J. Edgar Hoover Building
FBI HQ
Monday, November 29, 1999
7:30 a.m.

He sat in his office quietly going through the scattered files, his mind far away, still in Skinner's embrace. He pushed a lock of hair off his face and looked up at the clock on the wall. 7:30 a.m. Too early for Scully. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. He had left Skinner still sleeping in his bed and had quickly dressed for work. He smiled a bit wondering what his lover's reaction to the note he had left on the counter by the coffeepot would be. He had prepared the coffee without turning it on and had written an invitation to dinner. For one moment as he had stood in the doorway to Skinner's condo; he had simply wanted to rush back into bed and wake Skinner with tender kisses. The call to be alone, to think things over in the normal confines of his basement hideaway won and he had left.

Now, he sat alone and for the first time in a long time he was comfortable with that. He had been alone much of the last decade, allowing only Scully in close enough to know him, but he had always been painfully aware of that state. But somehow the image of Skinner waking and moving about their little nest, missing him already, made his being alone simply a period of time. He didn't even question whether Skinner would miss him. He knew it. He, who was so terminally suspicious of the motives of others, accepted without hesitation that Skinner cared for him deeply. The soft way the brown eyes caressed him with such intensity alone was testimony. His heart seemed to want to swell out of his chest; it almost hurt to be this happy. It was utterly alien to him. Even as a child he couldn't remember feeling so close to another person. It was frightening that it had happened so fast. Well, he had to amend that, he'd known Skinner for years, but it had never been like it was now. Skinner had heard so much of what he had done for Bill Patterson, how he had played the whore, the needy, stupid whore for so long. And Skinner had not looked at him with the disgust that anyone would have been forgiven for feeling. Instead he had listened, quiet strength at Mulder's side. Like Scully in a way, he supposed. Only ever so much more addictive.

He slid open a drawer in his desk and pulled out an envelope that he had placed there after first hearing of Bill's murder. He knew what the contents held; he'd opened it suspiciously after it had been slipped under the door of his office. Scully had just left and he had opened the door, peering out to see who had left it. When he'd opened it to see the thin circle of leather within he had nearly fallen to his knees. The metal of the snap was worn from use and he had been thrown forcibly back to his first sight of the implement…the smiling face of Bill Patterson as he knelt at Fox's feet. The words, "It's a cockring, baby fox." He had cried out as the repressed images threatened to tear loose from the dark prison of his mind. He read the note, his hands shaking so badly that the words danced a little jig on the page in vermilion ink.

He shuddered again at the memory and read the note again. "Will you ever think of these with passion? Bill won't." The writing was careful, tight and compact. He would have to get it analyzed he knew, but the words were so personal, so nearly provocative. What was the purpose of the question? What was the person thinking when he wrote it? Was it an invitation to try once more the games that Bill had played so well, once more? Or was it simply an introduction to the claim, the boast that Bill would never find passion in anything? Where had they come from? The idea that Bill had kept his little toy all those years made Mulder sick. He tried to recapture his early euphoria, but he kept seeing the glistening wetness of his own cock as Bill had slipped his mouth up and down the shaft, fingering the tight cockring with a little groan of lust. How many times had he opened his own trousers and let Bill pull out his flesh, strap the ring on and said the words…the words that Bill longed to hear…the begging, slutty words? In Bill's office, in Mulder's apartment, in motel rooms, in clubs…oh God the clubs. He slammed the damning leather back into his drawer and slid it closed with a loud bang.

Why would someone wanting to avenge Mulder, send this little reminder? He had to assume that the murderer might not be someone trying to avenge him. He couldn't explain the reason why that new thought had taken fire, nor could he come up with a suitable second theory. He was still sitting there, pondering in utter stillness, when Scully let herself into the office. She gave him a cheery smile and balanced two bags atop each other as she closed the door behind her.

"I have coffee and toasted wheat bagels," she said with a bit of defiance. "I know you would rather have something deadly and so I compromised and got full fat content cream cheese for you…although I really think you should at least try the light."

