart torn out caused him to
freeze, his key poised in the ignition. He shook his head as if to
banish the thought and started the car, knowing what he had to do.

Raleigh Police Department
Sunday
7:45 p.m.


The cop behind the front desk was reading the paper, his feet propped up
on a chair. He hauled  himself reluctantly to his feet when he noticed
Mulder.

"Can I help you?"

The slight growl to his voice made it plain that he'd rather not. Mulder
feigned ignorance, pulling out his I.D. and holding it up for
inspection.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder from the bureau in D.C. I'd like to see any
information you have on one of your current cases -- a serial murder."

"You mean the San Francisco Slasher?"

At Mulder's quizzical look he shrugged. "Hey, I didn't think it up. Some
of the homicide guys started it. Because of the way the killer cuts out
the hearts."

When Mulder still looked at him blankly, added, "You know, like that old
Tony Bennett song. "I left my heart..."

"In San Francisco," Mulder finished. "Very funny. Could you get me those
files, Officer..." He squinted at the man's nametag. "Gardner?"

Gardner's eyes narrowed. "I don't get it. They have a suspect in
custody. What's the Washington bureau's interest?"

Mulder fought his impatience. "Suspect. That's the key word. I just want
to review everything, make sure we're on the right track." He
deliberately stressed the word "we," insinuating that he was just
another member of the team. When Gardner still seemed reluctant he
added, "Look, I've already talked to Grey McKenzie about this."

They guilt he felt at the half-truth was assuaged by Gardner's quick
capitulation with his request. With a "why didn't you say so in the
first place" he was set up in an empty interrogation room, the pertinent
folders spread before him.

The more he read, the more Mulder was convinced that Booker was not the
killer. The man had displayed none of the classic triad of symptoms
common to most serial killers. His childhood, while poverty-stricken,
lacked anything that could be termed abuse. His contact with the victims
was suspicious, but circumstantial.

Mulder worked his way meticulously through the autopsies, crime scene
photos, and witness testimonies, making notes on a yellow legal pad that
Officer Gardner had supplied. He chewed on his lip, a frown of
concentration darkening his features. Soon his focus narrowed to a
pinpoint that encompassed only the files and his own notes. The rest of
the world virtually ceased to exist, the only sound in the tiny room the
scratching of lead on paper.

As he checked and cross-checked information, one name continued to pop
up. Jackson Ross. An EMT, he was at the scene when the first victim was
discovered. He occasionally worked with Karen Abbot, the doctor and
third victim. Intrigued, Mulder pulled out his cell phone and dialed for
help.

"It's Mulder. Turn off the tape."

"Mulder! We were beginning to think you'd dropped off the face of the
earth," Frohike said. He hesitated a moment. "Sorry about your mom."

"Thanks. I've got someone I need you to run a background check on, and I
need the results ASAP."

"No problemo. Who is it?"

"Jackson Ross. An EMT who lives in Raleigh."

"Raleigh? Where are you? I thought you were in Greenwich."

"Never mind, just get me anything you can on this guy. You can reach me
on my cell," Mulder said abruptly, his mind already returning to the
casefiles."

"Will do."

By the time the phone rang again, Mulder had absorbed all the available
information and constructed his own profile. He was shaking out a cramp
in his hand and wishing for his laptop when the shrill buzz from his
pocket nearly caused him to drop his pencil. Cursing under his breath,
he flipped the phone open while continuing to flex his fingers.

"Mulder."

He listened intently, the pain in his hand forgotten as it flew over the
pad of paper to record Frohike's findings. The crease between his eyes
deepened and his mouth straightened into a grim line. When the gunman
had finished he let his eyes slip shut, feelings of validation and
revulsion warring within him.

"Thanks Frohike. I owe you."

Frohike must have heard something in his voice, since his own became
probing. "You okay, Mulder? Is Scully with you?"

"I'm fine, Frohike. And believe it or not, Scully and I actually can be
sold separately." The sarcasm was uncalled for after everything his
friend had done, but he was too weary to care.

Luckily, Frohike seemed to let it slide. "Take it easy, man. Let us know
if we can do anything else."

Ashamed, Mulder injected gratitude into his voice. "I will."

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and ran a hand over his face.
His eyes felt sticky, he had a crick in his neck, and a percussion
ensemble was playing in his head. But the information on the pad
superceded his petty physical discomforts. Jackson Ross was the San
Francisco Slasher. He was certain of it.

Mulder folded his arms on the table and dropped his head onto them,
longing for a cup of coffee and one of Scully's back rubs. His
satisfaction at identifying the killer was tempered by the knowledge of
what came next. It would be like swimming upstream -- a very cold stream
with lots of sharp rocks. He doubted he'd emerge unscathed.

The door to the room flew open so hard that it crashed against the wall,
sounding like a gunshot in the room's silence. Mulder's head flew up and
he spun around to face the intruder, wincing as the pain between his
eyes doubled. Grey stood in the doorway, face twisted with anger, hands
clenched into fists, his voice a barely contained roar.

"What the *hell* do you think you're doing?"


Continued in part 12


Blood Ties (12 of 17)
By Dawn


Raleigh Police Department
Monday
7:00 a.m.


Mulder found he'd suddenly acquired a rare condition -- he was
speechless. His brother stepped into the room and slammed the door shut,
then simply glared. Grey's hands twitched at his sides as if he longed
to be using them, most likely by wrapping them around Mulder's throat.
He walked slowly over to where Mulder was seated, his eyes wandering
over the files and the notepad with deliberate care. Mulder forced
himself not to fidget, clamping down on the feeling of being caught
stealing.

"Well?"

The single word sounded as if Grey were biting through steel. Mulder
flinched in spite of himself, then felt his own irritation emerge. *It
isn't as if I'm seeing his girlfriend behind his back* he thought
defensively. *If they don't arrest the right killer, someone else is
going to die*.

He was denied righteous anger, however, by the simple fact that he'd
gone around Grey, against his wishes. It was a form of betrayal, and
necessity didn't change that.

"Grey, I'm sorry. I know you didn't want me to pursue this, but I had
to." The contrition in his voice was real, but his brother seemed
unimpressed.

"You aren't sorry. You'd do it again, if the situation arose. Admit it."

How could he answer that? It was true. And the hell of it was, he wasn't
sorry for his actions, only their impact on his brother.

"I couldn't just stand by and let someone else die," he said aloud,
hating the pleading note that had crept into his voice. "I had to do
something about it."

Grey looked at him as if he was an exceptionally slow child. "We have
the killer in custody," he growled, speaking each word slowly and with
exaggerated clarity. "No one is going to die."

"Please just listen to me. I know who the killer is, and it isn't
Booker. Just give me five minutes and I can show you I'm right."

"I won't give you five minutes, I'm not even giving you five seconds! Do
you actually think I would want to hear what you have to say after
finding out you've been sneaking around behind my back?"

Mulder's temper sparked. "I wasn't *sneaking*! I have the right to gain
access to these files if I decide it's necessary. Or have you forgotten
that the bureau outranks the local P.D.?"

He could almost hear Scully groan as soon as the words left his mouth.
*The truth doesn't supercede the need for simple courtesy, Mulder.*

Grey, if it was possible, became angrier. Rather than increasing in
volume, however, his voice became quiet and controlled. Mulder was
eerily reminded of his father.

"Get out. If you plan on exercising your authority here you'd better get
your A.D. to call me. For now, I want you out of this station and out of
my life."

Mulder, who had been about to apologize, stared dumbly at his brother.
Grey's eyes were ice and his teeth clenched as if to prevent himself
from saying more.

"Grey..."

"You said it yourself, Fox. It isn't going to work. We've both existed
without a brother this long, we'll be just fine. Leave the files on the
table, I'll get someone to take care of them."

He'd left the room before Mulder's paralyzed brain could even begin to
formulate a reply. He stared at the door with his stomach churning, a
depression settling over him that was so deep and thick he could barely
breathe. In that moment he was granted an epiphany -- he hadn't just
*wanted* things with Grey to work. A part of him, the part that had
ached for his sister every day over the last twenty-six years -- had
desperately *needed* it to work.

Mulder dragged himself wearily to his feet, muscles that had been
confined by his stint in the wooden chair screaming in protest. When his
eyes found the wall clock he was stunned to realize he'd passed the
entire night hunched over the files. The loss of his ability to judge
the passage of time gave him an uneasy feeling, but the urgency of his
findings wouldn't allow him to grant it more than a passing thought.
He'd alienated his brother, but a killer was still out there. The drive
to prevent another death superimposed his own grief, banishing it to the
back of his mind.

