He sat like an island in the midst of a storm, a solitary figure near the window of the busy cafe. Tall and slender, his long legs were cramped up beneath him, the knees rubbing against the underside of the too- low table top. Elegant, long-fingered hands cradled a steaming mug of coffee while his hazel eyes stared out into the busy LA boulevard, watching the headlights clash with the streetlights, throwing streaks of color across the pavement.
Night was falling in the City of the Angels, and Fox Mulder felt lost and alone. Leaning back in his chair, he carefully extended his legs further under the table, then jerked his head around as a bright flash of red caught the corner of his eye. His body tensed, then gave out in a sigh of resignation - it wasn't her. His partner, his best friend, was on the opposite side of the country, happily ensconced in her family's Maryland home. Marianne, Dana's sister-in-law, was about to give birth, and in the absence of her sea-faring brother, she had felt it important to be with the new mother.
Mulder didn't begrudge her the time off, in fact he was delighted to see her spend the time with her family. They had lost so much lately - he was simply grateful that for once they had something to celebrate. Still - it meant that he was stuck here, without her, loaned out to dead-end leg-work in the LA Field Office, for no more reason than to keep him 'out of trouble' until his 'sensible' partner returned.
Rubbing at the back of his neck, he turned to stare blankly out the window, trying to lose himself in the ebb and tide of people wandering past his window. Only the instinctive irreverence of his natural sense of humor kept him from sinking totally into the mire of his depression, yet he was still lost enough to his surroundings that he almost missed the situation developing behind him.
Almost, but not entirely. Mulder had an uncanny way of sensing when things were about to happen, and it was that peculiar intuition of his that pulled his head around in time to follow the young man walking hesitantly up to the counter. Dressed in an elegant dark-colored suit, he moved with a natural grace. Dark hair curled around his neck and shoulders, and fell thickly across a high forehead. The face itself was handsome, showing a spare flash of even white teeth behind mobile, generous lips. Yet, something in his dark eyes struck a chord in Mulder as they turned in his direction then moved swiftly onward. A flash of anguish, perhaps, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, hidden behind a cool, bland, even slightly arrogant expression.
Mulder swiveled in his chair, watching casually as the object of his attention gave his order to the harried waitress behind the counter. There was something familiar about that face, somehow Mulder knew he had seen it before. He just couldn't quite remember where...
And then he wasn't given the chance to consider it further.
"Hey!" A loud, aggrieved male voice sounded far too close to Neil Avedon's ear and he instinctively pulled back. Turning, he found himself face to face with a large, broad-shouldered man whose pale blue eyes were glaring angrily at him.
"What?"
"You, you're that Avedon guy - the movie star who likes to mess around with teenage girls, right?"
Neil shrank away as best he could, his back coming up hard against the counter while his eyes darted to the distant doorway. Damn, he knew he should have simply gone straight home and tried to cook something. Only he had been so emotionally and physically exhausted after the long day in court that he hadn't had the energy to face his kitchen, and he'd gotten sick of eating delivered pizza. Teddy had told him to take things one day at a time, and he was doing his best, but sometimes he desperately yearned for the blessed oblivion that he could find in a bottle of vodka. But he refused to give up the short strides forward he had taken, and even more than that, he couldn't bear letting Teddy down again. So instead he had promised himself a quick stop for take-out food and then a rapid drive back to the nominal safety of his home, where he could try to shut out the agony of his life as best he could without the blinding presence of the familiar chemicals.
"I...ummm...excuse me," he muttered, trying to edge away slowly. He couldn't cope with this now, he thought, barely succeeding to keep back the tears of anguish and exhaustion that threatened to flood him.
"Excuse you? You baby-fucking asshole..." the man yelled even louder, causing every person in the room to focus in on them. The red-faced man continued shouting expletives, his words tumbling into each other, while Neil continued to move backwards, step by step.
As soon as he cleared the table between him and the door, he took a deep breath, and tensed his muscles in preparation for a run towards the relative safety of the street. But before he could even turn halfway, his vision was obscured by something big coming straight for his nose. Half-leaping, half-falling backwards, Neil felt his feet slide out from under him, and his entire body braced itself for the impact with the floor.
But that impact never came, instead he suddenly found himself dangling in mid-air, his head falling back then snapping forward. He gave a strangled gasp, feeling the fabric of his shirt and leather jacket pulling tight against his shoulders. Throwing his hands up in front of him, he pressed one palm against the massive chest above him, while the fingers of the other hand curled around the wrist of the arm holding him in place.
The attempt to free himself was futile, and ended abruptly in a violent crash of pain into his lower abdomen. The air rushed free of his lungs as he doubled over in agony, tears swimming in his eyes as he gasped like a beached fish. As his vision blurred, all of his awareness focused on the shrieking pain on the right side of his belly and the burning sensation in his lungs, until he was abruptly jolted by the impact of his body on the hard tiled floor.
Curling up into a tight fetal position, he caught only the sense of voices yelling and shadows twisting above his head.
"Damnit!" Mulder swore under his breath as he watched the fight develop - well, fight wasn't quite the word for the one-sided battle unfolding in front of him. The man he had noticed enter the diner wasn't even attempting to protect himself, the look in his eyes reminiscent of a cornered animal, yet colored by a kind of resigned self-condemnation that hit Mulder hard in the pit of his stomach with its familiarity - it was a feeling he experienced far too often himself.
Stepping up out of his chair without even realizing he had done it, Mulder brushed his fingers over the butt of his gun, then slid past a pair of women toward the center of the melee. By the time he got there, it had escalated into violence, and he immediately abandoned any idea of talking the situation down.
"Federal Agent, hold it right there!" he demanded, only to be ignored by the big man engrossed in pummeling his unresisting victim. Drawing his gun with tensed fingers, Mulder grabbed at the tree trunk-like arm and yanked it back, stopping another blow in mid-air.
The red-faced man growled and turned his head, only to find himself staring down the barrel of Mulder's big Sig-Sauer pistol.
"Federal Agent. Freeze," Mulder told him again, his voice calm, quiet, yet insistent. This time the man listened, and letting go of his punching bag, slowly raised both hands up in front of him. Mulder winced internally as he felt, more than heard, the other man collapse to the floor, but his gun hand never wavered.
