A/N: I wanted to try an X-Files story from a wholly different point of view, and I've wanted to write Season 1 Mulder and Scully for a while-so I took the opportunity when it presented itself!

Otherwise, a request: if you get the chance, please review any of my X-Files stories. I like the feedback, mostly to get an idea if people consider my characterizations appropriate or my stories logical. It's so easy to get caught up in one's own head and writing that you become blind to glaring issues. If you think my interpretations are radically out of character or that I'm a horrid writer, that's fine, too! Please say that, and I'll do my best to improve.

Three squad cars were wedged into too-small parking spots along the street. Their emergency hood lights weren't whirring nor were their sirens blaring. Everything was still and silent—altogether eerie considering the phone call he had recently received. The only movement came from a few officers cordoning off the apartment building and a faint breeze that had picked up as evening set in.

Much to his surprise, there was another free parking spot across the street. Without a moment's hesitation, he squeezed his little sedan into the available space, popped out of the car, and jogged up to the front door. One of the officers securing the entrance raised his hands to stop him, but he hastily whipped out his badge and flipped it open. The FBI emblem glinted in the street lights as the officer glanced down at the accompanying IDs.

"I'm Tom Colton with the FBI. I heard that Agent Dana Scully was attacked." He wanted nothing more than the officer to bustle out of his way, but he seemed slow on the uptake. He peered at the ID before slowly nodding and pointing up the small walkway behind him.

"Yes, she was, sir. Paramedics came to take the assailant to Georgetown University Hospital. It's my understanding that Agent Scully is fine."

"That's all fine and well, but I'd like to see for myself," Colton replied curtly, side-stepping the man and bounding up to the door before the officer had the chance to waylay him any longer. Why did some police not see that an agent's business was crucial and time was usually of the essence? Especially in the case of when an agent was unexpectedly attacked in the safety of her home.

Colton had to determine what happened to Dana—if the attack could somehow be related to their investigation into the slew of murders happening around Baltimore. Dana was a smart, capable agent; he knew as much from their time together as students at Quantico. She wouldn't ignorantly give a stranger the opportunity to attack her, ensuring that her windows were closed and doors were locked when she turned in for the night. And yet somehow and for some unknown reason, she had been targeted and attacked.

Despite their recent spat about the ridiculousness of Fox Mulder and his madcap theories on aliens and centuries-old men, Colton honestly didn't want anything bad to befall his former classmate. And considering she was assigned to assist on his case at the moment, that meant that anything that befell her might very well blow-back on him. Talk about his incompetence as an agent was the last thing he needed if he sought to climb the ranks of the Bureau.

So in paying this visit to her apartment, he'd be hitting two birds with one stone: ensuring that Dana was okay and that his reputation in the FBI wasn't going to take a dire hit.

He hastily strode through the hall, passing by a pair of officers meandering back toward the squad cars while carrying evidence from the assault. Colton noticed what looked like small screws in one of the plastic evidence baggies while another held some shards of glass. The second officer held a small, square grate from a ventilation duct in his latex-gloved hands. Colton tapped one of the men on the shoulder.

"Dana Scully?" he inquired. The young officer pointed further down the hall to a door that was guarded by a single boy in blue. Colton jogged up to the open doorway, noticing that the wood of the door was splintered some and the doorjamb had nearly been ripped from the frame. He flashed his Bureau credentials again. With hardly a glance, the guard nodded him in. "What happened here?" Colton asked as he hesitated before crossing the threshold.

"Done during the rescue attempt, I hear," the officer replied, looking at the sorry state of the doorway. Colton nodded. So there had been a rescue? Had Dana been able to call the police during the attack? He expected to get an answer to those questions shortly.

Finally stepping through the doorway, Colton was hardly surprised by the pristine cleanliness of Dana's apartment. Everything was spotless and tidy. Lovely wooden floors covered the expanse of the open kitchen, dining, and living rooms, though Dana had made use of a few patterned rugs to break up the monotony and give each specific room a measure of definition. The rest of the furniture was somewhat muted and a bit of a mish-mash of styles including a plain, wooden dining set, a striped couch, a pink floral lounge chair, and a stoic, metal writing desk all somehow pulled together by the artwork on the walls. All in all, Colton's initial impression of Dana's home was that it was comfortable and certainly felt lived in. But aside from the busted down front door, there was no sign of a home invasion. No sign of a scuffle, no destroyed furnishings or equipment, no broken anything. Everything was immaculate and exactly in its place aside from the few cops roaming around and taking notes of the scene, though they mostly congregated by a small hall across the way.

Colton noticed Dana's auburn head poking above the top of the couch. She was wrapped up in an off-white blanket. Colton hastily strode toward her.

