Author's ramblings....
Well, here's another one. This one disturbed *me* when I was writing it so
I figured I'd warn you. There is at least one *very* disturbing scene and
the entire concept is disturbing but what the heck, it came out well.
Part of this story takes place *before* Mulder trips over the X-files so
keep that in mind.

    Thanks go out to MacWombat who helped me over some writer's block,
    I hope you like. My sister, aka Phenyx, who verbalized, succinctly,
    Mulder's change in character and also "boiling poultry". And also to
    the member's of my EMXC (E-mail X-creative Club) who patiently waited
    through serious delays waiting for stories while I was lost in writing
    this. Any comments, praise or flames should be directed towards me so
    please... let me know what you think!

As always: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and "The X-Files" are property of Chris
Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Television/Fox Broadcasting. All
characters used without permission and no (I repeat, NO) infringement is
intended.

			The Fox and the Howned
			by. K. D. Enriquez (SciNut@aol.com)
				12/11/94        
			Part one.

  What a wonderful day! Special Agent Fox Mulder thought to himself for
the hundredth time as he sat on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial. The
sky was a bright blue that usually accompanied Spring instead of early
December. Though the now beautiful sky had threatened it yesterday, D.C.
still awaited its first snowfall.
  Mulder sank deeper into his coat as a slight breeze blew across the
river. But even the chill would not be able to freeze his good mood today.
He and Scully had returned to D.C. yesterday after finally being released
from quarantine. They'd spent four long weeks in a large, sterile, white
room. After twelve hours, he'd started to miss, of all colors, green:
grass, leaves and little flowering plants.
  Mulder shook his head and allowed himself a nice long gaze at the grass.
(The trees had long since lost their leaves.) He'd become so damned
philosophical during quarantine. He sighed. It really didn't matter anymore.
They were out and he felt great, for once. He felt like celebrating.
  Suddenly, he bounded to his feet. He'd take Scully out for a victory
dinner. She'd be surprised that he was actually going to buy for once.
She'd been acting sort of strange after she'd finally returned to work,
but that was only to be expected. Though, he really didn't want to think
about it right now. That was one train of thought that could blow his good
mood right out a window. And he was really feeling just too damn good.

***

  Todd Howned watched from the shadows of the Jefferson Memorial as the
fox quickly stood and began to walk, with an easy and relaxed stride, back
towards the J. Edgar Hoover building. He laughed, quietly, to himself. He
couldn't wait to see the look on his face when the fox realized the Hunt
had begun again.

***

  Dana Scully sat at her desk and fumed. There was no way the Bureau was
going to do this to her. She read the memo once more just to be sure:

    From the desk of Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner
    Special Agent Dana Scully,
    It has been recommended that you take an extended leave of
    absence by the FBI psychiatrist.  Effective immediately.
  
  She waded up the bit of paper angrily. Nope, she hadn't misread the
memo. How could Skinner do this to her. She wanted to work, she needed to
work. She sighed and leaned back in her chair.
  The day she had first returned to work, Scully thought she would be able
to put the ordeal with Duane Barry behind her. Not that she'd never been
kidnapped before. Hell, she'd been abducted once by one of her closest
friends. But that's not what was bothering her. Besides, Duane Barry was
dead.
  But, she couldn't remember.
  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to remember where that
month had gone nor what had happened to her during that time. It had been
taken from her and that's what disturbed her most. The time was gone and
there was no way to get it back.
  <It was only a month.> Her inner voice chided. But that wasn't the point.
  So much had happened in that month. Her mother had told her by the long
phone calls during quarantine. She could see it in the people around her.
She had told Mulder that she'd lost too much time already and now they were
going to force her to lose more time. She shook her head, sighed and
realized she'd really need a shrink if she actually took a vacation
right now.
  She was about to see if she could flick the waded paper onto Mulder's
desk (he would never notice it) when he burst through the office door.
  "Hey, Scully," he said with the largest smile she'd ever seen on his
face. "Let's ditch out of work early and celebrate."
  She couldn't help but smile. "Celebrate what?"
  "Anything, everything... pick something. I'm in a great mood so it
doesn't matter."
  "What, are you buying?"
  "Of course." He replied then paused. He eyed her briefly. "What's wrong?"
  Scully sighed and tossed the wad of paper at him. "Sure, we can cut out
of work early. I've been forced to take some time off."
  Silence settled in the office as Mulder read the short memo. Suddenly,
he grinned, "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it." He grabbed her
arm and pulled her out of the office.
  "What do you mean you'll 'take care of it'?"
  "Don't worry, we're celebrating. Where do you want to go for dinner?"
  