"Hands behind your back!" he ordered. "Turn around. Slowly." As the man complied, Mulder took the handcuffs from his back pocket and carefully snagged them around the thick wrists, only relaxing his stance when he had the restraints tightly in place.
"You're under arrest for assault and battery. You have the right .... " Mulder recited the Miranda warning automatically, replacing his weapon, then guiding his prisoner over towards and an empty chair. Roughly depositing the now silent, though still glowering man into it, he quickly frisked him, searching for and finding a wallet in the shirt pocket. Withdrawing the folder, Mulder absorbed the name and address into his eidetic memory, then dropped it into the man's lap.
"Call the police!" he ordered the waitress who was still standing behind the counter, her mouth dilated into a round o that matched her widened pupils. She jerked, then responded, moving towards the phone. But before she could pick up the receiver, a raspy voice sounded from behind Mulder.
"No, please. Don't."
Mulder turned to find the assault victim kneeling, hands pressed into his abdomen, face screwed tight with pain. Dropping to a crouch in front of him, Mulder steadied him with a firm, but gentle grip on his arm.
"Take it easy," Mulder soothed. "We'll get you to a doctor as soon as..."
"No. I'm okay."
Mulder gave him a disbelieving stare, only to be rewarded with a brief boyish smile. The bright flash of teeth gave way to a grimace, but the eyes remained firm.
"I just don't want any more trouble. Really. It was just a mis...misunderstanding. Please, no police. I don't want to press charges, I just want to go home." Neil's voice nearly broke on the last sentence, his mouth trembling with the effort of maintaining control.
"Are you sure?" Mulder asked, still supporting him. "There are plenty of witnesses, you did nothing wrong..."
Neil was already shaking his head, forcing the panic down. "No, it's ok. Really," he leaned in closer to Mulder, perhaps unconsciously seeking more support, but also to emphasize his certainty. "It's better to just let it go."
Mulder frowned, but shrugged acquiescence. "It's your call. But let's get you sitting up for now. I'll escort him out of here, then we can see about getting you checked out."
"That's not really..." Neil protested unsuccessfully, he was still in enough pain that settling into the offered chair was about the limit of his strength. After being emotionally kicked all day, the physical punch knocked any remaining energy out of him, leaving him limp. The ache in his side was duller now, but his lungs still complained with every breath.
Sitting as motionless as he could, Neil finally had a chance to really look at the stranger who had come to his rescue. Totally unaccustomed to kindness, except from people paid to look after his interests, he found himself absorbed in studying the tall, lithe man as he released, then professionally propelled the other, still angry, man from the cafe.
Mulder waited for a moment in the doorway, then turned and walked back to join Neil at the table. As he moved across the well-lit room, he took in the behavior of the other patrons, most were whispering, eyes darting from the young man huddled at the window table to Mulder himself and then back again. The stares thrown at the other man were disturbing, distrustful, angry, and Mulder quickly found himself bursting with questions.
Realizing the object of his own curiosity was now staring at him with a similar look in his ebony eyes, Mulder was again struck with the sense of knowing. He had seen that face before, if only he could remember where...
Taking the opposite seat, Mulder let a portion of his mind scan the computer bank of his eidetic memory, while he asked the other man if he was okay.
Neil nodded in response to the question, the warmth in that voice washing over him. He pushed himself to meet those sharp hazel eyes straight on, immediately recognizing the fierce intelligence burning within, brilliance tempered with compassion and depth. He felt a sudden rush of emotion, a need so deep that it almost seemed to swallow him whole, opening up raw wounds in his soul, carrying the seeds of mortal pain, yet threaded with a faint glimmer of hope. He desperately wanted this man to like him, wanted some small sign of understanding and acceptance - not for Neil Avedon the movie-star or notorious murder- defendant, but for Neil Avedon the precariously sober human being.
But he also knew that the moment of recognition would come soon, and he dreaded it, even as he saw the spark of knowledge flicker in those glittering green-edged eyes.
"Thank you..." Neil said, his voice unconsciously rich with the sincerity and openness that had formed in him since those horrible weeks spent in the state rehab facility. Everything had been stripped away from him there, leaving only the bare bones of his self - and that sheer simplicity had found its way into the very pattern of his speech, marking it with a nearly painful honesty.
"Fox Mulder," came the reply. Neil looked startled for a moment, eliciting a rueful smile in reply.
"My parents had a rather bad sense of humor, most people just call me Mulder."
Neil hadn't been surprised by the name itself, though he belatedly recognized the oddness of it; nonetheless, his surprise had truly been at the abruptness of the information. All those thoughts, however, were broken by the realization that Mulder was now waiting for the return information.
Drawing on those few reserves of courage that had kept him going through this ordeal, Neil looked up straight into Mulder's face and gave his own name in a clear voice. "Neil Avedon."
The faint recognition Mulder had felt before flared into total understanding. "The actor?"
Neil simply nodded. Mulder had left unsaid the rest of it... the reputation as a wild, drugged out playboy; the accusations of rape and murder; his status as the defendant in the nation's most sensational trial since the Trial of the Century.
All this flew simultaneously through both minds, and Neil waited tensely for the withdrawal, the accusations and questions, the disgust he had become so familiar with. But Mulder had never been one to do the expected, and instead he sat quietly, his mind turning wheels within his head.
Mulder simply couldn't square the man sitting hunched in front of him, shoulders braced as though expecting a blow at any moment, with the image from the media. The intense, yet sincere honesty in his voice and eyes didn't fit either. Nor did his refusal to defend himself from his attacker or his insistence on letting the assailant go free. This man wasn't looking for publicity, he wasn't arrogant or wild, and he was obviously completely sober.
That made Avedon something of a puzzle, and there were not many things that Mulder found more intriguing. He hadn't made a career of behavioral profiling from a lack of interest in human behavior - on the contrary, he was fascinated by vagaries of the human personality. So all of his senses were tingling with unabashed curiosity, and to top it all off, Mulder had to admit to himself that he instinctively liked Avedon, something that was an extremely rare experience for the almost invariably distrustful federal agent. It was unusual for him to feel this immediate sense of kinship with a stranger, a sensation that felt oddly comforting and disturbing at once.