He smiled and raised a brow. "I think a wheat bagel is good enough for the day. Thanks, Scully," he said as he took his bag from her. "Mmm, I can just smell that coffee. I didn't get the chance to drink any before," he said almost giddily. He thought of Skinner bending ever so slightly over a cup of coffee, the heavy lids closing in sleepy appreciation.

"You've been here long?" Scully asked as she settled her bags on her desk and took off her coat.

"I don't know, what time is it?" He looked up at the clock to see that it was ten minutes before nine. "Nine? Yes, then I've been here awhile. Hey, did you have a great weekend?"

She tilted her head and a silky lock of hair escaped from behind her tiny ear. "Yes, Mulder." She slid a hand down her sleek stomach. "I ate too much, but yes, I did. Bill can't leave you alone," she said with an amused sigh.

He jerked back and the blood drained from his face. "What? What do you mean?" The sudden thought of Scully knowing what he had done, what he had been was the worst thing he could think of. "Why would you say that?"

She raised a brow and delicately took a sip from her cup, eyeing him consideringly over the rim. She set the cup down made a show out of arranging the papers there before walking over to Mulder's desk. "Mulder? You know my brother always…"

"Your bro...Oh…your Bill!"

She eyed him again, her Doctor Scully look was firmly in place and she barely could restrain herself from touching his forehead. Mulder looking skittish was one thing, but looking faint and acting skittish had her wondering what was in his water. She didn't need to be with Mulder long to sense when something was amiss with him. Their partnership was more a synergy than two separate people with vastly different views had any right to claim. He was upset by something…something other than the dreaded invasion.

"What's wrong?"

He thought about lying, but she would just sit there and stare until he told the truth. "You know that Bill Patterson was murdered." It wasn't a question, even though he hadn't spoken to her of it.

She drew in a breath and nodded. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I don't know why I was so insensitive? Of course you would be upset…"

"I'm not upset, Scully…well not for the reasons you think. I…well it's a long story and I want to eat this bagel before it gets hard." He tried to grin but he only succeeded in looking hopeful.

She nodded and made her way back to her desk. "All right, Mulder, when you want to tell me."

He sighed. "Scully, I am just trying to figure out who killed him and why." He hated not telling her things, but if he started with it, then she would know the rest and then…and then he would lose her. Oh, not right away, but in little ways she would draw away from him, gradually until one day she would come into the basement office and just nod, carrying one coffee and one indecently healthy breakfast. She wouldn't leave his side, she was too loyal for that, but she wouldn't really be there either.

She gave him a reassuring smile and settled into her chair. His phone rang and he let it ring twice more before answering it. "Mulder."

"Good morning, Mulder."

Mulder smiled and felt a little of that happiness leak back into his guts. "Good morning to you. So, how was the coffee?"

"It was very good, I'd rather have had it with you though," Skinner's voice held a small hint of disapproval in it and Mulder had to grin.

"I know, but did you get the note?"

A small chuckled greeted the words. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Of course not," Mulder teased. "I just didn't have anything better to do. I fed my fish last night when I went home…so I am tapped for ideas." He saw Scully staring at him with a blank expression and he turned away from her a bit, but totally unwilling to end the conversation. "So? What do you say?"

"Oh, I don't know, I was thinking of doing a few things around the house myself. I need to vacuum…"

"Please!" Fox paused for a moment. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Oh, Fox, you already have…you already have," Walter said softly.

Mulder flushed with pleasure. "Isn't there a meeting I need to attend or something? Can't I sit in your office and watch you file?"

Skinner chuckled. "*I* beg your pardon, Agent Mulder, but I do not file."

Mulder laughed out loud. "Oh, I'm so sorry, great and powerful Oz. What was I thinking?"

"I don't know, but you started out thinking with half your engines firing this morning when you left," Walter's voice was a smooth tease and all the earlier disapproval was gone.