"Dana, I just got a call from the office. Are you alright?" She was hunched over some in her seat, but Tom could make out that her clothing didn't seem mussed up to any extent. She was wearing the remnants of the outfit she had on earlier in the day: a soft white blouse and burnt orange slacks. He noticed the matching jacket lying on top of the couch. All in all, she did not appeared to be injured in the least, which was a relief.

Dana's bright blue eyes flickered up to meet his, her eyes registering stunned silence more than acute shock.

"I'm fine, Tom," she muttered softly.

"What happened? Who did this?" Colton asked, perhaps sounding too eager to hear the details. He should perhaps be more concerned for her well-being than the events of the assault, but he had to ascertain if there was any connection between the attack and the Baltimore murder case they were investigating. Dana's eyes slid to look at a figure behind him. Colton began to turn, but a familiar drawl met his ears.

"It was Tooms." Colton couldn't help the glare he delivered once he completed his about-face. Somehow the bastard had snuck up on him. Colton hadn't even noticed his presence in the apartment when he'd entered a few seconds before. And, to be frank, he was really the last person Colton wanted to see.

"The man we caught?" Colton replied with an incredulous laugh. Of course he would theorize that the assailant was some fantastical centuries-old man with a habit of ripping people's livers out bare-handed. There were no limits to the guy's insanity; he was an absolute joke. It was a wonder he was still in the Bureau.

"And subsequently released," Fox Mulder continued in a perfunctory tone.

"And I'm to assume that Dana let our former suspect waltz into her apartment?" He glanced over to the female agent, hoping for a show of support—anything to curb Mulder's impending nonsensical rant—but she remained quiet, content with watching the exchange. "I don't see any signs of breaking and entering," he added awkwardly once he realized he wasn't going to be receiving any help. He looked across the expansive room, his eyes landing on the giant set of bay windows behind Mulder. Colton remembered seeing shards of glass among the evidence from the crime scene. Obviously they hadn't come from the living room windows. Mulder followed his gaze, glancing behind him to look at the windows, as well.

"No," he agreed simply, turning back to face Colton. "But our murder suspect was said to enter rooms with no feasible point of entry. Locked doors, windows—the whole nine yards." Colton was quickly tiring of the song and dance. He wanted to quash Mulder's notions quickly and move onto a legitimate avenue of investigation.

"But Tooms was ruled out of our investigation. He passed the polygraph test with flying colors despite your attempts to sabotage him with inane questions about living in the 1930's."

"You ruled him out of your investigation," Mulder corrected. "Scully and I were still pursuing that lead." He glanced around Colton to his partner before his eyes roved back up Colton's face and to his eyes. "And you called off our stake-out." He said it as a simple statement of fact, but there was a cold, accusatory undertone lingering beneath it. Colton felt as if he'd been boxed about the ears. Mulder blamed him for Dana's attack? And all because he had refused to waste valuable man hours and Bureau funds to survey an abandoned building based on the fantastical notion that the culprit they were looking for was Stretch Armstrong!

"Listen here, Mulder," Colton rallied to his own defense. "I did what any responsible agent would do—"

"And in the process you put a fellow agent's life in danger," Mulder nodded in feigned empathy while meeting him with a cold glare. Colton's mouth fell open for the briefest of moments. Had Mulder really just said that? Apparently they were done bandying false pleasantries back and forth for Dana's benefit. They were getting into the nitty gritty.

"You've got a lot of nerve, Mulder!" Colton returned darkly, refusing to be intimidated by the more experienced agent. Mulder didn't retaliate; he held his ground, smiling grimly and seemingly welcoming whatever Colton threw at him. So Mulder thought himself so in the right that he was just going to stand there acting for all the world like some saint taking the higher ground and turning the other cheek. The cocky son-of-a-bitch! "I take back what I said earlier," Colton admitted with a sharp nod. "You're not insane. You're psychotic!" Colton was about ready to slug him across the jaw. A hand wrapped around Colton's arm, holding him back.

"Tom!" Dana warned, standing behind him. The blanket slipped from her shoulders and landed in a heap on the couch cushions. Colton rounded on her.

"Dana, I don't care if he's your partner. For him to accuse me—"

"He's not accusing you of anything, Tom," Dana bit back sharply with a stern look over at her partner. Colton glanced back at Mulder. His righteously arrogant manner of a few moment's previous had dissipated, more than likely because of Dana's silent insistence. Well, at least he listened to someone. "He's telling you that the man who attacked me was Eugene Victor Tooms," she continued firmly. She finally removed her hand from his arm.

