Wanted and Needed by Hawthorne Kessler

Wanted & Needed cover

Return to main “Wanted and Needed” page

Wanted and Needed by Hawthorne Kessler

Wanted & Needed cover

From: hawthorne <>

Date: 22 May 1999 14:34:19 -0700

Subject: [xfcreative] Fw: new submission to mta

Title: Wanted and Needed (part one of four)

Author: Hawthorne Kessler

Rating: R

Classification: S,A, M/S, self-inflicted MulderTorture CW! self-harm

Spoilers: Small mentions for “The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas”, “Tithonus”, general for “Grotesque”

Timeline: This takes place after “T.G.W.S.C.”, and “Tithonus” (I’ve taken some liberty with the actual time frames)— the darling duo are still assigned to the arduous background checks.

Feedback: Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes! ()

Disclaimer: All I own of the X-Files are the action figures, the Special Collectors Edition Barbie and Ken Dolls, and two goldfish named Mully and Sculder (in case one of them dies, I won’t break up the team). The X-files belong to C.C., 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting.

Summary: A recent proliferation of opportunities for Scully leaves Mulder desperate to prove his own worth as an agent.

W A N T E D   A N D   N E E D E D

by Hawthorne Kessler


F.B.I. Headquarters

Tuesday, December 29


Counting the ones from yesterday, Mulder figured he had about four hundred paper clips in the chain thus far. Hal, the clerk down in Supply, had merely laughed as he handed Mulder his fourth requested box of paper clips and suggested rubber bands for his next endeavor. Mulder said he’d take it under advisement.

“What are you doing?” Scully demanded as she walked into the bullpen and handed him a cup of coffee.

“Making you a jump rope,” he answered, holding up a four-foot section of chain for her inspection.

“How many background checks have you done today, Mulder?”

He put the chain down and reached over to his desktop to sort through his papers. “Let’s see… I started out the day with two hundred, and… oh, yeah, we have progress! I only have 195 to go.” Scully sighed and sat on the corner of his desk. He rolled his eyes up to her and said, “Now, Scully, don’t look at me like that! At least you got paroled from this gig!”

“I’ve been at Quantico the past two days, Mulder, working.”

“You know, that’s another thing! Did they learn nothing the first time? They split us up and you get shot and nearly die. Do they not see a pattern here?”

She shook her head and smiled. “It’s not like they’ve sent me into a demilitarized zone. I’m doing autopsies. The only danger is boredom.”

“Well, it still sucks,” he groused succinctly. “What are you doing back here, anyway? Did they run out of corpses and send you out for fresh meat?”

“They do have some extra ones up in the Director’s office, but they can’t be autoposied until 2040. Actually, I got called to go over some forensic data the Baltimore PD sent to the crime lab for analysis.”


“In fact—” she looked at her watch—“I’m supposed to be down there right now. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay.”

Mulder sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m a big boy, Scully… and I just don’t mean…” he broke off with a wink and a lecherous grin.

“Don’t you dare continue, Mulder,” she laughed. “I’ll see you later.”

He waved once and watched her go, then shuffled his papers and heaved a disgusted sigh. He picked up the phone and dialed Supply. “Hal? This is Mulder. Do you think you could send up some of those rubber bands?”

The Bullpen

Wednesday, December 30


“Hey, Scully!” Mulder exclaimed as she walked through the door. “Look at this!” He held up a long length of connected rubber bands. “I’m making you a kicky new scarf.”

She pulled on one end of the “scarf” and let it fly back to slap his hand.


“It’s nice work, Mulder. Ever consider a new career?”

“It’s the thought that counts, you know.” He watched as she put her briefcase down on her desk and pulled up her chair to sit, his face brightening. “Hey, are you back?”

“Apparently,” she sighed.

“Excellent! I’ll call down for more supplies. We can create a whole ensemble for you! How do you feel about thumbtacks?”

The Bullpen

Thursday, December 31


She had just sat down again when the phone rang. “Scully… Yes, sir… Yes, I do… What?! Miami? well… Yes, but… Yes, of course, thank you sir…”

Mulder tossed another paper airplane in her direction. “What’s up?”

“That was Kersch. I’m going to Miami.”

“Miami? What the hell for?”

“I’m being sent with a team from Quantico to present our autopsy techniques amd significant findings at a forensics conference.”

“Why you?”

