PAINTING BY NUMBERS

BY

AllyinthekeyofX

CHAPTER SEVEN

Despite only being in the house for a matter of thirty minutes or so, Mulder was unsurprised to find that, as was usually the case, word had spread like wildfire around the quiet neighbourhood, eliciting the ever growing crowd of people who were straining as close as they could against the yellow crime scene tape that stretched around the perimeter of the grounds, the yellow standing out sharply against the summer green of the unkempt but flourishing garden.

He would never understand the macabre fascination the general public had in these kinds of grisly situations. That the majority of these people who were excitedly whispering to each other whilst feigning horror and forced compassion in equal measure, would, in all probability, be so unprepared to actually face the scene head on that if they even caught a glimpse of it, they would be scarred forever in ways they couldn't even begin to comprehend. These same people would return to their homes eventually, when their temporary interest had waned and while the grim discovery by two young boys would no doubt be the hot topic for a few weeks, it would simply just lessen in importance as the daily trivialities of life once more took over. Sure, they would probably be extra vigilant for a while about locking their doors, closing their windows tightly. Might feel a prickle of unease if they found themselves alone, or refuse to let the kids out to wander any further than their own back yards; but complacency would return pretty quickly. Because after all, these kinds of things only happened to other people right?

It soon became clear also, that the press had caught wind of what had occurred and were hovering on the peripherals like vultures circling an endless blue sky, just waiting for the opportunity to swoop down and take advantage of even the slightest weakness; to devour information and to benefit from another tragic story. Mulder hated the press, though even he would have to concede that at times, they had no option but to utilise them to either launch an appeal or even just to get information out there. It was an uneasy allegiance that sometimes barely maintained the mutual respect that the co-dependency required and he had always found dealing with them to be emotionally draining; each word spoken carefully , mentally prepared and broken down to ensure no misinterpretation could be written down or recorded; translated later in to print to sensationalise rather than inform, because sensationalism sold more newspapers, attracted more viewers, than simple recounting of the facts at hand ever could.

Mulder recognised most of the faces from old – the roving reporters that seemed to have an inherent ability to find themselves always just a few short minutes from the next big story. And while he rarely dealt directly with them aside from the odd casual dismissal here and there to their probing questions, the faces were all too familiar to him. By the interest in his and Scullys appearance on the cracked concrete path that led from the house to the taped perimeter, it was clear that the recognition was mutual. One reporter in particular, an old timer on the investigative circuit of indeterminate age and even more indeterminate fashion savvy, jostled his way to the front of the pack the minute his eyes lit upon the two agents, their suited, immaculately turned out presence in sharp contrast to his own slightly shabby visage. But Mulder knew from past situations that this guy wasn't to be underestimated though, because his unkempt appearance belied a sharply honed ability for getting right to the centre of a story; a way of asking the wrong questions to arrive at the right answers; and his voice suddenly cut cleanly through the rest of the excited babble as he locked on to Mulder and as was usual, cut straight through the crap and went for the jugular.

"Agent Mulder, they're saying the Portrait Killer is back for round two..."

"No comment"

"Is it true this is the second identical killing in less than a week?"

"No comment"

"Aw c'mon Mulder, give me something here. The public have a right to know."

Mulder though, refused to be drawn.

"No comment Richie. You know the drill."

They had reached the tape by now, almost, almost at the point of escape; but without warning, the questioning abruptly changed tack.

"So Mulder, you think you might manage to last the distance this time around?"

And Mulder suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, almost causing Scully to collide with his suited back. And she placed a steadying hand at his elbow, an involuntary action that sought to warn him to keep his cool. To not rise or respond in any way to a question designed to knock him off balance, to drop his guard. How the hell he even knew to ask the question was beyond her comprehension, because Mulders medical records were sealed, and certainly not accessible through normal channels; and certainly not at all relevant to the events that had transpired in the building behind them. She sent him a silent communication, hoping he would pick up on the slight pressure her fingers applied in warning, knowing how volatile her partner could be, especially when thrown a verbal curveball such as this.

Don't react.