***

  Todd Howned watched them exit from the FBI building. He followed them
across town to a semi-decent restaurant. He sat at a table behind them and
listened while they ordered, ate and conversed. He could barely contain his
excitement. The Hunt would begin again and, this time, Todd Howned would
win.

***

  "It's a great place," Mulder said as he and Scully left the restaurant.
He had wondered if he could talk her into going for a couple of drinks.
She'd agreed rather easily and he was relieved that her earlier dark mood
had vanished.
  "I already said yes, Mulder." She replied with a smile. "You don't have
to convince me. Besides, it's been awhile since I went bar hopping."
  "It's not a bar," Mulder said defensively. "Bars are nasty dives. This
place is a pub."
  "Whatever you say, Mulder." She said in submission as she watched a
man, some distance ahead of them, turn into a dark alley. She turned back
to find Mulder staring at her again. "Would you please stop that?"
  "Stop what?" Mulder asked with false innocences.
  "Staring at me like that." Scully said a little uncomfortably.
  Guiltily, he looked away. "Sorry."
  "Mulder," Scully began, placing a hand on his arm she stopped walking,
bringing him to a halt. "I thought we covered this already. We should have
dealt with this fully during the quarantine but we weren't alone then." She
sighed. "It's over, it's done with. Move past it and get on with life,
alright?"
  He met her eyes and she saw a sadness there. "I've tried, Scully." He
paused and seemed to come to a decision. "You may not remember what happened
to you, but *I* remember what happened to *me*."
  "My mother told me about it... as well as Melissa." Scully replied. She
understood that he was trying to be honest with her and that he realized
how selfish he sounded. But she knew that wasn't what he meant.
  "I'm sorry, Scully," he said gently. "But you weren't there."
  "Then you tell me," she pushed. This was what he needed. He needed
to talk.
  He looked away and she could see him forcing himself to relive that
month. "I went with your mother to pick out your headstone." He closed
his eyes.
  Scully just stared at him quietly. Her mother hadn't told her that part.
They had actually given up on her and it was clear that Mulder hated himself
for it.
  "I tried to give her hope," he said with his voice full of self loathing.
"But, I'd already lost mine. And then, poof, you were back. No one knew how
or when and 'they' refused to give me any answers. But I dug anyway." He
met her eyes and the rage she saw there scared her. "I know who was
behind it, Scully. I nearly murdered him in the name of 'justice'." He
made the word sound vile.
  "Why didn't you?" She replied shocked to hear this from him.
  "Because he was me, if I were to cross the line I had been treading and,
besides, revenge is a bitter tasting dish no matter how it's served. When
I realized how much we were alike... I couldn't stand it. I resigned. At
least I tried too. Skinner, of all people, talked me out of it."
  "Who was it, Mulder?" Scully asked finally.
  He sighed and looked away again. "Take your own advice, Dana." He replied
after a lengthy silence. "Let it go. Don't dig any deeper, it's not
worth it. Believe me, I know and it nearly ruined me."
  She felt her anger rise. How dare he not tell her. "What happened to the
'cause', Mulder?"
  He tried to met her eyes and couldn't. He knew she didn't understand,
couldn't understand. He sighed again, wearily, and studied his shoes.
  Scully watched half angry and half fascinated as grief and sorrow, at his
inability to tell her, passed behind his eyes. Her anger won as she bit
out, "What happened to finding the 'truth'?"
  She was ashamed at the small feeling of pleasure she felt as pain took
dominance on his features. She knew he didn't deserve this. She could
imagine the spiral downward that he had described to her. She did know
how he felt about her after all, she'd have to be blind not to see it.
But his reply sapped out her anger, squelched her feelings of guilt and
pleasure at his expense and made her realize just what kind of hell
he'd seen.
  "Sometimes..." He paused and took a deep breath. "Sometimes the truth
isn't worth the price." He was silent and then he turned to her again with
a forced smile. "Anyway, I thought we were supposed to be having fun, so
let's go."
  He turned and began to walk up the street once more. Scully watched him
for a moment before following him. She sighed knowing that he'd tell her
only when, and if, he felt ready. She knew she could never force him and
now, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Finally, Scully decided to do as
he had said. She let it go.
  She caught up to him fast enough, though Mulder felt his forced desire
to have fun begin to fade. He had known that particular topic of
conversation would kill his good mood. <Move past it> he told himself.
<Get on with your life.> He sighed and listened to himself. Damn it,
he was going to enjoy himself.
  He had nearly convinced himself when he passed a darkened alley and his
paranoid nature surfaced out of instinct. He pushed the emotion away and
tried to ignore it. He didn't see the man lurking there until it was too
late. He didn't feel the blow to his head that sent him to ground, stunned.