She looked offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No, no, nothing like that, I mean… it’s great, really.”

“Well, yeah, it is, actually. It’s a very important, prestiges conference. And, I can present some of the findings from some of our more bizarre cases form the X Files…” she grinned, warming to the idea. “And just think, Mulder, three weeks in Miami with the beach, the sun and no mutants!”

“Three weeks, huh?” he asked quietly, looking down at the floor.

“Yep. Hey, why don’t you come with me?”

“What, and leave this? I would, but I’ve used up all my vacation time since we started this assignment.”


“Yeah.” He began drawing circles on the floor with the toe of his shoe. “So, when do you leave?”

“Saturday morning. I have to go over to Quantico at two today and pick up the files so I can bone up on the presentations. I’m having lunch with my friend Shelly at eleven-thirty, so—” her phone rang again—“Scully… yes, I’ll be right there.” She smiled apologetically at Mulder and stood up. “Results are in for that Baltimore PD case. I’ll be in the lab if you need me.”

For one awful moment, Mulder swore he could feel his heart breaking.

I’m losing her.

Jesus, if they wanted him to quit, they were doing one hell of a job motivating him to do so. This assignment was hellish enough, but without Scully at his side, it was positively evil. He didn’t blame Scully for accepting these other assignments, but he did have to admit he was jealous as hell. Her phone was ringing. She was being asked to do things she loved. She had a real future ahead of her. She was incredible at what she did. She was given the opportunity to carve new niches, meet new people, make new connections.

In other words, she was drifting away from the circumstances he had driven them to.

He was losing her.

I miss my X files, Scully. I miss them so much, I ache. I know you never really believed, but do you miss them at all? Even the slightest bit? I’m the worst sort of bastard to wish you were chained to this desk with me, but I can’t help it. You are the only one who makes the pain stop. You are the only one who makes this tolerable.

He was ecstatic for her, he really was, for if anyone deserved the good breaks, it was Scully. Especially after being saddled with his spooky ass the past six years. But another part of him longed for the same opportunities, the same chances to prove he was still worth something, still worthy of respect. Although the need to please had waved goodbye to him long ago, it occassionally faded back into his consciousness.

Ah, hell, so what if he didn’t have any vacation time left! He could claim he was sick, and take a leave of absence… He stood and grabbed his jacket, intent on talking to Kersch and telling him he suddenly needed three weeks off due to… mono? athelete’s foot? herpes? and his phone rang.

“Agent Mulder? This is Suzanne Kurtz returning your call regarding your inquiry about Albert Witter.”

Mulder put his jacket down and returned to his seat with a sigh. “Yes, Ms. Kurtz, thanks for calling back. I just have a few questions…”

Let Scully have her future… he still had 194 background checks to do.

After he dropped Scully off at the airport, he returned home and began sorting through his dirty clothes. The result was three rather substantial piles, as he hadn’t done laundry in quite a while. He gathered up one pile and toted it off to the drycleaners, came home, and spent the rest of the afternoon down in the laundry room doing loads of whites and darks. He went for a five mile run at eleven pm, went to sleep at five am. On Sunday, he watched two football games, ordered a pizza for dinner, and drank a six-pack of beer while he chatted on-line with the Gunmen.

Scully had called on Saturday while he was down in the laundry room, and she had left a message on his machine saying the flight had been okay, and it was eighty-five degrees in Miami, and her hotel was right on the beach, and she wanted him to stay out of trouble, and to call her if he needed anything, but not to disturb her if she was out on the beach soaking up the rays and getting hit on by a six-foot two lifeguard with twenty-inch biceps. She sound relaxed and happy. She sounded amazing.

Mulder replayed that message many times, loving the sound of her voice. It made him feel good. It made him feel less lonely.

The Bullpen

Tuesday, January 5


There were no paper clips or rubberbands in sight. There was no Scully walking over to him with a smile on her face. He felt like crying. He couldn’t remember a time in which he had felt more lonely and unwanted. He felt like dying, and if he did, there would be no one to mourn his passing. He’d only admit that to himself. If Scully were here, he’d say he was fine. He’d smile to wipe that look of concern off her face. For Scully, he would be fine.

When his phone rang, he jumped at it with almost ridiculous enthusiasm.


“Agent Mulder, this is Agent Dan O’Neill in Violent Crimes. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure, what can I do for you?”