And despite a sudden stiffening, a tensing of the muscles beneath her touch, she sent up a silent message of thanks when she heard the next words out of Mulders mouth, albeit in a tone that could probably smash straight through concrete given the right circumstances.

"I said No comment."

XXXX

Scully navigated the car a few blocks until she had put a mile or so between them and the house and then abruptly pulled over, resting one hand loosely on the steering wheel, the other she passed briefly over her eyes. The scene outside the house had shaken her slightly; to hear a relative stranger give reference to Mulders inability to see the original case through to the end had totally jolted her out of her habitual cool so it must have, she conceded, been doubly shocking for her partner.

In fact, Mulder wasn't looking so hot right now. His eyes were far away, his jaw set, tension radiating from his body which was no doubt a combination of the gruesome scene they had both been party to in the house and also the slightly surreal scenes outside. Scully touched his arm, just slightly, barely making contact but it was enough to elicit a response and as Mulder suddenly focused, a slight frown darkening his brow, Scully was almost certain that he hadn't even been aware that she had stopped the car. But as his eyes locked with hers, she was somewhat encouraged to see the ghost of a smile that played for a second across his face.

"Well that was interesting" he supplied wryly.

Scully didn't respond, instead she flipped open the glove compartment and withdrew a water bottle from its depths, uncapping it and taking several swigs; the water was slightly tepid but still better than nothing. When she finished she offered the bottle to Mulder, noticing with a certain measure of amusement that he didn't bother wiping the top before he placed it to his lips. She was sure there was some Freudian meaning attached to it, but then again, since this was the man that over the years had touched, tasted, prodded and flicked all manner of disgusting substances off the ends of his fingertips, it was more likely just his inherent dismissal of the repercussions such cross contamination could cause that prevented him from even the most cursory attempts at basic hygiene. She chose though to ignore it.

"So what now?"

Mulder shrugged and passed her the bottle back.

"Thanks. Um I dunno. I'm not sure our acting ASAC is exactly welcoming us with open arms in to the fold."

Scully arched her eyebrow up

Yeah no kidding Mulder.

"So?"

Mulder smiled in response, his face lightening.

"I think your place. We've got some cross checking to do and your couch is bigger than mine."

His words, though not wholly unexpected, filled her with a certain measure of dismay because as much as she tried to hide it, the day had been a long one and the prospect of employing yet more evening hours sounded exhausting when all she really wanted to do was to sink in to a hot bath and attempt to wash away the feelings of revulsion this case was heaping upon her; and then to sleep, to sink in to oblivion even if only for a few hours.

"In fact..."

Mulder unbuckled his seat belt even as he made the decision for both of them.

"Why don't you relax and I'll drive back?"

And not for the first time, Scully wondered just when they had become so adept at reading each other that questions and explanations were no longer always required. Because he knew, knew that if he offered to drive, she would be asleep within minutes; that if she could rest now, it would go some way to sustaining her during the long evening ahead.

"Thanks"

And then that smile again, filled with a gentle respect, of an understanding of her that no one else had.

"You're welcome...and Scully?" He paused, searching for the right words; as always finding it harder to put in to words what he felt in his heart. Wanting to acknowledge her; the way she always seemed to be there to catch him, to ground him but not knowing how to add weight to the unspoken platitude without it sounding trite.

"For...y'know..." Mulder waved his hand vaguely "For having my back..."

Scully smiled.

"Always."

And without another word, they exited the car.

XXXX

Scully glanced at her watch and groaned, removing her glasses she stretched her arms above her head, arching her back as she did so in an attempt to pop the knots of muscle that had formed during the long hours she had sat with her partner poring over the many reports, witness statements, and information relating to the case as it had played out over a decade ago. Meticulously they had listed and cross referenced any individual from any agency who had been involved in the investigation then and, where possible tracked and catalogued exactly where they were now. It had been a painstaking process, especially since over a hundred officers from different agencies had been flagged up, but by a simple process of elimination; they had finally narrowed the list down to less than forty.

Or at least, Mulder has started to. But at around midnight, Scully had seen him visibly start to wilt and given that he had, in all probability, managed precious little sleep the last few nights, she had urged him over to the couch to rest for a while.