***

  Todd Howned drew his .45 and pointed it at the woman before she could
get her own weapon out. He shook his head and gestured to put her hands in
the air. She complied as he knew she would. He'd read the FBI manual too.
Sticking the police baton under his arm, he tossed a pair of handcuffs at
her feet.
  The fox moaned from the ground and started to get to his knees. Todd
grabbed him by his coat lapel and dragged him into the alley. God, Todd
loved D.C. There was no one on the street to see anything. He threw the fox
back to the ground.
  He turned back to the woman, who had finished putting on the handcuffs,
and liberated her from her weapon. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her further
into the alley as well.
  Todd giggled as the fox push himself unsteadily to his knees, again.
He grabbed his baton and delivered a powerful blow to the fox's shoulder.
"Do you remember me?" he asked watching as the fox's vision cleared.
"You should remember me." 
  Todd smiled as he saw recognition and fear cross the fox's features.
"Sleepy-time for the fox." He said raising the baton.

***

  Fox Mulder sat at a desk that was still too new to him. He looked at the
pile of paperwork that had already been completed and just awaited his
signature. Bless Reggie's heart, Mulder thought. He was glad he wouldn't
have to deal with writing up anymore reports on his first day back.
  The investigation into his actions during the confrontation with John
Barnett was over and the Board had declared Mulder did have justification
for shooting Barnett. While Mulder felt the investigation was rather silly,
considering Barnett had killed two people including Agent Steve Wallenburg,
he knew that it was important when the time came for Mulder to testify.
  Mulder sighed and played the incident over in his mind. He should've shot
sooner then maybe Wallenburg would still be alive. He could still hear
Steve's wife after she'd been told. She didn't blame Mulder, even though
he did.
  A rough slap to the back startled him out of his thought's. "Well,
Mulder. I can see you're daydreaming again. I thought I told you to think
about the ladies off work when you could actually go and chase them." The
gruff voice declared from behind him.
  Mulder smiled and turned to face the man who had been the first to listen
to a 'Spooky' idea. "Hi Reggie."
  Reggie Pardue was a very large, intimidating black man. Taller than Mulder
and twice as broad, he had taken Mulder under his wing when he first arrived
from Quantico even though, and he told Mulder this quite often, he thought
Mulder was full of 'it'.
  "Thanks for writing these up for me." Mulder added.
  "No trouble," Reggie responded as he grabbed a chair from an adjacent
desk and sat. "I know how much you hate filling that stuff out and since
anyone can do it... well, all you need to do is sign the stuff."
  Mulder made a show of grabbing a pen and signing the first sheet of paper.
Reggie smacked the back of Mulder's head as if he were a misbehaving
adolescent. Mulder smiled.
  After a long moment of silence Reggie spoke. "You know Mulder, I talked
to the Bureau psychiatrist."
  Mulder looked up from the paperwork. "The one I had to see?"
  "Yeah, and he's right. You did what you could. Don't let it eat you,
alright? You're too good an agent for us to lose because of your own damn
guilt."
  Mulder looked down at the surface of his desk then smiled. "How do you
know I'm good? I've only been on one case."
  Reggie smiled in return. "Oh, I've an eye for these things." He paused
then glanced at his watch. "Come on, let's go to lunch."
  "It's only ten o'clock," Mulder chuckled.
  "Hey, I'm your boss. I make the rules here. Let's go."
  