“Well, we’ve got one helluva case we’d sure like your help on, Agent Mulder.”

“Okay, why don’t I come up there and we can talk about it?”

“I’d really appreciate that. I hope I’m not pulling you from anything important.”

Mulder eyed his empty desktop with disgust. “Believe me, it’s not a problem.” He hung up the phone and stood up from his desk, suddenly feeling better, even as Scully’s voice came wafting into his mind:

Stay out of trouble, Mulder. Not VC. No profiling. Please, stay out of it

He mentally plugged his ears. I’ll just listen, Scully, I promise. If I can help, I will. Please, let me do this. I need to do something. I have to do something, or I’ll go crazy. They want me.

They want me…


Special Agent Dan O’Neill had been a profiler with Violent Crimes for nearly three years, and he had heard plenty of stories about Fox Mulder to know that if you wanted to get a case solved, you called in “Spooky” to do his thing, as he was reputed to be one of the best profilers in the bureau, even if he had gone off the deep end six years ago to pursue aliens. Although O’Neill was also quite skilled as a profiler, this newest case was proving to be a bit more than he could handle for it’s sheer randomness and gore.

When Mulder walked into his office, O’Neill shook his hand and asked him to sit down. “I really appreciate this, Agent Mulder. I’ve already spoken with your AD, and he assures me we have your considerable talents at our disposal until such time as we feel we have a better handle on the case.”

Mulder barely bit back a smile, imagining how high Kersh jumped at the chance to have him out of his hair for a few days. “What exactly is the case?” he asked.

“We’ve got eight murders so far, all from the D.C. area, six males, two females.”

“What’s the M.O.?”

“Some of the guys have nicknamed the case the ‘The Ginsu Deer Hunter’. It’s stupid, I know, but the UNSUB likes to slice the victims, focusing on the major arteries, and drain the bodies of all the blood. After death, the bodies are washed, and then dumped. So far, five have been found near churches, the other three down by the Potomac.”

“Ages, occupations?”

“Twenty-five to fifty, all employed. Two lawyers, a nurse, an accountant, a dancer, a lobbyist and two businessmen. Frankly, there’s no connections between the victims, no race, gender issues. It’s just so random, we have no idea what the motive is. That’s why we called you.”

Mulder thought for a moment. “There’s a connection with the churches and the river. Can I see the crime photos?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll go get them.”

Mulder held up his hand. “No. I’ll need a room, empty except for a table and chair. And I need to do it privately. I need complete privacy, no interruptions.”

O’Neill grinned wryly. “Hey, you’ve got it. Let me go and get you set up.” He let his office, pleased.

Mulder took a deep breath, and covered his face with his hands.

I’m sorry, Scully, but I have to do this. I have to, can’t you see? I’m dying down there doing those fucking background checks. I know this is dangerous, I know I shouldn’t do this. Every bit of my brain is screaming for me not to do this. But they need me, Scully.

They need me.


Thursday, January 7,


Dana was as relaxed as she could ever remember being in her life. The people she was working with were informative and friendly, the people she met were fun and helpful. So far, it was an excellent vacation disguised occasionally as work. It was like a long, hot bubble bath. She loved it.

The only glitch was that she missed Mulder. She told herself it was because she had spent nearly every day of the past six years with him at her side, but the truth was, no one matched his wit and intellegence. No one looked like he did, no one smelled like he did. She missed him, and it hadn’t even been a week! Too, she felt guilty to have left him behind in D.C. This was a different kind of separation. It wasn’t like she was working a case full of danger and intrigue. She was being paid to lay in the sun and get the best tan of her life, and do a job she loved. And Mulder was stuck behind a desk, doing something he absolutely hated.

She went up to her hotel room and decided to call him, just, she told herself, to make sure he hadn’t decided to build her a car out of staples and cardboard. She wasn’t checking up on him. She wasn’t calling to hear his voice. She wasn’t! But when she called his desk at the bureau, someone else answered the phone.

“Agent Mulder’s desk.”

“Oh, uh, hi, this is Agent Scully. Is Mulder there?”

“Oh, hi, Agent, this is Paskowitz. Nope, Mulder’s off working on a case.”

“Really? What kind of case?”

“I don’t know, but it has something to do with VC.”


“Is there a problem, Scully?”

“No, um… could you transfer me up to VC?”

“Sure thing.”

