TITLE: Our Ladies of Sorrow
NAME: Paige Caldwell and frogdoggie
E-MAIL: paigecaldwell@hotmail.com, frogdoggie@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: XRA, MSR, M/SK, M/SC/SK
RATING: NC-17, and we mean it. Warning! This story contains graphic sex, including Slash, violence and scenes that deal with religion, the occult and demonology. Muldertorture, Scullytorture and Skinnertorture, including male rape. Forewarned is forearmed. If you don't care for any of those things, stop here!
SUMMARY: Mulder, Scully and Skinner join forces to face a deadly supernatural foe in Wisconsin.
FEEDBACK? We love it. Feel free to e-mail the authors. Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? Flames are for roasting 'weenies'.
ARCHIVE: Sure. Anywhere - as long as our names and e-mail addys stay on it.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Some of you may say this story is set in an AU...but we've set it during season 5 after Pine Bluff Variant and before Folie A Deux. So, anything up to and including PBV.
KEYWORDS: x-file adventure romance angst Mulder Scully Skinner NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. The various musical lyrics referenced in the story are also copyrighted...yadda, yadda, yadda. The concept of "Our Ladies of Sorrow" belongs to filmmaker Dario Argento. Once again, we don't mean to tread on his copyright toes either.
Author's notes: For our purposes, Mulder's broken fingers from Pine Bluff Variant are healed before this story takes place. More author's notes at the end.
Also...We'd like to thank Truthygirl, Kimberly, Toniann and Susan for feedback and beta. Their help was invaluable in polishing this story.
Our Ladies of Sorrow
by Paige Caldwell and frogdoggie
MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN.
Alvin Sparrow woke, intensely afraid. His arms and legs ached from the weight of his shackles. He was hot, even stripped to his boxers. His eyes strained in the dim light and his ears were assaulted by loud rock music. It had pummeled them for hours on end; over a night, a day, and a night. He had lost track of time. His bladder was full and he desperately needed to take a piss. "Jesus, help me," he prayed, sweat running down his brow and into his eyes. If only the music would stop. He had no trouble making out the words:
Words of power are killing me
while the sun displays its teeth.
All mockery is laughing
all violence is cheap.
She said..
"these are my guns
these are my furs
this is my living room."
"you can play with me there sometimes
if you catch me in the mood."
Savage
savage
savage
You savage...
Alvin rolled his eyes searching the room in another vain attempt to determine where in the hell he was. There was no clue unless you counted the mad and frightening graffiti that festooned every wall of the tiny room. Mixed in with arcane symbols he didn't recognize and astronomical symbols he thought he knew and crosses he had prayed to time and again over the last hours - there was poetry. One particular verse stuck in his mind. It had become the center of his thoughts and finally his whole world. It petrified his senses:
Yes, close your eyes, lie still...as death...
My lips hold yet the memory of your breath...
The feverish yellow moon is on the wane;
Closer it comes, silent, and mad, and vast,
With blackness round and dead shapes stealing past,
And splashed with one wild blood-red line of pain.
The poem was written in heavy, viscous black charcoal mixed with a brownish-red stain - Alvin's logical as well as his intuitive mind told him was dried blood.
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," he began to pray but again the rock music drowned all thought. Suddenly the music faded and then cut off abruptly. Alvin sighed; perhaps this was an answer to his prayers?
A low atonal sound began. It started quietly and built and built until Alvin's eyes bulged out of their sockets in fright. He recognized the opening notes of a piece of classical music. He had heard it before - he had heard it - My God, at the.. . It was *The Hall of the Mountain King* from the Peer Gynt Suite.
Alvin suddenly knew exactly where he was and a small flame of hope grew in his chest. And yes, someone was coming and he thought he knew who. He had always been able to talk himself out of trouble; his chance was at hand. None of this could be serious, none of it real. 'God, I know my abductor', he thought. The person holding him had seemed so intelligent, so reasonable. That person would surely listen to reason.
He strained to look up over his stomach and his crotch at the door he knew was somewhere toward his feet. Sure enough, there it was; as he peered over his toes, it swung open amplifying the thundering crescendo of Gynt's Nordic Mountain King.
Alvin stared as he watched a tall figure clad in coveralls and wearing a welding helmet enter the room. The individual approached the table to which Alvin was shackled and looked down at him through the helmet's visor.
The figure had a torch in one hand and a Bic Lighter in the other. One flick and the lighter was lit. One more flick and the welding torch glowed white hot. The figure bent close. "Good evening, little bird," it whispered very close to his ear. The torch came close and then closer. Alvin groaned in terror, his bladder emptied, and he opened his mouth wide and screamed in agony as the figure touched the torch to his left arm and he could smell his own burning flesh.
"Time to fly, Sparrow!" the figure shouted over *The Mountain King* right into Alvin's shrieking, horrified face.
xXx
MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN. 6 AM
Todd Farrell walked along the shore of Lake Michigan near Milwaukee's Bradford Beach. His black Labrador retriever, Mr. Inky, ran ahead of him. It was early on a Wednesday morning and a gorgeous spring day. Mr. Inky was feeling his oats and barking like hell. Todd laughed and slapped his leash against his legs. "Hey, boy, come, heel, shut up for God's sake. You're going to wake the dead!"
But Mr. Inky had his nose to the sand way up ahead and he was baying at something he had found there. Todd hurried ahead to corral the dog before the park cops cruised by and cited them both for being a public nuisance.
Todd approached the canine and asked, "Hey, fella, what's that you've dug up?" The dog continued to worry his newfound treasure. Todd drew near. Then he grabbed the dog's collar and pulled him back violently, his gorge rising in his throat. As Mr. Inky's gore stained jaws snapped, Todd Farrell stared in horror at the remains of the late, unfortunate Mr. Alvin Sparrow.
xXx
WASHINGTON, DC.
"Good morning," Dana Scully greeted her partner as she stepped through the basement office door early on Wednesday.
"Depends on your definition of 'good'," Mulder grumbled, staring at the phone on his desk. He didn't bother to glance up.
"What's wrong?" Scully asked. She was carrying two cups of coffee. She placed one cup directly in front of him and flipped open the plastic lid. When he didn't answer her she continued, "How about I buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk about it."
Only then did Mulder notice the cup she had placed in front of him.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks, Scully."
He took a tentative sip and stared at the phone.
"Are you waiting for it to ring or regretting that it did?" she asked, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk.
Mulder pursed his lips but still didn't answer. Scully cleared her throat and her partner's head snapped up, breaking his silent reverie.
"What? I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked.
"The phone, Mulder," Scully said patiently. "What's going on?"
Mulder sagged back in his chair slightly and studied the Starbucks coffee in his hand.
"I'm not sure what to make of it," he said, fingering the rim of his cup. "I just received a call from VCU about a serial killer I once profiled. Apparently, she's escaped."
"She?"
Mulder looked up and gave her an amused grin. "I think I'm supposed to focus on the 'escaped' part."
"And are you?"