He picked up his profile and strode purposefully out of the room,
ignoring the inquisitive stares he felt following his every move. If
Grey wouldn't listen, he'd see this through alone.



1616 Merton Avenue
Monday
10:00 a.m.


Mulder got out of the car and stared up at the house, wishing for the
professional armor of a suit. When he'd left the Raleigh P.D. he'd gone
back to the motel to shower and shave, but the clothing items he'd
brought with him on this trip were exclusively casual. He felt oddly
vulnerable in his jeans and navy V-neck sweater, weapon concealed by his
leather jacket.

The house was absurdly normal in a neighborhood like any one of
thousands across the country. The fact didn't surprise Mulder. He'd
learned long ago that a monster could hide under the most innocuous
faade. He recalled a case from his days with Violent Crimes -- a
six-year-old who had removed her baby brother from his crib while he was
napping, strangled him and hid the body in the woods behind her home. He
shuddered, recalling the complete lack of remorse in her cherub face
when the body was discovered buried under some leaves. She'd actually
had them searching for a kidnapper she claimed had entered through an
open patio door, until they'd discovered prints from her fingers around
the infant's neck and traces of his skin under her fingernails. It
turned out the girl had been severely abused by a disappointed father
who'd wanted a son and not the daughter he originally received.

A line from a Stephen King novel flitted through Mulder's head: "This
inhuman place makes human monsters." According to his information from
Frohike, that was precisely what had occurred at 1616 Merton Avenue.

He walked slowly up to the front door, noting that the house was set
well back from the street, and there were no neighboring homes within an
acre in either direction. The seclusion, coupled with older construction
that tended to be more solid and soundproof, made it entirely possible
that the murders could have been performed on the premises without
detection. Mentally preparing himself for anything, he pressed the
doorbell.

A young woman in her early twenties answered the door, a wary look on
her pretty face. Her hair was blonde and cut short, her eyes a deep
green. Those eyes flicked quickly up and down Mulder's form, then came
to rest on his face.

"Yes?"

Mulder showed her his I.D. and tried to make his voice as reassuring as
possible. "My name is Fox Mulder. I'm a special agent with the Federal
Bureau of Investigation. I'm investigating a series of murders and I was
hoping to speak to Jackson Ross."

The wariness was replaced by uncertainty. "That's my brother. Is he in
some sort of trouble?"

"I just need to ask him a few questions," Mulder said in what he hoped
was a soothing tone. "Is he home?"

She shook her head. "He's still at work. He's normally home by now when
he has the graveyard shift, but sometimes there's a really bad trauma
and he gets held up."

"Would you mind if I waited a few minutes to see if he shows up? It's
very important."

Her eyes danced over him again, still cautious, but then she smiled
nervously. "I guess not. My name is Sara, by the way. Come on in."

She led him into a large living room and gestured for him to sit down on
a couch that was definitely made for show and not comfort. He watched
her as she seated herself gingerly on the edge of a chair, noticing that
although she was not particularly tall her arms and legs were muscular.

"You caught me during my workout," Sara laughed, as if recognizing his
assessment. "Jackson has some body building equipment in the basement
and I borrow it now and then."

"It's great you keep in shape," Mulder replied. "Jackson must be pretty
strong, huh?"

"Well, he often needs to be. Some of the calls his unit responds to are
pretty grueling. You said you're investigating some murders?"

Mulder nodded. "Jackson's unit was first on the scene after one of the
bodies was found. He also worked with one of the victims -- a Dr. Karen
Abbott."

Sara looked sad. "I remember. Jackson felt really bad about that. He
liked working with Dr. Abbott. She never made him feel inferior, you
know? Some of the doctors can do that. Jackson was already questioned
though, so why are you here?"

Mulder held out his hands, palms up. "I can't really discuss it with
you, Sara. It's confidential. You can understand that, right?"

For an instant he thought he saw irritation flash across her face, but
then she was smiling and nodding and he was convinced he'd been
mistaken. He was running on very little sleep, even by his standards,
and it shouldn't surprise him if his perceptions were a bit off.

"Can I offer you some coffee, Agent Mulder?"

He hesitated only a moment before nodding, thinking that some caffeine
would definitely help restore his edge. "Thanks, Sara. That sounds
great."

She disappeared from the room and he glanced around, taking in the
stiffly formal furnishings and the large fireplace. The mantle held a
small collection of photos and he got up to take a closer look.

One picture was obviously current, Sara looking much the same with her
arm around a young man with the same color blond hair worn long and
drawn back into a ponytail. The eyes were hard and untouched by the
smile on his face. Jackson's arms were thick and muscular, certainly
capable of hefting the weight of a dead body.

Another picture was a family portrait, and Sara looked to be no more
than three. She was perched on what must be her father's shoulders,
grinning impishly down at him. Jackson stood in front of his mother, her
arms draped loosely around him and his face solemn.

"That's the only picture we have of my father," Sara said, startling him
by her silent return. "He died when I was three."

Mulder returned to his place on the sofa and accepted the mug she handed
him. The coffee was strong and a little sweet, but he sipped it
gratefully.

"I'm sorry, I added some sugar before I could stop myself," Sara
apologized sheepishly. "I'm just so used to making Jackson's that way
that I guess I was operating on autopilot."

"As long as it's got caffeine, I'm not complaining," Mulder chuckled. He
took another drink and saw that she had relaxed, the apprehensive look
gone from her face.

"So what do you do, Sara?"

"Nothing as exciting as working for the FBI, I'm afraid. I do some
telemarketing out of the house. The money isn't great, but I get to set
my own hours. Have you been an FBI agent for very long?"

Mulder smothered the yawn that suddenly wanted to break free and took
another swig of the coffee, willing it to combat the fogginess that he
felt. "About twelve years now. Have you and Jackson always lived in this
house?"

"Yes, this is the house we grew up in. Jackson talks about moving, but
so far I've convinced him to stay. There's a lot of memories in this old
house, some good and some bad." Her forehead wrinkled at some unspoken
recollection. "A lot of them bad, I guess. But all the good times with
our father were in this house. I can't help feeling that if I leave the
house I'll be leaving him, you know?"

Mulder blinked, feeling strangely disconnected from his body. While Sara
had been speaking he felt as if she'd been moving farther and farther
away from him, down a long dark tunnel. The fogginess had turned into an
overwhelming lethargy that left his limbs feeling heavy and his tongue
thick and clumsy in his mouth. His eyes slipped shut and with enormous
effort he forced them back open, though he was unable to prevent the
empty mug from slipping out of his slack grip. A little voice in his
mind was screaming in panic, but the cotton in his head muffled it.

"Whajudotome?" he slurred, losing the struggle to keep his eyelids from
falling.

Sara leaned over him, her face distorted by eyes that couldn't seem to
focus. "You came looking for the wrong Ross, Agent Mulder," she said,
her words fading in and out as if someone was playing with a knob that
controlled the volume around him. "But you found the right one."

Comprehension pierced the thick blanket that threatened to smother him
just before everything went black.


Continued in part 13


Blood Ties (13 of 17)
By Dawn


Dulles International Airport
Monday
7:00 p.m.


Scully watched the last passenger exit the plane, torn between feeling
concerned or pissed off. She'd driven to the airport, weary after a long
stretch on her feet in the autopsy bay, only to find that Mulder wasn't
on the flight. With very little trouble, concern won out, and she pulled
her cell phone from the pocket of her jacket.

After placing two calls, her concern increased to worry. His cell phone
was not responding and there was no answer at the hotel room. In
addition, he'd never checked out as planned.

Back in her car, Scully rummaged through her wallet until she found the
slip of paper where she'd jotted down Grey's number. She punched it in,
trying to ignore the gnawing sensation that something was terribly
wrong. Grey answered on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Grey, it's Dana Scully."

"Hey, Dana. What's up?"

Scully frowned, hearing something in Grey's voice that she couldn't
identify but knew didn't belong. She sensed a wall go up, a cautiousness
he'd never displayed with her.

"It's about Mulder..."

"Look, Dana, no offense but I think it's best that you just stay out of
this. What happened this morning was between me and Fox, and I'd prefer
that it stay that way."

She fumbled for some reply while her mind raced frantically to make
sense of Grey's words. Something had happened between her partner and
his brother, and Grey obviously thought that she knew about it. The
defensive quality to his voice suggested it wasn't good.

"Grey, I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. I'm
calling because Mulder never made his flight home. I was hoping you'd
know where he is."

Silence, and she realized she'd just put *him* into the position of
scrambling for a response.

"Dana, I haven't seen Fox since about 7 this morning."

The warning bell in her head, the one activated whenever Mulder got into
trouble, was clanging loudly. He would tease her mercilessly if he knew
about the sixth sense she'd developed over the years, but it was never
wrong.