Dana sighed and sent up a prayer that he wasn’t doing what she thought he was doing. What the hell was he doing in VC? Yeah, he’d gotten a reprieve from the background checks, but talk about going from bad to worse! If he was profiling, she’d kill him!

“Violent Crimes, this is Stephanie.”

“Stephanie, this is Agent Dana Scully. I’d like to speak with Fox Mulder, please.”

“One moment, let me transfer you.”

…“Agent Dan O’Neill.”

Now she was getting pissed! “Fox Mulder, please. This is Dana Scully.”

“Oh, Agent Scully! How’s Miami?”

“Fine. Is Mulder available?”

“No. I’m sorry, he’s not. Can I help you with something?”

“Can you tell me what Mulder is doing in Violent Crimes?”

O’Neill puzzled over her almost panicked tone of voice. “He’s helping us out on a case.”

“Is he your profiler?”

“Well, yeah, he—”

Dana groaned. “Oh, God, I knew it!”

“Is there a problem, Agent Scully?”

She sighed. “Is he okay? How long has he been working on the case?”

“He’s fine, as far as I know. He started a couple of days ago. Is there something I should know about here?”

“Mulder tends to get… very involved when he profiles. He gets in pretty deep.”

O’Neill chuckled wryly. “That’s the nature of profiling, Agent.”

“No, you don’t understand. He gets in really deep. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat. One of the reasons he quite profiling was because he recognized he was too intense to be effective anymore. He knew that if he stayed, it would destroy him. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I know Mulder. I know how his mind works. If he’s profiling, he’s in danger.”

O’Neill pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Listen, I’ll keep an eye on him, alright? I have to tell you, so far I haven’t seen anything to indicate Mulder might be having problems.”

“At any rate, I’m goin to give you my number here in Miami. If you can’t reach me and you need anything for Mulder, call Assistant Director Skinner.”

“Skinner? I thought Kersh was your AD.”

“Yeah, well, call Skinner.”

He wrote down her number, said he’d call if anything came up, and hung up the phone. Jesus Christ, she wanted him to babysit a seasoned agent! Personally, he thought maybe there was more to their relationship than just partners. He knew he’d do anything for his own partner, Lee Trask, but he’d never ask someone to babysit him! For one thing, Trask would kill him, and for another, he knew he could take care of himself. Agent Scully sounded like she was concerned for her husband or lover.

The truth was, he hadn’t even seen Mulder since last night. Every profiler had their own particular way of doing things, and he respected Mulder’s request to be left alone. Currently, Mulder was holed up in a tiny ten by ten room containing a table and chair, per his request. He also had a map of D.C. on the wall, red pushpins indicating where the bodies had been found. He also had all the crime photos, reports, and what little evidence they had managed to gather, which consisted of a copy made from a partail footprint, a single razor blade which, they hoped, had fallen from the murder weapon, fibers from fabric, and a small gold cross which had been found in one of the victim’s throats.

When he had last seen him, Mulder had been walking around the table, peering intently at the evidence and photos. He had answered O’Neill’s questions with monosyllabic responses, and finally said he’d let him know when he found anything. O’Neill had gracefully acquiesed, and left the room, hoping Mulder would be able to find what he himself had been unable to find.

His phone rang and he answered it.

“Agent O’Neill? Mulder would like to speak with you.”

He hung up and briskly walked to Mulder’s improvised office. He knocked once, and the answering grunt made him assume he had permission to enter. His first look at Mulder made him gasp involuntarily, and take sudden and serious heed to Scully’s warning. It had only been two days and already Mulder looked like he had aged twenty years. His face was drawn and hollowed, his eyes were heavily ringed with dark circles, indicating he hadn’t slept since he started. His clothes were rumpled and askew, and hung from his frame like a scarecrow.

Mulder didn’t even look at O’Neill, just began to speak in a flat monotone, as if to himself, a stream of consciousness. “The killer is purifying the victims. That’s why he drains the blood and washes them. It’s a sacrifice he feels the victims wish to make. There are no bruises on the bodies to indicate a struggle or fight… the people didn’t know they were going to die, they just needed his help… to cleanse themselves of…sins?…evil?…Our guy wants to be a healer. He wants to help people. He knows they’re hurting and he wants to help stop the pain. He know they’re hurting, that’s how he picks them. Churches…” he flicked open several of the folders lying on the table before him, revealing information about each of the victims. “These five were Catholics. They probably went to confession. He’s not a priest, but maybe he used to be, or wanted to be. He heard them confess. He heard them all confess something. He’s in a position to hear pleas for help. He doesn’t go to church, but he wants to… by cleansing others, he can help clean himself… he’s helping them get into heaven…”

O’Neill watched wide-eyed as Mulder seemed to curl up into his own mind. He finally stepped forward and put his hand on Mulder’s shoulder. “Agent Mulder?” he said quietly. “Where should we start looking?”

