SUBJECT: New Story ( Changes )
FROM: Mary A. Turner (matturnerx@aol.com )
DATE: October 1997
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: Slash ( M/S )

SUMMARY: After an attempted poisoning inside the Bureau, AD Skinner
                   deals with a very sick Fox Mulder.

DISCLAIMER: All characters ( although they are really out of character
                   here ) belong to Chris Carter. No infringement intended.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

CHANGES
Mary A. Turner

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.

When the door to the basement office opened, the last person Agent Dana
Scully expected to see crossing the threshold on this early Tuesday morning
was her partner. Slightly angered by his unexpected appearance and his
obvious disregard for orders, she swivelled in her seat and came instantly to
her feet, swiftly traversing the short distance and getting to his side as 
quickly
as possible.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded a bit too forcefully, her
mouth turned down unflatteringly at the corners. She watched the hazel eyes
blink rapidly against her unforeseen angry tone and was immediately contrite
for causing him added discomfort.

"I work here," Fox Mulder whispered in defense, looking uncertainly down
into her flashing eyes. "Remember?"

Mulder wasn't sure if his response would sooth or set her off, so he carefully
leaned back against the closed door and waited for her to speak again. He was
just too tired for any serious verbal sparring at the moment.

Scully ran a critical eye over his pale face, noting the slumping posture and
the wary look he cast in her direction, and mentally kicked herself for being
insensitive. She knew her initial reaction to his presence had been uncalled
for and this new tension between them needed to be erased, but her first
priority was to get him off his feet before he collapsed right there by the 
door.
It was easy to see he was still feeling the effects of yesterday's ordeal. It 
was
also easy to see a small spark of fear in his eyes. Scully swallowed, knowing
she was carrying the same spark too...as was Assistant Director Skinner and
the other Bureau bigshots.  What had happened to Mulder was enough to set
off an alarm throughout the Bureau and to cause a re-evaluation of all security
measures.

Sometime over the weekend, someone had entered the basement office that
housed the X-Files and had placed a large, fresh bag of sunflower seeds on 
Agent Mulder's desk.  First in on Monday morning, he had mistakenly
thought it a treat from his partner and had consumed half the contents before
discovering his error. The terrible stomach cramping and profuse sweating
had begun quickly, as did the awful muscle spasms that caused him to lose
control of his body.  Scully had easily recognized the symptoms and gotten
him swiftly to a hospital emergency room, where the contents of his stomach
had been pumped, collected, and carefully analyzed. The doctors had spent
long, torturous hours sufficiently purging the remaining toxins from his
system and conducting a wide spectrum of tests to determine his overall
fitness.

Eventually, as Mulder slowly began to recover from the initial shock to his
system, he started to grow increasingly frustrated with all the poking and
prodding he was receiving and pushed relentlessly to be released. It didn't
take long for the medical personnel to grow sick and tired of his constant
complaining and, sometime just before midnight, they'd been ready to toss
him out into the street. Luckily, Scully'd been there to very diplomatically
relieve them of the temptation and save Mulder from further harm. With
release papers in hand and a small baggy of prescribed medications, she'd
taken her partner to the one place he wanted to go: back to his apartment.

Now, here he stood meekly before her, his eyes silently pleading for her
understanding. She sighed, shaking her head at the forlorn sight he made.

"Come on," she prompted gently, reaching to take hold of an arm. "If you
insist on being here, you should at least be sitting down."

Mulder graced her with a small, grateful smile as he found himself being
escorted in the direction of his desk. The need to be in the comfortable,
familiar confines of his chair and off his slightly wobbly legs was foremost in
his mind. No matter how understanding Scully could be, she would be royally
pissed if he suddenly did a nose dive into the dull linoleum floor. 

Thankfully, he sat, allowing a small, satisfying sigh to escape. He tried not to
be too irritated as he realized his desk had been searched and dusted for
prints.  Several working folders and a couple of his own personal items had
been tossed haphazardly about the surface, indicating a lack of respect. 
Everyone had a job to do but he truly hated the thought of other agents and
specialists invading his domain and ransacking his possessions...even though
they were merely trying to help uncover some clues to this new mystery. His
fingers idly touched several objects: his favorite pen, his coffee mug, his
picture of Samantha...a soft hand on his shoulder brought him out of his grim
musings and he tilted his head back to look up at his partner.

"I'm all right, Scully," he tried to sound as convincing as he could. "You don't
have to treat me like an invalid."

"I know you aren't an invalid," she sighed, recognizing the determined tone of
his voice, "but you were instructed by the doctors to stay home and rest for
several days. Mulder, the medication you're taking has definite side-effects
and it's really unwise for you to be wandering around when you could be
stretched out on your couch."

"I'm not wandering."

Scully ignored the slight whine in his voice and pushed on with her lecture,
determined to make him see the error of his ways. "If Skinner catches you
here, he'll be absolutely furious."

"Skinner's not going to come looking for me," he scoffed at the idea.
"Besides, I can always hide under my desk."

As if cued by Mulder's declaration, or by some fickle god of fate, the office
door was suddenly pushed open to bang soundly against the wall. Both agents
turned in synchronized precision, freezing as they recognized the face of the
noisy intruder. Only Scully was close enough to hear Mulder's whispered
expletive.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner's big body filled the doorway, his impres-
sive form silhouetted against the light spilling from the hallway. His keen
gaze darted quickly between the two agents before he carefully, and quite
deliberately, closed the door silently behind him. Stepping slowly toward
them, Skinner let his eyes focus totally on the seated man, though Scully was
very aware that he hadn't dismissed her presence. His expression was fierce
and, at the moment, he looked as though he was highly capable of committing
murder without even a second thought.