So it was Tooms? That wasn't just Mulder trying to get back at him because of the less-than-courteous working relationship that had developed between them? There was no reason for Tooms to attempt an attack on Dana unless he were somehow related to the Baltimore slayings. And if that were true, that would be very bad news for Colton. He had been the one who ordered Tooms' release after all.

Colton quickly assumed his best professional manner, determined to get to the bottom of the issue. His ass might very well be on the line.

"There's no evidence of a break-in?" he asked to clarify the situation once and for all.

"No." Dana shook her head.

"Not in your bedroom? Or bathroom?" Colton pressed.

"No."

"I saw the cops carrying evidence earlier," Colton said, suddenly remembering the evidence baggies. "It looked like glass."

"From the bathroom," Dana explained. "He tried to escape out the window." Colton wasn't getting the answer he wanted, and it was grating on him.

"So how did he get in here, Dana?" Like in their Baltimore murders, there was no discernable entry point, and it defied all logic. He was willing to hear Dana's theory so long as it didn't involve any bullshit about aliens or centuries-old humans. His pristine Bureau record wasn't about to be tarnished with that sort of crap. She was a good agent, a thoroughly rational girl; hopefully she would be able to add a semblance of clarity to the night's events—one with a firm basis in reality. Colton was sick and tired of having to deal with the otherwise bizarre antics of "Spooky" Fox Mulder.

"Presumably how he broke into the residences and offices of his other victims," Dana replied, adopting her analytical, pragmatic tone. "Through the ventilation system." She walked around the perimeter of her couch and set out toward the kitchen, stopping in the little hall that ran alongside her bathroom. The cops standing nearby moved aside, shuffling into the bathroom. Colton followed her after a moment's hesitation, getting the distinct feeling he was going to be met with another logic-defying conundrum. Mulder silently brought up the rear. He was being unnaturally quiet, and that put Colton further on edge. Dana pointed out the small opening to a vent near the floor of the hall.

Dana was without a doubt getting as bad as Mulder.

"Dana, that opening's got to be 6 inches by 8 inches," Colton said warily, feeling disheartened that such an intelligent agent was being taken in by one of Mulder's delusions. He couldn't guess why she would abandon reason for insanity, though. An open vent of that size had no bearing on their current investigation since no one could ever dream of fitting into a space that small. He was looking for the culprit—likely a grown man—who had the uncanny ability to magically appear in sealed rooms and the strength to overpower Dana. Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Spooky were looking for some cannibalistic variation of Mr. Fantastic.

"I can't tell you how, but Eugene Tooms attacked me from that vent," Scully stated firmly. "I saw his face. He reached out toward me, and somehow he launched himself at me." Colton crouched down by the open vent and pointed to it.

"A human man crawled out of here," he repeated slowly, attempting to keep a straight face despite the utter bunk he was saying. "Do you know how crazy that sounds?"

"It was Tooms," Mulder reasserted. "And had you not called off our stake-out, none of this would have happened." Colton slowly turned to look up at Mulder. There he was pushing that point again. And it was starting to royally piss Colton off. He stood up.

"I'm not to blame if your ideas seem hairbrained," he returned sternly.

"Improbable or not," Mulder replied, ignoring the insult, "Tooms was our guy from the start. Scully was right in arresting him at Usher's building." Colton wasn't ready to admit that fact; it would be synonymous with admitting that he had drastically screwed up. And that was the last thing he wanted to appear on his Bureau profile.

But it all kept going back to the Baltimore murders and Tooms. A slew of grisly murders occurring in locked rooms. Colton had gone back over the schematics of all the murder sites: the only access point in each case was a ventilation shaft. Tooms had been found in a ventilation shaft in the Usher building. Granted, that had been a few days after the murder. And now Mulder and Dana—the X-Files division—were drawing attention to both elements once again: that Tooms was Dana's attacker and that the only possible way he could enter was via a vent. Despite the distinct absence of hard evidence, there seemed little doubt that there was a link between them despite how Colton wished it otherwise.

"And you're sure it was Tooms?" he asked again as a last-ditch effort. If they could even give the slightest hint that they might be mistaken in their ID of the assailant, he might be able to salvage his work and avoid dismal embarrassment. But then there was the additional matter that Tooms was already in custody and would certifiably be positively ID'ed. Colton was in hot water. His ASAC was going to come down on him for mistakenly releasing a violent murderer. That kind of mistake should never have been made in the first place.

"I saw his face," Dana stressed from beside her partner. "Mulder saw him," she added, gesturing to him.

