TITLE: Stains of Crimson

AUTHOR: Jillian

RATING: PG-13ish? Not, R, but it's violent and there's some adult themes and implied rape, but not of major characters. What it basically is, is the case file of a murder-rapist. So yeah, there's violence and gore and a little bit of good ole' MSR "fun stuff," lol, and if that bugs you, don't read it… but it's not R. (After all, ever since ff.net did away with NC-17, all the NC-17 fics are posted as R ones. And this is nowhere near any of that stuff.)

FEEDBACK: Feedback no function Jillian well without.

SPOILERS: Specifically Arcadia, and anything before is fair game.

TIMEFRAME: Just after Arcadia.

SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully are drawn into a murder investigation, but don't realize just how close to them the killer is… Please R/R!

THANKS TO: My beta, Tefla. What would I do without her?! Have stories that ain't got no good grammar, that's what. Um, to Agent Balinski, as always. Oh, and to the Good Charlotte song "Bloody Valentine" as my muse.

* * * * *

"Don't move," he said, sternly. His eyes stared into her, icy and cold.

"Please, don't..." the woman pleaded, blonde hair hanging in her eyes. She was crying; the black mascara she'd put on that morning was being washed away, down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, Love. DON'T CRY!" he screamed, getting close to her face. His screams did not silence her as he wished they would.

"Please, don't hurt us..." she begged.

It was too late for that now. He'd been watching her for weeks. She was stunning, and he loved her. Loved her. With a passion from deep inside his soul. Of course, loving her came at a price. Watching her came at a price. He had to see her husband when he watched her. Long nights he'd stand outside their window, watching. They had no children. He knew that he couldn't be the one for her. Her husband couldn't love her like he did. Even if she didn't know it, she was meant for *him*. Not her husband.

"Listen, Suzanne, I'm not going to hurt *you.* I love you, and I'm just going to get rid of *him*. And then we can leave this place, and you can come back to my house. I'll wash my hands of *him*, and so will you. You and I will live happily ever after."

"No, no, please, no," she begged.

Her husband made no sound. He was gagged with a handkerchief.

"Yes, Suzanne. You'll see. You'll see how much I love you."

With that, he walked away from her. He ripped open the man's button down shirt. Buttons flew across the room, and fell noisily on the hardwood floor. The man began to struggle, but his hands were tied behind his back. He thrashed his feet, but the other man was on top of him. The woman kept screaming, yelling, but he ignored her. She would see later, he was sure of it. She'd see how in love with her he was. That was why he had to kill her husband--what was his name again? Gary? It didn't matter.

He pulled the shirt open, exposing the man's chest. Gary, yes, that was it, was in good shape, in his thirties probably. His toned chest heaved up and down as he began to panic. His wife continued to sob and scream, praying someone would hear them. Gary began to scream into the handkerchief when the man on top of him pulled out a knife.

The man brought the knife down in a sure, purposeful manner. Yes, this time he was *right.* Suzanne was the one. Not like the others, not like them. They didn't work out in the end, he had to get rid of them. Suzanne, she was different. He was *sure* of it. The knife made contact with her husband's chest, and she started screaming again, sobbing. Gary groaned with pain, but it did nothing to stop the man.

He administered the cut with precision, as he had to others. He knew so well by now where to get them--the heart. This woman was not Gary's to love. No, she belonged to HIM now. This was the only way he could make Gary, and Suzanne, realize that. He grinned at his handiwork, noting how perfect and straight the cuts were.

The woman's eyes grew wide when she heard and saw her husband stop struggling. In seconds, she was able to see why. The man was holding her husband's heart in his hand. That was all she could remember before she fainted. Her head hung forward, and her hair draped down covering her entire face now. He knew he should start moving her out to the car before she woke up.

So he could take her home. Burn his gloves, burn her husband's heart in his fireplace. Clinically, he put the heart in a small ziploc bag to avoid getting the car bloody. He couldn't leave anything behind, because he had things to do. He had to take her home, and change her life. Make her love him, make her forget her husband and what he'd done to get rid of him. Just like with all the others, except that this time, she *would* forget her husband, and she *would* love him, he was sure of it.

All he could think was, the third time's *got* to be a charm, right?

* * * * *

"Skinner's going to chew us out for finding an X-File in this case, you know." Scully sighed as they drove along the roads of Washington, DC.

"Well, the X-File was there, Scully. Were we supposed to ignore it?" Mulder asked.

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I know what happened, and so do you. There was something very dark lurking at the Falls. Skinner, however, sent us out under the impression that it was a clean-cut murder. Apparently, garbage monsters, or Tulpa's, whichever you prefer," she smiled, "are attracted to you and I."

"Skinner'll always *find* something to be pissed about. When was the last time you saw him smile?"

"I don't think I've ever seen him smile. He's a serious person." Scully said. "Hey, Mulder, I've got to run into the deli on State Street. You think you could drop me off and wait while I run in?" she asked. They had taken one car to the airport, and it was Mulder's.