In the end, making the decision to give Avedon the benefit of the doubt was not all that difficult. Mulder's consideration, for all of its complicated nature, took no more than the length of a couple breaths. It was barely a few seconds after Neil had said his name, that Mulder gave a wry half-smile and extended his right hand.
"Nice to meet you."
Short as the wait had been, Neil had been unconsciously holding his breath, and he found himself reaching for air as he contemplated the hand stretched out towards his chest. Still, Neil was an accomplished actor, and not inexperienced with coping in the political world of Hollywood. Almost without thought, he took hold of the offered hand and shook it firmly.
"Nice to meet you too. And thanks."
"You're welcome." Mulder returned the strong clasp of his hand with equal intensity, then let go as he felt the other man's grip release. "Just doing my job," he added with a slight touch of humor.
"Job?"
Mulder grinned openly this time, reaching automatically with his left hand for his badge. "Special Agent Fox Mulder, Federal Bureau of Investigation, at your service," he answered in a deliberate monotone, displaying the gold shield and mug-shot-like photo.
Neil looked carefully at the ID, then found himself smiling in response. "A G-man to the rescue."
That won a chuckle from Mulder. "Yeah, but don't tell my superiors or I'll be hip deep in paperwork before you can say J. Edgar Hoover."
Neil laughed, then stopped as he considered the sound itself. When was the last time he had done that? He couldn't remember.
Mulder watched the happiness drain from Neil's face. Immediately, Mulder reached across the table to take hold of his shoulder. "Are you ok? Do you want to go to the hospital?"
"What? No." Neil shook his head. His expression resumed that look of intense, boyish sincerity that Mulder was beginning to recognize as characteristic of his new acquaintance. "I'm all right. Just a bit out of breath..." He paused for a moment, then added with a note of surprise in his voice, "...and hungry." As though in confirmation, his stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.
That brought light smiles to both men's faces, their gazes meeting, then holding in an instant of communication so intense that neither could ever have found the words to explain it. So no one said a word, and it passed as quickly as it had come.
"Then we ought to at least get you fed." Mulder leaned back in his chair and looked around for a waitress. The nearest one walked past them, her head averted, and even Mulder's demanding, "Excuse me, Miss..." did not gain a reaction.
"It's OK." Neil realized that he was beginning to sound like a broken record, but he didn't know what else he could say. "I have some stuff at home that I can cook, I'm just a bit...lazy about it sometimes."
Mulder contemplated him for a moment, several thoughts competing for his attention, not the least of which was his anger at the way Neil was being treated. It had been obvious earlier that if Mulder hadn't stepped in to stop the beating, no one else would have. Perhaps, given the nature of the crime Neil was accused of, that fact wasn't so unexpected, but it still burned. After all, in America you were innocent until proven guilty....
Mulder had to stifle the bitter laugh that rose unbidden in his throat, knowing Neil would not understand, and not wanting to hurt the other man's feelings. Still, he found a poignant irony in that thought, for he should know better than anyone how little faith one could place in justice in this world. There was the possibility that Neil was indeed guilty, but Mulder had a growing suspicion that the truth in this case was deeper than public appearance let on. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask, and yet, he had to ask himself what business it was of his.
But that circumstance was easily dismissed as unimportant, Mulder was an expert at sticking his nose in where it did not belong, so he paid the small bite of conscience absolutely no mind. Instead, he narrowed his gaze as he studied Neil's face.
The intensity of Mulder's gaze climbed up a couple notches, and Neil had to shut down the abrupt desire to check himself in a mirror. What did this man see when he looked at him? Neil hardly knew what he saw in himself, much less what someone else - an obviously intelligent and aware stranger - might see. And then the dreaded, anticipated question came - out of the blue - abrupt and terse - yet with a compassionate edge. Barely above a whisper in volume, the tone was ultimately open, brimming with anticipation.
"Did you do it?"
Neil froze for a moment, taking the time to return the focused scrutiny he was being subjected to before making his reply. When he finally spoke, his voice was clear, his eyes open, his face seemingly devoid of expression, yet unable to disguise that now-characteristic honesty.
"No....No, I didn't." A very slight pause, then another rush of words flew out before he could have considered holding them back. "I mean, I couldn't have. I'm sure...but, I was high, on alcohol and the drugs, so that night is fuzzy." Then the tentativeness gave way to certainty. "No, I'm sure she was alive when I left..." His words trailed off into silence as their meaning echoed stridently in his ears. What on earth could have possessed him to share his deepest doubts and fears with a total stranger? He had discussed this with no-one except his attorney, and he knew that Teddy Hoffman would be furious if he knew what Neil had just done. But no sooner had the sick, sinking, extremely familiar sensation of panic struck him, than the man seated opposite him threw another curve ball at him.
"Have you tried hypnotic regression?"
Gazing blankly into Mulder's eyes, Neil saw only concern and curiosity, and an odd glimmer of something that reminded him of humor. In fact, there was a bare hint of a smile playing at the other man's generous lips, the edges of the full lower lip curled slightly to the side.
"Hypnotic what?" Neil licked anxiously at his lips, his mouth gone drier than the Sahara.
"Hypnotic regression therapy," Mulder repeated patiently. "It's a way of using hypnosis to regain and clarify memories. It's used primarily to help deal with childhood traumas, post-traumatic stress disorder, and similar conditions. In some cases investigators have utilized the technique to help witnesses remember traumatic events more clearly." Mulder's words flowed over Neil, their sense coming to him slowly, but the actor was not a stupid man, and his brain soon caught up.
"You mean, if I was hypnotized, I could remember exactly what happened that night?"
Mulder nodded, then tempered the reply with an even gesture of his right hand. "There's no guarantee on this, because the technique is based on the existence of the memories. It won't help you remember anything that happened while you were unconscious, for example, or if memories were lost due to actual physical damage to your brain." He rubbed at his chin, thoughtfully. "I don't know about the effects of drugs and alcohol. If you were stoned out, that might have the same effect that unconsciousness would have - to obscure or eliminate the memories themselves. Still, if anything would bring them into focus, this technique's the best bet."