Mulder closed his eyes. “Counsellors, spiritual advisors.”

O’Neill nodded. “You should get some sleep, Agent.”

Mulder shook off the other agent’s hand and stood, walking to the other side of the table. “I’m fine,” he insisted wearily.

Agent Trask bounded into the room, breathless. “Dan, they found another one, near St. Augustine’s.”

Mulder grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. “I need to see it. Tell them not to touch the body or anything in the vicinity until I get there.”

O’Neill grabbed his arm. “Mulder, I don’t think—”

Again, he shook him off. “I’m going to get this guy,” he said angrily. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I want your help,” he muttered, chilled by the feral intensity in Mulder’s bloodshot eyes.

“Then let’s go.”


Tuesday, January 12


Scully paced her hotel room, phone to her ear, waiting impatiently for an answer.

…“Assistant Director Skinner’s office.”

“Kimberly? This is Special Agent Scully. Is the AD available?”

“Oh, hi, Agent Scully! No, I’m sorry, the AD is in Sante Fe for that office’s year end review.”

“When do you expect him back?”

“Not until next week. Is there something I can do for you?”

Dana sighed and gritted her teeth. “No, thanks. Could you please transfer me to AD Kersh?”

“Certainly, Agent.”

Dana sighed and sat down on her bed. The last thing she wanted to do was speak to Kersh, but she was getting desperate and tired of the run-around.

“This is Kersh. What can I do for you, Agent Scully?”

“Sir, I’m trying to locate Agent Mulder.”

“Agent Mulder is currently assigned to a case in Violent Crimes,” he answered in his controlled, condescending voice.

Dana gripped the phone hard, wishing she had Kersh there so she could bash his head in with the phone receiver. “I know that, Sir. I spoke with Agent O’Neill last week. I’ve been trying to get in contact with Mulder for several days, and they keep telling me he’s not available to take my call.”

“He’s working, Agent Scully. He’s doing his job. It’s not part of his job to make sure he’s available to take personal calls from you.”

“Sir, you don’t understand. I’m worried about his health!”

“If there was something worng with Agent Mulder’s health, I’m sure I’d be informed. As I have not heard anything, it’s safe to assume he is doing just find without you. Now if that’s all, Agent, I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

He hung up on her! She hurled the phone across the room with a shriek of frustration. “Shit! Fucking Kersh!” She laid back on the bed, breathing hard. There had to be a reason she wasn’t being allowed to speak to Mulder. She sat up and retrived the phone, dialing her collegue’s hotel room.

“Mitch? This is Dana. Something’s come up and I need to get back to Washington.”

“Dana, are you kidding? You have to do your presentation tonight at the conference!”

“Oh, God, I forgot.”

“Forgot? Are you kidding? Dana, this is important.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I guess D.C. could wait until tomorrow.”

“Thank God. Don’t scare me like that,” Mitch chuckled.

“Sorry. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, okay?”

She hung up the phone and place the unit back down on the nightstand. As much as she wanted to go to Mulder, she knew she couldn’t blow off the presentation tonight. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe that bastard Kersh was right. If there was something wrong, he would be told. O’Neill had her number here in Miami. If there was something wrong… someone would let her know… right?


F.B.I. Headquarters

Thursday, January 14


“Dan, we need to do something about Mulder. The guy is losing it, big time,” Lee Trask said to his partner.

O’Neill leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Lee, he’s gotten us farther on this case than any ten people. We’re on the verge, I can feel it. And it’s all because of him.” He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his palms to them. “But I know what you’re saying. He’s… it’s like he’s become someone else, a machine.” He was scared, to tell the truth. He’d been involved in some serious shit before, but he’d never been so out of it that he couldn’t function properly. Mulder barely left his little windowless room, only going home to shower and change his clothes, and even that didn’t happen on a daily basis— after the last murder, he didn’t leave the room for two days. As far as he knew, Mulder didn’t sleep, and only ate an occassional bite when someone forced a sandwich into his hand.