"Agent Mulder," the voice was deceptively calm as Skinner eased his large
hands into the pockets of his slacks, "what the hell are you doing here?"

Mulder quickly, and wisely, squelched the desire to respond like he had to 
Scully earlier. He was glad Skinner's hands were now confined inside those
pockets and was slightly surprised to find how happy he felt to have the
desk as a barrier between himself and his imposing superior. But he didn't
doubt for one moment the AD's ability to easily reach across the small space 
and swat him into tomorrow, if the urge took hold. 

Mulder swallowed nervously and pushed himself a bit ungracefully to his
feet, remembering  the importance of being able to look an adversary straight
in the eye. He saw Skinner frown and didn't know if it was because the AD
had detected his weakened condition or that he'd, somehow, sensed Mulder's
psychological ploy. Either way, the move had obviously been a mistake,
and Mulder suddenly envisioned himself as a dog, rolling over and offering
his neck in surrender to the large, alpha male, hoping not to have his
throat ripped out by powerful teeth. Mulder dropped his gaze to Skinner's
mouth and watched the lips compress into a hard, thin line. The sight made
his stomach do a slow roll.

"You were instructed to stay home," Skinner stated bluntly.

"Yes, sir," Mulder tried to steady his voice and demonstrate more assurance
than he actually was feeling. "I just thought I could get some paperwork
completed and..."

"Those instructions were issued for good reason," Skinner interrupted,
the hard edge of his voice cutting off any further explanation, " not because
the doctors wanted to inconvenience you."

"Yes, sir, I know. But...I feel better today and, well, Agent Scully is here,
so if I start to feel worse, she can..."

"Stop!" Skinner ordered angrily, his steely gaze boring into Mulder's eyes.
One of those large hands was suddenly out of a pocket and clenched
tightly at the AD's side; not quite a threat but not something to overlook.

Mulder immediately did as requested and closed his mouth. He wanted
to look at Scully but the rage in Skinner's eyes held him captive. He could
feel her presence at his side and was grateful knowing she was still with
him. And, even though that thought brought a bit of solace, he could feel
a strange sense of isolation slipping over his body. Skinner continued to
look only at him, to focus every bit of his attention only on him, and
Mulder suddenly began to feel weak in the knees. Wishing he could 
break eye contact with this over-powering man and sit back down, Mulder
forced himself to stay upright.

"When did you decide that Agent Scully was here to function as your
personal physician?" The Assistant Director asked hotly, his eyes boring
into Mulder's and his body leaning slightly forward. "When did your ego
inflate so large that you assumed you could disregard direct orders from
trained professionals and simply do what you wish, just because they didn't fit
into your selfish agenda? And, tell me," he leaned closer now, like going in
for the kill, "when did you elect to put yourself before everyone in this
agency, including your own partner?"

Mulder was shocked speechless. Two bright spots of color flushed high
on his cheeks as his embarrassment soared. This wasn't one of Skinner's
usual lectures. This was something brand new and extremely hurtful and,
unbelievably, Mulder felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes. He didn't want
Skinner to speak to him like this, to make him feel so selfish and uncaring,
especially about Scully. But there was a different, underlying feeling that was
making Mulder very uncomfortable. He didn't want Skinner to think of him
as some selfish bastard. Aside from Scully, he was just beginning to put some
trust in Skinner and to believe that an alliance was possible. He knew this
man had risked his job and his life for them in the past and, for that, Mulder
was grateful. Very grateful. Now, as Skinner continued his verbal assault, he
could only stand still, feeling weak and empty, and accept the continuing
reprimand.

At Mulder's side, Scully stood in horror, helpless to defend her friend from
this oral attack. She'd mistakenly thought AD Skinner would angrily order
Mulder home and, then, leave their basement office. But, here he was,
continuing his lecture with such vehemence that the veins in the man's neck
were actually pulsing visibly under the skin and his lips were pulled away
from his teeth so he resembled a snarling animal. His choice of words seemed
purposefully hurtful and personal and she found her own anger building
toward some coming confrontation. She flinched at something Skinner
directed at Mulder and was amazed when her partner said nothing in his own
defense, his pale face now angled downward. She knew he didn't deserve this
harsh raking over the coals...God knew, no one did. Yes, Mulder occasionally 
operated outside the accepted norm to find the answers to his questions and
he could be maddeningly hardheaded when he focused on a task. But,
regardless of all that, Scully knew he didn't deserve this abuse, especially
from the one person she knew he had begun to trust and admire. And,
although Skinner was several years older than Mulder, she secretly believed
her partner had hoped to form a friendship with the AD. As the tirade
continued, Scully knew those hopes were now gone forever, and it angered
her to see her friend losing another piece of his soul like this. Not caring of
the consequences, Scully decided it was high time to put a stop to this terrible
confrontation.

Before she could open her mouth to speak, Skinner's voice abruptly stopped.
Quicker than she would have ever imagined, he was rounding the desk and
grabbing one of Mulder's arms just as the younger man's legs gave out. The
agent sat down hard in his chair, the color leaching from his face until his
skin was almost as white as the shirt he was wearing.

Scully dropped to squat beside him, her small, strong hands reaching to
steady his trembling form. A cold, clammy sweat dotted his forehead and
upper lip and she was fairly certain he was on the verge of passing out.