"If I stayed, I'd have made you fire them all for me," Mulder growled, his voice barely audible. This was one conversation he didn't want Scully to hear.

"Oh…I see. Yes, that is a reason for me to want you gone. Listen, I need to attend a meeting with the section chiefs, so I will see you later...and Fox?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

The line went dead and Mulder held onto the phone for several moments, grinning like an idiot until Scully cleared her throat meaningfully. He set the phone down and smiled at her. She was clearly trying to fathom his mood swing, but at the moment all he could think of was Walter. He spent the next twenty minutes happily munching on his bagel and sipping his coffee and humming.

He finally turned to his computer and opened up his e-mail. One e-mail in particular caught his eye. It was without subject or sender. He hesitated only a moment before figuring that the Gunmen had sent him something. He opened the e-mail and saw that there was a file attached. The message was cryptic. "Old haunts for the haunted." His stomach twisted as he opened the file. It downloaded quickly, too quickly for Mulder's ease and soon there was a picture on his screen. A picture taken from a familiar street in the District showing a large, dark building with no outward signs of the type of things that had gone on inside. The building was in ruins; fire had claimed most of it three years earlier. He remembered feeling a bit of relief when he'd heard that on the news, but nothing more than that. Now looking at it, it did look haunted. And he wondered anew who was sending him these messages. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to look at the picture. It was the club Mercy, though that word was not one often used there. He felt his bagel fight to abandon his stomach as images assaulted him, strobe light images of dancing men, raised platforms where the damned writhed in lustful agony, the sound of music and the darker sounds of leather hitting flesh. He shook it off with resolution. That had been a small part of his time with Bill. He could at least be thankful for that. Bill was many things but a true player in the heavy scene he was not. He simply brought Mulder there from time to time to show Mulder off, he had said. But Mulder suspected now, finally, that it was merely to further tear him down, to prove to him that he could do anything with him that he wanted. He forwarded the message to the Gunmen with a request for them to find where the message had been sent from and looked up at Scully.

He watched her for a few minutes as she read a file, sipped her coffee and made notes on the sides of pages. Without looking up she raised her brow, "Are you going to stare at me for long?"

He smiled. "Can I?"

"No," she said amused. Finally looking up, she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and he chuckled a bit.

He made a decision then and asked her to come over to his desk. "Scully, before I show you this picture, let me explain something to you. I'll be brief and I hope you leave it at that. Years ago I had a relationship with Bill Patterson. It wasn't a great thing…it was pretty terrible actually, but things happen and you go on."

She had taken a small, shocked breath, but had come to his side and touched his shoulder, instinctively trying to comfort him. "A sexual relationship?"

"Yes." He didn't need a mirror to know he was beet red.

"Was this when you worked for him…when you were barely more than a kid?" she asked.

Mulder had to smile at her tone. She was practically growling. Scully the lioness and he the cub? It was an amusing image. "Yes…yes it was, but that isn't what's important…"

"Well I think it's important! Mulder, he was old enough to be your father and he was totally out of line. If he weren't dead I'd give him a piece of my mind!"

He stared into her face and was actually surprised by her fury. "Scully, it was a long time ago and he is dead," Mulder stated carefully.

"Is this why you are upset? All these old memories? You said it wasn't pleasant…he didn't…he didn't you know…"

"Scully, please can we just keep to the facts of the case? I really think it is for the best right now," he entreated.

She saw the pleading in his eyes and nodded. Inwardly she wanted to go dig Patterson up and kick him for the truth she'd seen in Mulder's eyes. Whatever the relationship it was obvious to her, who knew her partner as well as she knew herself, that the relationship had not been a consensual one. She hid her feelings behind a cool mask and nodded. "Of course, Mulder. Please, go on."

He nodded with relief and pointed to the picture of the fire-scorched building. "This was sent to me. It is what was once a club called Mercy. I went there a few times…just a very few times you understand, with Paterson."