"I think you'd better tell me everything," she said quietly.

It didn't really surprise her that Mulder had gone straight to the
police station from the airport. She'd seen how deeply the case was
affecting him. The fact that he'd spent the night pouring over the files
and constructing a profile fueled her worry. Just like with Mostow, this
case was consuming him, eclipsing all other needs except that of
catching the killer. While she understood Grey's anger, she also knew
that his reaction had only made Mulder more determined. She knew without
a doubt what he had done.

"He's gone after the killer," she told Grey in a manner that was
deceptively calm. "You wouldn't listen, so he went alone."

"I wouldn't listen because we already have the killer," Grey replied
sharply.

"Grey, I need you to hear me because your brother's life may depend on
it. I don't know who you have in custody, but if Mulder said you've got
the wrong man then I'd sure as hell take a second look," Scully snapped,
her fear getting the best of her temper for a moment. Taking a deep
breath she continued, "No matter what you may think of his beliefs, his
ability to profile a killer is unparalleled. I happen to know that the
violent crimes unit at the bureau would take him back anytime, no
questions asked." Skinner had told her as much after Mulder had assisted
on a profile.

"You really think he could be in trouble?" Grey sounded shaken. "My God,
Dana, if he was right and I..."

"I'm catching the next flight out," Scully cut in, grateful once again
for the overnight bag she kept in her trunk. "I'll phone you with the
arrival time so you can pick me up. In the meantime I want you to go to
Mulder's hotel room and find his notes. He didn't have his laptop so he
probably wrote them longhand. Look for a legal pad."

"He did," Grey said quietly. "I saw it this morning."

"Gather up anything you can find on the case. Mulder will jot down notes
on whatever's handy. You wouldn't believe some of the things I've found
case notes on." 

When Grey didn't answer, she made her voice deliberately authoritative.
"*Don't*, Grey. You can beat yourself up when this is all over if it'll
make you feel better. Right now I need you with me."

She could almost see him square his shoulders. "Yeah. I'm on it. See you
soon."

Scully pocketed her phone and swung her duffel bag onto her shoulder
before heading back into the terminal. A nagging voice in her head
accused that she shared responsibility with Grey, that she knew Mulder
too well not to have seen this coming. Her admonishment to put guilt
aside was well founded. Now, if she could only take her own advice.


1616 Merton Avenue
Monday
9:07 p.m.


Mulder awoke slowly to a body that felt coated in molten lead. He was
semi-reclined on something cushioned but firm, and for a moment he
muzzily thought that he'd fallen asleep on his couch. He tried to
stretch, only to find the cushions had somehow become fused to his body.
In a split second, reality flooded his mind with a flurry of sharp
images -- his night at the police station, Grey's furious reaction,
driving to Jackson Ross's house, Sara offering him coffee... Sara!

Mulder's eyes flew open and he tried to sit up, only to find that he was
on a gurney in full restraints. His sweater, socks and shoes had been
removed, leaving him clad only in tee shirt and jeans. Still not
thinking clearly with a brain fogged from the residue of drug in his
system, he panicked, fighting against the unyielding straps and yelling
for help at the top of his lungs. After several minutes he managed to
regain control, raw wrists and a hoarse voice the only products of his
struggle. He worked to slow his pounding heart and rapid gasps for air,
recognizing from the tingling in his extremities that he'd begun to
hyperventilate.

He swept his eyes slowly around the room, evaluating his surroundings.
He was in a basement, dank with moisture and devoid of windows. The only
illumination came from a single bulb in the ceiling, its light pale and
cheerless. The walls were gray cinderblock and he saw two doors, one
across the room from where he lay and another that he could barely see
by craning his head as far to the left as possible. When he turned his
head to the right, however, all thought was driven from his mind and he
barely avoided a second panic attack.

A wooden table stood not more than four feet from his right hand, a
collection of items neatly laid out on its surface. He could see a Swiss
army knife, several vials and syringes, towels, and a hacksaw. Something
smooth and shiny caught his eye and he looked down to see that plastic
drop cloths covered the floor beneath the gurney. He slammed his eyes
shut and concentrated on each breath, unable to dispel images of the
crime scene photos.

The knob on the door he faced rattled, and a moment later Sara stepped
into the room. She walked slowly over to stand beside him, her eyes
scanning the length of his body and lingering on each set of restraints.
Once reassured that he remained incapacitated, she brought them to rest
on his face. Mulder was amazed at the transformation. No longer the
meek, slightly nervous girl he'd first met, she carried herself with
calm assurance and met his gaze without flinching.

"You're finally awake. I guess I must have misjudged the amount of
Ativan I needed. The others were only out for about six hours."

Rattled by the revelation that he'd been unconscious for so long, Mulder
refrained from asking the time. He needed to do the unpredictable, to
throw her off balance and interrupt her established patterns, or he was
a dead man.

"I have to admit, it never crossed my mind that you were the killer.
Most serial murderers are male, you know, so I naturally suspected your
brother. The fact that he'd had contact with more than one victim *and*
access to drugs and equipment... Well, I guess you can see how I made my
mistake." By some miracle he managed to keep his voice light and
conversational.

Sara's lip curled in a sneer. "Jackson would never have the guts. He
chooses to pretend things don't exist, rather than face them head on."

"Like your childhood? The happy times ended when your father died,
didn't they, Sara." He phrased it as a statement, not a question,
studying her reaction.

Sara looked startled, then her eyes narrowed. "I should have guessed
you'd know. You cops can access all of a person's records can't you? Can
find out anything about them. You just don't *act* on that knowledge."

"I know why you're doing this, Sara," Mulder continued. *Keep using her
name to establish rapport. Make her see you as a person, not an object.*
"I know what he did to you and Jackson, and I know that the ones who
could have stopped him let you down. You're hurting and you're angry,
and you want to make them pay for abandoning you."

"You know nothing! Have you ever been forced to wear long sleeves on a
hot day so that no one sees the cigarette burns on your arms? Did your
daddy ever shove you down the stairs so that you broke your leg? Or lock
you in a closet for two days, refusing to let you have food or water or
even to use the bathroom? The son of a bitch made me clean up after
myself after he finally let me out! You know all about that, Mr.
*Bigshot* FBI Agent?" She spat the words, her green eyes wild and
unfocussed.

"No. I can't know what it was like to be brutalized day after day and
unable to defend yourself. But I do know that brutalizing others won't
make the pain go away," Mulder said pitching his voice deliberately low
in contrast to hers.

Sara's lips curved in a smile that never reached her eyes. "I wondered
when you were going to get around to saving your own skin. None of the
others wanted to talk, they just screamed for help and begged me not to
hurt them." It was said clinically -- an observation lacking emotion.
"Not that it mattered. Did you know that when this house was built a lot
of basements were made to function as bomb shelters, Agent Mulder? You
could bust a gut screaming and no one would hear."

"Maybe not an outsider, but Jackson..." Mulder trailed off when he saw
her lip curl in contempt. He'd hoped that it might be possible to alert
Sara's brother to his presence, but the look on her face planted a
horrible suspicion in his mind.

"Jackson is *gone*, Agent Mulder, and he won't be coming back. I lied to
you when I said I was expecting him home."

Mulder's mouth went dry. "Where is he, Sara?"

For the first time her composure faltered and something flickered
briefly in her eyes -- guilt and possibly remorse. She shook it off
quickly and glared at him. "Jackson was worthless back when we were kids
and he was just as worthless grown up!  He refused to talk about what
that bastard did to us, he just wanted to forget. 'Get past it, Sara.
It's over,'" she mimicked. "That's what he kept telling me!"

Mulder tried to lick his lips only to realize he didn't have enough
moisture in his mouth. Sara's hands curled into claws and her teeth were
bared in a snarl. She looked more like a wild animal than a human being,
dangerous and unpredictable.

"Where is he, Sara?"

"It wasn't my fault! He figured out what I was doing and he was going to
turn me in. He would have betrayed his own sister -- can you believe it?
Did he actually think I'd just stand by and let him?"

Mulder closed his eyes against the despair that washed over him. "Did
you kill Jackson? Is that what you're telling me, Sara?"

"I had no choice." In the blink of an eye Sara became eerily calm, her
face smoothing out until she appeared almost serene. "I'm through being
a victim. I won't let anyone make me feel that way ever again."

A strident buzzing interrupted his reply. Sara looked startled, but
remained calm. "That's the doorbell. My mother had a buzzer installed
down here so that she'd know if someone came to the door while she was
doing laundry."

As she spoke she walked purposefully to the table and picked up one of
the syringes. "Our unfinished business will have to wait. Time you took
another nap."