He’d been dodging calls from Scully for several days now. God, they just needed a little more time! They were so close to catching the killer… He knew if it didn’t happen soon, though, he’d have to take evasive action and call Scully to get her back up here to help him drag Mulder off the case. Lord knows the man didn’t listen to O’Neill’s repeated attempts to get him to sleep and eat. Mulder was undoubtedly living up to his reputation as a premiere profiler, but he was also living testimony to Scully’s warning: “He gets in really deep”… Christ, was that an understatement!

He was operating solely on body time versus mechanical time, and it was horribly skewed. When he fell asleep, it was his night, he awoke to his morning, sleeping for no more than hour or two at a time. He ate when he was hungry, which was hardly ever. Sometimes he’d look down and see a sandwich had magically appeared in his hand, and he’d take an uninterested bite.

He spent his time staring at the photos and evidence, writing down his thoughts as they came. Anyone who read them would see unfinished sentences, a random selection of words with meanings known only to him. Sometimes he caught himself thinking of Scully, and he would stop it as soon as he could, because she didn’t belong in his thoughts. She didn’t belong in the horror of what he was seeing and feeling, the scenarios he was concocting, for she would ultimately become part of them.

In one horrifying, deluded fantasy, he’d been in bed with her, kissing her naked body, loving her with all of his soul, and it had been a glimmer of beauty in his angry, brutal daily thought processes… it had been beautiful until a razor blade materialized in his hand, and he began slashing her silky skin, telling her he’d help her… he’d end her pain… he’d make her pure and good… she cried out for him to stop… he cut his own body… her blood flowed into him… she screamed she was pure… he responded she wasn’t, but she would be… she would help him become pure… he’d take her purity… her beauty… she died as he took her blood…

He didn’t sleep for two days after that, scared to death it would come back to him if he let his guard down. In the beginning, he had used thoughts of Scully to get him out of the killer’s mind, but the deeper in he got, the less he used her for fear she would be forever connected with a monster.

He sat on his hard, wooden chair and began to write:

the one that I am becoming has begun to show in a thought, a frame of mind. I didn’t eat because I forgot. I didn’t sleep because I was afraid. But now I don’t eat or sleep because to do so is to lose track of who I am to become. I must accept the pain and know that every twinge is for the greater cause. Soon, I’ll emerge from this and find myself, remembering little of what got me here. But for now, I take it all. I become who I must. They needed me. They, the people who are supposed to die, need me. I am becoming… but I am wanted by so many… fuck the cost… I just want Scully… I want to do this… I’m scared… I am… cuts, blades…

He put his head down on the table, resting on his right cheek. He stared across the scarred wooden table top at his left hand, lying palm up on the surface. He slowly sat back up and brought his hands together. His right thumbnail casually ran over his left wrist, up and down, up and down, over and over until the skin was bright red. He imagined his blood flowing out, a rush of life, spilling onto his skin, soaking him. He saw the proof of his existence, his blood, which once filled his body, rush out and empty his soul. Empty the soul. Make it clean. Fill it with good…


Saturday, January 16


Dana had tried to get a flight to D.C. right after the presentation, but a winter storm warning had led to the cancellation of her flight. She tried several times to call Mulder, and was told each time he was unavailable. She was getting frantic with worry. She knew something was wrong. She tried to dismiss it, thinking it was just too ridiculous to go back to Washington based on a feeling, but she couldn’t shake it. She’d get back to Mulder’s side and everything would be alright again…

F.B.I. Headquarters

Sunday, January 17


It was a time for celebration. Oliver Timm, a former missionary and seminary student had cofessed to the murder of nine people. O’Neill told Mulder the news, and was surprised when the only reaction he got was a solemn stare.

“Thanks to you, Mulder,” he said as he held out his hand. “This is all thanks to you.”

Mulder nodded and woodenly shook O’Neill’s hand. He left his little room and wandered down to the parking garage in a daze. He drove home then, and realized when he got there that he had missed entire stretches of road. He couldn’t remember the on ramps or the two grocery stores he always passed. He wondered idly if he had even driven the car, or if someone else had driven for him.