"Yeah, actually, I'll come in with you. The orange juice in my house is about three years old." Mulder grinned.

They pulled up outside of the deli moments later, and got out of the car. They walked into the deli, and Mulder went to grab orange juice while Scully went to the butcher's counter. They'd spent time actually living together on their last case, undercover as a married couple. For both of them, it was an enlightening experience. How many times had the situation crossed their minds? What would it be like to live with their partner? To marry them, even? Of course, they were friends, and partners, and it would complicate everything. That did nothing to change the fantasies of domestic life they played out in their mind. A marriage, a home in a nice planned community (minus the monsters), and less than sixteen pounds of pet. And they could always adopt two point five children. It could be the ideal life.

Both of them tried not to think that way, though. It would never happen. They loved each other, but they could do nothing about it. It wouldn't be right. They didn't want to compromise their partnership, but more than that, they didn't want to compromise their friendship. When the thoughts of candlelit dinners, roses, and lazy Sunday mornings together crept unbidden into their minds, they regarded them as mere daydreams, fantasies; things they wanted but could never, ever have. They had each made promises to themselves never to overstep their bounds as friends; and although they had some reason to believe the feeling was mutual, they'd never be sure. Not unless they tried to cross the line.

Sighing to herself, Scully's meandering mind was pulled back to reality when she realized she was the next to be served. She waited as her usual butcher, Jack, walked towards the counter. He knew her fairly well, since she always bought her meat at the same place. He saw her and grinned a bright smile. He had to be about her age. He was tall with blonde hair, a bit shorter than Mulder's, that always seemed mussed. He had a chiseled face with a bit of razor stubble that outlined a lingering beard, and bright blue eyes that mirrored Scully's. He was a handsome man, she'd noticed that many times before. They'd never had a full conversation, but were pleasant acquaintances. If she wasn't stuck loving her partner, whom she promised herself she'd never become intimate with, she might've had a thing for her butcher.

"Hey Dana, what can I get you?" he asked.

"Oh, I just need a pound of turkey, sliced very thin, please," she smiled. She never could eat her cold cuts if they weren't sliced thin.

"Ah, the usual," he grinned, and walked off to slice the order.

As she waited, Mulder walked over to the deli counter with a carton of orange juice in his hand. It felt so domestic for a moment, the two of them picking up groceries for the week.

"So, Scully, what are you going to tell Skinner?" he asked.

"That the real X-File is why no one taught you how to keep a bathroom clean," she teased.

He laughed a little and she added, "I'm going to tell him exactly what I saw. Which is mostly nothing. A large black creature that left foot prints."

"How is it that every time I see proof, you're either unconscious or locked in closets?" Mulder smiled.

"Must be fate," she grinned back at him.

The butcher, Jack, walked back over and handed Scully her order. "You can pay up front," he said.

She nodded and said, "Thanks, Jack. Have a nice day."

"You too, Dana, you too," he watched her walk away with the man next to her.

They paid up front and walked back out to the car. Once they got inside, Scully looked over to Mulder and said, "You want to finish the paperwork up at my place?"

"Sure, that sounds good," he replied, and headed towards Scully's apartment.

They spent the evening filing expense reports and the like, which was horribly boring. They had to report into work the next morning, but it was barely past dinner time when they'd finished their work. When the agents didn't have any work to worry about, they realized how hungry they were.

"You wanna order something in?" Mulder asked.

"Well, I've got turkey, we can make sandwiches," she offered.

"Okay, that works." Mulder grinned. Besides, how many times a week could he eat takeout for dinner?

As Scully made the sandwiches for both of them, she couldn't help but feel like she did back in California. Here she was making his dinner, as he sat on the couch flipping channels. She smiled to herself, thinking they might as well be married. Evenings like these, they had a married life, minus the really fun parts. But that would ruin things. That would ruin this, their delicious balance of friendship, work, and secret desire. No matter how strong the desire was, she couldn't be sure she was willing to take the risk.

* * * * *

He crouched outside her window, angrily. He'd been watching her for quite some time now, since before she left. She was sitting with *him* in the living room. Who was he? Her lover? It made sense, didn't it? All the ones he loved were with someone. How he wanted to love her--to run his hands through her silky red hair, to hold her in his arms! To love her.

He had been interrupted in his second day of watching her, when she left for a while. He wasn't sure where she went, but she was back. Now she was with this man! He must be her lover. What man could be so close to such a beauty and resist her? *She* was the real one. The other three women, he couldn't even remember their names when he looked at her. All he could think of was having a life with her--and killing anyone who was in his way. That meant the man in her house, sitting on the couch beside her. So close to her.

Where he desperately longed to be.

He'd have to figure out where this man lived, so he could pay him a little visit sometime soon. He decided he had to follow him home when he left, praying it was before the morning. How could he stand to watch him touch her? She was so beautiful when she slept, but he'd only got the chance to watch her once. He would come back after figuring out where Loverboy lived. So that he could watch her sleep, and revel in how he would make her love him. Make her forget all about Loverboy.

Yes, this time, it was *REAL*.