"Wait. You were both here?" Colton looked from between the two of them, momentarily forgetting his personal crisis. Was that why Dana didn't want to leave the X-Files? He had offered her what amounted to a "get out of jail free" card for her help on the Baltimore case, but she had turned him down flat. Colton couldn't possibly understand why she'd pass up on the chance to get rescued from the basement, but if it all came down to Fox Mulder, that would answer his question.

He met Dana's cool, blue eyes. She seemed to see where his thoughts had led him and set about correcting him.

"No. Mulder and I were not together," she annunciated clearly, looking sidelong at her partner for a brief moment. "I was here, Tooms attacked me, and cornered me in the bathroom," she pointed through a doorway near the open vent, "then Mulder came bursting in and helped apprehend him." Colton looked from one agent to the other again after taking a cursory glance into Dana's bathroom.

Was that the truth? The cop at the front door had mentioned a rescue. Had Mulder been Dana's rescuer? Or had Mulder already been present at Dana's apartment and somehow was overpowered alongside her? If the two were having an illicit affair despite Bureau policy forbidding fraternization between partners, that could be just the thing to save his rapidly-sinking career. Colton might have botched up a murder investigation, but if he could offer proof that two newly-assigned partners were romantically involved, his display of incompetence could potentially be swept under the rug.

Dana never seemed the sort to get attached easily, though. Her definition of "friend" was more like his definition of "acquaintance." Two people who got along well enough and could chat over a meal about work or the weather, and that was the full extent of the relationship. Hell, that was the kind of relationship he had with Dana. Colton couldn't honestly imagine her being any more invested in a person because he had never really seen it—at least not during their days at the Academy.

Dana was always much more concerned with maintaining and improving upon her professional image. She tried to present herself as an equal to her stronger, taller, and more masculine peers. And more often than not, they didn't wholly take her seriously. Even Colton had admittedly thought her presence at the Academy a joke in the early weeks of training. She was a petite, pretty, auburn-haired Navy brat who looked like she'd fit in more at a library than the FBI. And she knew that was the impression she gave.

Of course, all the guys would schmooze her and flirt, hoping for the chance to get a little action while on track to becoming an official Bureau agent. Achieving a major career goal and adding another notch to their bed post—it was any young man's dream. And Dana wasn't that sore on the eyes either. But she had made it painfully plain that she wasn't that easy to get in bed. She already had a doctorate in hand; she wasn't looking for an MRS degree to add to it. While willing to go out for the occasional drink or make small talk over dinner, she generally kept to herself with her nose buried in a book or rigorously working out in the gym.

She didn't exhibit the same overall strengths as others at the Academy, but Dana was nothing if not capable in her own way; she was observant and sharp, two qualities held in very high regard for a prospective agent. She took her Bureau training seriously, striving to do her best in more physical tasks while outright excelling in those involving mental prowess or scientific study. Her ability to perform autopsies and analyze crucial data because of her medical training also gave her a significant leg up over her less-educated fellows. And it was well known among her graduating class that she was an amazing shot with a SIG-Sauer pistol; once that news made it around Quantico, that caused a lot of the men in the Academy to quake in their boots.

But Colton had found himself surprised by Dana at the time. She had gumption and was always looking for ways to push the envelope so that she'd be taken more seriously. Despite how her peers had clearly underestimated her, the Bureau had taken careful note of her abilities and deemed her an appropriate candidate to join their ranks. She was hired and worked as an instructor for a couple years. Of course, later being paired up with Spooky Mulder hadn't been the greatest first assignment as a field agent after being initiated into the FBI. Her talents were being wasted on the X-Files, yet she seemed oddly determined to remain where she had been assigned.

Obviously she and Spooky had already established a rapport. She seemed closer to him than Colton had ever seen her with anyone else. She was ready to throw away a perfectly good career for Fox Mulder. Though Colton couldn't possibly understand what she saw in the guy.

"How did you know Dana was in trouble?" Colton turned to Mulder, filing away his idea to exchange Mulder and Dana's burgeoning relationship for the continuance of his ladder-climbing career. He set his hands against his hips as he prepared to straighten out the reality from the fiction regarding the events of the evening. But his question seemed to jar something in Mulder's memory, and the older agent dug into his coat pocket.

"Tooms kept souvenirs," he responded, fingering at something in his pocket. "The items were completely ordinary, so the thefts were easily overlooked during the police investigations." He drew out an extraordinarily long gold chain with a heavy pendant on it. "I found this at Tooms' nest." Dana's eyes widened as she recognized the trinket. Her hands flew to her chest, feeling around the fabric of her blouse. She looked down, clearly surprised to find no sign of the necklace on her person. Mulder carefully handed it out to her, allowing the chain to dangle from his long fingers. Colton studied the piece hanging in midair between them and glanced at Dana.

