From: xlisajacobs@hotmail.com   
      
   Chapter 5   
      
      
   	Tring tring.   
   	I turn around.   
   	Tring tring.   
   	Pillow over my head.   
   	Tring tring.   
   	"What!"   
   	"Oh right, thank you for calling."   
   	"Yeah...thank you."   
   	"Right, bye."   
   	I think the boy on the phone was the same as the   
   pimply teenager that served us breakfast yesterday   
   morning. He'll probably spit in it now because I   
   yelled at him. I forgot I asked them to wake me,   
   because I didn't take my alarm with me. (Actually I   
   broke it last time it disturbed me in a very well   
   deserved and peaceful sleep, but don't tell Scully.) I   
   should ask her for her spare one. She always packs   
   more than she needs, probably because she knows I pack   
   less than I need, except when it comes to clothes. She   
   insists she's never seen any man pack that much   
   clothes. I just like to travel prepared. When it comes   
   to dressing, that is.   
   	I choose one of my suits for breakfast and I feel   
   like offending people with a horrendous tie, so I pick   
   out one with little brightly colored children bikes on   
   it. I don't even know how I got it. I don't remember   
   buying it so it was probably a present from either   
   Langly or Frohike. Their taste in ties is even worse   
   than mine. Well for them it's not as bad, they don't   
   ever wear ties. I have to endure the laughs at work,   
   though I maybe bring it on myself. I have many days   
   when I feel like offending people. Also, I'm never   
   completely sure that it's just the ties that causes   
   the laughter.   
   	Today is the day. Another murder and now we have to   
   stop him. I do. Which means I have to start my   
   profile. This is always the hardest for me. It's   
   something I'm very ambiguous about. On one hand I'm   
   very proud of my ability to crawl around in someone   
   else's head. It's something that distinguishes me from   
   the others. Something I do better and they damn well   
   know it, partly because I do my very best to show them   
   at every opportunity I get. You've got to have an ego,   
   right.   
   	On the other hand profiling scares the living shit   
   out of me. Why am I so good at it? Why can I   
   understand the mind of a killer, of a psychopath? The   
   answer is something I don't want to think about.   
   Something I normally hide deep in my subconscious.   
   It's a primal fear. Because isn't it basic psychology   
   that you see in other people what is in yourself too?   
   I fear I'm like them. That I too could one day snap   
   and do the most disgusting things, unable to stop   
   myself, trapped by my own will. Each time I profile I   
   see more and more familiar patterns in the minds of   
   the inhuman humans. And each time those patterns   
   inside of me grow stronger, twisting what my eyes have   
   seen, what my mind knows. Beaten into different shapes   
   until the patterns in me resemble those in them and I   
   will become them. That's what I fear.   
   	For now, I can postpone it with a huge breakfast. I   
   try not to think about the teenage boy. When I order,   
   I can just feel Scully's disapproving glance. Luckily   
   Fitzgerald follows my lead, which diverts her   
   attention for a while. She is tensed too, knowing that   
   I'll start today. I want to talk to her about this,   
   but not in front of Stradford and Fitzgerald. They   
   don't need to know my weaknesses. We finish breakfast   
   in silence, only interrupted by a few strained   
   attempts from the other two to strike up a   
   conversation. After a while they thankfully give up,   
   and when I finish last, we look at each other and she   
   tells them to meet us in 30 minutes in the lobby. Then   
   she takes my hand and leads me to her room. I pause to   
   think about the significance of this. She doesn't   
   usually touch me if it's not necessary, meaning if I'm   
   not in any physical or mental distress. But I guess, I   
   am in either physical or mental distress quite often,   
   so I don't know if that's relevant. Or maybe it is,   
   which would mean she probably thinks I'm in distress   
   right now. And that's not such a strange thought.   
   After all, I'm supposed to start something today that   
   we both really dread.   
   	My mind is wandering. It does that a lot when I am   
   supposed to do other things. I shake my head, as if   
   that will shake my thoughts off like they are drops of   
   water, clinging to my face. Scully looks at me,   
   wondering, and I smile reassuringly. She stands in   
   front of me now, her hand playing with my tie and a   
   small smile shortly appearing on her face. I scowl   
   myself for being excited by this touch.   
   	"How are you?" she asks.   
   	"I'm fine."   
   	She flinches at this automatic response that has so   
   much more meaning to us, than to anyone else. Like   
   "sorry" to the killer.   
   	"I mean, I am okay. I'm not looking forward to it,   
   but I think I can do it."   
   	"You know, I'm dreading it too, don't you?"   
   	I nod, but it doesn't seem to convince her, for she   
   looks at me inquiring.   
   	"I know you dread it, Scully, I do. But I don't want   
   you to, I don't want you to worry about me. I need you   
   to be a doctor, an investigator and my partner in the   
   FBI right now. We need to catch this killer."   
   	"Mulder, I'm here for you, if you need me to be more   
   than that. You can always come to me, you can always   
   share your fears with me."   
   	She grabs my hand again and squeezes it.   
   	"I'm your friend, Mulder. Always."   
   	You're so much more than that, Scully.   
   	"Thank you," I say as I put my arms around her.   
   	"I love you," I think as I hold her.   
      
   ~   
      
   	When I remember my time at the VCS, I'm still   
   surprised how I got through. I haven't even started my   
   profile and already I'm scared out of my mind, to   
   think I used to do this fulltime... I guess the human   
   mind is more resourceful and stronger than anyone can   
   imagine. Still I'm quite aware of its limitations, and   
   my limitations when it comes to profiling.   
   	My body and mind have gone completely out of sync and   
   I know the feeling. They're dancing the dance of   
   exhaustion together, never making the moves at the   
   same time, so that I'm awake one way or another.   
   Thoughts are hunting me, I feel like I've forgotten   
   something and it's on the tip of my tongue, but I   
   can't figure it out. When I drift off, I know the   
   answers in my dreams, but when I awake to write them   
   down I don't remember and I know I won't get any peace   
   of mind until I've figured out the why, how and most   
   importantly the what. But I'm scared to go there   
   again, I want to postpone the inevitable.   
   	Sometimes it seems like I wake up, like I'm my old   
   self again. But for most of the time, I'm nothing, not   
   a person, not me, just nothing trying to become   
   something again, through someone else's thought. The   
   few moments I still feel like myself become rarer and   
   rarer and when they come it worries me what I see. I'm   
   sitting on the huge bed meant for two people. Normally   
   it would depress me that again I will be sleeping   
   alone. That might have had something to do with my not   
   having a bed for a long time, though that also   
   inhibited me in bringing someone home. Maybe later on   
   that was the point. Right now the bed is not empty, it   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)