"Lean forward, Mulder," she quickly instructed, curling a hand to the back of
his neck and forcing his head between his knees. "Try to relax and go with the
feeling. If you need to vomit, I've got the trash can right here."

Skinner remained on the other side, keeping a supporting hand on Mulder's
shoulder, holding the agent in place and keeping him from toppling forward.
He watched closely as Scully directed her partner with a calming assurance
that spoke volumes of the trust they shared. Mulder was complying, as best as
he could in his weakened state, without a hint of hesitation. The AD realized
Scully'd taken control of the situation with a protective fierceness that hinted
of something deeper in their relationship...something that made him
uncomfortable and, ironically, a little jealous. But, before he could examine
that feeling further, he found himself instantly moving when Scully instructed
him to fetch a glass of water and to locate a cool, damp towel.

When he finally returned from his errand, Skinner saw that Mulder was
slouching upright in the chair, his lips pressed into a thin, determined line 
and
his eyes squeezed tightly shut, as if fighting the urge to vomit. Scully was 
still
crouching at his side, her slim fingers checking the pulsepoint of his left
wrist. Without acknowledgment, she all but yanked the towel from Skinner's
hands, rising from her squatting position so she could easily wipe the sweat
from Mulder's face. That done, she rolled the towel and hung it like a snake
around the back of his neck, hoping the coolness would ease his faintness. As
she turned to take possession of the water, Skinner held the cup back and
forced her to look up at him. He clearly recognized the smoldering anger in
the depths of her blue eyes and, surprisingly, that she wasn't afraid for him to
see how upset she was with him. He relinquished his hold and was
immediately dismissed from her thoughts as she refocused on her partner's
face.

"Mulder," her voice was soft but stern enough that it couldn't be ignored.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her with an expression so dazed
that she shook her head at him in frustration. Scully made a quiet sound of
disgust and carefully placed the cup on the desk.

"Where's your medication?" she asked but, instead of waiting for a reply,
began to dig into the pockets of his jacket. She fumbled uselessly within the
depths for several seconds before refocusing on his face. "Where is it,
Mulder?"

"Not there," he whispered weakly when her hands came out empty.

Lips forming a grim line, her hands went to the sides of his pants, patting the
pockets and trying to get some indication of what he was carrying there.
Finally locating a cylindrical object in the right side, she eased her fingers 
in.

"You..making a pass...at me, Scully?" Mulder inquired dryly but without his
usual finesse.

"Shut up, Mulder," she mumbled, chancing a glance at Skinner. She saw the
questioning arch of one of his eyebrows but elected to ignore it as her fingers
finally touched and closed around the plastic container. Scully pulled out her
prize and almost screamed when she saw that all she had was a black film
canister.

"Not there either," Mulder confessed and shifted to sit a bit straighter as she
slammed the roll of undeveloped film against the surface of the desk. He
noticed the angry glint in her eyes and decided he didn't need to have any
more enemies...especially at work. "I left them at home."

Scully mentally counted to ten and slowly eased back to lean against the edge
of the desk, obviously trying to control her temper. "You're suppose to take
two whenever you have one of these spells."

"They make me...feel groggy," he offered lamely in defense, wiping his brow
with the edge of the towel, "...and out of control."

"They're muscle relaxers, Mulder, and they're going to make you feel that
way," she frowned, trying to determine if there was something more. "If you
don't take them, you could experience some latent cramping and spasms."

"I know," he finally sighed in confession, "but I...I'm feeling okay now."

"Really." Her response was without emotion. "Look me straight in the eye
and say that again."

Mulder hesitated but was determined to get through her grilling. He raised
his face and met her gaze.

"I feel...a little better."

She studied him carefully for a full minute and relented when his eyes never
wavered from hers. If he'd been lying, she was fairly certain she'd have been
able to see it.

"Okay, so you feel a little better now but, Mulder, surely even you can see
how foolish it is for you to be here today. What is it...really?"

He sighed. "I want to find out...where those damn seeds came from."

"I thought you came in to complete paperwork," Skinner finally spoke from
his place directly behind the seated man and watched as Mulder turned his
head in surprise. It was evident from this nervous gesture that the agent
thought he'd been alone with his partner.

"Ah, well...that too," he offered unconvincingly, shifting under the AD's
gaze.

"I see," Skinner responded after a moment's hesitation. He turned to focus
on Scully. "You're scheduled to speak at a seminar at Quantico later today,
aren't you, Agent Scully?"

"Yes, sir. I was actually here to gather a few items for my presentation and
then I was leaving." She shifted on the edge of the desk as he continued to
stare at her and decided to come clean. "Plus, I wanted to see if there'd been
any progress in the investigation."

Skinner nodded once, as if expecting the revelation. "Get your things
together. I'll keep you posted as the information comes across my desk."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." She glanced at her partner and stood up. "I'll take
Mulder home first."

"No," Skinner negated her plan smoothly, his eyes falling to settle on the
subject of their discussion, "I'll take Agent Mulder home."

If possible, Mulder's face seemed to pale even more. "Sir...I...my car."

"You drove?" Skinner and Scully asked in unison, anger and disbelief
tinging their combined voices.

Mulder shifted again and pressed a hand to his head, the twinges of a
headache beginning to throb behind his eyes. He realized he was only digging
himself in deeper and that this was one of those no-win situations. In obvious
surrender, he slumped back.

"I give up," he mumbled in misery.

"Good!" the duo responded together again, their eyes locking over Mulder's
downcast head.