Neil's face brightened with a burst of hope. "How would I get this done?" He leaned across the table eagerly.
Mulder lifted a hand, palm facing outward, warning him to slow down. "There are experienced professionals who can do this, most of whom are practicing psychotherapists. If you are already seeing a psychologist, I'd recommend getting his advice, and I think you probably ought to run it by your attorney. This kind of thing is not yet admissible in a court of law, but it could still have some potential for damage if not handled properly."
"But if it proves..." Neil's voice suddenly trailed off, as he saw the other side of the coin. "What if it proved I did kill her?"
Mulder's expression was equally grim, though his eyes remained gentle. "That is a possibility, Neil. Which is why I think you should take some time to think about it, and get some advice before jumping into anything."
Neil nodded slowly. "You're right...but at least I'd know for sure. I'm pretty sure anyway." His eyes stared off into space for a moment, the focused back on Mulder's face. "Regardless, I have to know. I have to."
It was Mulder's turn to nod. "I wouldn't expect anything else."
Again, Neil was thrown off balance, and his eyes blinked in surprise. But before he had a chance to reply, he became aware of a presence glowering over him from behind.
It was the cafe manager, and he was obviously unpleased with the situation. "Excuse me, but I have people waiting for this table. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Mulder tensed, pushing his chair back in preparation to rise to his feet, but Neil forestalled him. Standing up, he politely apologized to the manager and told him that they were on their way out. Mulder got to his feet, but remained silent as the manager huffily thanked Neil for 'understanding his predicament.'
Neil threw Mulder a glance, somehow sensing his companion' anger, but was met with a dry chuckle as the taller man leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Predicament, my ass."
Neil found himself grinning yet again, even as he attempted to straighten out his clothes. "Yeah - but I've gotten kind of used to it. Either they want me around because it draws spectators or the spend the entire time making it plain they wish the floor would swallow me up."
"I know the feeling," Mulder replied somewhat cryptically. Stepping around Neil, he reached for his wallet and withdrew a few bills. A quick glance assuring him they would probably cover his meal, he tossed them onto the table he had abandoned earlier. Then turning back around, he stepped up behind Neil.
"Let's get out of here." Neil agreed without a word, and together they walked out into the street.
The two men stood on the sidewalk, forming an island in the busy pedestrian traffic. Most simply pushed past them, tossing them no more than a quick glance of irritation, but a few others paused, especially women. They made a striking pair, both tall and lean, dark-haired and fair-skinned. Both were dressed in rather crumpled, but obviously high-quality black suits, one sporting a highly somber gray tie, the other a mesmerizing pastel swirl of yellow, green, and red.
Each stood balanced, almost hesitantly on his heels, staring out into the street as though waiting, shoulders barely an inch apart. Obviously together, yet each not sparing a glance for the other. One pair of young women, barely into their twenties, wandered past, turned and gazed back, wistfully, wishfully, then bending their heads together, hurried on down the pavement, leaving behind an echo of giggling, high- pitched laughter.
The two men stood silently a moment longer, then the taller one cocked his head to the side. "Feel like taking a walk?"
His companion started in surprise, then his handsome features broke into a warm smile. The expression of joy didn't last long, but it was an answer far more evocative than the muttered "Sure."
They turned in even pace and set off into the night.
"How long have you lived in LA?" Neil threw the question out in an attempt to break the silence. As comfortable as the walk had been so far, he was brimming with curiosity towards his surprising new acquaintance. Nothing the man said or did seemed to follow any rule Neil could understand, and yet he sensed an underlying pattern, perhaps no more than simple force of personality.
He gained a breathy chuckle, and a quick darting glance from those startling hazel eyes, before Mulder refixed his gaze on the street ahead of them. But he answered, in a slow, even flow of words.
"I haven't. I don't live in LA. My home is in Washington. I've been temporarily assigned to the LA office to assist in the investigation of a series of elaborate banking frauds. Which is a complicated way of saying that I've been buried in a pile of paperwork so deep it could fill the Marianas Trench."
"Sounds...boring," Neil responded with an apologetic shrug, then his eyes wandered outwards. "Not that boring doesn't have good points." The acknowledgment of his own situation hung between them for a moment, then was banished by the velvet sound of Mulder's voice.
"Yeah - maybe. God only knows I've had more than my share of excitement, but even so, there are limits - wading though several thousand pages of other people's financial records definitely qualifies as one of mine."
Neil nodded with sympathy. "I didn't realize the FBI did things like that. Well, I guess I knew they handled white collar crime, but my images of the FBI have always been either men with guns chasing serial killers or fighting gangsters, like in the "The Untouchables" - you know, men with dark glasses, dark suits, and machine guns, with broad fedora hats."
Mulder laughed. "You've seen too much TV."
"Yeah, and acted in too much of it as well. I've never played a federal agent, though."
"You're not really missing much. The Bureau has lightened up a little from the age of Hoover, but not so you could easily tell. It's still a haven for money-crunching bureaucrats, ambitious clones in dark suits, and paper-work filed in triplicate."
"How'd you get into it?" Neil asked.
Mulder smiled wryly. "You mean I'm not your standard FBI agent?" It was said matter-of-factly, in the soft, barely ironic deadpan that Neil was beginning to recognize as characteristic of this man.
"Though I really do fit one of your stereotypes," Mulder added. "I'm a behavioral profiler. I spent a number of years with the FBI's behavioral science program, and helped catch more than my share of serial killers. The Bureau recruited me out of grad school at Oxford. My field was behavioral psychology, with a minor in AP - umm, abnormal psychology, and at the time the ISU was just beginning to gain recognition. As it turned out, I've got a 'natural aptitude' for applying behavioral models to criminal behavior, so I did well in those early years with the FBI. I'm good at getting into the heads of these monsters. Too good, sometimes, for my own sanity."
Mulder fell silent, and they walked another long block in silence, before Neil decided to ask the question weighing on them both.
"What happened?
Mulder shrugged. "They sent me from one case to another, sometimes with no more than a few hours sleep in-between. It's a little scary how many of these psychos are out there, most people think these are incredibly rare events. They're not. Anyhow, it got to the point where I was losing my sense of self, like I could feel the monsters inside me. I started predicting their behavior, leading the law enforcement teams to the bodies... scared the shit out of everyone around me."