He went up to his apartment, took of his clothes, and took a scalding hot shower. Mindless of the heat, he scrubbed his skin raw in an effort to get clean and rid himself of the thoughts of a killer. He had been in Oliver Timm’s mind for so long, he knew only what Timm knew: he had to clean out the evil and purify his soul. He stepped out of the shower, recognizing that the washing of the body was only one of the steps in the process. He picked up his razor and disassembled it, removing the blade. In a quick, single swipe, he sliced open his arm, from elbow to wrist. It started as a white line with dashes of red, but soon began to well up and flow thickly and freely with his blood, which poured down his skin onto the floor of his bathroom.

It’s all sin, he thought. It’s all the bad, all the evil. I can be pure again for Dana. Dana. Scully. She’s my heavenly reward. I get clean, I get Scully back. I get her back. Please, God, let me have her back. Please… God… let me have her.

He fell to the floor, praying to have her back… to give him her blood so that he might be pure again.

F.B.I. Headquarters

Sunday, January 17


Dana went up to the Violent Crimes unit as soon as she arrived, only to be told that the case had been solved and Mulder had gone home to rest. She took a taxi to his apartment, slightly annoyed that she had left Miami early because of a hunch. When she knocked on his door, and he didn’t respond, she let herself in using her key.

“Mulder? Are you home? Mulder?” She walked over to the bedroom and looked around, noticing some of his clothes laying haphazardly on the floor. She sighed and put her hands on her hips, then went back into the living room. The bathroom door was closed, so she went to it and knocked lightly. “Mulder? Are you in there? I came back early. Miami was just too nice a place, and it made me uncomfortable,” she called, chuckling. She knocked again and still got no response, so she turned the door knob slowly, warning, “I’m coming in, Mulder. Are you decent?”

A cloud of steam enveloped her as she took a step forward. Her eyes were drawn downward and she gasped out a strangled scream. “Oh, God! No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” She threw herself down to her knees beside him, checking frantically for a pulse. It was there, but just barely. She gently rolled him to his side and moaned. “Mulder, please, God, what…” She touched his face, her blood covered hand leaving her fingerprints in stark relief against his ghostly white skin.

She snapped into motion, getting up and running to the phone to dail 911. She went back into the bathroom and grabbed several towels from the rack, desperately trying to bind his wound and stop the bleeding. Tears rolling down her face, she chanted over and over, “Mulder, please don’t die. Mulder, please don’t die.”

The EMT’s came then and lifted Mulder from his blood-stained floor (“We should have a rig on stand-by just for this place,” one EMT whispered to the other). Dana rode with Mulder to the hospital. At first, she was numb and in shock from what had happened, but it quickly grew into rage. Shortly after they arrived, after Mulder was whisked away to surgery, she called Agent Dan O’Neill and told him in no uncertain terms that if Mulder died, she’d kill him with her bare hands. Then she grudgingly called Kersh to let him know that an agent (albeit an unwanted one) under his command was in the hospital. She also told him she wanted Agent O’Neill charged with endangering the life of a federal agent. She could almost hear the laughter in Kersh’s voice as he told her he’d look into the situation.

The doctor came into the waiting area, where Dana was sitting alone with her fists clenched tightly atop her thighs, and told her they’d given Mulder a blood transfusion and managed to stich up the deep wound on his arm. She also informed her they needed to inform the police of the suicide attempt.

“No, it wasn’t suicide!” Dana hastened to assure the doctor.

“Then can you explain why the cut was made to his wrist, over, I might add, a major artery?” she asked, puzzled.

“I don’t know the whole story, but he was working on a case. He was profiling a killer, and I’m willing to bet the injuries he inflicted upon himself had something to do with the killer’s M.O.”

The doctor looked very skeptical, so Dana added, “Look, I know it sounds strange, but I know Agent Mulder better than anyone. He would not try to kill himself. He would not! I’m going to make some calls and get this all cleared up.”

The doctor sighed and said wearily, “Okay, make your calls, Agent Scully. I’ll take your words under advisement for the time being.”

Dana breathed a sigh of relief and managed a wan smile. “Thank you.” As the doctor walked away, Dana pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and called Dan O’Neill.

“This is Scully,” she said brusquely after he answered his phone.

“How’s Mulder?” he asked nervously.

“He’s going to make it. I need you to come to the hospital with Mulder’s notes and all the information about the case he was working on. I need to know why he did this.”

“What exactly did he do, Agent Scully? All I know is that he’s in the hospital.”

“He cut himself, O’Neill. He slashed his arm open from elbow to wrist with a razor blade.”