***

  Scully glanced into the rear view mirror as she heard Mulder groan from
the back seat. After the man had beaten Mulder into unconsciousness, he
had forced her into the driver's seat of a tiny, old Dodge Horizon. He
had then tossed Mulder's limp form into the back seat, gotten in the
passenger side, stuck the barrel of his .45 in her side and told her to
drive.
  She had driven for about twenty minutes before Mulder began to stir in
the back seat. That was a good sign, she had thought to herself. She'd
been worried. He had received several dangerous blows to his head and,
for a moment, she had thought the last one had killed him.
  "Okay, stop the car." The man said from the seat next to her.
  Scully complied and pulled the car to a halt.
  "Get out," he ordered. When she hesitated he shoved the gun barrel
painfully against her ribcage. "I said get out."
  Scully glanced into the back seat and reached for the door handle, hands
still handcuffed. She didn't want to get out. If she did, she'd certainly
be leaving Mulder to die and if she didn't there was no doubt this man
would shoot her. She couldn't help Mulder if she were dead.
  She stepped out of the vehicle and gazed into the back seat. He was
laying on his side and blood covered his face. That last shot to his head
must have opened a very large wound.
  Seeing the man, from the corner of her eye, settle into the driver's
seat brought her attention back to him. He met her eyes and grinned a smile
of madness.
  "You tell Special Agent Reggie Pardue that the Hunt is about to begin and
the Howned has the Fox." With that he giggled and the car took off with a
squeal of tires.
  "But," Scully called realizing the man could no longer hear her.
"Reggie Pardue is dead."

***

  When Mulder finally returned to his desk, he was in a better mood. Reggie
knew him too well. He really did need to just talk to somebody other than
a psychiatrist. Mulder was a psychologist after all and was quite qualified
to analyze himself. But Reggie had a different outlook on life that he said
he'd gained after his wife had been diagnosed with cancer. From what he'd
told Mulder, she'd passed on sometime ago and it was obviously painful for
Reggie to talk about it. Mulder never pushed.
  Mulder looked down at the top of his desk to see a file, which hadn't
been there when he'd left. He opened it and discovered it was his next
case. Well, his second case. He read through it and, after each page,
he felt himself growing more and more nauseous.
  "I see you found our next case, Mulder." He heard Reggie say, again
behind him. Mulder was always amazed that the man could sneak up on anybody.
  "This... this is evil," Was all Mulder could say. He felt, rather than
saw, Reggie's nod of agreement. Mulder continued to read.
  Six times in the last four weeks a child had disappeared from a local
elementary school. All young girls between the ages of six and ten.
However, a week after the first disappearance, a foot had been found in
the small field between the school and the high school track. A foot which
the coroner had discovered as belonging to the first girl. Her other
remains were never found.
  So the pattern developed. A week after a child's disappearance a body
part would be found, usually a hand or a foot, but never in the same
place. The police had staked out the field where the first three parts were
found but then the remains began to be discovered in a different spot.
  The last child disappeared five days ago and as yet nothing had turned up.
The police then asked the FBI for assistance. The case had been assigned to
Mulder and Reggie as a supervising agent.
  "Well... let's get going." Reggie said as Mulder slowly closed the file.
  