She shook her head. "I don't recognize the name. It's here in the District though," she said, tapping the picture of the street sign. "What relevance to the case is this? And who sent it to you?"

"Who indeed," Mulder mused. "The club was a pretty heavy BDSM club…not for the classy players if you know what I mean, a real meat and potatoes joint, where men came to beat the hell out of each other."

"And Patterson, your superior, old enough to be your father, took you, a kid of what, twenty-four, there?"

The fury was back in her voice and he felt a small tremble in the hand that was clenching his shoulder.

"Just a few times. It was a game to him. To me...well anyway, let's let Hell suffice now. Not that I got the shit beaten out of me, not even a little scratch, that wasn't his thing, but I can assure you that isn't, nor has it ever been, my type of thing. I have to say, I can remember trying to understand the people there, even profiled a few sociopaths there. But the point is this. I hated it. I went anyway. It was destroyed by fire a few years back. No one was killed thankfully but it has never re-opened. I get this in my mail today with this lovely little note. He shifted the screen so she could read the message.

"Haunted places for the haunted? What does that mean? The person who sent this to you must know that you went there with him…do you think this is from the murderer?"

He nodded, relieved that he had brought her in on it. She was one of the best agents he had ever worked with and he would need her help in solving this.

"Have you received anything more? I find it strange that this arrived…on the day after Thanksgiving," she pointed out, tapping the sent time on the message, "and Patterson was murdered days before that…on…oh Mulder, the day that Samantha was abducted. Is there any connection with that date? Whoever sent this must know you…know the relevance of that date."

He cleared his throat. "It is also the date that I first…you know…with Patterson."

She blanched and her moist lips tightened. "So it is even more relevant. How would the killer know of that?"

"I don't know. I never spoke of it to anyone before Patterson was murdered," Mulder sighed.

"Have you received anything else?"

He took a deep breath and fished out the envelope and its own haunted contents. She stared at the leather object and reached for it, but he held her hand away. "Don't touch it, Scully, just read the note." He didn't want her hands to touch it, the object would taint her as it had tainted him those many years ago.

She read the note and flushed. "So this was…is a sexual device? One that was Patterson's?"

He nodded miserably. "I haven't seen that for nearly ten years. I can't imagine why he kept it."

"A souvenir," Scully offered. "Maybe he bragged to someone, Mulder. I mean, he kept this…this thing, he obviously had issues with you when we worked with him…maybe he finally bragged to someone. I mean you aren't exactly the run-of-the mill conquest."

He looked up at her startled. "Why, Scully, you do make me blush," he drawled coquettishly.

She frowned at him. "Mulder you were young, beautiful, he was bound to brag."

Mulder shook his head. Scully really was going to make him blush. "So you think he bragged to the wrong person?"

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?" she said briskly. "Have you sent this to the Gunmen to see who sent it?" She didn't bother to ask if he had sent it to their own labs…he'd never trust anyone in the Bureau labs with something so personal.

"Yes, just now. I think they should be up about now, unless it was a particularly busy night of uncovering conspiracies."

She grinned, there had been no teasing in Mulder's voice. He had said it as if the Gunmen's work was vital. She knew he thought it was. "Good. So who else knows?"

"Skinner," he replied.

She nodded. "Good. Wait…he knows about you and Patterson?"

Mulder grinned. "Yes, he does and I think you two could form an anti-fan club of the dearly departed Bill Patterson."

She gave a small grunt and moved back to her desk. " Skinner is a good man."

"I know," he sighed a bit wistfully.

"Does he know about the picture and the cockring?"

Mulder almost fell out of his chair, his breath was stolen away and he stared amazed into Scully's calm, blue eyes.

"Well, does he?" she repeated. "Look, Mulder, we aren't going o get anywhere by pussyfooting around. You talk to Skinner and I'll head over the hospital where the bastard was murdered and see what information I can come up with."

"Ask…ask about any visitors he received…oh God, Scully you can't go around saying things like that!"

She gave him a look, gathered her things and left.