"No," he stated, his lips settling into a thin, stubborn line; a scowl. It reminded her of Skinner. Curious, Scully leaned forward in her chair to take a better look. Even Mulder's posture was suddenly similar, ramrod straight instead of his previous slouch. His arms were folded across his chest. Closed off... Inaccessible...
Intriguing.
The idea of baiting him was too tantalizing to pass up. "Of course, it's not an X-file and you wouldn't want to waste those profiler skills when you could be solving a case," she teased.
His left eyebrow shot up, piqued at her remark. "Since when do we solve cases, Scully?"
Now it was like looking into a mirror. "Exactly," she smiled.
He began rocking in his chair, his restless energy returning with his trademark smirk. "Okay, Scully, I'll play. Have you ever heard of Barbara Sutcliffe?"
"Sutcliffe?" she paused, searching her memory. "The name sounds familiar."
He clucked his tongue to annoy her. Typical...
"Mulder, is that the sound of a time clock or a chicken?"
"It's the sound of disapproval, Agent."
Scully gave him a look of mixed amusement and annoyance as she continued her recollection. Finally the connection came to her.
"Wait a minute - wasn't Barbara Sutcliffe called 'The Artist'? I seem to recall..."
"Slow on the draw, but deadly accurate," Mulder snorted.
Scully's response to his comment was an elegant wave of dismissal.
"Which can be an asset in certain situations as I'm sure you can confirm," she quipped giving him a penetrating look.
Mulder smiled and tilted his head in acknowledgment and continued with his explanation.
"Well in this case you hit the bulls-eye, Scully. Barbara 'The Artist' Sutcliffe; the most rare of a rare breed - a female serial killer. She operated out of New York City. Her MO consisted of pouring Plaster of Paris over her victims - all men in their 30s – whom she had kidnapped, incidentally. She would adorn them with all manner of animal masks and other delightful zoological accessories. Fin, fur and feather were Ms. Sutcliffe's artistic 'special effects'. She passed her *plaster casters* off as modern art installations to gallery owners; she even had a private showing of her work at a prestigious smaller gallery. Barbara would have gone on exhibiting for a long time if one of her creations hadn't, uh...cracked and sprung a leak."
"Well, I imagine that got her a bad review in the art critics columns," Scully replied wryly.
"Yeah, and it finally got her arrested," Mulder nodded. "I interviewed Barbara after her apprehension. I'd done a profile on her, submitted it to the NYPD and my report had them hot on her trail. Her statue doing an 'Old Faithful' was just a lucky break. The locals would have collared her soon enough using the information I'd given them. So, I guess letting me have some time with her was a professional courtesy...their way of saying thanks, good job, Spooky. I remember Reggie was really pissed because he had Redskins tickets and we missed the game."
"Is this a good time for me to mention that I have two tickets to the Opera next week?"
Mulder glanced at her suspiciously. "Are you asking me out on a date, Agent Scully?"
"Did you ask Reggie the same thing?"
"Point taken." He picked up a pencil and chewed it thoughtfully.
"I was just teasing, Mulder," she remarked.
"Too bad," he teased in returned. For a moment she thought she saw a flash of interest, a look of longing. But then it was gone, replaced by a smirk and his flippant attitude. He tossed the pencil aside. "At any rate.... Sutcliffe insisted she had an accomplice and the accomplice really committed all the murders. Barbara just took care of pouring the plaster."
"Maybe the other person was the product of a multiple personality disorder, Mulder?"
"Reggie thought that was the case," Mulder replied quietly. "But Barbara insisted the person was real and that the whole gestalt of the crimes was really this person's total responsibility. The accomplice was still at large according to her and it was only a matter of time before the real killer murdered again."
"And what did you think?"
Scully watched Mulder's face become even more serious. His earlier playful tone, which had been fading, now extinguished itself like a guttering candle flame.
He considered her a moment before asking, "Have you ever heard the voice of Evil, Scully?"
Scully studied his face, staring into his somber, hazel eyes.
"You're not talking about..."
"Possession," he dipped his head in confirmation.
"Oh...Mulder," Scully began to protest.
"Hang on, Scully.... Before you go all Catholic on me, let me tell you something. I was pretty sure of myself back when all this happened...pretty impressed with myself and cocksure of my abilities..."
"And you're not now?" Scully gently teased to lighten the mood.
Mulder gave her a terse scowl 'a' la Skinner' again and Scully raised her hand as a flag of truce.
"Sorry...go on."
"What I'm trying to say is, I pride myself on not letting much phase me. I'd seen some strange shit back in the day when I interviewed serial killers. Disgusting stuff. But up until Barbara Sutcliffe I'd never seen anything...paranormal."
"Something indicative of possession?"
"Yeah, exactly. Possession with a capital 'P'," Mulder replied with a nervous chuckle. Then he leaned forward and pinned Scully's eye. His voice was intense, driving his point home.
"At one point during that interview I got the strong impression that Barbara's alleged accomplice was inside old Babs...inside her and trying to communicate. Scully, I could hear her voice right - in - here," he said emphasizing each word with a tap to his temple. "She whispered to me...a sibilant hissing inside my brain like, like the sound you hear when you put a seashell to your ear. But that sound didn't invoke sunshine and the beach. It was dark, taunting…even seductive."
"Evil was a she?"
Scully's tone was decidedly skeptical.
Mulder rolled his eyes in exasperation. "She...it.... Whatever it was scared the hell out of me."
Scully studied Mulder's face. She saw the lingering fear below the exasperation; the fact that he admitted his fear was an additional incentive to Scully to take him seriously.
"Okay, Mulder, let's look at this from a different perspective. Granted, I'm no profiler, but I'm willing to bet my next paycheck that the voice you heard was Barbara's. A voice that you found dangerously attractive, as you did her."
"No, it couldn't have been Barbara," he persisted.
"Why not?"
"Because she had to use pen and paper during my interview," Mulder replied. "Before she was apprehended she cut out her own tongue with a palette knife."
The room was silent as a stunned Scully absorbed her partner's words. Before she could answer, the phone on Mulder's desk rang loudly in the quiet office. Both agents jumped, startled at the sound. Mulder quickly reached for the receiver.
"Mulder," he said to whoever it was on the other end of the line.
Walter Skinner's authoritative voice reached Mulder's ears.
"Agent Mulder, I need to see you and Agent Scully in my office immediately."
XxX
ROME, ITALY.
"Yes, close your eyes," the voice whispered. "Lie still...as death."
He woke with a start, his skin clammy as sweat trickled down his back. It may have been midnight, perhaps earlier, for Archpriest Dimitri Yvashko had retired to his chambers soon after dinner. Sleep overtook him quickly as it often did. His duties as liaison between the Holy Synod and Moscow's law enforcement agencies exhausted him, but never enough to allow a dreamless slumber. For the same gift that brought Dimitri's ascent to power within the Russian Orthodox Church also triggered his descent into the darkness of unholy terror. He was a visionary: Both Church and State considered him useful, a profiler of criminal intent and modern day revelator of souls.