"You don't need that, Sara. I won't make any noise, and besides, you
said this room was practically soundproofed. Don't do it, please, I
promise I'll be good. Just don't drug me."

He realized he was babbling but couldn't seem to stop. Sara was
completely unaffected by his pleas, as if she didn't even hear him. She
simply pushed up the sleeve of his shirt and sank the needle into his
arm, efficiently depressing the plunger. The drug hit his system like a
truck. His head dropped back onto the mattress and his eyes slid shut
before she'd even reached the door.

"Don't worry, Agent Mulder," he heard her say from the edge of the chasm
that swallowed him. "I'll be back."

Continued in part 14



Blood Ties (14 of 17)
By Dawn


1616 Merton Avenue
Monday
10 p.m.


Grey turned off the ignition and gazed up at the house speculatively,
pursing his lips. He could detect no movement within, but lights shone
from several of the windows on the first floor. He looked to his right
in time to see Scully remove her weapon and check the clip, then replace
it. She kept her expression carefully neutral, but he knew it was all
for show. Her hands had roamed restlessly during the drive from the
airport -- shuffling Mulder's notes, tucking a strand of hair behind an
ear, placing a call to her boss. She had been a constant blur of motion
that revealed her anxiety more clearly than words.

"You ready?" he asked quietly. When she nodded he continued, "We can't
make him let us in, you know. If we're going to get a warrant, we have
to have more to go on, even if what you say is true and Fox *is* a
legend in his own time."

Her mouth tried to curve at his attempt to ease the tension, but failed.
She started to open her door, then paused to lay a hand on his arm. "I
know you still have your doubts, Grey. Thank you for trusting me on
this."

There wasn't much he could say to that so he simply got out of the car
and followed her up the long driveway. Scully rang the doorbell and
turned, looking first to the left and then the right. Lights from the
adjoining houses were visible, but just barely.

"Remote," Grey murmured as if reading her thoughts. "There's enough
trees on this lot to shield the house from view of the neighbors."

Scully bit her lip and turned back to face the door, tapping her foot.
Another minute passed and she was about to try the bell again when the
door opened a crack. She could just make out blonde hair and green eyes
set in a decidedly feminine face.

"Yes?"

"I'm Agent Scully with the FBI and this is Detective McKenzie from the
Raleigh Police Department. We apologize for bothering you this late, but
it's urgent that we speak with Jackson Ross."

The crack widened enough for the girl to view their identification, then
the door swung open. Scully did a quick assessment, hiding it behind a
friendly smile. The girl looked to be in her early to mid-twenties,
average height and sturdy of build. She looked both intrigued and
intimidated by their badges, and Scully felt a pang of sadness that she
would be caught up in what could turn into a very bad situation.

"I'm Sara Ross. Jackson is my older brother but he isn't home right now.
Is there something wrong?"

Grey shifted uncomfortably and shot Scully a questioning glance.

"We're looking for my partner, Agent Mulder," Scully explained
carefully. "He planned on coming to see Jackson today to ask him some
questions regarding a murder investigation. We're hoping your brother
will be able to tell us if he saw Agent Mulder, and if Agent Mulder
indicated where he was headed next."

Sara's face screwed up into a puzzled frown. "Would you like to step
inside for a moment? It's a little chilly out there tonight."

She moved back to allow them to enter, her arms wrapped tightly around
her middle. "I've been home all day --  I do telemarketing out of the
house -- and I never saw your Agent Mulder. I would know if he'd stopped
by."

It wasn't what Scully wanted to hear. Grey saw her look probingly at
Sara before quickly glancing away, her lips pressed tightly together.
Sara's eyes darted from Scully's face to his own, giving the impression
she was afraid she'd given the wrong answer.

"You said Jackson isn't home. Could you tell us when he will be? Where
is he?" he asked her, smiling reassuringly.

"He's on call tonight at the station. He's a paramedic. Did you know
that? Anyway, I called him earlier this evening and he said he was
working a double shift for someone who's sick. He won't be home until
the morning, but you could come back then."

Grey caught Scully's eye and inclined his head slightly toward the door.
She nodded reluctantly, casting one last look around the interior before
turning to Sara.

"Thanks for your help, Sara," she said, pulling a card from her pocket.
"If Jackson gets home earlier or you think of anything else, you can
reach me at this number."

The girl took the card as if it were a rare jewel, scrutinizing it
carefully before slipping it into her own pocket. "I sure will, Agent
Scully. And I hope you find Agent Mulder real soon."

Back in the car, Scully began pulling out papers and file folders,
holding them up to the dome light to see them in the darkness. Grey
watched her for a moment, noting the slight trembling in her hands and
the set expression on her face.

"What are you doing, Dana?"

"I'm looking for the address of the fire station where Jackson works. We
need to make that our next stop."

Grey took a deep breath, then let it out very slowly. "Dana, it's nearly
ten-thirty at night. He could be out on a call, or even asleep. We can
come back in the morning."

She rounded on him, furious. "It could be too late by the morning! If
Jackson has Mulder..."

"I don't think Jackson does have Fox," Grey said calmly. "Dana, you're
proceeding on instinct alone here. There's nothing to indicate that Fox
even came here other than some scribbled notes. Sara didn't know what we
were talking about. And for that matter, do you really think the man is
dissecting people in that house with his sister living right there with
him? How could he possibly hide something like that? You have to
acknowledge the possibility that Fox was just plain wrong."

Scully grit her teeth. "Then. Where. Is. He?" She annunciated each word
so that it was sharp as a dagger.

Grey winced at her anger but plowed on. "We had a falling out, he was
upset. Maybe he's somewhere trying to sort it all out. Hasn't he ever
gone off somewhere without telling you?"

He'd obviously struck a nerve because she snapped her eyes shut and spun
away from him. He stared at her back for several minutes, not sure
whether to speak.

Scully stared out the window, seeing nothing. She knew in her heart that
Mulder hadn't ditched her and was in serious trouble. She could feel it
in every cell, every molecule of her body. But Grey was right, she was
operating on intuition without proof. Mulder's face suddenly appeared
clearly in her mind, his eyes glinting with amusement. She could almost
hear the teasing note to his voice. "Is that the most *plausible*
explanation, Agent Scully?"

*Is this what it's like for you, Mulder? So certain of the truth, yet
unable to prove it?*

"Dana?"

Grey's voice pulled her back to reality and she turned to face him. She
saw regret in his eyes and knew that he felt badly for opposing her.
Knowing what she had to say next, she could only hope he'd come around.

"Grey, I hear what you're saying, and I know it makes sense. But I also
know Mulder. And I know that if he believed he knew the identity of your
serial killer, nothing would have stopped him from pursuing that
knowledge -- not even you. I need you to trust me on this. I would
prefer you came to the station with me, but I will go alone if that's
what it takes."

To her relief, Grey didn't become angry. Instead he shook his head
ruefully. "You use the word trust a lot, did you know that, Dana? You
don't ask that I believe you, just that I trust you."

"Sometimes that's the only way to middle ground," she said, an enigmatic
look on her face.

Grey sighed heavily and started the car. "Let's go. I was sick the day
my class visited the fire station when I was a little kid. Guess it's
about time I got there."


Cary Fire Department
Monday
11:38 p.m.


Grey's concerns proved to be unfounded. Things at the fire station were
in full swing. Some of the men were watching television while others
played cards. The man who answered the door, Tim Reed, looked puzzled by
Scully's request to speak to Jackson Ross.

"Jackson isn't on tonight," he said, his eyes lingering on Scully before
he glanced over his shoulder. "Greg and Connie are handling this shift."

At the sound of their names, two paramedics looked up from the
television questioningly.

"Jackson wasn't supposed to work tonight, was he?" Tim called.

The woman, Connie, shook her head. "I haven't even seen Jackson in more
than a week."

"His sister said he was here tonight," Grey said. "Are you sure he
hasn't been in?"

Tim indicated the room with a sweep of his hand. "This is everyone.
.It's not like he'd be hiding."

Scully looked at Grey, a suspicion beginning to take root in her mind.
She turned the intensity of her gaze onto Tim. "Can we speak to
whomever's in charge of this shift? I think we have a problem."

"Captain's in his office. Follow me."

Captain Jim Bradshaw had hair the color of steel and bright blue eyes
that studied them carefully as he shook hands. Tim loitered in the
doorway until a stern glare from Bradshaw sent him packing.

"Have a seat," he urged Scully and Grey, moving to shut the door before
reclaiming his own chair. "Now what's this about Jackson Ross? Is he in
some kind of trouble?"

"We just need to speak with him about an ongoing investigation," Grey
explained.