Skinner clearly saw the guarded look in Scully's face but, with satisfied 
relief,
no longer saw any anger. He recognized her undisguised concern for her
partner's well-being and knew she was hesitant of putting him into the hands
of the person who'd, no matter how unintentional, caused this last attack
against his body's weakened defenses.

"Don't worry, Agent Scully," he allowed a small, grim smile to hover on his
lips, "I won't hurt him. No matter how tempting it may seem."

That produced a small grin from her too. Scully nodded and looked down at
her sulking partner.

"Be good, Mulder," she warned, a flash of affection warming her eyes,
"because, if it was me, you know I wouldn't think twice about hurting you."

"Yes, mom," he whispered in defeat, "I'll be good."

The shaking started long before Skinner could get Mulder far from the
Hoover Building and out of the inevitable D.C. traffic. The trembling agent
huddled against the door on the passenger's side of Skinner's car as they sat in
bumper-to-bumper traffic, trying to control the unrelenting tremors. It was
frustrating enough putting up with the vehicular mess on the roads but it was
almost Skinner's undoing to have to sit helplessly behind the wheel and watch
as his agent's discomfort increased.

Hesitantly reaching out to grasp the nearest trembling shoulder in support,
Skinner waited until the usually intense hazel eyes shifted in his direction.
Skinner swallowed angrily, quickly seeing nothing but suffering in those
glassy depths now.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" he asked quietly.

Mulder shook his head in reply and turned away. "No...please...just take me
home."

Skinner felt a rage brewing. He hated to see Mulder like this, hated to think
what would have happened if the doctors hadn't been quick enough at purging
the poison from his system, and hated to think of how close a call it had really
been. He instinctively tightened his grip and winced in sympathy as another
spasm caused Mulder to double over and clutch at his abdomen, a soft moan
escaping through tightly clenched teeth.

"Hang on, Mulder," Skinner whispered, reaching with both hands to help him
sit upright in the seat again as the pain slowly subsided. He brushed his
fingers across the sweat-dampened forehead and gently wiped the moisture
away, pushing back a wayward lock of hair that had fallen forward. "As soon 
as we get out of this mess, I'll get you home."

The glassy eyes reopened and focused on Skinner's face again. Slowly,
Mulder let his head drop back against the headrest and angled his face at the
driver. He could only nod tiredly.

Skinner removed his hands from Mulder's shoulders and sat back, his
emotions tumbling out of control. He was angry at this whole situation,
frustrated at his inability to help and, to his amazement, confused by his
desire to hold and comfort this suffering agent. He saw Mulder's bewildered
frown and knew what he was feeling was reflected in his eyes. Quickly, he
turned away and faced straight ahead, determined to keep his eyes on the
traffic and off his passenger. He felt Mulder shift and move back to lean
against the door and, no matter how much he wanted to put his hand back
on that trembling shoulder, he forced himself to grip the steering wheel.

Eventually, the traffic began to move again and Skinner did everything he 
could, just shy of breaking the law, to get to their destination. Removing
Mulder from the car and getting him into the apartment was more of a 
chore than he expected but, with that accomplished, Skinner steered his
unresisting agent to the bedroom and deposited him gently atop the
cluttered bed, knocking aside magazines and folded laundry. He frowned
at the lack of color in Mulder's face and the pain that twisted the handsome
features into something alien. Moving with sure determination, Skinner
searched until he located the prescribed medication, filled a glass with
water, dampened a washcloth, and was back at Mulder's side within
minutes. Shrugging out of his suit coat, he eased down to sit on the
edge of the bed and carefully gathered the sick man in his arms. Gently,
he raised Mulder until he was upright enough to swallow the two tablets. 

"It's okay...it's okay," Skinner soothed quietly as Mulder choked on a sip
of the water. He remembered how Scully's calm voice had quickly consoled
her partner at the office and he copied her technique, trying to capture a
measure of her essence. He held Mulder easily around the shoulders until
the agent could catch his breath. "Just relax and try to breath evenly. It's
okay, Mulder...just relax."

Unexpectedly, another spasm hit and Skinner found the front of his shirt
caught tightly within Mulder's grip, the pain-filled face pressed against the
clean, starched fabric. The moans were slightly muffled now as Skinner 
held the trembling body close to his chest, his strong hands moving over the
back muscles in an attempt to ease some of the pain. Resting his cheek
against the top of Mulder's head, Skinner was determined to help his
agent through this ordeal. He shifted to put his back to the headboard,
never releasing his hold on the man in his arms, and settled in to wait.

Sometime later, Skinner felt the body in his arms begin to calm and un-
coil. As gently as possible, he slowly eased Mulder to lay against the
pillows and studied the still too-pale face. He'd never been this close to 
the younger agent before and he found himself oddly hypnotized by 
what he saw. The face, which could at times exhibit such unusual
emotions, was smooth and so young looking. With a tender, light touch,
he dabbed the perspiration from the high forehead and the strong cheeks
with the washcloth, silently urging the remaining pain to leave.

Mulder's eyelids fluttered and slowly opened, his gaze finally focusing on
Skinner's hovering face. He felt the cooling cloth on his skin, heard the soft
whispers of comfort and immediately went still. He didn't understand what
was happening but he couldn't find the strength to begin sorting it all out
in his confused brain. All he knew was that he was home, in bed, and
that Skinner's touch was so nice. The coolness touched his face again and
he shivered uncontrollably at the sensation, his body running hot and cold
at the same time.