"Must have scared you too."
Mulder barely seemed to have heard, his eyes staring blankly out into the night. They had wandered out of the brightly lit touristy area and into some darker, quieter streets. Mulder stopped in his steps, frozen, then shook himself like a wet dog. Turning back to Neil, he drew his shoulders together.
"Yeah, I finally realized I was inches from ending up in a white rubber room myself, and demanded a leave of absence. My boss was not pleased at all - he kept saying that he'd let me go after one more case. But of course, one more turned into two more, and then a third... I started seeing an outside therapist just to keep myself afloat, and with his help, I finally forced them into approving my request for a sabbatical." He chuckled bitterly.
"And afterwards they reassigned you to bank fraud cases?"
"What? Oh, no...no. After a couple months of 'recovery,' they asked me what I wanted to do. Remember, I was still something of a rising star at that point - and given my refusal to go back to the ISU in my previous position, they wanted to promote me up to a nice neat desk somewhere."
"But you didn't want that?" Neil guessed, though with a certainty that he was correct.
"No. I had...other plans." Mulder's somber expression gave way to one that harbored something akin to mischief. "I wanted..." His face darkened again, and he paused. His eyes focused on Neil's face, studying him fiercely. Neil felt the scrutiny rock him, and he felt an instinctive need to hide himself. It was as though Mulder could see straight through him, to the deepest corners of his soul, to places Neil himself couldn't, didn't, dare look. But he held on, clamping the panic down, because something about Mulder drew him in a way he had never felt before, and it was a tantalizing feeling. He didn't want to give up on it, or Mulder, without a fight.
As suddenly as it began, the intensive examination ended, and Mulder quickened his pace down the dimly-lit sidewalk. But he started to talk, at first in a whisper, then louder, the words tumbling over each other as though if he didn't get them out quickly, he couldn't get them out at all.
"I lost my sister, when we were kids. She was stolen from my bedroom one night, and I couldn't stop them from taking her. But I had buried the memories away, tried to hide them myself, to pretend it had never happened. Perhaps, that might have lasted if I had chosen another line of work, probably not. Still, I had begun to see her face in every victim I saw, her image every time I closed my eyes. During my leave of absence from the Bureau, my therapist took me through hypnotic regression, back to the night she was abducted. And the memories started to become clear. I saw a bright light in the room, a presence, and a figure in the light. It was tall, and thin, gangly, with huge black eyes and impossibly long arms and legs. I tried to reach for my father's gun, but I was frozen. I couldn't move, almost couldn't breath. Then I heard Samantha scream my name, and I managed to turn my head just a little. She was floating in mid-air, just laying there as though she might be in bed, except that there was nothing supporting her but the light.
She kept crying my name, "Fox," over and over again, as she began to float. She floated right out of the window, through the glass. She went right through the glass and out into the light. I screamed her name, I'm sure I did..."Samantha, Samantha, Samantha," but all I heard was a voice in my head telling me she'd be ok and would be returned to me. She never was. It's been over twenty years, and not so much as a hair from her head has ever been found."
"Oh God..." Neil's anguished whisper slid under the fluid rush of Mulder's words.
"After the memories came back, I started trying to find out everything I could. I read anything I could get my hands on, started an FBI case-file on my sister, but got nowhere. And I became aware that I was being blocked, that some element above me wanted this hidden. But I made friends also, people who wanted the same answers I did, and they led me to the X-Files."
Mulder paused, then swallowed hard, trying to lubricate his mouth. Neil remained silent, somehow knowing that Mulder needed to continue, and wanting to give him that chance.
"Thousands of old, unsolved files buried in the basement of FBI headquarters, dealing with every possible kind of odd or unexplainable phenomena. I felt like I had stumbled onto a gold-mine, full of hidden treasure, and I spent weeks reading through it all. And when I was done, I knew I'd found a place to start, a place from which I could search for some answers. Luckily, one of the friends I'd made was an influential Congressman. Pressure from him, as well as my own present position in the Bureau forced them into giving me what I wanted - the X-Files and some freedom to choose my own cases. Though it came with a price- tag, a partner of their choice."
Mulder chuckled, and his demeanor abruptly lightened. He smiled. "Special Agent, Doctor, Dana Scully, a forensic pathologist who believed - believes that science and reason hold all the answers. I'm still amazed that we've lasted as partners, goodness knows we're about as opposite as two people can be. But somehow it worked, much to our superiors' disappointment. They wanted her to debunk me, instead, she ended up supporting me, in her own way. She grounds me, keeps me from flying off too far, while I help her open her eyes. Scully's become the best friend I have; she's saved my life more times than I'd like to think about." He shook his head in amazement.
"So how?"
"How did I end up here alone?" Mulder paused. "Long, long story, but the short version is that she's on personal leave right now. Her sister-in-law is about to give birth to twins and Scully is home playing doctor. I guess the Bureau didn't want me out playing loose cannon, so they 'loaned' me out to assist in the case out here, since my partner isn't around to keep me in line." His voice turned deeply bitter on the last sentence, and Neil instinctively reached out to reassure him.
The light brush of Neil's hand on his arm made Mulder break to a sudden halt. Turning, he met Neil's wide-open eyes, automatically pulling away from the contact. Neil sensed that Mulder didn't even realize he had done it, and that understanding kept it from hurting, even as small voice inside wondered why it should have the possibility of hurting at all.
"You must think I'm nuts," Mulder said brusquely.
Neil shook his head, then smiled as much at himself as at Mulder. "Why should I think that? You seem very sane to me, and I'm in no position to judge such a thing anyway. You're the shrink," he added lightly.
That brought a quick, darting, yet hauntingly boyish smile to Mulder's lips. "Yup, and like any good psychologist, I capably diagnose my own problems then proceed to completely ignore them."
Neil laughed. "They say doctors make the worst patients."
"Very true...very true," Mulder replied, as they began walking again.
A brief silence fell, but it was a comfortable one, an easy quiet that didn't seem at all interrupted as Neil began to talk.
