Mulder hated days like this. Days where they had no new cases to investigate. Nowhere to hide and nowhere to run.

A day spent sorting through the seemingly never ending pile of 'visiting' case files sent to them from various field offices around the country in the hope that just one out of the pile would amount to something substantial enough to warrant his and Scully's involvement.

But out of the twenty-five or so that had found their way here, dumped unceremoniously on the desk, Mulder was smart enough to realise that the chance of actually finding a genuine X-File amongst them was slim at best. So far today all he had seen, as he meticulously read the type written words, were sloppy investigative procedures. No mystery. No surprises. Not a single enigma to be found anywhere.

With a little care and attention the majority of these cases could be solved. But by their opening Agents - not by Mulder and Scully. As a professional courtesy, Mulder would offer advice pertaining to alternative avenues of investigation which he knew wouldn't be acted upon, and then he would simply pack the files up and send them back from whence they came.

It was, he admitted, a little disheartening to recognise that tomorrow would in all probability herald more of the same.

He glanced across at Scully, smiling slightly at the sight of her opposite him, poring over a file with a frown creasing her smooth brow. The look on her face spoke volumes. She was tired, she was pissed off, and she was bored. Mulder didn't blame her.

"Why don't you call it a day," he suggested. "I can finish up here."

She looked back at him, narrowing her eyes as she did so and typically, refused to back down gracefully. She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the files.

"I can't leave you to wade through these by yourself."

Mulder grinned. "Yeah, you can. I don't imagine there's much in them to find anyway. No point the two of us wasting our time right? Besides..." he spread his arms wide to take in the whole office "This is my life remember? This what I live for. My guiding light, my reason for being, the yin to my yang..."

Scully held up her hand to him, palm up. "Mulder, stop. I get the message." She began to rise up out of her chair, stretching the kinks out of her back as she did so.

"You're sure? I can stay if you want."

Mulder shook his head.

"Nahhhh, you go. I'll see you in the morning."

He watched as his partner headed for the door, pausing by the coat rack to grab her jacket which she slung casually over her shoulder and just for a moment he regretted letting her go. The office always seemed empty somehow without her working beside him. Too many years together had developed a bond - a closeness he had never felt towards any other human being that had ever entered his life. It was difficult sometimes to fathom and he tried not to think about it too much. Tried not to admit to himself that what he felt for her went way beyond a professional friendship. He would willingly die for her. He had proved it in the past, had risked his life without even a second thought just as she had returned the favor many times over. Theirs was a complicated relationship. Sometimes difficult, often tempestuous, but always rewarding.

She turned briefly towards him and flashed him one of those dazzling smiles that she seemed to reserve just for him and just looking at her caused Mulder's throat to tighten. It was a smile that lit up her whole face and reached right in to the depths of her sparkling blue eyes, making the years fall away from her, transporting him back to a time when they stood together by an empty grave in Oregon as the rain poured down. So young back then. So trusting. But not anymore. They had seen too much to ever hope to regain that innocence. "Night, Mulder. See you in the morning."

Mulder returned her smile, thanking God for the thousandth time for sending her to him.

"In the morning." He finally managed before dropping his gaze back to the paperwork in front of him.

He listened to the sound of her footsteps receding in to the distance before finally reaching for the next file, attempting to concentrate on the words in front of him. It wasn't easy.

For the next half hour or so he read report after report that contained nothing more paranormal than a bunch of proverbial brick walls. He had come across this kind of thing too many times during his time on the X-Files and it was beginning to get rather tiring. His reputation for the unusual had spread like wildfire and an unfortunate consequence of that was the knowledge that he and Scully were fast becoming a dumping ground for every unresolved case that happened to find the Agents-in-charge scratching their heads. When in doubt, good 'ole Spooky Mulder would get the job done.

And reading the files in front of him, Mulder had no doubts whatsoever that he and Scully could indeed give insight in to these cases. But not of a paranormal nature. There was nothing in these that good, solid investigative procedure wouldn't cure. It was laziness, pure and simple, and Mulder knew that he had quite enough of his own unsolved cases without shouldering the burden of someone else's. So far today, he had found nothing in any of these files that actually warranted his and Scully's involvement and certainly nothing to suggest they needed more than the most cursory once over.

To send him this kind of case was a waste of everyone's time and energy. Not to mention the fact that there was the potential to waste valuable time that would be better employed in actually trying to catch the sometimes violent perpetrators.

He eyed the stack of yellow Post-it notes atop his desk, fingers literally itching to attach a scathing note to the file he held in his hand before he slipped it back into it's manila envelope for dispatch back to the opening Agent. But he didn't. He knew it would do no good whatsoever. That tomorrow another stack would be waiting for them when they came in to work.