***

  <Who says there's never a cop when you need one,> Scully thought to
herself as the cruiser she had flagged came to a stop. <Now, a phone on the
other hand...> Disgusted, Scully let the thought trail off. She'd been
walking for several minutes looking for a public phone with no luck while
her cellular was safetly tucked into her desk drawer at the office.
  "Ma'am?" The officer asked rolling down the window cautiously.
  "My name is Dana Scully and I'm with the FBI," she said as she held up
her cuffed hands. "My partner has just been abducted and I need you to
call in an APB and get me some back up."
  The officer didn't hesitate. "You have any I.D.?" He asked as he sprang
out of the car and released her from the handcuffs.
  She withdrew it from her coat pocket while she began to give him a
description. She was thankful that the officer was seasoned. "Can you tell
the dispatcher to get someone at the FBI to get all the cases my partner
and Special Agent Reggie Pardue have worked on for me, please?" She asked
as he grabbed the radio and began to call in to the station. He nodded in
response.
  Scully turned and looked in the direction the car had gone. She didn't
think he'd kill Mulder, not right away at the very least. The man's cryptic
final message gave her chills.

***

  Oddly, Mulder awoke to a ripping sound and a feeling of tightness around
his left wrist. The fact that his face hurt, a lot, came as an after
thought. He couldn't open his eyes even though he really didn't want too.
A place just above his right eye throbbed and he sucked in a breath which
brought to attention a stabbing pain in his chest.
  He heard the ripping noise again and felt something pull against his right
wrist. He twisted his hands gently and finally recognized the sensation:
duct tape. He took a deep, slow breath and concentrated on his
surroundings, which was hard to do between the throbbing in his head and
his apparent blindness.
  He knew he was sitting and, it seemed, restrained. His right hand was
secured, vertically, to the back leg of a metal chair. He felt its coolness
begin to sap the heat from his body through his clothing.
  His left hand, however, was secured on, what felt like, a stool at about
his chest level. It felt like the position the Red Cross used when he had
donated blood. He felt a cramp develop in his lower back and realized that
the position of his hands made it impossible to become comfortable.
  The floor was made of concrete and its frigidness made him aware that
his feet were bare. He wiggled his toes, relieved that his lower body had
escaped any damage. His face throbbed again reminding his brain that it was
still there.
  Suddenly, he felt a warm, wet cloth gently wipe against his face causing
him to gasp both in fear and pain. He'd forgotten that someone had put him
in this situation.
  "Wake-y, wake-y, Fox," he heard the deranged voice say sounding like a
three-year-old trying to wake his parents early on a Saturday. "Your face
got all dirty and that just won't do. Will it?"
  Mulder found he didn't have the energy to speak. He felt the cloth
reverently against his left eye and wash away the dried blood that had kept
it closed.
  Sight returned to him and as it did he wished he were blind again. He
had hoped that he'd been imagining the whole thing. He had hoped that the
pain in his head was just the result of a Friday night bender that he
couldn't remember.
  But it wasn't a delusion. It wasn't his imagination. Kneeling in front of
him, gently washing his face... was Todd Howned.