Sometimes he heard the cry of the great agonies…But not tonight. This whisperer of death was the celebrant of torment. It was her…The Mother of Darkness. He had heard her voice before and had seen her many faces. For years he had been tracking her only to have the vision dim outside an obscure art gallery in Rome. His sense of failure was her artistic delight.
In his dreams, she taunted him, styling him in animalistic incarnations... dog, pig, bull...each castrated to symbolize the mockery of his vows and his impotence as a man.
"Closer it comes, silent, and mad, and vast..."
Dimitri closed his eyes again, willing the vision to come. He pushed back his fear and loathing to study her latest exhibit with a critical eye. Canvases splattered with blood, layers of burnt flesh molded into figured casts... a hot, blinding light wielded as a sculptor's knife. She had expanded her portfolio. The usual subjects had bored her, as did he. She had moved on, far beyond his reach yet close enough to punish him for his ineffectiveness. She would show him a man who was worthy of her talents, a true profiler of intent who wasn't afraid to see past his own discontent. With him she would mold a new savagery; a masterpiece of lust and greed to span the ages.
He peered closer, hoping to permeate the darkness to see the man's face. The vision was fading and all that he could see was a badge smeared with blood, tears and another substance he couldn't identify. His fingers traced each letter. His memory gave the initials meaning.
"My lips hold yet the memory of your breath..."
The archpriest gasped as she spewed her final words. He opened his eyes to find his cheek covered with semen.
XxX
WASHINGTON, DC.
Walter Skinner stood behind his desk, his phone receiver to his ear and his back to the windows. He could feel the heat of the sunny May day frying his back, making beads of sweat well up between his shoulder blades in spite of the Hoover's air conditioning.
"Wrapping up what, Mulder?" He listened while Mulder spun some delaying tactic disguised as a discussion he needed to finish with Scully. Skinner didn't wait for him to get to the end of the explanation.
"Now, Agent Mulder," he rumbled into the phone, concluding the conversation. He disconnected that line, hanging up on Mulder, and stabbed a second button.
"Kim...I've asked Agents Mulder and Scully to attend this meeting. They'll be out there momentarily," he informed his executive assistant, Kimberly Cook. She confirmed his statement and then asked if anyone else was attending. "No, no one else," Skinner replied. After Kim assured her boss that she'd call him when the agents appeared, Skinner thanked her, hung up and turned to face the quiet man at his conference table.
"I should kick your ass for going around me, Henry," he growled at the head of VCS. From his chair Section Chief Henry Alvarez studied the AD, the expression on his face wholly unrepentant. Skinner moved away from the greenhouse effect of his office window. His T-shirt rubbed against his damp skin and he flexed his muscular shoulders and lats, using the movement to sop up a trickle of perspiration.
Henry Alvarez shrugged a little.
"Well, Walter...I figured since you already kicked my ass but good in that poker game Saturday night you'd make allowances," he retorted in his light Spanish accent. "Besides...you're always expounding on how you want your section chiefs to show some initiative; how you like to delegate authority and know when you do, the job will get done," he added, dark eyebrows raised.
Skinner gave Alvarez a sharp look but then offered a brief but not unfriendly smile.
"All right, I see your point," he replied, walking to the table. His eyes caught one of the photographs on it. He inclined his head to examine the photo with brow furrowed and his mouth curved down in a frown. Christ...even his battle hardened guts turned over pictures like these. He could understand Mulder's reluctance to revisit the Barbara Sutcliffe case. He silently studied the photograph.
Alvarez replied and his serious tone drew Skinner's attention away from the photograph and back to his subordinate's face.
"Sir...you know my department caseload. If my agents weren't up to their eyeballs in cases like this one..." He sighed, extending his hand to encompass the photos, and burgeoning file folders spread before them. "...I wouldn't have even approached Mulder. Believe me, I've gotten the message that he's not keen on profiling any longer. And *I* wouldn't be keen on profiling this case either to be honest."
Skinner made an understanding sound in his throat.
"Yeah, I know...you're swamped. Henry...we're all swamped right now," he replied quietly. "We're overextended and understaffed with this fiscal hiring freeze. I know you need help...and Mulder's the best man for the job," he replied. The photo distracted him again and his eyes were drawn to it in spite of himself.
"Exactly. I didn't have any other choice and I thought I'd save you the trouble of bulldogging him, by sweet-talking Mulder a little to see if I could get him to request assignment."
Alvarez sat back in his chair, put his hands behind his head and twisted his neck. The audible crack from it was punctuated by Skinner's snort. He looked into Henry's dark eyes.
"Sweet-talking Mulder seldom works," he observed, shoving away the photo with a sour expression. "He can be...stubborn."
Skinner's jaw clenched as he thought about just how infuriating Mulder could be when it came to complaining about work he thought would take time away from the X-Files, especially if the work involved doing a profile for VCS. Still...Skinner started to form another thought in his mind but it didn't have a chance to fully take shape before Alvarez spoke again.
"I guess I was a little slow on the uptake." Alvarez replied. He lowered his arms and placed his hands on the arms of his chair. "That's why I've taken this up the ladder...to you. I figured you could make Mulder see reason. Because listen, Walter...I gotta say this and I apologize for probably shoving my nose in where it doesn't belong...but Mulder was really unreasonable. I mean the guy can piss and moan when he's being dragged off that weird shit he's doing down there in the basement..."
"The X-Files," Skinner corrected, giving Alvarez a look that told him to show a little respect, that familiarity between them should not breed contempt when it came to another agent's work.
The Hispanic section chief inclined his head in deference to Skinner's unspoken rebuke and passed it off with a good-natured tilt of his chin.
"Right. But what I was trying to say, sir is that in the past, Mulder's always been pretty damn cooperative after his initial protests. I gotta give him credit there. This time though...this time he wouldn't even listen. He stonewalled me but good...cut me right off," Alvarez replied, making a cutting gesture across his throat. "It...It didn't seem like him, Walter. Even with all that *spooky* bullshit half the Hoover flings on him."
"Half the Bureau," Skinner conceded.
"Right," Alvarez nodded, picking at some lint on his pants leg as he watched Skinner's face.
Skinner pushed his glasses up a bit and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he stared down at the photographs again. He could understand Mulder's reluctance to take the case. It was a highly unpleasant one and working with VCS always took a lot out of Mulder. But, the agent had never shirked his responsibility if the case was important. If Alvarez had explained the circumstances regarding the case and he had done the earlier profile, Mulder would be their best chance at finding the escaped serial killer. The agent was sage enough to realize that, and conscientious enough to accept the obligation. The AD was puzzled that Mulder had refused to even listen to Alvarez. It wasn't like his subordinate to so vehemently refuse to assist in this kind of situation – to simply blow Alvarez off...
He finally looked up, catching Alvarez's questioning gaze. The VCS head expected an answer, some input from Skinner. It wasn't Skinner's policy to discuss a subordinates status or attitude with another subordinate except on the infrequent occasions he discussed it with the subordinate's partner. He set his face and prepared to give Alvarez a noncommittal answer when his phone rang loudly from across the room.