Skinner pulled back slightly and looked carefully into the dazed eyes. He
could see confusion in their glittering depths and a hint of something he
couldn't quite identify. The warmth of Mulder's breath touched his face
and he looked down at the slightly-parted lips. A strange sensation
grabbed at his heart and he pulled away, not wanting to examine these
feelings at this point in time. As Mulder shivered again, he focused on a
new task and began to unbutton the sweat-dampened shirt.

"Let's get you out of these clothes before you really chill," Skinner offered
in explanation, his fingers deftly stripping the shirt from Mulder's body. 
The undershirt, shoes, socks, and slacks came off as well and Skinner
maneuvered Mulder until he was securely under the warm sheet and
blanket. 

He busied himself, placing the clothing carefully on a nearby chair and 
straightening the area surrounding the bed. It took no time to stack the 
magazines and refold the laundry he'd knocked aside in his haste earlier
and, as he placed those items on the dresser against the wall, he casually
noted a few photographs and keepsakes on the wood surface. He forced 
his eyes away, feeling he had no right to look further. He was aware of
and respected Mulder's need for privacy. It was the least he could do for
his agent now...especially after all he'd been through lately. Sighing
softly, he turned away and looked back to the figure on the bed, swearing
quietly under his breath at the sight he encountered. He hustled back to
his agent.

Mulder's face was turned away, his cheek pressing into the softness of the
pillow and his eyes shut tightly as he rode out a new wave of pain. He'd 
pushed the covers back and, now, his fists were clenched securely against 
his stomach as the abdominal muscles convulsed under the skin. He was
trying to roll to one side but Skinner stopped the attempt and easily held
him in place.

"Please..." Mulder whispered, his eyes asking for some kind of relief.

"Easy...easy," Skinner soothed, using his own strength to keep the man
from moving unnecessarily. "Lie still and try to relax. Try to let the pain
flow over you when it comes...don't fight it. The medication will kick in
soon and you'll be able to sleep. Come on, Mulder...relax. That's right.
Just relax."

He could feel Mulder trying to comply. The agent shifted on the mattress
with more control but his hands were still clutched pitifully against his
stomach. 

"Hurts..." he managed to gasp as he looked toward his boss, tears sparkling in
his eyes and spiking his lashes.

"Sh-h-h-h," Skinner whispered and pulled Mulder's hands away from
the tormented area, placing his own fingers over the slightly convulsing
muscles, "just relax. Let me help you relax, Mulder."

There were several unsettling moments as Mulder restlessly tried to find
a comfortable position, seemingly unable to find any relief. Skinner
continued to gently massage the bunching muscles, his broad, strong
fingers seeking to ease the pain. He moved them slowly, in small 
circles over the ribs and down the flat planes of stomach and abdomen,
feeling a slow relaxing of the body. The skin was smooth and virtually
unblemished, a nickel-sized round scar high on his left shoulder the
only real evidence of the hazards of his occupation. Skinner pressed
his lips together angrily as he remembered the circumstances of that
wound, of the terrible time before and after, and of his own devastation
when hearing the news of Mulder's death in New Mexico. Unable to 
vent his jumbled emotions and still maintain his carefully crafted veneer
of steel, the AD had kept his sorrow inside his breaking heart and
tried to block the feelings by working harder and longer each day at the
office. He could also remember the sheer elation he'd felt when he and
Scully had been surprised by the sudden appearance of Mulder at the
agent's apartment...even though it hadn't been quite the 'welcome back'
they'd expected. What a beautiful fucking mess that had been.

A soft moan brought him immediately back, literally, to the problem at
hand. He blinked and looked down into a pair of pain-filled eyes, not
sure what was causing the problem now. The medication was obviously
working and Mulder had started to relax, so the sound was confusing.
Skinner looked closely.

Mulder was frozen on the bed, like a deer caught in the headlights of
a semi, his breath coming in rapid, little pants. He gazed up at Skinner,
his fingers clutching at the sheets at his sides, silently pleading for
something. But what? In Skinner's eyes, he looked scared...very
scared.

"Please..." Mulder whispered hoarsely, "...stop"

Frowning for only a moment, Skinner suddenly realized his hands were 
still on Mulder's body and that he'd been unintentionally pressing much 
too hard while lost in his memories. He stilled his fingers and shook his
head contritely.

"Jesus," he whispered remorsefully, "I'm so sorry."

He waited a few moments before letting his hands begin their soothing
strokes again, smoothing the skin with a touch close to reverence, trying
to ease the added soreness he'd inadvertently imposed on the already
weakened body. He caressed and comforted, murmuring assurances
until he could feel the body begin to relax again under his touch. And, as
his hands glided over Mulder, something raw, something primal, something
frightening took over.

He began to touch Mulder with affection and desire.

Skinner let his hands roam everywhere over Mulder's upper torso, enjoying
the sensation of the fine skin against his palms and admiring the sleek
strength of the lean, hard body. He was mesmerized by the way his fingers
glided across the smooth flesh and, as Mulder's eyelids began to droop and
sleep seemed only moments away, he continued to whisper comforting words.

When his intent of solace altered and changed into something different, the
AD wasn't sure...but it snuck up and blindsided him with an almost
overpowering blow. His own body began to respond to the touches and
words, sending small, exciting tingles from his fingertips to his chest. The
raw sensation made him stop.

Battling with his conscience and knowing he needed to remove his fingers
and move away from this warm, wonderful body before he made an error that
could never be fixed, Skinner held his breath. He knew he couldn't afford to
make mistakes with this man. He needed to be very careful..or there might
never come a time when there could be more between them. 