"That's yours?" he asked nodding at the jewelry, though the question was wholly unnecessary. Her reaction told him all he needed to know. It was Mulder's reaction that he found curious in that moment, though.

There were the stories lauding Mulder as a brilliant profiler, primarily from his days with the Behavioral Sciences and Violent Crimes Units. His profiles had aided in the capture of dozens of twisted malcontents born of the blackest dregs of civilized society. There was a reason Mulder was known as "Spooky" even prior to his days in the X-Files. His ability to dig into the darkest of minds went unparalleled—well, at least until one considered Bill Patterson. Back then Mulder had been considered a quintessential agent—the golden boy. And then he fell long and hard, ignoring sanctioned Bureau investigative procedures in favor of unverified methods that were altogether too dangerous for the Bureau to condone. And he landed himself in a dingy basement office staring at hundreds upon hundreds of forgotten, unsolved cases—the so-called X-Files.

Mulder's fall from grace was used as a cautionary tale to up-and-coming agents. There likely wasn't a man or woman at Quantico who didn't know the name Fox Mulder. While supposedly a genius, he was a pariah in the FBI.

Maybe that's why Colton didn't take to Mulder. Rather than seeing him as an outcast—a man so impassioned that society had no choice but to denounce him lest he disrupt the status quo and cause societal harm—Colton saw a man with an over-inflated ego and grandiose sense of self. What happened to him, he did to himself. He could have continued being the Bureau's golden boy, developing a successful, life-long career. But he was better than that; he was better than the rules and regulations the Bureau set out for its agents as a means to keep them mentally sound and physically safe. Mulder was a rebel at heart; he wanted to break the rules and take risks despite the potentially dangerous repercussions to himself and his colleagues. Mulder was a liability, and yet he acted on a whim and without a care.

Fox Mulder wasn't a victim of society; he exploited society for his own ends. The persona he presented—the sentimental, misunderstood Byronic hero—was a sham. He didn't give a damn about anyone else so long as he was able to continue on his path—searching for little green men or irrefutable proof of the existence of the paranormal or whatever struck his interest for the day. If an individual helped them, he'd be grateful for a temporary time period before unceremoniously leaving them in the dust. If someone was a hindrance, he plowed right past them, letting their words of warning fall on deaf ears.

There was no doubt that Mulder was mesmerizing because of his zealous passion. But with that came a measure of eccentricity, impulsiveness, and danger.

But in that moment, Colton was looking at a different man. None of the tell-tale emotions and attitudes Colton had come to associate with the man were present. There was no sense he was putting on a persona for the benefit of society. Not the cocky rebel or the misunderstood rejectee. All the carefully composed masks had been torn away, and Colton was left with the distinct impression that he was looking at Fox Mulder for who he really was.

Colton realized that Mulder hadn't taken a moment to internally come to grips with what had happened that evening. He had been working on instinct alone for the last hour or so—racing to Dana's apartment, rescuing her, and ensuring that she was alright. The reminder of the necklace sent a shockwave through him as he was forced to contend with the "could-have-beens."

Fear and relief were the most prominent emotions Colton could distinguish. Mulder stared at his partner, carefully holding out the necklace. The look he gave her—the only description that came to Colton's mind was "tender." Tooms' attack on Dana had downright terrified him. He had feared he had come to her rescue too late—that all he would find was her mutilated corpse lying in a pool of blood, her eyes staring wide, glassy, and dead.

And mixed in with that horrifying fear was utter relief. Dana was alive and unharmed, and he clung to that fact to prevent the darkness from swallowing him whole.

There was an underlying sense of pain and loss, as well. An old wound, one that had smarmed for years but never had the opportunity to heal.

After learning that he would be likely working with Dana and Mulder on the Baltimore case, Colton had taken the opportunity to read Mulder's personal file. He had wanted to know exactly who he would be working with, eccentric reputation aside. Mulder's sister had been abducted from their home in the 1970s when Mulder was a young boy. That event appeared to have a prolonged, debilitating effect on his life. He had never gotten over his sister's loss. Relations with his parents were strained, romances were short-lived, friendships were mostly nonexistent. Colton suspected Mulder constantly warred with a perpetual sense of guilt.

And Colton would have once thought Mulder's history the perfect sob story. Samantha Mulder's abduction in and of itself was a tragedy, but given Mulder's tendency—or perhaps compulsion was a better word—to use his past as a means to excuse the actions of the present, it became a crutch that Mulder could use when it suited him. The abduction just offered more credence to his presented persona of the aggrieved, misunderstood loner.