"Must be *some* investigation to bring you out at midnight on a Sunday,"
Bradshaw observed shrewdly, tapping his pen on the desk blotter.

"There's more," Scully admitted, seeing the man would not be content
with half of the truth. "We believe my partner went to visit Jackson
this morning. He hasn't been seen or heard from since."

Bradshaw seemed to sense her worry and frustration. His brow smoothed
and his eyes softened. "Jackson hasn't reported for work in more than
eight days. We've tried calling his home but all we get is the answering
machine. If I don't hear from him soon he won't have a job to return
to." He paused as if thinking. "What made you so sure he'd be here?"

"His sister told us he was here, working an extra shift for someone that
got sick," Grey said, his lip curled in disgust.

Bradshaw ran a hand along his jaw, choosing his next words carefully.
"Sara Ross is...different. She's been around the station quite a bit
since Jackson came on board. She's a hard one to figure out -- sweet and
friendly one day, sullen and withdrawn the next. I'd take whatever she's
told you with a grain of salt. I don't think she's a particularly stable
young lady." He sighed. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

Scully stood and offered her hand, thoughts already racing in another
direction. "Thank you, sir. You've actually been very helpful."

Bradshaw raised an eyebrow at that, but merely escorted them to the
door. Scully kept silent until they'd reached the car, then spun to face
Grey.

"I know what you're thinking," he spoke up before she could begin. "I'm
just having a hard time believing it could be true."

"It makes perfect sense, Grey. Mulder went there thinking that Jackson
was the killer and found only Sara. He let his guard down, and she took
advantage of it. All the elements that made Mulder suspect Jackson apply
to Sara -- the access to drugs and medical supplies, the history of
abuse. He just didn't expect the killer to be a woman. Who could blame
him? Most serial killers are male."

"Then I guess we'd better move quickly," Grey replied, tossing her the
keys. "You drive while I call for a search warrant." He grimaced. "No
one's going to be happy about being rousted out of bed at this hour."

Scully slipped behind the wheel, her face pale darkness. "Tell them
they'd better move quickly or I'm going in without it. If my suspicions
are correct, Sara's fixed it so that she's an only child. I don't think
we have much time."


Continued in part 15



Blood Ties (15 of 17)
By Dawn


1616 Merton Lane
Tuesday
2:30 a.m.


Mulder was submerged in a cold, black lake, struggling to break the
surface. A part of him became gradually cognizant of the restraints, the
musty odor of mildew, the chill, damp air. That awareness screamed that
he should feel terror and fight to free himself. But the drug in his
bloodstream made it difficult to care about anything, urging him to
drift passively in those dark waters. Trying to concentrate on any one
thought took an extraordinary amount of effort.

He'd already begun to sink back down toward sleep when he heard her
voice, as clearly as if she were speaking in his ear.

*Mulder, you've got to keep fighting. I'm coming.*

"Scully."

His own voice sounded alien, her name so thick and slurred by his clumsy
tongue that it was barely recognizable. He hauled open heavy eyelids,
half expecting to see a flash of copper hair or the bright smile
reserved for occasions when he narrowly cheated death. Instead he was
met with the dull, dreary walls of his prison and an itch on his nose
that he couldn't scratch.

Mulder felt the sudden prickling sensation of being watched, and snapped
his head sharply to the right. Sara stood beside the table, blank green
eyes fixed on his face and the knife held in her hand. She ran her thumb
back and forth over the blade like a caress, heedless of the fact that
she was drawing her own blood in the process. With a chill, Mulder
realized that her gaze reminded him of the times he'd asked his father a
question while he was working. His eyes would be trained on his son, but
his focus somewhere else.

"What are you doing, Sara?" he asked quietly.

"Almost over now," she murmured, her voice as detached as her gaze.
"They'll be back, and they'll want to take me away, lock me up. I have
to finish before they come."

Mulder's heart surged with hope. "Who? Who'll be back, Sara?"

Her eyes lost some of their blankness and she seemed to really see him
for the first time. "Your partner and that police detective. They were
here, looking for Jackson just like you were. I managed to fool them,
but they'll be back by morning. I have to finish before then."

*Scully and Grey!*

"There's another way, Sara. There are people who can help, who can stop
you from hurting all the time. You don't have to do this." He struggled
to keep the panic from his voice, to sound reassuring and soothing.

Sara shook her head, switching the knife to her left hand and wiping her
right absently on the leg of her jeans. Mulder tried not to look at the
rust colored streaks the movement left behind. Sara's face scrunched in
irritation and she passed the knife back to her right hand and pointed
it at him

"You don't care about *me*. You just don't want to die. You don't know
anything about what I feel. I can tell just by looking at you -- good
looks and a fancy job. Even a pretty partner to worry about you and come
looking for you. No one has ever made you feel worthless and alone, like
they wished you'd just disappear."

The flood of buried feelings that her words released took him completely
by surprise. The emotion must have shown on his face, since she stepped
closer to better gauge his reaction.

"What is it? What are you remembering?" she demanded, her eyes boring
into his.

Mulder forced himself not to turn away from the intensity of her gaze.
"No one's life is perfect, Sara. We all wind up with some baggage we
can't seem to put down."

She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them he saw a glimpse
of the real Sara, the soul at the core, beneath all the layers of pain
and abuse. Her eyes glistened with tears and her voice was very soft.

"I've become that baggage, Agent Mulder. I can't separate myself from it
anymore."

Mulder felt a kernel of hope at her confession, and pressed forward
cautiously. "Then let me help. I can see that you get someone to talk
to, who'll understand. You don't have to let what your stepfather
did..."

Sara's response to the word was swift and violent. Her features
contorted with rage and she lunged forward, pressing the knife to his
throat until he felt the warm trickle of blood on his neck.

"Don't *ever* use that word to describe him! That piece of garbage was
*not* my father - my father was good and kind and he loved me. That...
that *thing* my mother married was not even human!"

"Sara, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Shut up! No talking! I'm not listening to you anymore!"

She turned her back on him and set the knife down, fumbling to fill a
syringe with hands that shook with anger. The panic he'd been carefully
holding at bay broke loose and Mulder pulled impotently at the cloth
straps holding him down. This time the injection didn't cause him to
lose consciousness, but stripped him of what little ability he had to
move. His head sank back onto the mattress and he watched with glazed
eyes as she proceeded to use the knife to make three deep cuts on each
of his forearms from elbow to wrist. The pain was intense but came from
a great distance, and he could only watch stupidly as his own blood
soaked into the sheet and then pattered down onto the drop cloth on the
floor. Sara just backed away and watched the flow, a curious expression
on her face.

In minutes Mulder began to feel lightheaded and nauseous, and he
shivered uncontrollably with cold that seemed to permeate every cell in
his body. He could feel himself slipping into a deep lethargy that had
nothing to do with the drug he'd been given, and tried to form words to
keep it from swallowing him.

"Sara...'s not too late. Stop...now."

The harsh sound of the buzzer interrupted his plea and Sara jumped as if
jolted with a current of electricity. Her eyes became wild and she
muttered under her breath, conversing with herself.

"Too soon. They're back too soon. No time to finish. Can't let them stop
me now or I'll never be free. Not going to be a victim. Never. Never
again."

The litany continued as she got up and slipped quickly out the door
without giving Mulder a second glance. He battled against eyelids
weighted with lead, sure that it must be Scully and Grey at the door.
Once again, he seemed to hear his partner's sweet voice, urging him on.

*I'm almost there, Mulder. If you give up now I'll be really pissed
off.*

"Hurry," he whispered through numb lips, teeth chattering. "Hurry."


Outside the house
Tuesday
2:45 a.m.


Scully forced herself to walk calmly up to the door and ring the bell,
her heart hammering wildly in a chest that felt too constricted to
breathe. Grey had managed to secure a search warrant in record time, but
it had still taken too long for her own comfort. Grey punched the
doorbell a second time, and she could see from the grim expression on
his face that he was as impatient as she.

When no one answered Grey motioned her aside and shot through the lock,
pushing the door easily open. A dog began barking frantically in the
distance and Scully raised an eyebrow while directing a pointed look at
Grey's gun.

"You know how sturdy they made front doors when this house was built?"
he retorted. "This thing is solid oak! I'm no fool."

She almost chuckled at that but the drive to find her partner reasserted
itself and she moved cautiously into the hallway, weapon held ready.
Grey tilted his head to the left and she nodded, moving off to the
right. She found herself in an empty living room filled with furniture
that looked at least twenty-five years old. Two pictures were perched on
the mantle and she gave them a cursory glance before moving on through
the room. She'd almost decided to continue through the doorway into the
kitchen when something on one of the chairs caught her eye.