He had argued of course. His stubborn male pride preventing him from admitting even such a very basic need, but eventually he had conceded defeat and stretched out, arm thrown loosely over his eyes to shield him from the light and assured Scully that he wasn't going to sleep; that he was just going to rest his eyes for a few minutes.

An hour later she had quietly removed the soft woollen throw from where she kept it permanently folded over the back of the couch and draped it over him as he slept, apparently dead to the world he hadn't even stirred.

And now, with her partner still sleeping and her own eyes beginning to droop, she decided it was time to call it a night herself, pausing for a moment to check on him as she passed by; twitching the blanket back in place where it had fallen off his shoulder, studying the contours of his face in the blue light that softened the lines that had relaxed fully in his repose. It was a Mulder she didn't get to see very often; a Mulder removed of the stresses and complex emotions that frequently stole the light from his eyes and deepened the lines on his face and right at that moment, she was glad that he had stayed, even if the decision had not been wholly under his control.

Because normally when on a case, they could reasonably expect to be within shouting distance of each other, especially at night as they slept in their respective rooms, knowing should one need the other, they were mere footsteps away. But this case, situated in such close proximity to their usual working lives, negated the need for motel rooms; which in turn meant that, if her partner started to fall, she would be totally unaware until the damage had been done and the chances of him confiding in her if he'd had a rough night were slim to none. It just wasn't his way.

But for tonight at least, he was here; and that was something.

XXXX

Mulder, moaned softly in his sleep, the blanket that covered him suddenly feeling heavy, constricting even, and even as it slipped to the floor, the sweat began to bead his forehead as somewhere deep inside him, he began to dream.

Footsteps, his footsteps, echoing and reverberating against the stark white walls and institutional grey of the linoleum floor beneath his feet.

A featureless corridor with nothing to distinguish one plain white door from the next stretched endlessly in all directions. Each door he flung open yielding nothing more substantial than empty space.

She was here somewhere though. He knew she was here because he had heard her screaming, calling out his name; her voice so desperate and full of fear, full of pain. And her pain reached in to the very core of him, compressing his heart with a cold, hard embrace born of the knowledge that somehow, he had caused that hurt and that he had to find her; to save her before she was taken away from him as she had been taken so many times before.

His breath came in ragged gasps that constricted his lungs, burning his throat as he kept moving, running down that relentless corridor on legs that cramped and spasmed with every new agonising step forward.

And yet no matter how fast he ran, how hard he pushed himself, the corridor still stretched before him; a seemingly infinitesimal blur of white and grey with no end apparent. But he kept going, knowing with absolute certainty that he couldn't fail; that he had to reach her before they did, before she became lost to him. Before they simply removed her from his life as though she had never been; removing his ability to exist, to breath, to fight right along with her.

But eventually the exhaustion overtook the will to carry on, rendering him still; silent suddenly aside from the sound of his harsh gasping sobs that had arrived unbidden to tear him apart where he stood.

Until

"MULDER!"

And he realised that somehow he had found her, that the sweet sound of her calling to him was now close, so very close as the door in front of him began to swing slowly open, enticing him in with promises of her; a smile lighting up his face as he realised that against all the odds, somehow, unfathomably he could save her; that he could make things right again.

But as he entered the room, the smile abruptly died on his lips; the sight of his partner sat up on the hospital bed. Her incredible eyes no longer vibrant and alive but now dull and dead either side of the pulsating mass of tissue that strained sickeningly against the smooth porcelain of her skin, the cancer a sickening, living entity that sought to destroy and defile her from within.

And further below, the deep, glistening wound that stretched from either side of her jaw, all the way across her slender neck, deep enough for the delicate vertebrae to show in pale contrast to the blood that still pumped from the wound; a never ending sea of crimson that flowed unchecked to darken and stain everything it touched.

As slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, Scully raised those fathomless eyes to his, her expression a combination of hurt and accusation.

"You're too late Mulder."

Her words piercing him so deeply he felt physical pain as something within his mind tore free, sending him crashing to his knees, slamming his hands over his face even as he began to scream.

Continued chapter seven

Notes – Please keep reviewing. This is kind of unknown territory for me. Please let me know if I'm getting it right!

Thanks for reading

Ally x