But, God help him, he just couldn't find the strength to pull his hands away.
Not just yet.

He eased a hand up to comb through the dark hair, feeling the fine, soft
strands slip between his fingers, and froze as Mulder's eyes flickered open.
He gazed down into the sleepy depths, swallowed dryly, and decided to
continue with his mad quest. He didn't think he could stop now even if he
wanted.

Slowly, he traced over the curve of an ear and down the side of the jaw, the
slight stubble of whiskers covering the chin tickling his hypersensitive palm.
He pushed a thumb up to lightly touch the mouth and shivered at the contact,
his nail softly scratching at the full lower lip. Jesus, he wanted to taste that
mouth! With great deliberation, he looked into Mulder's face, watching the
drowsy eyes regard him solemnly, knowing the drugs were dulling his
awareness. Even with that knowledge, Skinner couldn't stop...he had to
continue.

Without breaking eye contact, he eased his hand slowly down, along the long
column of the exposed throat, over the warm area of the chest and stomach
and, finally beneath the covers to gently caress the genitals still  confined
within a pair of plaid, flannel boxers.

There was a quick, brief moment when Mulder's expression darkened and he
attempted to deflect Skinner's questing hand. It was nothing more than a
token gesture of refusal and he was easily subdued into stillness.

"Don't."

It was all Skinner had to say, the commanding tone of his voice and the
intensity of his gaze brooking no argument or resistance. He held Mulder's
wrists firmly in his hands and pushed them back down to the sheets, the
pressure of his grip clearly indicating he wanted no more movement from
them.

Skinner swallowed at a flutter of excitement that beat against the insides of
his groin and released Mulder's wrists, letting his fingers travel up the arms,
back to the chest and down, down, down...returning to the warm flesh under
the sheet. He watched Mulder's face carefully as his fingers began to move in
a manner that would bring pleasure, needing to see which of the touches and
caresses would bring the quickest arousal. 

Mulder didn't seem able to look away, almost hypnotized by Skinner's intense
gaze and the primal sensations slowly building in his traitorous body. The
hazel eyes held so much need, so much longing, so much loneliness, that
Skinner found himself wanting nothing more than to wipe those familiar
emotions away. He kept his own rising desire in check and concentrated on
the growing urgency he could see and feel increasing with each of Mulder's
heartbeats. He let his hands and fingers move and touch with controlled
abandon, delighting in the sounds of the soft moans now coming from the
slightly parted lips. He focused on that mouth and licked his own lips,
wanting to hear more of those moans, more whimpers, more sighs of
pleasure.

Skinner shifted on the bed and began his seduction in earnest. He knew how
to touch just the right spot, how to stroke just the right way, and how to drive
the body right to the edge of ecstacy and, then, hold it on the brink. He played
Mulder like a finely tuned instrument, plucking out the notes of desire and
strumming the hungry chords until he knew they were growing unbearable.
He thrilled as Mulder arched against the sensations, soared as he saw the
hazel eyes roll slightly back in their sockets, and knew he shouldn't try to 
hold
him back any longer. But the hot, sweet fire of this aching need only fueled
Skinner's burning pleasure. He reveled in the power he had over this man,
delighted in his own molten rush of sexual intoxication, and wanted nothing
more than to prolong the moment until time, itself, melted away.

"Please..."

The soft, rasping plea shook Skinner, forcing him to re-evaluate his
intentions. He never meant to cause this man more pain or discomfort.
Swearing quietly at the obvious distress he could now see in Mulder's face
and could plainly feel in the trembling body he held in his hands, he
readjusted his touches and, in a heartbeat, Mulder's body erupted. He thrust
up against Skinner's stroking hand, shaking silently through a gut-wrenching
orgasm, the breath catching in his lungs and holding him frozen in the eternity
of those few, precious moments. His release flooded Skinner's hand and
spilled between the still-stroking fingers. Skinner continued the movement,
slowing only when he was certain there was nothing else for the body to give.
Gently, he released his hold and carefully moved off the bed.

Mulder lay exhausted, unmoving and fairly senseless, his body floating
somewhere between partial awareness and the fog of blessed sleep. He was so
relaxed and sated, his body growing boneless as a jellyfish. All the cramping
muscles were gone and all the shaking limbs were still. And, yet, something
was keeping him from drifting into a much-needed healing slumber.
Something was just not right. Something was poking at the edges of his mind
and trying to alert him to a glitch in his world. The mattress suddenly dipped
on one side and he forced his eyes to reopen, struggling to focus through the
haze of fatigue. What he thought he saw lit a small spark of dread in the pit of
his stomach and, ironically, caused a reflaring of excitement in his groin.

Walter Skinner sat on the edge of the bed, his hands swiftly removing the
remainder of his own clothing and tossing them carelessly to the floor. He
was in a hurry now...in an aching rush to complete what he'd started. As the
last bit of clothing dropped, he turned back and whipped the tousled sheet
away, sliding in next to the dazed man. He gathered the unresisting body
close and nestled against the warm, naked flesh. His mouth went immediately
to Mulder's neck and shoulders, running his tongue and teeth across the
collarbone and down the chest. He found a nipple and attacked it with
aggression, tasting the salty tang of drying sweat and hearing a low moan
rumble in the chest under his head. He didn't want to acknowledge what that
sound could possibly mean right now. He was burning with his own needs
and nothing short of a nuclear blast was going to stop him from achieving his
goal...maybe not even that. 