But it all went deeper than that. Mulder did feel and he did care. His sister's abduction had shook him so violently that he strove to ensure something so horrid would never happen again. He wasn't chasing after boogeymen and monsters under the bed because he wanted to; he had to. He had been affected so direly by a traumatizing event that he had to protect others from such horrors. And that included making sure Dana remained safe, protecting her. Perhaps he saw a surrogate sister in Dana, a chance to correct his failure to save Samantha. And he refused to be a failure again.

"Yes," Dana confirmed. Too busy with his own thoughts, Colton had forgotten the question. She gently took the necklace from her partner. "Thank you," she added. She palmed the pendant, coiling the chain carefully into her hand. Colton stared.

"How did Tooms get your necklace?" he asked blankly, trying to adjust back to the present after his quick character study on Mulder. Dana appeared puzzled, obviously trying to figure out that point herself.

"I-I don't know," she admitted hesitantly. "I hadn't seen Tooms since he left—" She suddenly gasped, her eyes flashing to her partner. "Mulder, the apartment building!" she exclaimed. Mulder nodded thoughtfully, agreeing with her unsaid thought. Colton watched Mulder as the mask of professionalism reassembled itself over his face. The moment instigated by the memory of the necklace had fully passed, and Mulder's old persona had fully reasserted itself.

"What?" Colton asked aloud, evidently perplexed. He couldn't grasp the unsaid jumps in logic between Dana and her partner.

"66 Exeter Street," Mulder offered without missing a beat. "The apartment where we had set up the stake-out. Tooms' old apartment." He glanced over at his partner. "Scully and I had checked it out earlier. That's where we found Tooms' nest and his collection of trophies." Colton nodded dumbly, trying to give his mind a moment to catch up with the conversation and failing to see how Mulder's explanation pertained to his question.

"And what does that have to do with Dana's necklace?" he pressed, wondering to himself how Dana could stand working with Mulder on a long-term basis. If he wasn't howling about fantastical theories, he was spouting tireless diatribes at a mile-a-minute. And it sometimes could be a nuisance to wade through the ostentatious talk to find the nugget of pertinence.

"When we were leaving the apartment, I got caught on something," Scully interjected, realizing that he didn't have the patience for Mulder's ramblings.. "I had no idea what at the time, but I think it's when Tooms stole my necklace. I hadn't taken it off since I put it on this morning."

"Tooms was there," Mulder commented. "Right under our noses, Scully!" He punched his fist in the air like he was hitting an invisible speed bag. "We could have had him then."

"He's caught now, Mulder," Dana eased, lightly resting a hand on his arm.

"I'm still confused," Colton stated, his mounting frustration evident in his sharp tone. He was getting tired of the back and forth nature of the discussion, especially since so few questions were being answered in the process; he looked between the two agents. "You said something about 'Tooms' nest'?" he asked Mulder, unsure if he honestly wanted to hear any more. But it was his case, and if he wanted it closed, he needed the details.

"It's my opinion that Eugene Tooms is a sort of genetically-modified mutant who repeatedly goes through periods of feeding and hibernation throughout his lifespan," Mulder began. "He sleeps for 30 years in a self-made nest constructed of paper and his own bile—a crude variation on paper-mâché if you will." The agent smiled grimly, his eyes lighting up at his dark wit. Colton had been right to be wary; he shouldn't have asked for details from Mulder. "Following his hibernation," Mulder continued, "he awakes and seeks out nourishment to replenish his strength for the next 30 year cycle. Human livers provide that sustenance, and he must partake of five of them before he can hibernate again." Colton shook his head incredulously, torn between raucous laughter and downright horror. The man who imagined up that kind of fantasy had a very sick mind.

"You're not joking," Colton commented with a strained smile, realizing once again why the man in front of him was called "Spooky" Mulder. He wondered what Dana thought of such ramblings. He stole a glance at her; she looked mildly embarrassed but refrained but interrupting her partner. Colton already knew he could not write a sentence of what Mulder had told him on any official report to his superiors. He'd be laughed out of the office.

"My theory explains why we have records of eleven identical murders taking place in 1903, 1933, and 1963 in the Baltimore region," Mulder expounded after noting Colton's skeptical look. "One in 1903, and five in 1933 and '63. Tooms' fingerprints were found at many of the 1933 and 1963 crime scenes, confirming that he was alive then. If you require further proof, we can offer you the testimony of former police detective Frank Briggs, a man present during the previous two murder sprees. He has photographic evidence showing Tooms in 1963—not a day older than he looks today." The rapidity of Mulder's speech increased as he spoke, like a train gaining momentum as it sets off from a station. He paid little attention to whether his so-called evidence sounded actually verifiable. He just chugged forward, ultimately hoping to convert someone to his delusions.

