Grace Alvarez held the note carefully over the lamp on her desk, exposing the creamy paper to the heat of the bare hundred-watt bulb. Slowly, faint sepia lines began to appear, like magic writing. She continued to move the paper back and forth until she was satisfied she had gotten the best image possible, then she put it down on the desk and took several photographs. Finally she stepped back and gestured for Sam, and Agent Mulder to take a look.

Sam read the note aloud so the rest of the group could hear. "Someone's been very bad. If you want them to come home, you'll have to Fetch them. The word 'bad' is underscored," she added, "and the word 'fetch' has been capitalized."

"It must have some special relevance, then," Mulder said, studying the handwriting on the note over her shoulder.

"Fetch is a computer application," George put in, seeming excited. "It's used to upload and download files from the Internet."

"Maybe that's a clue that we're supposed to check the Net for stuff about Bailey?" Brubaker put in. "George? What do you think?"

"It's possible," he said, thoughtfully. "I can give it a shot. It shouldn't take too long to do a websearch."

Sam shook her head slowly. "I don't think that's what he has in mind." She looked at Mulder, who was nodding. "What do you think?"

"I agree. That feels wrong for Jack. I think he has something else in mind, something we haven't thought of yet."

"Still," Sam said, after a moment. "It couldn't hurt to do that search, George. Why don't you go ahead?"

"Someone needs to get to work finding that paper stock." Mulder added. "It should be traceable. There's a paper expert in D.C. who can probably help."

Nathan nodded and headed for the door. John caught his arm, stopping him. "Wait," he said quietly. He looked at Sam. "Are they still alive?" he asked, his voice harsh as he voiced the question none of them had wanted to think about.

Sam closed her eyes, buying a moment's time before answering. She jumped a little when Mulder spoke.

"They're still alive," he said with quiet confidence. "Jack's still in head-trip land. He's not going to kill them unless we don't play the game his way."

John made a sound of disgust. "Gaaaah! What fu... damn game is he playing?"

"It's obvious. He's trying to prove he's smarter than we are. And we have to be very careful. If we figure things out too quickly, we might make him think he's not being clever enough, and that would be bad. There's no telling what he'd do if we made him angry. We can't make it look too easy."

"Don't worry, it won't be." Sam said quietly. "It never is, with Jack. I'd be willing to bet he's working on some kind of timetable. If we don't meet it, it won't just be bad, it'll be very bad."

"Especially for Scully. She's the one most at risk here."

Sam turned, surprised. "What makes you say that?"

"Jack is trying to undermine your practical support by terrorizing those closest to you. He doesn't want to take them away himself, he wants them to abandon you of their own free will. He might threaten Malone, but he's not going to kill him unless we fail to provide the entertainment he wants. Scully, on the other hand, has no connection to you, no emotional value. If he's going to kill someone to make a point, it'll be her. So we need to figure this thing out before he decides he needs an example."

Sam couldn't refute his logic. It was impeccable, and she should have seen it herself. She looked at George. "George, why don't you go on and try that search. We need to get moving on this. We have to figure out what the note means."

"Which we're never going to do unless you..." Mulder stopped, looked around the room, and shook his head. "Let's do this privately." He reached to take her arm and steer her through the door.

Grant moved to block it, until Sam shook her head. John reluctantly stepped aside and Mulder guided her toward the conference room. She would have preferred her own office, but she understood his choice. If they were going to have a confrontation, it should be on neutral ground. He closed the door behind them, and turned to her, his face set and angry.

"Tell me, Agent Waters, why can't you admit that you probably know this guy? That in all likelihood you've known him since you were a small child. Why do you keep pushing it away? The clues are all there."

Unable to bear his words, she seized on the one irrelevant thing he'd said. "Look, if we're going to work together, we're going to have to get past this 'Agent this' and 'Agent that'. I have a name, damn it! Or is it that you think I'm the cause of all these deaths? Is that why you keep me at arm's length? Is that why you depersonalize me by not using my name?"

A stricken expression came over his face. Finally he shook his head. "No, I don't think you have anything to do with Jack, other than being an innocent victim. As for your name, I'm sorry, I just... have trouble with it." He looked past her, staring off into space, his jaw taut with control. "It's... it was my sister's name,"

For a moment she just stared at him blankly. So what? The fact that it was his sister's name shouldn't make it hard for him to use. Then she realized he had used the past tense, and that triggered another memory. It had been common knowledge when they were at the Academy that Fox Mulder had gone into law enforcement because his sister had been kidnapped, and never recovered. She felt about two inches tall.

"Oh my God... I am so sorry! I didn't realize..." she tried to think of something appropriate to say, and failed. "I'm sorry," she said again, awkwardly.