“Oh, my God,” he moaned. “That was the M.O. That was… Oh, God.”

Dana closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. “Yeah, I thought it was something like that. Listen, just get down here with those notes. I need to be able to convince the doctor and police this wasn’t a suicide attempt.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll be there in fifteen.”


Mercy Hospital, Washington D.C.

Tuesday, January 19

Dana sat at Mulder’s bedside, maintaining her grip on his hand despite his attempts to pull away from her. She had wept as she read his notes on the case, especially those found towards the end, “I’m in the mind, I’m in the dark. I’m evil for knowing. How can he know? He’ll end it soon… I’m not pure enough to know her. I need an end. Dana. Scully. Clean for her.” The rest had fallen into a barely decipherable script only Mulder could read.

He was semi-conscious, enough to hear her voice and feel her touch and recoil from it, hounded constantly by the idea that he wasn’t clean enough for her, that he might do something to her, harm her in some way.

In her softest voice, she tried to reassure him: “Mulder, you’re clean. Your heart is still pure. I need you, Mulder.

I need you always. I don’t care what you’ve seen. You are not bad. He is not who you are. You are still clean, Mulder. I need you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Mulder, I love you. You are my best friend, Mulder, come back to me. I need you.”

At first, he shook his head and groaned in denial, but slowly her words penetrated the fog of hatred and self-doubt. Two days after he had been brought to the hospital, he took Scully’s hand in his and held on for dear life. He opened his eyes and stared at her tear-streaked face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She brought his hand up to her mouth and pressed a kiss into his palm. “You can be sorry for accepting the case, Mulder. You cannot be sorry for what you did, because it’s who you are. You are intense and full of compassion. You did what you needed to do to catch a killer. But, Mulder, please, please, don’t ever do it again.”

Tears ran out from the corners of his eyes. “I just… wanted to feel wanted and needed. I wanted to do something worthy. I wanted to be respected again, like you.”

She kissed his hand again. “Mulder, I need you. You keep me from going crazy. You keep me from being lonely. You know why I came back early from Miami? I had a feeling something was wrong with you. That’s an X file, I’d say. Do you remember, at your apartment, after that horrible, and I still won’t admit this—haunted house— I told you that I was out there because I wanted to be out there with you? It’s because, without you, I’m lonely. With you, I’m whole.”

“Hey, no stealing my lines,” he whispered with a smile.

She smiled back and moved to sit next to him on the bed. She leaned over and rested her left cheek against his chest. His arms came up to encircle her body. “Things will get better, Mulder, I know it. And even if we never get the X files back, we’ll always have each other.”

He ran his fingers through her hair and chuckled. “Is that a come-on, Scully?”

“If I thought you could follow through it would be, but in your present condition, it’s merely a suggestion to be filed away for future reference.”

“So, it’s an empty promise,” he teased.

“No, it’s not empty. We just have a long time together to see what happens.”

He lightly tugged on her hair to make her raise her head. He stared deeply into her eyes and said, “I do love you, you know.”

She smiled. “I know. And by the way, I miss the X files, too.”

He grinned as she rested her head on his chest again. He listened to the echo of her voice, so rich with joy and exact method, become the herald of all the purity and love he needed and wanted. He drifted off to sleep, Scully wrapped securely in his arms. He knew they would be together forever… after all, she had a promise to keep.


Author’s Notes: Thanks, everyone, for reading. Perhaps it did lapse into Sappy Land in the end, but I’m an incurable romantic, and I vow here and now to never kill off Mulder or Scully in one of my stories. I can’t even stand to read character death stories, much less invent new and improved ways for my babies to die! Oy! El Sicko! (Yes, I’m a bilingual Minnesotan) ; )



This file has been downloaded from x-libris.xf-redux.com. It contains work/s of X-Files FAN FICTION and FAN ART which are not affiliated with Ten-Thirteen or The Fox Network. No income is generated from these works. They are created with love and shared purely for the enjoyment of fans and are not to be sold in any format. The X-Files remain the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen and Fox, unfortunately.

Individual stories and art remain the property of their talented creators. No copyright infringement is intended. Any copyright concerns can be addressed to .


Return to main “Wanted and Needed” page

I'm getting closer to fixing everything, but there may still be temporary breakages as I'm still doing long-overduebackground stuff. Thanks for being patient.