Colton took a moment to gather himself, unsure of exactly what to say in response. Everything Mulder had said was utter nonsense. He honestly thought he had proof of the existence of liver-eating mutants? Colton looked at Dana, silently pleading for help.

"Mulder," she inserted gently, "Briggs' testimony and the photograph wouldn't stand up in court. Briggs' statements would be attributed to faulty memory as a result of dementia whereas the Tooms' photo would only prove what genetics have shown us for centuries—that at a certain age, a father and his son can look unmistakably alike."

"Is that what you believe, Scully?" Mulder asked, seemingly stunned at her resistance. "Even after what you witnessed today?" he pressed, gesturing at the open vent. Colton had the distinct feeling that the pair of agents had had similar conversations in their short partnership. At least one of them was still grounded in reality; it meant that Colton had someone to back him up when he reported to his ASAC.

"I don't know exactly what to believe, Mulder," she griped. "Your theory is so inconceivable! There's no basis for it in nature!"

"At least nature as you know it," Mulder countered with the hint of a smile. It wasn't a deprecating gesture; if anything, it was commiserating—as if Mulder saw a world that others, like Colton and Dana, could only dream of and he pitied their ignorance. It was strange coming from a man as mad as Mulder. "But you saw the fingerprints; you saw what Tooms was capable of." He was still so determined to make her believe.

"All the fingerprints you showed me were distorted," she stated defiantly. "Stretched beyond any possible recognition. You had to carefully manipulate the image to get anything remotely discernable as a fingerprint and therefore a positive ID." Mulder's eyebrows shot up.

"You're claiming that the ID match was a false positive?"

"I'm wondering whether the computer software over-manipulated the prints, changing the basic structure of the image and creating a false positive."

"That would be quite a coincidence, Scully," Mulder criticized lightly with a chuckle. "Five prints somehow matching the print I pulled from Usher's office only due to image distortion?"

"I'm just afraid that the proof you think you've found isn't as certifiable as you might think," she stated worriedly.

"It's proof, Scully," Mulder asserted, pointing a finger at her. "Even if you're not willing to see it." He set his hands on his hips, looking about the room for something to grab his attention.

"Talk of mutants aside," Colton cut in, waving his arms to shut the two agents up, "I was hoping to close this case." He turned to his old classmate. "Dana, are you telling me that there's nothing undeniably tying Tooms to the murders?"

"It depends how you view the legitimacy of the fingerprints Mulder found," she shrugged before crossing her arms. "Despite the elongated appearance, if you match the print from Usher's office with those on Tooms' record, you'll have a connection."

"And the print from the office isn't a partial?" Colton questioned. Dana glanced over at her partner; Mulder looked a bit put-out and on edge. He was clearly aggravated Dana had not agreed with him. But how could he expect anyone to agree with his lunacy? It was a miracle he hadn't been thrown into a sanatorium and strapped to a table yet, thought Colton.

"I'm going to get a status update on Tooms," Mulder suddenly said, pulling his phone from his coat and striding across the room toward the bay windows. Scully sighed, staring after him. Colton watched, as well.

"Trouble with the old man?" he asked, unable to help himself. Dana's head spun to glare at him. He had forgotten how formidable her gaze could be when caught on the wrong end of it. "Sorry," he apologized quickly, not in the least bit sorry.

"Tom, I'd appreciate it if you kept your thoughts about the relationship between Mulder and me to yourself," she said sharply. Colton raised his hands defensively.

"I said I was sorry," he returned. Colton debated leaving it at that, but he was much too curious and he had to figure out whether he had something to offer to the Bureau higher-ups. If the Baltimore case fell apart due to his ineptitude, he needed a safety net. "I just noticed you two seem awfully close," he shrugged. Dana's eyes widened, but it wasn't the sort of alarm that came from guilt or being found out.

"What do you mean?" she snapped. He smiled.

"Why, nothing, Mrs. Spooky." His tone was intentionally suggestive. Colton wanted to get a rise out of her; maybe then he'd learn the truth. She stared at him, refraining from overreacting, but if looks could kill….

"Tom," she said sternly, "if you keep this up, I'm going to have to file a complaint against you with the OPR. And that would be in addition to the two complaints I mean to file regarding your conduct with Agent Mulder and your decision to go over our heads to call off our stakeout on Tooms' apartment."

"Wait, what?" Colton asked in sudden dismay, his cheeky attitude immediately dissembling to one of distress. "On what grounds?" he demanded. This was the last reaction he had expected from Dana.