He shook his head. "No, you couldn't know that. I didn't realize I was doing that until you pointed it out. I'm used to last names. I don't use my first name, and Scully's just... Scully."

Sam couldn't imagine working with someone year after year and never calling them by their given name. The man must have walls like Fort Knox, if he couldn't even let someone that close. She had a newfound respect for Dana Scully, it had to be difficult to work with someone like Mulder, yet the woman made it appear effortless. With that thought came the renewed realization that she had to do something to help Bailey and Dana, and that something was opening her eyes.

Mulder was right. She had been deliberately blind to something that everyone else on the team had probably realized since the day they figured out that four of Jack's victims could be linked to her. She did know him. Perhaps not consciously, but if she dug back far enough and hard enough, she should be able to come up with some possibilities. She looked up at him.

"Can we start over?" she asked quietly. "I'll try not to argue with everything you say, if you'll stop treating me like a leper."

He studied her for a moment, then nodded and held out his hand. "Deal."

They shook hands, and she stepped back and gestured toward a chair. "Let's get to work. Give me your take on Jack, and then we'll go from there." He sat down. She took the seat next to him and grabbed a legal pad and a pen, poised to take notes. "Shoot."

* * *

Mulder looked at Agent Waters... Sam, still a bit stunned that it had taken so little to remove the antagonism between them. Cautiously, not sure how long their truce would last, especially when he started profiling Jack, he began to speak.

"Okay, I'm going to combine our theories here, using most of what you've said, just leaving out the few points I disagree on. First, he's a white male, probably mid-thirties. Slight build, normal features, no regional accent. Very intelligent, IQ probably 140 or better. Very versatile, and probably post-secondary educated. I get a lot of jealousy from him, directed toward you, but it's not specifically sexual jealousy, though there are elements of that as well. It's relatively unusual for a man to be jealous of a woman's life, so there's something not quite straightforward about it." He paused thoughtfully, steepling his fingers as he continued.

"I think that he's angry and jealous on someone else's behalf. From his targets he obviously wants to wreck your happy childhood, which leads me to wonder if he feels that by doing so, perhaps he can compensate for some terrible thing that happened to this other person. Whoever they are, or were, he was very close to them, and I think it was a woman. You may have known both of them. Now, we know his fixation was relatively benign until sometime in 1988, at which point he experienced some sort of stressor that turned him lethal. I think that this other person died then, probably not from natural causes, and that death may have provided the strain that set him off. You would have been, what... twenty two, twenty-three? Can you remember anything unusual that happened to you that year? Especially something that has any of Jack's hallmarks... anonymous messages, roses, anything?"

Sam was frowning. Apparently something about the picture he was building troubled her. After a moment she spoke "There's something familiar about what you're saying, but I can't put my finger on what it is. Not yet, anyway. Let's see, 1988... I was in college then. I wasn't seeing anyone in particular, but I went out a lot. If someone sent me flowers or a note anonymously, I probably would have assumed they were from whoever I was seeing at the time."

Mulder slouched back in his chair and gazed at her, thoughtfully. "You dated a lot? Were any of them... odd? Especially someone who might also have been from your hometown?"

She looked back at him, eyebrows lifted. "I don't date odd men."

Mulder tried not to smile. "What about Nick Cooper? From what I've heard..." he let the sentence trail off suggestively.

Sam tried to glower, but spoiled it by smiling. "Nick's not odd. He's... unique."

"I stand corrected, but the first question still needs an answer."

She shook her head. "No one that I can think of. I didn't date anyone from back home, actually. I wanted to get away from there, not take it with me."

Mulder nodded, and tapped a pen against his lips absently. "What about someone you turned down? Anyone stand out in that crowd?"

"Crowd?" she queried, "What exactly are you imagining about my social life?"

"Well, you said you don't date odd men, I figure that leaves a lot of us by the wayside."

She grinned. "You didn't know me then. No, I can't think of anyone who fits in the reject category either."

Mulder sighed. "You know, there's another strange thing about Jack besides his ever- changing M.O. Most serial killers have a very set type of victim. They usually stick to one sex, and one race. Jack does neither. His targets are apparently indiscriminate, as long as the victim was someone known to you at some time in your life. The usual aspect of dysfunctional sexuality seems to be muted here, sidetracked. Again, I think this has something to do with him trying to do this on behalf of someone who's no longer alive. Can you think of any two people who might fit this pattern?"

Sam shook her head again, clearly frustrated. "Honestly, I can't think of anyone. Maybe I should start checking newspapers from home for that year. Maybe something might ring a bell."

Mulder nodded. "That's a good idea. We can see if we can get copies of their archive microfilms. But for the moment, let's get back to trying to figure out his note. We have the rose, the pin, the paper. 'Someone's been bad.' Clearly that refers to Bailey, not you. It could include Scully, but more likely does not. I think she was a victim of circumstance. Jack was primarily after Bailey, and got Scully as a bonus."