"I ran away from home when I was fifteen. I'd always loved to act, and I had an uncle out here, so I came to Hollywood and started searching for a job. By accident, I won a spot in a commercial and got noticed by a studio exec who was casting for a new TV series. He asked me to come in for an audition, I got the part, and the rest, as they say, was history. A Hollywood success story." He shrugged.
"Anyway, it was just the way things were. I moved from one set to another, was schooled in trailers by a succession of tutors. I had good reason not to want to see my parents, so I never went home again - until I my publicist decided I should do a photo shoot about where I grew up. It was awful. My father didn't say a word to me the entire time I was there. He just kept staring at me..."
Mulder nodded with understanding that cut through to the bone. Neil felt the sympathy, and it helped him continue, even though he quickly changed the subject.
"Everyone saw me as the movie star, their ticket to success. Women loved being close to me, so they could bask in reflected glory, and I just...wanted contact. So I went through them, one after another, sometimes several at once. It never seemed to matter, they all saw what they wanted to see, and it was never me. Maybe because there wasn't really a me to see. I'd been acting since I was so young that I didn't know how not to act. I'm not sure I know even now. And in those few moments when I was alone, I felt so empty. I couldn't bear the pain of it, so I began to fill up that time first with alcohol and then drugs. And as long as I could still act on cue, turn it on at the word 'action' and deliver for the camera, no one cared."
"Then I met Jessica. And something clicked, I guess. We were the same, so we understood each other." It was Neil's turn to deliver a bitter laugh, and he did it well. "Not that either of us was ever sober enough to really grasp onto anything, but we still started spending a lot of time together. Mostly doing drugs and sex. And then she was killed."
He stopped, and leaning his head back, stared up at the fog-shrouded sky. "It was a night like any other I'd spent with her. I don't really remember it well, I know we did some coke, had sex, and then I left. I'd been sort-of seeing a therapist, so I went to see him. I think I was having a bad trip or something. Anyway, I didn't even hear about her death until a couple days later. I just couldn't believe it was real."
"The next thing I knew, they arrested me for it. I was terrified, especially because I just wasn't completely sure that I didn't do it. But I still have this image of her sprawled across the bed, one foot dangling off the edge, kicking at the mattress, laughing hysterically at me as I left. I didn't kill her, but no one seemed to believe me. Except Teddy."
"Teddy Hoffman?"
"Yeah." Neil smiled more warmly this time. "God only knows why he even took the case, but he did, even though he'd told me only days before that he was finished with me. But he came, and listened, and agreed to help me."
"He got you into rehab?" Mulder asked gently.
"Yes. It was a deal with the prosecution, instead of putting me in jail, they sent me to this clinic. In some ways it was worse than being in prison, I was utterly terrified. The first couple weeks I was like a madman, I needed the drugs so badly I couldn't think about anything else, I couldn't think at all. But they got me through it somehow, and I started to come out of it. Then they put me into pretty much non-stop therapy. It was like being skinned alive, except that it was my heart and soul that were being exposed rather than my flesh. I didn't think there'd be anything left when they were done..."
"But there was."
"I guess so," Neil replied. "When they let me out afterwards, I felt like my entire life had been spent in this dark tunnel and I was walking out into the light for the first time. I was scared, yet everything seemed so new. It was like I was experiencing life for the first time."
"Must have been exhilarating, and frightening."
"Yeah. And it wasn't over. I was - am - still on trial for my life. It's ironic, I finally get a chance to try to find out who I am just before I end up dying in the gas chamber."
"You're not there yet." Mulder's voice was fierce and low, the words forced out hard.
"No, but sometimes, I think it might be for the best anyway."
"Don't say that Neil..."
"I'm so tired. The day we started opening statements at the trial I lost it - I ran into the courthouse bathroom and threw up. And when I thought we had a chance to end this, because someone else had confessed to the crime, and it turned out she was lying, I fell right back into the alcohol. Teddy and Chris - my attorneys - found me and got me sobered up, again. I apologized to Teddy, but I could hardly blame him if he didn't believe me."
"Did he disbelieve you?" Mulder's question was soft, yet pointed.
"No," Neil replied with remembered amazememt. "Well, he simply said that I was sober now, and that I should take it one day at a time."
"Sounds like good advice," Mulder commented sparely.
"That's why I pay him so much," Neil replied, but his demeanor lightened just slightly.
"At least you're getting your money's worth."
"Yeah."
They both fell silent again, and this time the quiet was a bit darker, albeit no less comfortable between them. This time it was Mulder who spoke first.
"We're quite a pair, aren't we." Neil stopped and turned to him, startled, only to face one of Mulder's wry grins. Despite himself, he smiled in return, which caused Mulder's grin to broaden. Then suddenly, they were both laughing, openly, almost hysterically. Facing each other on that empty, dusky pavement, they both dissolved into healing mirth, laughing so hard that tears welled up in their eyes and drained down their cheeks. Struggling for air, Mulder took hold of Neil's shoulder, and Neil responded by closing his hand on Mulder's upper arm. Supporting each other, they let the giggles trail off into deep gasps, both partially doubled over.
Finally, they were able to catch their breaths. Still leaning into each other, they straightened up, wiped their faces, and for the first time took a serious look around them.
"Any idea where we are?" Mulder asked.
Neil peered around him, eyes moving from the bare pattern of the chain-link fence on their left to the massive, black shape that was a crumbling warehouse, and he shook his head. "I haven't the faintest idea, but I think we'd better get going."
Mulder agreed, and he unobtrusively felt for the comforting presence of his gun as they picked up their pace.
Both men breathed a sigh of relief as they found their way out of the old warehouse district and onto a busy avenue of bars, restaurants, and clubs. Neil looked around him, then chuckled lightly.
"Now, I know where we are."
"Let me guess, the red light district?" Mulder angled sideways to let a very made-up teenager pass him, wobbling on three-inch heels.
"Now how'd you guess that?" Neil replied, watching the girl burrow herself up against a big black man in a brown suit.
"Sorry, trade secret!"
"Ahh," Neil returned Mulder's smile, then looked serious. "I think it might be a good idea to grab a taxi out of here. Unless you'd rather..."