She edged carefully over, continuing to sweep the room with her eyes.
When she realized exactly what she was seeing, however, she holstered
her gun and carefully sorted through the items, tears flooding her eyes.
A hand grasped her shoulder and she spun around, clamping down on the
scream that rose in her throat. Grey stepped back, holding up both
hands.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you like that. What did you find?"

She hated the tremor that invaded her voice. "A pile of clothes -- a
leather jacket, sweater, socks, and boots. They're Mulder's."

Grey nodded, chewing on his lower lip. "This floor is deserted. There's
a door in the kitchen that must lead to a basement. Do we go up or
down?"

"Down," Scully said immediately. She tried to smile, but it came out as
a grimace. "Don't you watch crime shows? The murderer is always in the
basement."

Grey snorted and followed her through the kitchen. Her gun in hand once
again, Scully nudged the door open and flicked on the light switch. She
descended the wooden steps slowly, Grey's bulk a comforting presence at
her back. The basement was cluttered with old cartons and pieces of
furniture, the smell of mold and mildew heavy in the air. She wove her
way through the catacomb of boxes, nerves jangling, ears attuned for the
slightest sound that would indicate Sara's presence. She was just
beginning to think the basement was empty, her heart plummeting with
disappointment, when Grey called out sharply.

"Dana! Get over here right now!"

She flew across the basement, honing in on the desperation in his voice.
In her haste she bumped into a stack of boxes, sending them toppling to
the floor with a tinkling crash that sounded like broken glass.

Grey's voice came from a doorway that led into a separate room. She
darted in, vigilance thrown to the wind, only to freeze at the sight
that awaited her. Mulder was lying on a gurney in full restraints, his
face as white as the sheet beneath his head. There was blood everywhere
- both arms were slick with it, the sheet they rested on soaked through
with crimson that had spilled over to pool on the floor. Grey had
grabbed a couple of towels and was in the process of trying to wrap them
around the slashes on Mulder's arms.

Scully shook off the shock that held her immobile and pulled her cell
phone from her pocket, pressing it into Grey's hand and inserting
herself between him and his brother.

"Call 911. Tell them they're going to need O negative blood -- a lot of
it."

She winced at the slippery feeling of the blood beneath her feet but
resolutely continued where Grey had left off. It was a moment before she
was able to lift her eyes from the torn flesh of Mulder's arms to his
face, startled to find him still semi-conscious. His eyes were glassy
and only half open, but she saw that he was aware of her presence and
attempting to speak.

"Shhh," she admonished him gently, her throat constricting with the
tears she would not allow to fall in his presence. "Don't try to talk,
Mulder. Everything's going to be okay, the paramedics are on the way."

A shudder wracked Mulder's frame and his lips moved in spite of her
advice. "Cold."

It was barely spoken, so weak and colorless that she found herself
losing the battle with her tears. She bit her lip fiercely, turning to
call to Grey over her shoulder while stripping off her coat.

"Grey, we need some blankets right away. He's in shock."

Grey didn't waste time replying, just dashed out the door and pounded up
the stairs two at a time. Scully turned back to her partner and spread
her coat over his upper body. She was alarmed to see his eyes slowly
slipping shut.

"Mulder! Stay with me!" she ordered sharply, reaching a trembling hand
out to rub her knuckles gently against his cheek.

His eyes fluttered for a moment before returning to half-mast, his
tongue slipping out to moisten lips so pale they appeared bloodless. He
struggled to speak again, and she leaned over so that her ear could
catch the breathy whisper.

"Knew...you...come."

A choking sob tore loose from her chest and she pressed her lips to his
forehead before straightening, hearing Grey burst into the room behind
her.

"Here's two blankets, the EMTs are on their way in," he said brusquely,
moving around her to place one blanket over his brother's feet.

He'd barely said the words before she heard the sound of more footsteps
on the stairs and the two paramedics burst into the room. Mulder's eyes
had closed once more, and though it tore at her heart she moved back to
allow them access. She watched them move efficiently through their
tasks, only half comprehending their terse directions to one another.

"Get that I.V. in stat!"

"I'm trying! His veins are collapsed!"

"Then do a cut down! Just get that blood going or he's going to code on
us!"

"B.P. is almost nonexistent already. He needs blood replacement product
as well."

"Let's move him on the count of three! One, two..."

Grey pulled his eyes from the scene, turning to Scully. She was staring
at Mulder's face, tears running freely down her own and fingers pressed
tightly to trembling lips. After only a brief hesitation he reached out
to wrap his arms around her. She folded into the embrace, shaking with
silent sobs, her tears hot through the fabric of his shirt.

"It'll be all right, Dana," he murmured soothingly. "No one that
stubborn is going to give up now."

He could feel the moment she regained her composure, and released her
willingly as she backed away. Her face was red and blotchy from crying,
but she was still very beautiful and he found himself envying his
brother just a little.

"He told me he knew I'd come," she said, her voice still broken. "I
can't help feeling I let him down, that I didn't come soon enough."

"You're the reason he's still alive, the reason those people are here
helping him right now," Grey said sternly. "You believed in him when I
wouldn't."

His words seemed to remind her of something and Scully frowned, swiping
at her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. "We have to find Sara,
she..."

Grey put a restraining hand on her arm and shook his head. "You don't
have to worry about Sara, Dana. I found her when I went upstairs to look
for a blanket. I guess when she realized we were coming she turned the
knife on herself. She's dead. Some of the local cops are up there with
her, now."

Scully digested his words, too numb to do more than nod. The EMTs had
Mulder on their gurney and were moving him toward the doorway. "We're
taking him to Northwestern Memorial Hospital," one called over his
shoulder. "You can meet us there."

"I'm coming with you. I'm a medical doctor," Scully replied, already in
motion.

She flashed Grey an apologetic look, but he waved her on.

"Miss, it would be best if you..."

"I'm coming," Scully cut him off, the growl in her tone warning against
further argument.

Despite the horror of the last half-hour and his own worry, Grey managed
a small smile. "I wouldn't try to stop her if I were you, boys. It could
be hazardous to your health."

Scully sent him an irritated glare, but he just followed her up the
stairs.


Continued in part 16


Blood Ties (16 of 17)
By Dawn


Northwestern Memorial ICU
Tuesday
10:08 a.m.


"At six months, the incidence of CMV disease was 45 percent among
seronegative recipients of placebo and..."

Scully sighed heavily and closed the journal, setting it aside and
removing her glasses. She admitted to herself that although the idea of
catching up on her journal reading was good in theory, her mind was
occupied with other concerns.

The focus of those concerns lay motionless in the hospital bed beside
her, heart monitor beeping and two I.V.s -- one containing blood and
another with fluids and antibiotics -- emptying into his arm. His skin
was so pale it appeared almost translucent, bruised looking shadows
under his eyes. Scully shook her head ruefully. The amazing thing was,
he looked a hundred percent better than he had when they'd arrived at
the hospital six hours ago.

Her mind slipped back to the terrifying ambulance ride, the EMT working
feverishly to redo the tourniquet on Mulder's left arm while she held
the I.V. bag, squeezing it to deliver the maximum amount of fluids as
quickly as possible. He'd coded just as they reached the hospital, and
Scully was certain her own heart had stopped as well. The trauma team
had been incredible, working efficiently to pull him back from the edge
so that his damaged arteries could be repaired and his arms stitched up.

Both arms were now swathed in gauze from his wrists to just above his
elbows - she'd lacked the courage to ask just how many stitches had been
required to close the long, deep gashes. Mulder had yet to fully regain
consciousness, though he'd surfaced briefly twice, drifting back to
sleep once his eyes found her face and she'd murmured reassuringly that
he was safe. Scully winced at the thought of the pain he'd be in when he
finally did awaken. The doctor was uneasy about the residual Ativan in
Mulder's system and had elected to hold off on morphine until he was
completely conscious and coherent.

A nurse entered the room and Scully carefully schooled her expression to
hide the grimace she felt. Most of the ICU nurses had been great,
offering her a place to shower and some clean scrubs, bringing her a
recliner to replace the uncomfortable straight-backed chair that was
standard equipment. There was only one exception -- Nurse Attila the Hun
who now cleared her throat and eyed Scully impatiently.

The woman's name was Helen Eggerton and Scully had seen many like her
during her med school days. Probably in her sixties, gray hair and a
perpetually sour expression, nurses like Helen had lost the joy of the
profession and were now merely holding out for retirement. Helen alone
had been vocal about suspension of the rule that would normally limit
Scully's visiting time to five minutes per hour. She'd eventually given
in ungracefully, shooting Scully a venomous look that warned she'd best
watch her step.