Skinner glanced at it and then proceeded to walk to his desk.
"That's probably Mulder and Scully," he commented.
"Show time," Alvarez commented under his breath. Skinner nodded but kept his face neutral as he picked up the call.
"Yes?"
Kimberly Cook's efficient reply came over the line.
"Agents Mulder and Scully are here to see you, sir."
"Thank you, Kimberly. I'll admit them," he replied.
Skinner glanced in Alvarez's direction and tilted his chin.
"Better stack those up. No sense in rubbing his nose in things right off the bat," the AD suggested. He figured Mulder would go on the defensive immediately but maybe this would at least forestall an immediate and acrimonious outburst.
Alvarez made a sound of agreement and began stacking the photographs back in a coherent order of presentation. He left the typewritten reports spread out in their file folders but each photo got laid neatly aside. After he was done making a neat pile of pictures with a folder on the top to conceal the lot, the section chief sat back and concentrated his attention on Skinner's closed office door. The AD strode over and pulled it open.
Mulder and Scully were standing in front of the couch next to Kimberly's desk in a position that reminded Skinner suddenly of that Grant Wood painting...the one titled 'American Gothic'. Both agents stood stiffly and formally, almost at attention like the farmer and his wife. All Mulder needed was a pitch fork. Skinner smothered a sigh. This wasn't going to be easy, he thought.
"Agents," he said, doing his best to look congenial. He knew he was probably failing because he felt his jaw tightening. He flexed the taut muscles, gesturing with his hand for his subordinates to step through his door. Scully moved forward first and Skinner stepped inside and back, ushering Scully past him.
Mulder followed Scully, his hand hovering over the small of her back, his fingers finally just touching there. Skinner wondered whether Mulder's familiar gesture was done to politely guide Scully ahead of him or whether it was meant to reassure them both as the agents stepped into the lion's den.
As soon as Mulder and Scully breached the doorframe their eyes swept the room, Scully's more covertly than Mulder's. Both agents spotted Henry Alvarez. A quick flick of Mulder's eyes to Skinner's told the AD Mulder had anticipated the reason for the meeting, but his eyes shifted away before Skinner could gauge any further reaction. Scully glanced back at Mulder and when their eyes met Skinner observed Mulder give a half-hearted grin and mouth the words 'Oh, oh'.
Skinner squared his shoulders and gathered himself for war. No sense beating around the bush, he thought. Everyone was obviously on the same page.
"Please sit down," he requested, waving Mulder and Scully over to the conference table. "You both know Section Chief Alvarez." Alvarez stood as Scully approached the table.
"Yes, sir," Scully replied giving Skinner a wary glance. She extended her hand to Alvarez and he took it, shaking it firmly.
"Good morning," Alvarez replied genially, smiling at her. Scully gave a brief smile and quick nod in return. Then she released his hand and sat down across from him.
Mulder tilted his chin down once and extended his hand toward the section chief.
He liked Henry Alvarez. Mulder had always gotten a square deal from him, which was more than he could say for his predecessor. He was still pondering the feeling of dread he got when the Section Chief had contacted him earlier that morning. The rawness of that fear had surprised him...it had been so long and he'd seen much that was frightening. Nevertheless, the memory of Barbara Sutcliffe was somehow different, more...visceral. It suddenly seemed very fresh and his trepidation very powerful. Mulder didn't want to do this consult...but he'd been unable to explain why to Scully in terms she'd understand much less believe. What was worse...he'd been unable to reason out his feelings and explain them to himself. How the hell was he going to explain them to Alvarez and Skinner? He felt his lips curling up in an ironic smile and for a moment he cursed his propensity for being a smartass even in the most personally troubling situations.
"I'd like to say good morning but I did that earlier. And I have a suspicion that 'a good morning' isn't on the agenda for any of us," he said, shaking Alvarez's hand.
Scully's mouth turned down just slightly in disapproval at what she perceived as Mulder's lack of tact, but Alvarez passed off the comment with an understanding chuckle and a brisk handshake.
"You may have a point, Agent," he replied, dropping Mulder's hand.
Skinner gave Mulder a frown which the agent saw but pointedly ignored as he took a seat next to Scully at the conference table.
"All right, I'm going to cut to the chase here," Skinner rumbled as Alvarez took his seat across from the agents. Skinner sat down at the head of the conference table and swept his hands over the paperwork assembled on it. He captured Mulder's eyes. "I'm aware that Section Chief Alvarez took the liberty of informing you that Barbara Sutcliffe escaped from Mid-Hudson Psychiatric Hospital..."
Mulder interrupted him.
"And I assume he told you I didn't think I would be of much..."
Skinner halted Mulder's protest by sitting back slightly and giving him a hard look.
"I'm aware that you had an objection regarding voluntary assignment to the case. So, I'm now going to make it an order...a direct assignment from this office. Section Chief Alvarez is short-handed and he needs help in this investigation. I believe he needs the best resource we can offer to solve the case quickly. In view of the fact that you did the previous profile on the UNSUB and are intimately familiar with the Barbara Sutcliffe case, I'm assigning you to act as SAC for Section Chief Alvarez on this one, Mulder. You'll be interfacing with the local field offices in the affected jurisdictions."
Skinner saw anger flare in Mulder's eyes. Scully looked from Skinner to Mulder clearly troubled as she anticipated Mulder's reaction. Alvarez just sat back and waited for the shit to hit the fan.
Mulder stared at Skinner for a moment His ass was stuck in the wringer, he realized with annoyance. He tried to keep his expression neutral as he shifted in his chair but he knew Skinner saw his anger. He took a few seconds to compose himself and consider a response...any argument that might have a glimmer of a chance of getting him off the hook. Finally he inhaled, exhaled slowly and said the only thing that came to mind.
"You said resource...as in singular?" he asked carefully, his eyebrows raising slightly.
He caught sight of Scully in his peripheral vision. His partner was looking down at her hands folded in her lap. Her face was pensive but Mulder could see his thoughts mirrored there; Scully had realized as he had that they weren't being assigned to this case as a team. This whole thing was really going down the crapper fast.
Skinner's head dipped slightly as his words confirmed Mulder and Scully's supposition. His head swiveled and he focused on Scully as he spoke.
"Agent Scully...you're welcome to stay and give us your forensic input during this meeting but we do have forensic support on the case. It won't be necessary to assign you with Agent Mulder. I would however like you to help me prepare my budget report for the GAO audit by...clarifying some X-Files expenses during Agent Mulder's reassignment."
"Yes, sir," Scully replied. There wasn't anything else she could say.