"I agree. He couldn't have known she was here." "Not unless he's psychic... and no, I'm not trying to make an X-File out of this."

Sam sighed deeply. "Well, I'm willing to consider just about anything at this point."

"Oookay. Add possible telepath to the list, then."

Grinning, she dutifully scribbled that down on the list, and they went on.

"What was the next line? 'If you want them you'll have to fetch them'?"

"Not quite. He said, 'If you want them to come home, you'll have to fetch them.'"

"Right," Mulder scowled. "He makes them sound like they're lost pets or something. But he said 'they', so he must have written the note after he got them. If he'd written it beforehand, it would have just said 'him.'"

"True. Damn. I'm just not getting anything about this! This is so frustrating! I'm usually better at reading Jack than this!"

Mulder rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. "I know what you mean. I know there's something in the wording that we're supposed to pick up on, but I just can't put my finger on what it is." He yawned, and stretched. "I need coffee."

"There's a coffee maker in Bailey's office. I'll start a fresh pot."

"Why don't I do it? I wouldn't want to be accused of sexism."

She grinned. "Why, thank you, but neither do I. Why don't we practice equality? I know where the coffee is, I'll do the filter and coffee while you take the pot and get water."

He nodded and they headed out to do their chore. When they opened the door to the conference room, four heads swivelled their direction. Expressions became puzzled as they walked out, conversing amicably. Mulder felt a sneaking sense of smugness at their reactions. He knew they thought he was a flake, and earning Sam Waters' respect would throw at least some of them for a loop. In Malone's office, Sam picked up the coffee pot and handed it to him as she dug in the infamous left-hand file cabinet for a filter. He headed out to the drinking fountain to rinse and fill the carafe

As he waited for the ten-cup pot to fill from the slow dribble the fountain put out, he idly perused the miscellaneous junk on the bulletin board next to the fountain. He smiled to see one of his favorite Gary Larsen 'Far Side' cartoons, "What dogs hear" posted there. It was an old, ratty copy that looked like it had been there a long time.

Apparently no one had the heart to take it down. In it, the dog's owner was scolding: 'Bad, Ginger! Bad Girl! Bad Ginger!' and all the while the dog was hearing "Blah, Ginger! Blah, blah! Blah, Ginger!" He chuckled, and shook his head. "Bad, Ginger!" It reminded him somehow of Jack's note, and he had a sudden, inappropriately funny image of Jack shaking his finger and saying "Bad Malone! Bad!". He frowned, that image triggering a connection. Fetch. Had Jack deliberately used a word normally associated with dogs?

His hand was suddenly cold and wet, and he realized the pot was overflowing. Quickly he let off the button and poured out some of the excess water, hoping no one had noticed. He thought about the line of thought he'd been following a moment earlier, and shook his head. It was hardly a likely theory. Although Jack was well known for his double-meaning messages, dogs didn't seem to have anything to do with the current situation. With a sigh Mulder started back toward Malone's office. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

George was frustrated. He'd tried every search engine he knew and come up nearly empty- handed on Bailey Malone. All he'd found were news stories from places around the country where Malone had gone to help out local law on various cases, and some mentions of the VCTF on a crime-watch site. Nothing at all that seemed relevant to the case. Still, he printed out what he'd found to give to Sam, in case she might be able to see something he'd missed. Just for good measure he'd run searches on Dana Scully too, finding even less than he had on Malone.

He found that she'd been kidnapped before, and held hostage for over three months by some nutcase. Oddly, though there had been a lot of press about the initial kidnapping, he couldn't find a single story about her return. It was funny how one day's hot story didn't even merit a column inch about its resolution months later. The only way he'd found out when she had been returned was by breaking into her personnel records at the Bureau. He'd been shocked to see that she'd gone back to work a scant two weeks after being released. He knew he wouldn't be so resilient.

He'd also found news stories about her sister Melissa, who had been shot and killed in Dana Scully's apartment during a burglary attempt less than a year after the kidnapping. Again, as with Malone, there was nothing that seemed relevant to their current problem, but it did seem like the woman had experienced more than her fair share of tragedy in the past couple of years. She and Sam had that in common.

Thinking of Sam made him sigh. He looked around. Nathan was scowling at something on his desk. John was glowering as he spoke to someone on the phone. Grace was waiting for John to get off the phone, looking tired and discouraged. Though it was past quitting time, not one of them had even thought about leaving, yet there was no sense of purpose, no direction. They had a problem, and it looked like no one else was going to confront it. He looked at the printouts in his printer bin, grabbed them, and stood up, walking determinedly to the door of the conference room.