"Hello, Helen," Scully greeted, determined to ignore the obvious
animosity in the woman's gaze.

"Agent Scully." Helen was also the only nurse that used Scully's FBI
title rather than calling her doctor. "I need to check Agent Mulder's
vitals and redress the wounds. It would be best if you went for a cup of
coffee or waited down in the lounge. I'll be done in about fifteen
minutes."

Scully grit her teeth, mentally counting to ten. "I'd rather stay, if
you don't mind. If he wakes up..."

"Actually, I *do* mind, Agent Scully. I know you've managed to secure
some special privileges around here, but I'm the one handling this
procedure and I'd prefer you waited outside." Helen's voice was cool,
her gaze challenging.

For just a moment Scully was tempted respond to Helen throwing down the
gauntlet, but she was exhausted mentally and physically and really did
need some coffee. Grey had left an hour earlier to wrap things up with
the case, so if she wanted some caffeine she'd need to fetch it herself.

"Sure, fine, whatever," she muttered under her breath, getting stiffly
to her feet. Refusing to be rushed by Helen's impatient sigh, she leaned
over and pressed a kiss to Mulder's cheek. "I'll be right back, Partner.
Helen will take good care of you." She raised her eyes to meet the
nurse's as she spoke the words, narrowing them slightly in warning.

Helen huffed her irritation but said nothing. Scully lingered in the
doorway for only a moment before heading down the hall to the elevators.

Fifteen minutes later she was headed back to the room, a steaming cup of
coffee in one hand, when the screams began. There was no question who it
was, and she flew down the hallway, slamming the Styrofoam cup onto the
counter at the nurses' station before running into his room. Helen and
another nurse named Amber were struggling to hold a thrashing Mulder
steady so that Helen could administer the contents of a syringe into his
I.V.  Scully bulldozed her way between Helen and her partner, heedless
of the furious glance she received in response.

Mulder's eyes were wide and blank with terror as he struggled to sit up.
Tears spilled freely down his face and his hair was damp with sweat.
Scully immediately located the source of his panic -- both wrists were
secured at his sides by cloth restraints. White-hot anger mixed with a
crushing sadness but she pushed both aside. Mulder's words tore at her
heart.

"No! Nononono! Stop! Scully! Scully!"

"Don't!" she said sharply as she saw Helen about to administer the
sedative. "Both of you back off and give me a minute with him!"

"He'll rip open those stitches, not to mention this behavior could cause
him to arrest," Helen argued, but the hand with the syringe dropped to
her side.

Scully turned her back on the woman and leaned over so that her face was
just inches from Mulder's, forcing him to see her. She threaded the
fingers of one hand soothingly through his damp hair and slipped her
other hand over his clenched fist.

"Mulder, it's Scully. You're all right, Mulder. You're safe. Sara's gone
-- do you hear me Mulder? She's dead, she can't hurt you anymore. I'm
here. You're safe now."

She murmured the same words over and over, keeping up a constant patter
of reassurances coupled with physical touches. His eyes seemed to
finally focus on her face and the screams ceased, though he still panted
with fear and pain. Scully wormed her fingers into his clenched fist
until it opened enough to close tightly around them.

"Mulder, I'm going to take off the restraints now. You have to lie still
or you'll pull out the stitches, okay? Can you do that for me?"

His head bobbed slightly, his eyes still huge, pupils dilated with
barely contained terror. Scully loosened first one wrist then the other,
gently massaging the flesh of each as she did so. She never ceased her
gentle stroking or the flow of calming words and his breathing gradually
grew less and less ragged, his muscles gradually relaxing.

"You going to be all right?" Scully asked softly, aware of Helen and
Amber still hovering in the background.

Mulder licked dry lips and nodded, the gesture stronger this time. She
could see him concentrating on slowing his breathing and she flashed him
a brilliant smile of encouragement.

"Mulder, I need to talk to the nurses for just a minute. I'll be right
outside, okay?"

This time she was rewarded with speech. "Yeah."

Giving his hand a squeeze Scully turned toward Helen and Amber, the
smile vanishing as her brow furrowed with anger. "Can I see you both
outside, please?"

Once in the hallway she rounded on them, unleashing all of the fury
she'd carefully hidden from Mulder. "Who put those restraints on him? I
left instructions specifically stating that under *no* circumstances was
he to be restrained, that I should be called if there was a problem."

Amber, young and soft-spoken, looked flustered by Scully's anger. "I
just ran in when I heard him start to scream, Dr. Scully. They were
already on when I got there."

"I put them on," Helen said belligerently. "He'd become more and more
restless and it was obvious he was waking up. I was concerned he'd pull
the stitches, thrashing around like that. As for your instructions,
Agent Scully, you are not his doctor and..."

"Would you please excuse us, Amber?" Scully said quietly, waiting for
the girl to return to the desk before turning to the older woman. "Do
you have any idea what you just did, what you put that man through?
Would you like to know *why* he reacted that way? The man was abducted
by a serial killer and almost lost his life. You might be interested to
know just how she tried to accomplish that, Nurse Eggerton. She placed
him on a gurney, not so different from that bed in there, in full
restraints. Then she sedated him -- not enough to knock him out, that
would have taken away all the fun. No, she gave him just enough so he
couldn't fight back, and then she took a knife and made those cuts you
just bandaged. He lay there, unable to move or struggle, watching
himself bleed to death. Imagine what he must have felt just now, waking
up confused and disoriented only to find himself on *that* bed in
*those* restraints. Now do you think you have a clue as to why in the
*hell* I left the order I did?"

Helen had turned very pale at Scully's words, the righteous indignation
draining from her face. "I...I didn't think."

"No, you didn't. And I'd appreciate it if you allowed one of the other
nurses to handle Agent Mulder's care from now on. I'd hate to have to
report this incident." Scully's tone was icy, her eyes unyielding.

Helen swallowed and nodded, for once speechless. Not wishing to hear an
apology she would find insincere at best, Scully spun on her heel and
returned to Mulder's room.

His eyes were fastened on the doorway, waiting for her to reappear. The
weak smile that took over his face when she did caused a lump to form in
her throat and drove the last vestiges of anger from her system. She
sank into the chair and slipped her fingers around his, rubbing her
thumb over the back of his hand in small circles while carefully
avoiding the I.V.

"Sorry," he said quietly, voice still raspy from his screams. "Guess I
kind of lost it for a minute."

"Understandable," Scully answered lightly. "It won't happen again."

Mulder grinned. "I'll bet."

He attempted to shift position a little, grimacing when his arms sparked
with pain. Scully pretended not to notice, knowing how much he hated to
feel vulnerable. Instead she fell back on their old standby for
conversation when waking from an injury.

"How do you feel?"

The slight twinkle in his eyes told her he understood. "Like I'm a few
quarts short."

"We're filling you back up," she said, indicating the bag of blood with
a tilt of her head. "We'll have you topped off in no time."

"Thanks." The humor disappeared from his voice and he looked at her
probingly. "You came through for me, Scully. Just like I knew you
would."

Scully blinked at the tears that wanted to form. "It should have been
sooner, Mulder. I wish I'd been there to stop her."

"You *were* there," he said quietly. At her puzzled frown he continued,
"I could hear you, whenever I felt things were hopeless. It was like you
were with me, refusing to let me give up. You kept me going, Scully."

"Sara's dead," she replied, her voice husky with emotion, trying to move
the conversation to safer emotional ground. "She killed herself -- put
the knife right through her heart."

To her surprise, Mulder looked sad. "She was a victim too," he said, his
eyes distant. "She told me she'd become the abuse she'd suffered, she
couldn't separate herself from it the way Jackson had. I'm pretty sure
we'll find his body buried somewhere close to the house."

"We already did."

The deep voice startled them both, and they looked up to see Skinner in
the doorway. He moved cautiously into the room, his eyes scanning the
various pieces of equipment and then his agent's pale face. The genuine
concern in them left Mulder speechless for a moment.

"Scully called me once you were out of the woods," his boss explained,
coming over to stand beside her. "I came down to make sure the case was
wrapped up and to see for myself that they were treating you right." His
mouth curved slightly. "Not that Scully would allow anything less."

"I'm fine, sir." Mulder caught both Scully and Skinner giving him "The
Look," an unnerving experience. "Well, I will be," he added hastily.

He stifled a yawn that tried to sneak out and Skinner noted that his
eyes were drooping with fatigue. Scully must have noticed too, since she
began running the hand not linked with her partner's up and down his
upper arm in a calming fashion. Skinner hid a smile, wondering if
Mulder had figured out Scully's methods for lulling him into sleep when
he resisted.