Scully could tell from the expression on Mulder's face that he was trying to conceal his chagrin. His face had taken on that bland 'I'm not phased a bit' expression that he cultivated when he didn't want anyone to read him. Scully saw it as Mulder's version of Skinner's poker face. It fascinated her to think that two men who were so dissimilar in temperament could both mask their emotions so similarly in stony silence. Once again Scully felt worried about her partner. It wasn't like Mulder to be this recalcitrant when he realized his aid was essential. Scully could only think that the reason he was balking was because the fear he'd expressed to her down in the basement had to be very strong. That idea worried Scully even more because she still wasn't sure she could understand or believe what Mulder had told her about Barbara Sutcliffe.
She watched as Skinner and Alvarez observed Mulder. They were clearly waiting for him to make some comment. Mulder caught her eye and she gave him a sympathetic look, one that said 'I'm here for you partner, if you need me'. She thought she saw a flicker of thanks in Mulder's eyes but she wasn't sure as he turned away. Mulder looked from Skinner to Alvarez and finally spoke, his voice subdued and absent of any sarcasm.
"I don't suppose you'd buy the excuse that I have tickets for the Opera tomorrow night?"
Scully ducked her head as she caught Mulder's quick, gentle smile at her. His question, delivered totally deadpan and alluding to their earlier conversation was was his expression of regret that she wasn't going to be there watching his back. Her reaction told him she understood and was sorry too. This non-verbal way they had of communicating, a tilt of the head, a small smile, and a raised eyebrow...all were full of meaning for both partners. Scully saw Mulder's face fall into lines of resignation and she knew he wasn't going to put up any further fight in regards to the VCS assignment.
Skinner watched the exchange with a mixture of amazement, respect and not a small amount of envy. No matter how many times he saw this between Mulder and Scully he thought it was remarkable. He knew it took a smoothly operating team to have that level of communication and he respected that their partnership was so solid. On occasion he wondered if they were even closer, perhaps involved in a romantic relationship. He got that vibe every once in a while. It didn't matter to him. As long as it didn't affect their casework, it was their business.
In fact, Skinner envied whatever relationship they had because he wished he were capable of being that close to anyone, in tune on that level with another. And sometimes he confessed to himself, he wanted to be part of that silent sharing that Mulder and Scully had and he knew that wasn't possible under the circumstances. The best he figured he could do was support that closeness, nurture it, and support them in his own way as best he could.
'I'm not nurturing much today, am I,' he thought as Mulder delivered his statement. 'I'm probably knocking Mulder's pillar of support right out from under him by not assigning Scully.'
Skinner was about to reply when Henry Alvarez beat him to the punch.
"Look, Agent Mulder...I know we're dragging you into this case kicking and screaming, and believe me, if there was any other way, I wouldn't have asked you to participate. But there isn't any other way. My back's up against the wall and..."
Mulder held up both hands in surrender and Alvarez fell silent. The agent passed his hand through his unruly hair, brushing it back. When he lowered his hand he replied with no further preamble, "I understand. Show me what you have here."
Mulder leaned forward and Skinner, Scully and Alvarez relaxed in their seats.
"Start with how she got out."
Skinner sat back and prepared to let Henry Alvarez hold the floor. Scully leaned forward next to Mulder to get a better look at the evidence as Alvarez uncovered the stack of photographs and began to spread them out.
xXx
TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD, WISCONSIN
She there again, in the room, in the place of power. She could feel it...the energy roiled, cracked and popped around her. It crawled over her skin, prickling insistently, making the fine hair on her body spring to attention, like so many miniature erections. Auras upon auras danced electrically across her retinas. The colors rippled through the air like an obscene indoor Aurora Borealis.
"Luci magnifiche," her partner yelled. "Fantastico! Meraviglioso!"
Beautiful lights? Beautiful and terrible she thought fleetingly as the other woman's exclamations of *fantastic* and *marvelous* were drowned out by the almost deafening classical music.
She detected a coppery smell; the odor of metals--of bronze and copper--but also the coppery scent of blood. The blood that consecrated this place, that helped pry open the door between this world and the other just a sliver; the blood that prepared the way for ripping that door off its hinges.
"Faccia i simboli" her partner, her lover, shouted over the thunder of sound and the flashing of lights.
There was a brighter flash...and then a glow and she looked down and saw her left hand gesturing, drawing arcane symbols in the air. She knew the power was coming from her and she feared and rejoiced in that knowledge.
There was a buzzing in her ears. The scene shifted, blurred...and then snapped back to crystal clarity.
She looked before her and saw the man--bound and laid out before her--almost naked and surrounded by symbols of power drawn by her and the other. Her hands held the flame and she looked again at her lover...and then walked forward.
She stalked closer, closer to the man. She smelled his terror--his piss as his bladder emptied--saw his eyes open wide with shock and horror and saw his mouth open wide as he started to moan and then scream. Her hand moved forward and she smelled the tang of burning flesh--his burning flesh--and the man screamed, he yowled in torment...and she screamed too. And she heard a voice shout and gurgle with laughter.
"Time to fly, Sparrow!"
And the other, her lover screamed and then shrieked as well--with pleasure.
But she screamed with the man, in shared suffering, panic and pain.... And woke, crying and shaking.
Morning light poured through the studio windows, illuminating the bed and warming it in a gentle glow.
"Shhhh," her lover said. "It was just a bad dream, mio piccolo."
Anger at the other woman's comment seized her, overcoming the confusion and fear brought on by her nightmare.
"I'm not your little one," she sniffed, giving the other woman a scowl as she tried to roll out from under the sheets.
Her lover laughed and drew her back before she could leave the bed.
"True. But you are la mia bellezza...my beauty."
She looked closely at the other woman, struggling with her anger, distress and defiance. Her lover continued to chuckle and the air seemed to grow a bit warmer, the heat massaging its way into her body, into her sleep and dream-fogged mind, into her bones. It felt so good...so soothing and then the truth of the Italian woman's statement washed over her...and she suddenly felt much better.
"True?" her lover prompted, grinning.
"True...I'm your...la mia b..b...belezza," she replied, laboring with the unfamiliar Italian language.
She smiled and the Italian grinned wider...a huge grin, like the barred teeth of a wolf...a death's head grin...and she felt arousal boil up in her...hot and lusciously sweet. A dampness between her legs prepared the way for the other.
"You're il mio amore," her lover whispered, drawing her close.
"Yes...I'm your love," she answered as the other woman claimed her.
xXx
WASHINGTON, DC
As the section chief's graceful hands laid the photographs carefully in front of her, Scully bit her lip slightly in thought.
She wasn't assigned to the case, but by God she was certainly going to give her forensic opinion if that would assist Mulder and lend him support.
"How she got out is the operative question," Alvarez answered with a sigh. "Right now no one is sure. She wasn't in lockdown or anything so she was out for an exercise period. They think she scaled the fence at some point and made her way through the adjacent woods to the highway. Someone might have picked her up. They don't wear uniforms at Mid-Hudson so some motorist probably thought they were giving a ride to a hitchhiker."
"She has no tongue," Skinner replied. "She'd have to sign her request for a ride or write it down somehow."
"She's very resourceful," Mulder interjected as he watched Alvarez's hands moving in front of them. Scully gave him a raised eyebrow but remained silent.