"For the current complaint?" Dana questioned in a clipped tone. "For conduct unbecoming of an agent of the FBI. I may very well be a colleague and a classmate of yours, Tom, but I won't stand to have the good name of either Agent Mulder or myself besmirched by insipid rumors."

"'Good name'?" Colton laughed. "Him?" He pointed to Mulder, who was still busy on the phone and out of earshot.

"Even if you don't agree with Agent Mulder's methods, you have no right to seek to sabotage either his or my career to achieve your own goals." Her eyes flashed sharply. Somehow she had guessed at his game—that he considered throwing the two of them under the bus if it meant saving his own skin.

"How?" he asked, absolutely bewildered.

"You gave your hand away earlier, Tom," she replied smartly. "When you repeatedly obstructed my and Agent Mulder's investigation, you showed me that you'd be willing to go to almost any lengths to bolster your career so long as you were free from rebuke and getting all the credit. So I was prepared for you to attempt to shut Mulder and I down again, though I never expected you to go this low. I was hoping you had a shred of decency left in you." Colton found himself seething. She frowned and tilted her head to one side. "It seems you proved me wrong."

"I won't stand for this, Dana," Colton blustered threateningly. He had completely underestimated her, thinking she would try to embarrassedly deflect his suggestions that she and Mulder were romantically involved. If she had, that would have been all the proof he needed concerning the nature of their relationship. Instead she had turned the tables on him.

"No," she retorted. "You won't stand for anyone tracking dirt all over your spotless reputation. And that reputation won't be so spotless after I've had a word with the OPR." The little, Navy-brat librarian that he remembered from the Academy had blossomed into a sharp-eyed and sharp-witted agent.

"I'll be dead before I submit a report spewing the crap he theorized." Colton pointed a short, stocky finger in Mulder's direction. The older agent had taken notice of the raised voices and glanced up at them, his cell phone still glued to his ear.

"Turn the case over to us, then," Dana said smoothly. That had been the moment she was waiting for. "It's obviously an X-File. You'll not get called down on the carpet for releasing Tooms, and your reputation won't take a major hit." As much as Colton hated to admit it, Dana really did have a point. He wouldn't get the praise he wanted from closing the case, but the most he'd get from his superiors would be a wrist-slapping as opposed to a full-blown board review following his report of the debacle with Tooms.

"Fine," Colton grunted, seeing no other solution that might let him off so easily. "I'll fill out the paperwork in the morning." He stomped toward Dana's front door as Mulder meandered back over to his partner, tucking his cell phone back into his pocket.

"Oh, and Tom," Dana called. Colton stood stock still, hesitating before slowly turning around. "I still mean to talk to the OPR." Colton stalked out of the room. Colton didn't like being played for a fool, and Dana had played him like a fiddle. His overall reputation might be saved, but his ego had been viciously bruised. He should have never looked at Dana Scully and thought her unimposing; she was as shrewd and skilled an agent as the rest of them. Despite Fox Mulder's mania, he had a good partner by his side and
watching his back.

Scully stared after Tom. She wasn't honestly as angry as she appeared, but she'd certainly been frustrated with Tom's pompous, petulant antics. He'd do just about anything to get ahead, including turn against old friends if they got in the way of his promising career. It was a pity. The Tom Colton she had known at the Academy was certainly ambitious, but he wasn't nearly so cruel.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely, she quoted silently to herself.

Mulder wandered up to her, casting a glance out the open apartment door.

"Did Colton forget that he left the oven on?" Mulder asked glibly.

"He forgot that I was always considered a better profiler than him," Scully cryptically replied. Mulder looked at her inquisitively. She turned to Mulder, perking up some. "Tom won't bother us anymore," she noted with a smile. "And I got us a new case."

"Does it have to do with liver-eating mutants by any chance?" Mulder asked with piqued interest. He didn't need to say anything for her to know that he was appreciative that she'd done away with Tom once and for all.

"I still don't think the court will accept your theory, Mulder," she frowned. "We likely won't convict Tooms on murder charges." Mulder shrugged, apparently resigned to that fact.

"Well, at least we have him on assault of a federal agent. That'll lock him up for some years, at least." He paused for a moment before returning his gaze to Scully. "He's been transferred to Druid Hill Sanitarium, by the way."

"I guess we'll see him over there tomorrow," Scully sighed.

"And the truth will be buried away in yet another X-File," Mulder said glumly.

"At least the right man was put behind bars," Scully reasoned, quirking her lips up in a smile.

"And Colton was knocked off his high horse," Mulder grinned in reply. "I told you it's hard to resist messing with their heads sometimes, Scully." She laughed.

"It certainly felt good." She couldn't help but agree with her partner on that point.