When he was alone once more he looked at the picture of Mercy. He remembered how he had stood in the entrance, open-mouthed with shock. Patterson had squeezed his ass and said, Oh, baby fox, you are going to make me the envy of everyone here. They'll all want a piece of you."

A piece of you. That had been a somewhat innocent phrase, but it always reminded him of his first big case. The man who had been taking pieces of men, to create the perfect lover in his modern-day, ghastly version of Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein". He recalled his first sight of the creature that had been painstakingly created from pieces of murdered men. He had not been alone when he rushed out to vomit. He had never forgotten it, never would. He had left a part of him there, part of his innocence that still his from Patterson. Patterson had come up behind him as he vomited and surreptitiously stroked his ass, fingers finding the deep crack between his cheeks with possessive insistence. "It's okay, Fox."

"Fox?"

He looked up startled to see Skinner standing in the doorway, a concerned frown on his handsome face. God, how Mulder loved to look at that face. So strong, so utterly masculine. "Oh, s...Walter, you startled me," he breathed, suddenly feeling as if the room were several degrees hotter. He wet his lips and Skinner watched the moist trail of tongue and closed the door behind him.

"Scully's going to be gone for a few hours," Mulder said in a panting voice as Skinner strode toward him. He rose to meet the big man and melted into his embrace. They kissed hotly, making small animalistic noises as they struggled to get closer and closer. "Oh, fuck, I missed you…I feel like I haven't seen you in years," he growled, squeezing the hard muscles of Skinner's ass.

"I know, I couldn't concentrate on my meeting, I just wanted to touch you," Skinner admitted huskily. He enclosed Mulder's ass in his hands and lifted him up until Mulder was on his tiptoes and he ground their erections together.

"I want you to take me now," Mulder gasped. "Here, on my desk. I want you to do it!" He squirmed when he felt Skinner's huge organ jump at the thought.

"Oh, Fox…God I want that too. I can't even tell you how many times I've dreamed, fantasized about coming down here and bending you over the desk…shit, baby, you're so beautiful."

His cell phone rang insistently and Mulder groaned. "That might be Scully," he explained as he pulled away. "But hold that thought," he warned, licking the warm flesh over Skinner's jaw. He answered his phone and wasn't entirely surprised to hear Langly's voice on the other end.

"Is this some sort of test, Mulder?" Langly accused. "I mean, what, you think our kung fu isn't up to scratch? Give us something harder next time, G-man, if you want to test us."

"Langly, what are talking about?" Mulder looked up at Skinner, who was staring at him as if he would devour him any second. Delicious chills ran down his spine.

"You sent us that e-mail to find out who sent it…duh! I mean c'mon, Mulder, what gives? Did you think we couldn't tell you had sent it?"

Mulder grinned. "No, I'd knew you'd know I sent it to you to analyze, but who sent it to me…here?" He chuckled a bit. then, but Langly's next words caused a different kind of chill to race down his spine.

"You sent it from home, to your office. Like we couldn't figure that out. You sent it sometime in the middle of the night. Technically the day after Thanksgiving. Man, you should have come over to our place and celebrated, not stayed home and brooded."

"What? Repeat that again," Mulder whispered.

"I said you should have come over…"

"No, the part about it being sent from my home," Mulder managed to say.

Langly paused. The quiet in Mulder's voice made him look to his half-angry, half-gloating friends. "Mulder, are you saying you didn't send it?"

"I didn't." He looked at Skinner and sat on his chair with a small groan. "Are you sure it was went from my apartment?"

"Dude, you have no firewall from home…you really should of course, but yeah, we're damn sure. You…someone sent it from your home computer."

The idea that the murderer had been in his home, waiting for him most likely, made Mulder feel sick. "Thank you, Guys, I'll…I'll call you later." He ended the call and looked at Skinner. "Someone sent me a message…from my apartment…while I was with you. I think…no...I know it was the man who killed Bill. He's playing some sort of game with me."

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