"She'd have to be," Skinner acknowledged. He ran his fingers up under his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Christ. I thought Mid-Hudson had cleaned up their act."
Alvarez shrugged.
"They had according to all reports...hadn't had an escape in years. Evidently this was just bad luck," the VCS head replied, watching for Mulder's reaction. The agent gave a brief nod. Scully and Skinner continued to listen attentively.
"Ok...now. I'm sure you recognize these," the section chief stated, addressing Mulder. He lay the last of the photographs in front of Mulder and Scully.
"Barbara Sutcliffe's handiwork," Mulder replied, leaning forward for a closer look.
"Agent Scully, are you familiar with the case?" Alvarez replied.
"Somewhat. Agent Mulder has spoken about it," Scully replied.
"Give us a quick recap," Skinner said.
Alvarez tilted his head in agreement and continued speaking.
"1989...New York City. 'The Plaster Caster Killer' the press called her," Alvarez elucidated as the agents studied the grisly pictures. "The nickname was a morbid take-off on those 60s rock groupies who went around casting the stars...genitals in plaster."
"'The Artist'," Scully added, looking up at Alvarez.
"Yeah, they called her that too," Alvarez replied.
"In either case she was a busy woman," Skinner observed as Alvarez set out the last of the 24 photographs.
"An even baker's dozen on the sculptures...with a second photo to show the actual contents inside each plaster cast," Alvarez informed them.
Mulder fingered the glossy color print in front of him.
"We were never really sure she only killed 12 men to be honest," he said, his voice thoughtful. "When we broke into her loft studio in 'Little Italy' there were a lot of sketches and photos of installations that were never seen in a gallery. I always thought she practiced her art, perfecting her technique for exhibition."
"Or before it would pass a gallery's critical muster," Skinner surmised.
"Or that," Mulder agreed, giving Skinner a glance that said 'point for you, sir', crediting him for being perceptive.
"These are...incredible," Scully breathed, taking the nearest photo and holding it up for closer examination. "Pathological and despicable but..."
"Oddly ornate...even attractive?" Mulder asked, causing Scully to turn in his direction. He captured her eyes but this time she couldn't read precisely what he was thinking.
"Certainly imaginative," she answered carefully.
Twelve of the photos showed male victims covered in plaster, their penises flaccid in most cases, but three were still sporting erections. The plaster figures were arranged singly and grouped in what could be sexually suggestive poses. They were either having sexual contact or they were wrestling; in some cases one figure looked as if the contact was unwelcome. A couple of the figures appeared to be running, or fleeing...something. One was even mounted from the ceiling as though in flight. And all the figures were adorned to various degrees with fur, feathers-- even animal masks. Scully looked closely at the photo she was holding. The figure's head was fixed with horns. A plaque on the gallery wall said 'Hern by Barbara Sutcliffe'.
"The Celtic God of the hunt," Mulder whispered in her ear and Scully felt goose flesh on the back of her neck.
"Yes," Scully agreed, putting the photo down.
"Mulder theorized that at the time she was using Hern...and the wild hunt of Celtic myth as some kind of metaphor for her killing spree," Alvarez informed Scully.
Skinner put pen to the paper of a yellow pad he'd put on the conference table earlier and neatly printed a notation.
Scully glanced at Mulder but he seemed lost in thought. She directed her attention to Alvarez.
"And the rest of these photographs were taken after the sculptures were cut open?" Scully asked, pulling one of the 8 by 10s in question toward her.
The Section Chief sat back and unbuttoned his suit coat, his brow furrowing as he looked at the photo.
"Right. One of Sutcliffe's installations..."
"A series of three sculptures at the Crosstix Gallery," Mulder interjected, pulling a photo that hadn't been removed from the stack and showing it to Scully. Scully glanced at it and then looked closer. Mulder stood in front of the sculpture in the picture. 'God, he looks so young', she thought as Alvarez continued his account.
"One of those sculptures cracked and the resulting smell and...leaking fluid resulted in a 911 call. After that it was only a short period of time until we apprehended the UNSUB. All her sculptures were taken to the morgue, sawed open and photographed in detail. You're looking at the remains of Roger Horvath."
"Mr. Horvath is dressed as a dog, a Great Dane I believe," Mulder commented, leaning back and studying Scully's profile.
Skinner leaned forward. He hadn't gotten a good look at all the photos so he wasn't sure about some of the corpse's adornment.
"What's that...binding his penis?" he asked. His voice showed his offense at the treatment the victim had undergone.
"A studded cock ring and ball spreader," Mulder replied matter-of-factly.
"Like a dog halter," Scully whispered.
"With pointed studs inside as well as outside so they pierce the skin. The pathologist said it was applied before death."
Skinner pulled a sheet of paper off the top of one of the file folders. It was summary of the file contents prepared for him by VCS.
"Which would explain the amount of blood on his thighs and legs," Scully mused, turning from that photograph to examine one of the others.
Her words were met with silence for a few moments and then Skinner spoke up.
"All the victims were similarly assaulted," he noted, glancing at the summary. "Jesus...this woman is very disturbed and very dangerous," he pronounced, tossing the paper down in disgust. "Why the hell the New York office sat on this for two weeks..."
Mulder had been re-examining one of the photos but now his head came up and his eyebrows raised. The short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. 'If Barbara Sutcliffe has been at large for only a week,' Mulder thought, 'we're in deep shit.'
"She's been out two weeks?"
"Yes," Alvarez confirmed. "And to answer your question, sir...I expect they thought they could handle the investigation since they had several concrete leads to Ms. Sutcliffe's whereabouts. Unfortunately she slipped through their dragnet and when they received new leads they didn't pan out."
Mulder looked from Skinner to Alvarez.
"You didn't tell me this," he complained to the Section Chief. He couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice.
Skinner started to reprimand his subordinate for his tone, but Henry Alvarez was answering before he could.
"You didn't give me a chance, mi amigo. Maybe you should be a little more cooperative next time, entienda?"
Scully observed Mulder's jaw tense. Alvarez had a point and Mulder knew it but Scully could tell he didn't like being called on the carpet for it. Mulder shifted slightly and Scully was relieved to see him shake off his aggravation. Mulder smiled ruefully before he replied.
"Ok, I guess it's my turn to say 'point taken'."
Alvarez inclined his head politely.
Mulder turned his head to Skinner.
"And yes...Barbara Sutcliffe is extremely disturbed and tremendously dangerous...if she's been out two weeks we're in deep shit."
Alvarez sighed.
"Deeper than you think," he remarked, opening the file sitting closest to him on the table.
Mulder's gut tensed. He glanced at Scully; she looked grim. A quick look at Skinner told him the AD hadn't heard this bit and was none too happy about it and worried about what he was going to hear. Before Skinner could protest at being left in the dark however, Alvarez was opening the file and explaining its contents.