He glanced down at the remaining files that stared accusingly back at him from where they lay. Fifteen down, three to go. Another half hour at the most and he would be able to put them to bed for night and head home. It had been a long day.

Sighing softly, Mulder picked up the topmost file and eased it out of it's envelope, his eyes scanning the information attached to it's front.

*Alleged kidnapping of a minor.*

He raised his eyebrows, interest piqued. It was rare they were ever asked to get involved in kidnappings. Disappearances yes. He had hundreds of case files pertaining to just that, but kidnappings were rare. Of course, during his time in the Violent Crimes Section he had profiled a few cases but had rarely been involved in the hands-on investigation.

He opened the cover, perusing the first page which contained the data pertaining to the case. Scanning the information rapidly, he leaned forwards slightly. An unconscious gesture as he became ever more interested.

*Charlotte Bethany Stevens (Minor) age three years ten months. Disappeared from her home on August 10th 1999. Mother Christine Stevens discovered by immediate neighbour in state of extreme agitation. Defensive injuries to upper extremities. Signs of struggle in house. No ransom note as yet forthcoming. Forensics report inconclusive. (Enclosed) Local interviews have turned up no witnesses to date. All potential suspects eliminated from enquiry at this time. Unable to thoroughly question Christine Stevens due to hospitalisation. Allegations made re Governmental conspiracy relating to her missing daughter. No evidence to substantiate these claims at this time. All avenues of investigation exhausted.*

At the base of the page a small, yellow post-it note was stuck crookedly, it's edges curling over where it had been confined to the envelope. Mulder peeled it off, a grin spreading across his face as he read the familiar scrawl.

*Mulder, Saw the words 'Government' and 'Conspiracy' and couldn't help thinking of you and that fiery partner of yours! Give it the once over and let me know what you think. It's yours if you want it - we're going nowhere with it. Give me a call. John Wickham*

Wickham had been Mulder's classmate during his time in Quantico, and had gone on to become one of the bureau's most respected criminal profilers. He had risen up the ranks to Special Agent In Charge, and Mulder had frequently seen his name appearing in the national newspapers. He was one of the few people Mulder held a genuine respect toward, and he suspected that, if Wickham was calling in the cavalry, the case must be playing on his mind. It was unusual at the extreme for him to admit defeat.

Mulder balled up the note and tossed it toward the direction of the waste bin, grimacing in disgust as it bounced off the rim and landed on the floor. He turned his attention back to the folder and flipped over the page. Paper clipped to the top edge a photograph stared back at him.

Obviously taken at a professional studio it showed the image of a blonde haired, blue eyed little girl, smiling happily for the camera. In her hands she held a stuffed plushy toy rabbit, clutching it possessively to her chest. Her hair was long, but two ribboned barrettes held it back from her face. A face which Mulder would have known anywhere. The shape of the eyes, the lips, the nose were all too familiar to him.

He let the file fall from his fingers and his eyes shifted involuntarily across to Scully's desk, the implications for her all too obvious. He resisted the urge to simply put the file back in it's envelope and mail it back to San Diego, knowing that in doing so he would be compromising both his life's work and the trust of his partner. A trust which, should she discover what he had held in his hands, could never hope to be recovered.

He forced himself to eye the photograph once again, whilst all the time fighting an internal battle within himself. Groaning softly, he dropped his head in his hands, blocking out both the image of his partner and that of the child in front of him. Shaking his head numbly at what could not be denied.

"Jesus Christ." He muttered shakily.

He sat, locked in the same position for a considerable length of time, knowing that by sitting there he was only putting off the inevitable. Eventually though, he rose from his desk and picked up the file. Barely even conscious of doing so, he left the office, locking the door behind him out of habit. But if he were asked later he wouldn't be able to remember doing it. Vaguely he was aware of his footsteps reverberating around the concrete corridor that led to the parking garage, his mind whirling as the implications began to sink in.

The file felt heavy in his hands. A thin bundle of paper and metal that weighted down his soul and stole his voice from him. A collection of words and pictures that he knew, had the ability to send his partner rocketing backwards to that terrifying time when he had almost lost her. When she had turned tortured eyes on him and silently begged him to make everything okay again.

The endless nights when he had been awoken to the sound of her screaming her dead daughter's name, holding her, shuddering and terrified against him as he soothed her back to sleep before returning to her couch to lie wide awake for the remainder of the night.

For weeks and weeks it had carried on, eventually tapering off and eventually disappearing altogether as Scully had somehow found peace within herself again.

A peace he was about to shatter.