Mulder shook his head. "No, much as I might on occasion appreciate the show," he waved at the lurid display in front of the nearby club entrance, "not tonight."
Neil followed Mulder's eyes, and chuckled. "I think I know that dancer," he pointed at the face faking a smile above a pair of rather unnaturally enlarged mammary glands.
Mulder leaned his head back, and looked contemplative for a moment. "Hmmm, I'll have to get you to introduce me sometime."
Neil laughed openly. "Sure, anytime." He stared down the street considering. "I think the best bet is The House of Angels." He pointed at a vivid slash of white and red neon half-a-block down the street. "The bartender keeps things pretty well in control, and they usually have a working phone."
Mulder nodded, "I've already got a cellular phone, but a quiet place to sit would be good." He waved for Neil to lead the way.
They got across the street and within a few feet of the entrance, when a scream rent the air. Both men jerked and turned. Shadows twisted in the dark alley across the street, the glow of neon barely penetrating the gloom, but the sound of terror emanating from the black space, winding high above the noise of the boulevard, was all they needed to react.
Mulder moved so quickly that he left Neil still rooted in place. A second later, the actor was racing after the agent, but Mulder moved like a gazelle, swift and certain. Seconds later, both men broke from the busy street and entered the alley, Mulder pulling out his gun and holding it before him, both hands clasped tensely around it.
Neil slid up behind Mulder, panting for breath, wondering what had possesed him to do this. But the same sense of calm purpose that he had felt the time he had faced down the crazed fan threatening Teddy's life washed over him, soothing down the blood pouring through his veins. Mulder was a cold, strong presence by his side, the sharply-carved features expressionless and focused, the glittering eyes alert and wary.
Neil stepped forward, then stopped as Mulder raised his left hand, palm faced away from Neil, his eyes never leaving the hidden depths of the alley. Again signalling Neil to wait, Mulder stepped forward slowly, inch-by-inch moving closer to the dribbling wail that was all which remained of the so recent ear- splitting screams.
Neil squinted, heart pounding, as Mulder took another step and another, and then abruptly bent down. Light trickling from the street threw a glaring yellow cast over the agent's black hair, sickening the pallor of his skin like a bad case of jaundice. Holding his gun with one hand, Mulder reached down to a crumpled form on the alley floor, even as he dropped to a crouch.
His voice murmured, the words too soft to be clear to Neil's ears, but still comforting in their tone. Encouraged, Neil took a step forward, only to watch a big black shadow break free of the far wall between him and Mulder. Light flashed off something metallic as the menacing form swooped down towards Mulder's back.
"Mulder!" Neil screamed, leaping forward, grabbing out towards the would-be assailant with desperate hands. His fingers closed in on leather-garbed flesh, sliding along the length of an arm. Another brief flash of light warned him, and even as he stumbled, he raised one hand to instinctively protect his face. The other hand held on with fierce determination to the would-be killer, refusing to let go.
Neil's weight pulled them both down to the alley floor, forcing the other man off balance. As he landed hard on his back, he saw what he now recognized clearly as a knife blade plunging directly towards him. But a split second before it could strike, it was whipped away.
The knife-weilder screamed out in frustration and rage when he found himself trapped between them, Neil's grasp on his left arm pinning him halfway to the ground, Mulder's hands holding his right hand to the small of his back. A metal sound clicked, then Neil felt a hand close on his forearm.
"I've got him, you can let go now." That was Mulder's voice, hoarse, but clearly recognizable, and Neil gladly followed orders, releasing his grip and rolling up to a sitting position. He watched with eyes that were finally adjusting to the darkness as Mulder finished handcuffing their assailant, then pushed the man down to his knees.
"Here, Neil, hang on to him, would you."
"Uhhhuh," The actor pushed his way to his feet and walked carefully around. Mulder held onto the cuffed arms until Neil had them in a firm grasp, then he moved over to pick up his gun from the ground. Replacing it in his holster, he took one more, cautious glance around before bending down to check on the woman laying still at his feet.
A quick check verified she was still alive, if barely, and Mulder reached for his cell phone with the guilty realization that he should have done so sooner. However, even before he could finish dialing 911, the flashing blue and red strobe lights of a police car caught his attention. No sooner had he turned than the bright headlights flashed stridently into his face, forcing him to cover his eyes.
Even so, he knew well enough to reach immediately for his badge, and by the time the cops were out of their vehicle, he was holding up the gold shield in an outstetched hand. It took several long, confused moments for him to communicate who he was and what had just gone down here, but once they reached comprehension, the LA police turned out to be surprisingly efficient.
Mulder stood aside gladly as the officers took charge of the victim and the suspect, pulling a slightly dazed Neil aside.
"Let me do the talking," he whispered into Neil's ear, and got a quick glance of understanding in reply.
Actually, the statement wasn't even necessary, the officers were more than willing to take his card and call him tomorrow. As it turned out the perp was someone they had been looking for in association with another incident, and they were happy enough not to ask too many difficult questions. Mulder fielded the few they had briskly, while Neil stood behind him and pretended to copy his professional manner. He felt certain he was going to be recognized at any moment, but somehow no-one made the association.
Neil stared at the woman's body as it was brought past him on the stretcher, the rusty-colored blood seeping out onto the white sheets and covering the EMC technician's white-gloved hands and ivory sleeves. There was so much of it, he thought faintly, his stomach beginning to flip-flop violently.
"Are you all right?" Mulder whispered in his ear, and he nodded, swallowing hard.
"Good, let's get out of here while the local law is being cooperative. I think they assume that you're a fed like me - it might be better to leave them with that assumption."
Neil agreed totally, and he pulled himself together quickly, using Mulder as a blueprint for how to act and move. Stepping in behind the taller man, he followed him out past the police cars and the ambulance, keeping his eyes pinned to Mulder's back, trying to avoid looking at the stretcher contents as it was loaded into the ambulance.
Soon, they were out into the street again, Mulder leading Neil across the street and into the crowded, smoky bar. Grabbing a pair of stools, Mulder sat his companion down.
"Now breathe," he commanded.
"Wwwhat?"