"We got this in via e-mail from the Milwaukee field office just before I came up to see AD Skinner," he said, pushing two digital photos and some sheets of paper across the table toward Mulder and Scully. Skinner stood and walked to stand behind his agents so he could read over their shoulders. "I've barely had a chance to read the report myself and I apologize for not briefing any of you on it until now."
Mulder flattened the material out and began to read. Scully and Skinner's eyes tracked over the pages and then the photos.
Skinner noted the name on the report. Alvin Sparrow. The late Mr. Sparrow had certainly come to a bad end. He shook his head in disgust as he read the details of the stock broker's death.
Scully gathered the other autopsy reports together and quickly went over them to compare them with the Milwaukee coroner's report.
When Mulder finished reading he sat back shaking his head. 'It's started,' he thought. 'It's started and now someone has to stop it and evidently that someone is going to be me.'
"Damn," he cursed.
'Damn, indeed,' Skinner thought. Barbara Sutcliffe was wasting no time resuming her murderous ways.
"As I recall, Barbara Sutcliffe had relatives in Milwaukee," Skinner commented, stepping away from Mulder and Scully's chairs. He returned to his seat and sat down, a look of resolute determination on his face. He didn't envy Mulder this job at all and he conceded he was even sorrier he had to assign him to it. He consoled himself by silently reaffirming that Mulder was the best weapon the Bureau had to stop this woman from committing these atrocities.
Alvarez spoke, confirming Skinner's observation.
"An aunt, since deceased. But Barbara did spend some summer vacations there right up to her incarceration. The New York office checked into the Milwaukee angle of course. They drew a blank."
"The MO seems similar," Scully commented as she studied the latest two photographs.
"I agree," Alvarez replied, running his hand through his salt and pepper hair.
"But this killing is much more elaborate, much more brutal," Mulder offered, touching one of the photographs with an index finger. "And the victim, although turned into an art installation never made it to any gallery. He was dumped where anyone could find him...a departure from the earlier murders."
Skinner looked at the photos of Alvin Sparrow again and frowned.
"Are you trying to make a case for this not being Barbara Sutcliffe's work?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Mulder. "Even though the New York office didn't find anything there, Milwaukee is probably a place she's familiar with and comfortable in. We can theorize she might go there. It merits rechecking. And as for the artwork...it's way too similar to ignore."
Alvarez nodded.
"The...decoration *is* awfully similar. The elaborate metal bird headpiece that's nailed into the victim's skull, the metal wing armature with real seagull feathers bolted to his back and attached to his arms..."
"But this victim is castrated. Even the flying figure in her previous installation was tricked out in genital adornment. It's..." Mulder interrupted.
He knew he was really only playing devil's advocate. Mulder was convinced this was Barbara Sutcliffe's work. That special sense that rose up in him when he was profiling assured him that "The Artist" was creating more mayhem. It was like an early warning system and right now the siren was blaring and Mulder knew better than to ignore it.
Scully wrinkled her brow and interrupted both men.
"She must have gone to Milwaukee immediately after her escape to have killed this man and adorned him in such a complicated manner so quickly. Even two weeks strikes me as too short a time to accomplish something like this." Scully gestured at the photographs.
Mulder pursed his lips.
"Agent Scully has a point...but I do tend to think this is Barbara Sutcliffe's work despite the tight timeframe and the departure from her previous patterns. The way she's adorned the body really is too similar to say otherwise."
Scully studied her partner for a moment and then slowly nodded.
"You're going to suggest she already had the resources in Milwaukee."
"Exactly," Mulder replied giving her a brief smile of approval. "Let's say she had a well hidden storage space or even a studio in Milwaukee that never turned up in previous investigations. She could have set that up and gone back into business relatively quickly. As far as the brutality of this current murder...if she's escalating it's completely within the bounds of possibility. And besides...she's still sticking to her unique personal symbolism in a macabre kind of way. After all, if Mr. Sparrow is supposed to be a bird...birds don't have penises. They have a cloaca...which very much resembles this wound between his legs."
"Mi Dios," Alvarez whispered.
"I can understand what you're saying in regards to escalation. But wouldn't she have been receiving treatment in..." Skinner glanced at the summary in front of him. "...Mid-Hudson Psychiatric that would have mitigated her tendencies somewhat?"
"Ostensibly," Mulder replied, searching over the table. He hadn't seen a recent psychiatric report on Sutcliffe in the assembled documentation. He moved a few files aside but he still didn't see it.
"If you're looking for the status report from Mid-Hudson there was some miscommunication there. New York should have it from the hospital this afternoon and they'll fax it to us as soon as they do," Alvarez stated. "You will have complete access to it then, of course."
Mulder returned Alvarez's reply with a meditative inclination of his head.
The group sat in silence, lost in their own deliberations for another few seconds and then Skinner broke the silence.
"Agent Scully...do you have anything of a forensic nature to add?"
Scully straightened in her seat and gave the photographs one more cursory glance. Despite her initial doubts about Barbara Sutcliffe having enough time to accomplish her grisly task in Milwaukee she was now as confident as Mulder that all the killings were done by the same person. There wasn't much else to say. She just hoped the local forensic resources were capable of aiding Mulder and whoever else was on this case in a speedy apprehension of Barbara Sutcliffe. Her brow creased again with thoughts of Mulder heading off in pursuit of this woman. Something kept nagging at the back of her mind, an amorphous prickling of danger and it was making her edgy and anxious.
"I believe as Agent Mulder indicated that it's very likely that Barbara Sutcliffe is the UNSUB in the Milwaukee case. Although the timeframe between her escape and the murder is tight the forensic evidence and photos make a strong argument for it. And as Agent Mulder points out, she seems to be escalating...with a heedlessness toward getting caught indicated by dumping the body in plain sight," Scully concluded, her voice steadier than her nerves felt.
"As if she's taunting us," Skinner rumbled, looking from Scully to Mulder.
Scully felt that prickle of danger ratchet up a notch.
"I'd count on that, sir," Mulder replied. "It's within her psychological make-up..."
Alvarez interrupted.
"She's been doing that all along with her gallery exhibits, right? This is just a more extreme version of taunting the authorities."
"Yes. She considers herself above us all...a talented genius amongst what amounts to the beasts of the field for her. The more discord and terror she can spread in the animal herd and the longer she remains free, the more she confirms her superiority."
"She sounds like a prime example for the sin of pride," Scully quietly mused, starring again at the tortured figure of Alvin Sparrow.
"Then let's see if we can show that pride cometh before the fall," Skinner growled, turning toward Alvarez. "We need to move on this ASAP."
Alvarez squared his jaw taking on a determined expression which mirrored Skinner's. He turned his attention to Mulder.
"I can have you on a flight to Milwaukee first thing in the morning. We'll arrange for the plane tickets and the accommodations on the other end as well. The Milwaukee police and the Bureau field office should be able to handle things until you get there. You'll be working with Agent Ross Lyon. He's SAC on the Sparrow case."