Quickly, he removed his lips and turned the younger man's body, positioning
Mulder so he could rest against the hot, smooth back. He nipped hungrily at
the skin covering the shoulders and let his tongue work at the base of the
neck. The taste was amazing.

Shifting, he urgently pressed the hard length of his arousal against the back of
Mulder's thighs and suddenly found himself involved in in a mostly one-sided
wrestling match. He clamped his hands on the squirming body, an iron grip
firmly on one hip and the other hand tightly closed around a wrist. As much
as he wanted to go slow, to show Mulder the possible pleasures awaiting
them both, he knew that particular lesson would have to wait for another time.
His body was demanding total attention now.

Pulling the captured wrist down, he twisted it until he could press it against
the small of Mulder's back and got the body now half beneath him to quieten.
He could hear the desperate gasps and soft whimpers but tuned those sounds
out.

Waiting no more than a heartbeat, he used his greater body weight and kneed
Mulder's legs apart, letting the hand at the tense hip move down to brush
across the flesh covering the quivering ass. Skinner pushed his fingers
between the muscular mounds and felt the body beneath him freeze but a
quick, hard squeeze around the trapped wrist was all that was needed to
remind the younger man of the futility of resistance. Skinner located his goal
and pressed a finger in, momentarily losing himself to the warm wash of
erotic sensations, ignoring Mulder's muffled cry and his last attempt to escape
the inevitable.

Time meant nothing to Skinner; at the moment, all that mattered was the here
and now. He continued to stroke his finger in and out of the hot body, dipping
to touch the sensitive gland each time he pushed in. He shifted his weight
again and added another finger, feeling the tight opening stretch to
accommodate the new intrusion. He was suddenly glad Mulder had taken his
medication, glad the muscle relaxers would ease him through what was about
to happen, and glad he was the one to initiate the joining. Just the thought of
being with Mulder like this was driving him into a frenzy.

The fingers were removed, the pliant body on the bottom repositioned, and
Skinner guided himself in, slowly pushing steadily until he was past the tight
ring of the muscle and fully sheathed inside Mulder. He held himself still for
only a moment and, then, began to move as if possessed. The flesh beneath
him was a living furnace, burning and scalding his skin with each stroke,
threatening to consume him each time he pushed forward. It was heaven and
hell wrapped in one package.

Somewhere, in the place the mind floats during extreme arousal, Skinner
realized the man beneath him seemed to be responding to the coupling, the
young body moving slightly back to accept each invading thrust. The sounds
coming from that wonderful mouth were no longer tinged with pain or
opposition but, now, held the delightful tones of pleasure.

Skinner released the captured wrist and pulled Mulder to his knees,
whispering hasty assurances, directing and instructing. That Mulder was
responding now almost sent Skinner over the edge. The sensations were
overpowering, pulling him toward release, but he didn't want to think about
this ever having to end. It was too good, it was unlike any other of his past
experiences, and it was with the one person he never thought he'd be able to
get close to. *Mulder*. Just thinking the name made Skinner's testicles
tighten.

The thrusts went deeper now, the penetration easier and maddeningly
stimulating. Skinner moved his mouth and hands across the strong back,
trying to keep himself in check. He was so very close to coming and Mulder's
small movements and low moans were threatening to be his undoing. He
snaked a hand around to Mulder's groin and was pleased to find the agent
hard and ready again for direct manipulation. And, as much as he wanted to
bring Mulder along with him, Skinner doubted he'd be able to wait. He was
almost there now.

Thrusting harder as the feeling began to coalesce low in his body, he drove
the younger man down into the mattress, his hips grinding against the tight
flesh. He kept the hand on Mulder moving in sync with his own hips and bit
roughly at the tender skin at the back of the exposed neck, leaving an angry,
red mark. It was getting harder to breathe, the temperature in the small
bedroom seemingly like the insides of an oven. Both men were moaning
quietly, the sounds of their mutual pleasure breaking the silence, their
combined tones and murmurs adding fuel to the already-blazing fire.

Skinner found release quickly and emptied himself into the throbbing body,
crying out almost painfully as the sensations washed over his skin. It seemed
to go on and on: the pulsing, the clenching, the shuddering. A remote corner
of Skinner's brain registered the warm wetness on his still-stroking hand and
he allowed a small, satisfied smile. Mulder had joined him...they'd found their
release together. It was enough to make him feel less guilty for perpetrating
this seduction but, now, the moment of truth was at hand.

Collecting his wits, Skinner gently withdrew and moved his weight off the
unmoving body. He rolled to one side and looked at the back of Mulder's
head, unsure of what he'd see in those expressive eyes if Mulder were to
suddenly turn to face him. It was something he really didn't want to think
about. Not yet.

As he began to push up, with intentions of vacating the bed, he found one of
his hands suddenly caught in Mulder's grasp, the warm fingers immediately
stopping his motion. He waited silently as the dark head turned in his
direction and swallowed hard at the open, innocent look he saw in the young
face. The sleepy, sated eyes stared, blinking repeatedly until they could focus.
There were several long moments when the two men regarded each other
silently, expressions solemn and all emotions well-hidden. It seemed like a
Mexican stand-off to Skinner, so he attempted to rise again.

"Stay," Mulder whispered, his hand once more stopping Skinner's motion, his
eyes pleading for something unspoken.