Sam was sitting, and that Mulder guy was leaning over her shoulder, pointing to something on the desk that they were both looking at. They looked up as he approached, and Sam smiled in a way that if he wasn't who he was, might have sent his blood pressure up a notch. Fortunately, it didn't. It was just as well, there were too many men drooling over her as it was.

"Whatcha got, George?" she asked affably.

"Not a hell of a lot." He handed her the printouts. "That's all I could find on the Net about Bailey. Nothing looks promising but I thought I'd run them past you just to make sure."

She nodded absently and took the pages. He stood for a moment longer, gathering his courage, then finally he spoke.

"Sam?"

She looked up again. "I'm sorry, did you need something else?"

"Yeah. Can we talk?" He looked at Mulder as he spoke, trying to communicate the need for privacy. Mulder wasn't dumb. He got it.

"I need a refill on coffee," Mulder said, reaching for a Styrofoam cup on the table. "I'll be back in a minute." He strolled out with casual disinterest.

Sam pushed her chair back, looking up at George in concern. "Is something wrong?"

He pulled out a chair and sat down, elbows propped on his knees. "Yeah, there is. Sam, we're a team, but you're leaving the rest of us out of this. Since this guy got here you've been in here, and we're out there in the dark. We need to know what's going on. We can't help unless we're informed. Bailey usually keeps us working together, but he's gone. That makes you the boss. You have to run the team, not just you and Mulder."

He felt guilty at the distress that bloomed in her eyes. She looked away, around the room, anywhere but at him. Finally she sighed and rubbed her forehead, then looked back up at him.

"You're right, George. I'm sorry. I guess... I'm just used to Bailey doing all the hard stuff. Mulder wouldn't know, he's not used to working on a team. I was up to me and I let you down."

George shook his head. "No, you haven't, not yet."

She nodded. "Do me a favor, ask everyone to come in here in about fifteen minutes. I'll get my act together and we'll have a briefing session."

George stood up, grinning. "Atta girl!" he stopped, embarrassed. "I mean..."

Sam laughed. "I know what you meant. Don't worry, I'm not offended, this time."

Feeling relieved, George hurried out to alert the others. Just as he got to the door, she stopped him.

"George?"

He turned. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He grinned, knowing he was turning red. "Anytime."

* * *

Bailey watched Dana as she crouched close to the fire, holding her hands out to its warmth. It was strange how the fire made such a difference, just by existing. The light, the warmth, the livingness of it almost made him forget just how hungry he was. It had been over twenty-four hours now since he'd last eaten, and that had been a cookie and a cup of coffee. Logically he knew he could safely go several days without eating as long as he had water, but somehow that was cold comfort. So was knowing that he wasn't alone in his discomfort. Dana sighed, and looked back over her shoulder at him.

"He wants us to be uncomfortable, but he doesn't want us dead... at least not right away. Why?" she asked.

"Bait," Malone replied. "Obviously we're bait. He wants Sam to play his game and she's resisting. So he lures her in by using us like pawns on a chessboard."

Scully tried to nod, ended up shivering, and he clearly saw her stifle a yawn. He chuckled. "Hey, I know it's a cliche analogy, but I didn't think it was that bad."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess it's the cold, and being hungry, but suddenly I'm just so tired."

"Then sleep. I could use some myself."

Dana eyed the hard surface of the floor and sighed. "You're right, we both should rest." She shifted her weight onto her side and started to ease herself down.

"What are you doing?" Malone asked.

She looked up, startled. "Um... going to sleep?"

He sighed, exasperated. Hadn't she had any survival training? "You'll lose all your body heat if you lie down on the boards. Cold air comes up from underneath. Come here."

She eyed him uncertainly, but moved closer. He braced his back against the shed wall and held out his arms. He watched her thoughts spelled out on her face, she hadn't yet learned how to hide them. She knew it was smart, but still felt awkward about it. Not too surprising. He didn't prompt, giving her time to make up her own mind, and finally she took him up on his offer.

"I feel like a refugee from a bad romance novel," she muttered, settling against him.

"Nah," he said, amused. "You sprained your wrist, not your ankle." He tucked his trench coat carefully around them and then closed his arms around her to hold in their shared warmth.

"True. Okay, I guess it's all right then."

He nodded. He could tell she was holding herself a little away from him, obviously not completely at ease. She shivered again, then immediately yawned. Bailey's lifted a hand and settled it gently against her back, pressing lightly to push her weight into him.

"I promise I won't bite, relax and go to sleep."

Somewhat to his surprise, after a few moments, she did. He grinned, pleased by that show of trust. She felt good against him, smelled good, too. He shifted a little to get more comfortable, and she moved too, burrowing against his shoulder as if to find a warmer spot. He leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes and hoped she wouldn't wake up and notice just exactly how much he appreciated the way she felt.

* * *

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