"Yeah, ok...good," Mulder replied, slightly distracted. He was going into battle against Barbara Sutcliffe again and trying to tamp down the dread that would make him less effective as a warrior in that battle. He had to keep his cool. No matter what had transpired in the past it was vital that he didn't let it affect his performance now. He shook off his reservations and steeled himself to be the good soldier. "Uh...I'll go over all this again this afternoon. Can you send me the psychiatric report when you get it?"
Alvarez made a note on the pad of paper sitting in front of him.
"Sure. It'll be in the basement as soon as it comes in."
Skinner looked around the room decisively.
"Anything else then?"
The shaking of heads told him the meeting had reached a conclusion.
"All right," Skinner said, rising from his chair. He walked over to his desk. "Agent Scully, you're dismissed to wrap up whatever you need to finish this afternoon on your own casework. But..." Skinner reached his desk and picked up a piece of paper from his in basket. "...I have a list that Kimberly prepared of the specific expense reports I'd like you to bring to my office tomorrow at 9 AM. These are the ones we need to review for that GAO audit."
Skinner strode back and handed Scully the sheet of paper.
"Yes sir," she replied, taking it from him. She tried not to let the distaste she had for the budget grappling that she and Skinner would have to accomplish show on her face as she folded the paper up and tucked it into her jacket pocket.
"Are we all dismissed?" Mulder asked, looking up at Skinner. He was more than ready to get the hell out of the office if for no other reason than to just have a few more moments to shake off his anxiety.
Skinner's eyes played over Mulder's face for a few seconds. He could tell Mulder was trying to master whatever was bothering him on this case. It bothered Skinner that Mulder was having such a problem with the situation. He wanted to offer Mulder some additional support, maybe try to discover his concerns and help to reassure him. He couldn't very well tell Mulder he was sorry to assign him but he could let him know that he was available for advice or back-up. The AD straightened his shoulders and spoke:
"Section Chief Alvarez and Scully are dismissed. I'd like you to stay for a moment, Agent Mulder."
Mulder's lips pressed together to hold back the curse that threatened to slip out.
'Shit,' he thought. 'I don't need Skinner trying to be my buddy right now.'
Skinner ignored Mulder's strained expression as inevitable and observed Scully's glance at her partner. It was easy to see that she didn't like leaving him alone to face the lion in his den. But her professionalism wouldn't allow her to defy or even protest Skinner's order in front of Mulder and Section Chief Alvarez. Skinner might hear her concerns tomorrow but he wouldn't hear them now in public.
For one short moment Skinner set the gravity of the situation in his office aside and considered how much he admired Dana Scully. How much he approved of her trying to balance her loyalty to Mulder with her professionalism when the two came into conflict. Sometimes she could be aggravating when she failed in that balance but hell, Skinner admired her for bucking the system as much as Mulder to get results...even if he was part of the system she was bucking. He just wished...well sometimes he wished he had Scully's and Mulder's guts and the ability to tell the system to screw it too.
Over the years Skinner had really grown to like Scully; she was a first rate agent as well as a strong, intelligent and compassionate woman. He hoped she at least respected him. He knew that given their past dealings it was a lot to ask. For her to call him a friend was probably an impossibility for many reasons. But she seemed to treat him with respect, even understanding at times, so he let himself think she did in truth see him as someone she could rely on when she or Mulder needed help.
Mulder's brief glance at Scully and the slight shrug of his shoulders distracted Skinner from his reverie
"Yes, sir," Mulder said, his voice a combination of resignation and frustration.
Skinner snapped his focus back and turned to Alvarez and Scully.
"Dismissed," the AD reiterated. They rose and headed toward the door leaving a poker-faced Mulder sitting before him.
Skinner sat back down at the conference table as soon as the office door shut, folded his hands in front of him and fixed Mulder with a benign gaze.
Mulder stared back, his expression neutral. Skinner noticed his eyes were greener in the reflected light from the window; green flecked with gold--and a tinge of irritation.
'Christ,' Skinner thought. 'Can't this guy ever make it easy on me? Probably not,' he told himself and admitted he wouldn't want Mulder to act any other way. Mulder's bullheadedness, his stubborn adherence to anarchy was what kept Skinner honest and what kept Mulder on his quest. Cockiness was a necessity for the agent's well-being and work. That Mulder seemed less confident about Barbara Sutcliffe worried Skinner and made him determined to find out what was wrong.
"Is there anything about this case you'd like to discuss with me in private, Agent Mulder?" he inquired carefully, his voice soft.
"Is this a pep talk?" Mulder asked with an ironic twist of his lips.
The smartass challenge made Skinner's ears heat up and he struggled to control the growl that grew in his throat.
"I'd like to think it's a chance for you to express your concerns to me. If you consider that...supportive then let's just say I've done my job," he replied tightly.
Mulder cocked his head and gave Skinner a quizzical look. Then he relaxed slightly and made a placating gesture.
"I'm sorry. I can see you mean well," he conceded. "You know I never like to be yanked off the X-Files and assigned to a VCS case. You know my feelings on profiling..." Mulder's voice trailed off and he shrugged again.
Skinner's gaze captured Mulder's eyes and probed deeply. He sensed the agent was lying though he covered it well. Skinner set his jaw and told Mulder with a skeptical expression that he knew the agent was being evasive.
"Are you sure that's all?" Skinner asked, giving Mulder one more opportunity to be forthright.
"Yes, sir. It's the usual deal...I'm just happier when I'm down in the basement as one of the FBI's most unwanted."
Skinner sighed. It was obvious and unfortunate that Mulder was going to persist in holding his feelings close to his vest. 'Fuck it,' Skinner cursed inwardly. He'd be the first person to tell the agent that was a miscalculation. He'd done it enough to know how much trouble it could bring down on your head. He hoped Mulder would unburden to Scully so he wouldn't make the same mistakes in that area Skinner had in the past.
"Agent Mulder...don't ever feel you're not considered a valued person here...that I don't value what you do.... Because that isn't true," Skinner insisted quietly in a last attempt to connect with his subordinate.
For one second Mulder's face dropped its wry expression and softened into something resembling understanding and even gratitude. Then the ironic smile returned and Skinner knew he'd lost the game...Mulder wasn't going to let him in. The depth of Skinner's sadness at the realization surprised him as Mulder spoke.
"I appreciate that, sir. But really...I'll be fine. I just need to finish up a few odds and ends here with Scully and then I'll hit the ground running in Milwaukee."
Skinner wanted to grab Mulder, shake him and tell him not to be such a macho prick. He wanted to yell. But instead he resigned himself to the idea that Mulder was going to spurn his offer of aid and would just do what he had to do. Skinner devoutly hoped Mulder knew what he was doing.
"Very well," Skinner replied, unfolding his hands. He pushed his chair back with his legs and stood. Mulder did the same. Skinner extended his hand and Mulder took it. "Good luck, Mulder. And just remember...I'm here if you need to discuss the case for any reason."
"Thanks, sir," Mulder replied with a firm shake. "I'll remember."
Skinner released his hand and watched Mulder's back beat a hasty retreat.
"The hell you will," Skinner murmured as his office door shut.