***

  "Come on, Mulder, don't dwell on it." Reggie said looking worriedly over
at his friend.
  "You can't tell me it doesn't bother you," Mulder returned still sounding
nauseated.
  "Of course it bothers me." He fired back only semi-serious. He did have
a self-imposed duty to lighten Mulder up a little. "If it didn't... aw,
hell you've heard this speech a thousand times already. But I don't dwell
on what happens to the victims of my cases. They're not men. They're not
women or children. You can't think of them that way or you'll go nuts.
They *can't* have names. That makes it personal. They're victims or corpses
or bodies. While you're on the job, at the very least, otherwise, you won't
be able to think clearly. You understand me?" Reggie finished from the
passenger seat of the FBI rental.
  "I'll try. It's easier for you though... you are a *little* older than
I." Mulder said with a small smile as he turned the car into the elementary
school parking lot.
  "Hey, I'm a *lot* older than you and don't forget that."He replied sternly.
  Mulder and Reggie stepped out of the car and greeted a short round man at
the entrance. He wore glasses, a tie and definitely suffered from male
pattern baldness in a bad way. He took a step forward and introduced
himself.
  "Hello, I'm Paul VanHuess... the principal." He spoke nervously.
  "Special Agents Pardue and Mulder with the FBI," Reggie answered
flashing his I.D. VanHuess shook their hands gratefully.
  "We can speak in my office."
  "Have you considered closing the school?" Reggie asked from a chair
directly in front of the principal's desk. Mulder sat by the door dutifully
taking notes even though he didn't need to.
  The principal shifted in his seat. "Yes, I've thought about it. What,
with many of the parents keeping the children at home the attendance is
barely enough to keep the doors open. But the school board doesn't think
we should, Bureaucrats."
  "You mean some parents are actually still sending their kids?" Mulder
asked somewhat dumb-founded.
  VanHuess' answer was merely a shrug. "As far as we know, the children
were being taken during recess. That was probably the best time because we
don't have enough teachers to watch them outside. The first class after
lunch is generally when they are missed. We've kept the children indoors
since then."
  "No one has seen any strangers?" Reggie asked.
  "No, no one out of the ordinary."
  "Could we see the school yard, please?" Reggie said as he stood.
  "Certainly," VanHuess replied standing as well.
  
***

  Scully sat at a desk in the nearby police station surrounded by
numerous agents. Sometime ago, someone had set a cup of coffee in front
of her but she had only stared at the steam rising from the dark liquid.
The steam had long since stopped as the coffee had cooled.
  She prayed Mulder was still alive. Scully couldn't explain why, but she
had a feeling that he was. He would call it a hunch, she called it instinct.
<Potatoe, potahtoe.> His voice echoed in her head and she found herself
smiling.
  The maniacs parting message confused her. Who was he? What was going on?
And why? But she could do nothing until those back files had been dug out
and brought to her. She felt as useless as the other agents standing around
drinking coffee and eating doughnuts.
  "Agent Scully?" a voice called out from the far side of the room.
  "Over here," she replied standing and turning in the direction the voice
had come.
  A young man, probably in his early twenties, raced to her desk and handed
her a stack of case files. "Assistant Director Skinner had me hot foot these
over to you."
  "Thank you," she said already dismissing the man and turning her attention
to the files. Mulder and Reggie had obviously worked well together. There
were at last twenty cases sitting before her.
  She picked one off the top and immediately put it aside. She *knew*
John Barnett had nothing to do with this. Barnett had been Mulder's first
case with the FBI. Barnett had been robbing armored cars and going on a
killing spree as well. Mulder had finally helped to catch Barnett only to
have him presumably 'die' in prison of a heart attack.
  Instead, Barnett had been experimented on and had been made younger.
Then he'd come back for revenge. In the process, Barnett had killed Reggie
Pardue.
  Mulder had taken Reggie's death badly even though he had held a tight
rein on his emotions when he was in public. Too quick to judge himself,
Mulder felt guilty for Reggie's death. However, when Barnett had tried to
kill Scully, Mulder had shot Barnett and, finally, the man was dead.
  Scully reached for the next case file. It was Mulder's second and upon
opening the file the first thing in the folder was one of Mulder's profiles.
She stopped confused. Psychological profiles usually went near the back of
the file but for some reason this one was out of order. <Probably just a
bad file clerk.> She thought.
  She lifted the profile out to look at the picture of the suspect that
should be the first thing seen in a properly organized case file. She
froze as a steely glare greeted her. When the man had first jumped her and
Mulder in the alley, she had noticed the eyes. They had gleamed with an
evil madness. This was him.
  Scully opened Mulder's profile and started to read.
  
***

(continued part 2)