"Take a couple deep breaths. With me, in..and...out....in....and....out. Feel better?"
"Yes. I'm fine. Really. Thank you for not letting on who I was to the cops."
"Thank you for saving my ass out there," Mulder replied.
"Saving you?" Neil asked, "But..."
"But I should have known better than to go running in there without trained back-up. I have a tendency to act without thinking," Mulder told him. "It was stupid, and I put you as well as myself at risk." Mulder turned his head away, the carefully hidden pain and inevitable guilt rising sharply within. Why did anyone who ever got close to him, even for as short a period of time as tonight, end up in danger?
"Mulder!" Neil sought his companion's attention but Mulder simply shook his head, still staring out into the bar, lost in a familiar well of guilt.
"Stop it, Mulder. Look at me!"
Mulder hesitated, then turned. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown, liquid and anguished.
Neil held his gaze for a moment, then spoke carefully. "I didn't have to follow you into the alley, you told me to stay put. But there was no way I was going to let you get hurt without doing something. I'm glad you weren't hurt, I'm glad I wasn't hurt, and as far as I can see that's good enough. You were simply doing what anyone else would have done..."
"No one else went running into that alley."
"That's because no one else around here has anything even close to a conscience. You, on the other hand, appear to have too much of one, if such a thing is possible. Or at least some kind of Lancelot complex."
"Lancelot?" Mulder looked confused, and Neil grinned. "I've known you for what? Three hours, four at the outside, and you've already rescued me and tried to save that woman in the alley. Are you just having a busy night, or is this normal for you?"
Mulder thought about it, then found himself unable to keep from smiling. "Well, I have had quieter nights."
"Good," Neil sighed dramatically. "I'd hate to think you were bored."
Mulder's eyes widened, confused, then he caught the twinkle in Neil's gaze and he broke down laughing. Neil joined in until Mulder wiped at his eyes, then stared at Neil with an undecipherable expression.
"What is it?" Neil asked with sudden concern. Mulder simply shook his head. "I haven't laughed this much in a long time."
Neil considered that for a moment, then responded with artless sympathy.
"Me neither."
"Hey, you guys want anything to drink or what?" An impatient voice sounded beside them, and they both turned simulaneously to see the big-muscled, large-jowled form of the bartender glaring at them. They both hesitated briefly, and he gave a sigh of irritation. "Look, this is a business. If you want drinks, fine, but if you two just want to make out, why not get yourselves a hotel room and do it properly."
Mulder stared at him in shock, but Neil responded quickly. "A beer for my friend, and a glass of tonic water for me."
The bartender threw him a disbelieving glare, but Neil held firm.
"What kind of beer?" the heavy man demanded.
Neil nudged the still frozen Mulder, "What kind of beer do you like."
"Unh...dark beer. Anything dark." Mulder said bemusedly.
Neil nodded towards the bartender, reaching for his wallet. Placing a twenty dollar bill on the bar went a long way towards placating the man, and their drinks appeared with remarkable speed.
While Neil sipped at his bubbly water, Mulder took a deep swig of his beer. Swiveling around on his stool, he took his first conscious look at the rest of the bar. Men, and nothing but, talking, wandering, even dancing, without a woman in sight. His eyes caught on one incongruous pair, a short, balding man resting his head against the heavily muscled chest of a leather-clad biker-type, and he nearly choked.
Sputtering, he turned to find Neil gazing at him, those bright black eyes brimming with mischief.
"Very funny," Mulder muttered with unconvincing irritation.
Neil shrugged. "This is Hollywood." He waved his hand at the room. "Anything and everything goes."
Mulder shook his head, but the touch of a smile played with the corners of his mouth. "So I've been told. But right now, I think it might be better if we were what went."
Neil couldn't argue with that, so he settled back and watched Mulder take hs cell phone out of his pocket.
"Don't suppose you kow the number for a cab company?"
"555-taxi" Neil told him, his voice full of humor. Mulder lifted an eyebrow at him as he dialed, then waited.
"Hello, yes, I need a taxi. Two. The House of the Angels Bar..."
"North Beach Boulevard and 26th" Neil supplied.
"On North Beach Boulevard and 26th," Mulder echoed into the phone. "To where?"
Mulder looked questioningly at Neil, who considered, then said, "My car is still back at the cafe on No. Hollywood Ave."
Mulder nodded, "Mine too...unh, yes...to the Holiday Inn on No. Hollywood Ave...How long? OK," Mulder shook his head as he punched the end button and returned the phone to his coat pocket.
"Thirty minutes," he said frowning.
"That's not bad," Neil commented "I've had to wait more than an hour before. But this is a Tuesday night, so it's probably a little quieter."
"I'll never understand what people like about living here." Mulder replied.
Neil shrugged. "It's like any big city, there are good areas and bad areas. It's always overcrowded, but at least there's always something going on."
Mulder nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah - at least the weather seems to be pretty good. I barely escaped Washington before the blizzard hit."
"That sounded a bit like fun actually. I've only been in snow the couple of times I went skiing in Aspen - well other people went skiing, I don't think I ever left the bar." Neil tipped his head away, but Mulder reached out to clasp him gently on the shoulder.
"You're in a bar now," Mulder reminded him. When Neil turned back, Mulder inclined his head towards the glass of tonic water perched preccariously in the actor's left hand. "Did it occur to you to order something else?"
Neil paused, looking down at the glass in his hand, then a slow, almost magical transformation overtook his face, the smile dawning like the sun breaking through the clouds. "No, it didn't. It just seemed the right thing to do." He stared up at Mulder, his eyes wide with surprise. "I'm having too much fun and I didn't want to lose a moment of it by getting drunk."
"So," Mulder drawled. "You can have a good time without drugs and alcohol."
"I guess I can." They shared a smile, Mulder still holding onto Neil's shoulder, then Mulder's expression turned more somber.
"I think your Teddy's advice was good. One day at a time."
Neil met his gaze straight on, lifting the glass of tonic water. "One day at a time."
"One day at a time," Mulder echoed again, lifting up the barely touched bottle of beer.
Glass clinked, then they both took a drink, but for Neil Avedon, this drink was pure and simple water. And Fox Mulder was no longer alone.
End Part One