"I have to head over to the crime scene," he said aloud. "I want to be
sure that forensics is thorough. They seem very competent, but their
resources are limited. I'll stop by later to see how you're coming
along."

Mulder didn't answer, already slipping back under, but Scully nodded.
Her eyes clearly expressed her gratitude for his support and concern.

Skinner stepped out into the hallway and strode briskly toward the
elevators. As he passed the small lounge on his left, his eye landed on
a figure that looked very familiar, and yet not. He stopped, moving over
to get a better view of the individual who was pacing aimlessly with his
hands shoved deep into his pockets. Sensing his presence, the man looked
up. Skinner nearly gasped in surprise. Seeing the man's face left no
doubt as to his identity.

"You must be Grey McKenzie," he said, walking closer.

Grey frowned, evidently wondering how a stranger knew his name and why.
"Yes. I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"We've never met, but I've heard about you," Skinner explained,
extending his hand. "I'm Walter Skinner, Assistant Director at the D.C.
bureau. Your brother and Agent Scully report to me."

Grey pumped his hand, grinning a little. "Ahh. You're the person who
causes Dana to snap to attention whenever she calls you on the phone."

Skinner allowed a small smile at that. "Good to know it's working."

"I take it you just saw Fox. How's he doing?" Grey asked casually.

"He looks like hell, but I've seen worse. Dana said with the
transfusions and some rest he should be better in no time."

"He lost over two-thirds of his blood volume, did she tell you that?"
Grey said, leaning against the wall and studying the floor tiles with
great interest. "Over four pints. He was in hypovolemic shock by the
time we found him."

Skinner absorbed his words, watching the way Grey avoided his eyes. "You
know Mulder was awake just now, but he won't last long. You might want
to head on down there if you plan to catch him."

Grey nodded, looking less than enthusiastic. "Yeah. I should do that."

Skinner looked at him shrewdly. He was pretty sure he knew what was
bothering Grey. Scully had kept in touch with Skinner throughout the
ordeal -- had explained Mulder's belief that the Raleigh Police had the
wrong killer, his persistence in writing a new profile, and Grey's
subsequent rejection of it. He'd been in a similar position once, and
recognized guilt when he saw it.

"He won't hold it against you," he said aloud, keeping his expression
bland. "I ought to know. You aren't the only one to have doubted him
only to learn he was right all along."

Grey's initial expression of distrust shifted to interest. "You?"

Skinner nodded, deluged with memories of pinning a struggling Mulder
against a table, turning a deaf ear to his protests that Pinkus was a
killer. "I'll spare you the details, but I actually had him committed.
Thought he was spouting craziness, that he'd finally gone 'round the
bend. Later I discovered everything he'd claimed was true -- but not
before he was almost killed in the process."

Grey ran a hand over his face and sighed heavily before cocking one
eyebrow. "You wouldn't be making that up just so I'll feel better, would
you?"

Skinner snorted and turned back toward the elevators. "Me? I'm the guy
who makes them snap to attention, remember? Do I seem the type to do
that?" The doors opened and he stepped inside, facing forward in time to
see Grey shake his head in amusement. "Go see him. You won't be sorry."

The doors shut, removing the need for Grey to reply.


Concluded in part 17



Blood Ties (17 of 17)


Raleigh-Durham International Airport
Thursday
11:15 a.m.


"We've still got over a half-hour until they start boarding," Scully
said, watching Mulder settle gingerly into one of the hard plastic
seats. Seeing that he looked tired but relatively free from pain she
continued, "I'm going to go pick up a couple of magazines and some
coffee. I'll see if they have seeds."

"Scully, you *know* what I like," Mulder replied, waggling his eyebrows.

Scully rolled her eyes and turned to Grey. "Watch him. I can't think of
any trouble he could get into, but he'll always surprise you. Mulder,
just keep those arms elevated."

"I'd salute, but my doctor warned me against any strenuous movements."

Grey watched her disappear in the crowd before turning back to his
brother, shaking his head. "I still don't get it. I've never seen two
people test the water so many times and still avoid getting wet."

"I told you. It's complicated," Mulder growled, tugging at one sleeve.
Flannel shirts with the cuffs unbuttoned were all he could manage to put
on over the bandages at this point.

"Yeah, I remember. I still think you should jump in. Knowing Dana, I'd
say you'll find the water's just fine."

Mulder didn't answer, so Grey just sank into the chair beside him. He
took a deep breath, knowing that it was past time to air the
unpleasantness between them. Over the past two days he and Fox had begun
to rebuild their relationship, but his angry words still lay between
them like a particularly ill placed piece of furniture on which you keep
bumping your shin. He was certain that Dana's trip for coffee was a
deliberate ploy to leave them alone so they might talk.

"Fox, I'm sorry," he said quietly, wishing the words came easier. "You
were right and I wouldn't listen. Because of my stubbornness you almost
died."

Mulder had turned toward him while he was speaking, but now resumed
looking out the large glass windows at the fueling plane. "It wasn't all
your fault. I pushed all the wrong buttons. I have a way of doing that."

Grey squinted at him, incredulous. "I can't believe you want to take any
of the blame! Fox, I ignored the educated opinion of a colleague because
I couldn't see past the fact that he happened to be my little brother!"
He paused a moment, then added, "I guess that jealous kid that used to
listen to Bill brag about his son never really went away. Hearing you so
convinced you had all the answers brought it all back."

Mulder brought his eyes slowly to Grey's face. "It was all just an
illusion, Grey. You were the one with the *real* family. Ours was just
for show, like a sitcom on T.V. Once the audience was gone, the faade
crumbled and it all fell apart. If anyone should be jealous, I think it
should be me."

Grey considered his words for a moment, then grinned. "So I guess we'll
just have to *trust* each other and accept that neither of us had an
idyllic childhood."

Mulder raised an eyebrow at his emphasis of the word "trust."

"Dana told me that's the way you two find a middle ground," Grey
elaborated.

Mulder looked up to see Scully weaving her way through the crowd, a cup
of coffee in one hand and a bag in the other. When she caught his eye
and smiled, his own lips curved in response and his expression softened.

"Yeah. I guess you could say that."

Grey traced the smile on his brother's face to its source, then leaned
over to murmur conspiratorially. "You know, getting wet can be a lot of
fun."

Mulder rolled his eyes, but grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."

The call to board their flight sounded over the loudspeaker and his
brother grabbed his upper arm to help him stand. Scully surprised them
both by pulling Grey into a hug and kissing his cheek.

"Thank you. For everything."

Grey had a goofy grin on his face when he stepped back, and Mulder
squashed a small surge of jealousy. Any irritation he felt disappeared
when Grey glanced his way and winked knowingly.

Scully ran her hand along Mulder's arm and tilted her head toward the
gate. "I'll be in line."

Once she was gone, an awkward silence descended between them, and Mulder
shuffled his feet awkwardly. "That goes for me, too," he finally said.
"Thanks for coming after me."

Grey looked as if he would protest, but just smiled. "Anytime. You know,
I haven't been to D.C. since I was a little kid. Maybe I could come up
for a visit sometime soon."

"I'd like that," Mulder said, smiling. He sobered, some of the animation
leaving his face. "It's a risk, though, Grey. *They're* bound to find
out eventually, and it could put you in danger."

He still wasn't sure whether Grey believed much of what he'd been told
concerning the Consortium, but his brother's chin jutted out stubbornly.
"Screw 'em. If what you say is true, those men deprived me of my
biological parents forty-three years ago. I'm not letting them take away
my brother too -- not when we've come this far."

Mulder swallowed, blinking against the tears that threatened at his
brother's statement. He bobbed his head in agreement and stuck out his
right hand. Grey looked at it, shook his head, and pulled him into a hug
just as Scully had earlier. At first frozen with surprise, Mulder's arms
came slowly up to carefully return the embrace.

"Take care of yourself," Grey said quietly when he'd released him. "I'll
be in touch."

Scully had already boarded and was sitting next to the window, leaving
Mulder the coveted aisle seat. She watched him settle in, ignoring his
long-suffering look when she helped him with his seat belt. He could
feel her studying him, curious as to the status of his relationship with
Grey, yet unwilling to press him about it. He kept his face carefully
neutral, inwardly grinning at the knowledge that he was driving her
crazy. He saw her purse her lips, and knew she could stand it no longer.

"How are you feeling, Partner?" she asked, and in that one simple
question he heard all the affection and concern left unspoken.

He leaned back into the seat and smiled, turning his head so she could
see it. "Like I have a brother."

Scully's smile matched his own, and she reached out to weave her fingers
with his. The impact of his statement was obvious. There was really
nothing more that needed to be said.


The End.