A strange sensation blossomed in Skinner's chest at the quiet request and he
stretched back out on the bed, reaching to carefully gather Mulder into the
circle of his arms. He shifted until he had an almost protective hold around
the shoulders and the dark head resting comfortably on his chest. Strangely, it
felt right to be holding his agent this way and, when Mulder's free arm slowly
eased up to drape across his broad chest, Skinner couldn't resist pressing his
lips to the top of the younger man's head. There was a long, deep, relaxing
sigh that seemed to take Mulder immediately into the depths of slumber and
Skinner continued to hold him until he was sure he was, indeed, asleep.

He gently ran his hands over the cooling skin covering the arms and back,
reaching slowly to pull the sheet up to protect against a chill. He didn't want
this man to suffer needlessly anymore...didn't want any more discomfort to
come his way...but knew it would be impossible to protect him from all harm,
especially because of their chosen occupations. But, right now, it felt good, it
felt right, and, amazingly, it was only a matter of moments before he was fast
asleep too.

Skinner woke sometime later, disoriented and confused, until he felt the warm
body at his side. Carefully, he turned his head to look down into the face of
his still-slumbering companion and was relieved to see that, even in sleep,
Mulder remained close. He took a few moments to study the features, unsure
if he'd ever be allowed to get this close to him again. He knew what he
wanted...but this wasn't a one-sided decision and, in all honesty, he really
never knew what to expect when it came to dealing with Mulder. 

Sighing softly, Skinner cautiously moved away and rose from the bed,
reaching immediately to gather his clothing. Glancing only once more to the
dozing man, he made his way to the bathroom to begin putting himself back
together, back into the stern persona of his professional position.

Several hours later, he sat alone in the kitchen nursing a cup of rapidly
cooling coffee, trying to decide on his next course of action. It was early
afternoon and he had plenty of time to return to the office and get some work
completed but he hated the thought of leaving Mulder alone and, more
importantly, unprotected. Skinner's assistant knew where the AD was and had
been instructed to be very discreet in giving out his location. Scully would
probably be coming by after her lecture and, he knew, would gladly accept
babysitting duties. 

He'd be able to leave then. But, the real question was, did he really want to
leave?

Skinner sighed, wondering if he felt glad or disappointed by the prospect of
turning Mulder over to Scully. Pushing the chair back, he rose to his feet and
walked the short distance between the kitchen and the bedroom, as he had
several times during the past hour, and silently watched the sleeping figure on
the bed. There had only been a minimum of movement and Skinner toyed
with the idea of returning to the empty space next to Mulder on the sheets. It
was a tempting idea but he shook off the alluring notion, knowing he couldn't
succumb to that siren song now. Maybe, not ever again. He sighed once more
and dropped his gaze to the floor.

As he turned to re-enter the kitchen area, a soft clicking sound at the door to
Mulder's apartment caught his attention and caused him to freeze in his
tracks, his pulse rate increasing involuntary. He quietly set the cup on the
counter by the stove and moved stealthily along the wall until he was pressed
against the open archway dividing the kitchen from the living area. Carefully,
he leaned only far enough out until he could see the door, making sure his
body was still well-hidden by the wall. He frowned at the wooden panel and
focused on the round brass knob, waiting to see if the sound would repeat
itself. He wasn't even sure the sound had come from that direction but he'd
been in the Bureau long enough to know the importance of caution.

The minutes ticked by and Skinner was starting to believe the earlier sound
had been nothing but a figment of his imagination; or, at the very least,
nothing more than another resident of the building walking down the hallway
outside. As he began to relax his stance, the handle suddenly turned, the soft
sound of metal scraping against metal making the small hairs on the back of
his neck rise. Someone was attempting to enter...and doing it as furtively as
possible.

Leaning back to be totally concealed, he pulled his weapon from its holster
and pressed against the wall, wanting to be in good position when confronting
the intruder. He heard the door open, the slight rasping of the hinges making
him wince. Soft, muted footsteps made a slow trail away from the door and
across the living room. The trespasser stopped often, either to examine the
area or listen for some sign of the occupant, Skinner could only guess. What
he could tell was that this particular transgressor was being very careful 
to remain undetected. 

The footsteps were suddenly moving on, drawing closer to the bedroom, and
Skinner had to stifle a nervous flutter. He knew he couldn't wait much longer
before confronting this person...his imagination was running continuous
scenarios of the possible ways this intruder could kill Mulder without making
a sound. Whether it was with a weapon or with bare hands, Skinner knew it
could be accomplished quickly and quietly. He had no choice; he had to act
now.

Stepping away from the wall, he eased around the archway and lifted his gun,
cradling it with one hand under the other. The intruder wasn't in sight and,
with a chilling dread running the length of his spine, Skinner knew of only
one other place the person would go.

He covered the distance quickly and hid to one side of the bedroom's
threshold, trying to determine the trespasser's exact position without giving
himself away. He suddenly saw the shine of coppery hair and immediately
thought it was Scully but quickly altered his assumption when he detected a
flash of metal held in one of the hands. It was a woman...but not Scully...and
she was slowly moving toward the bed, a six-inch stiletto grasped firmly in
her left hand. It was a wicked-looking knife, sharp and deadly, and she was
getting way too close to the sleeping man. Skinner made his move.

"Stop right there," he said sharply but quietly, stepping out and raising his
weapon to point dead-center at the woman's back.

Slowly obeying the command, the female stopped but didn't turn. Her slender
fingers gripped the knife comfortably, without tension or concern, and simply
waited. She could feel the angry presence of the man behind her and smiled,
knowing that anger sometimes made people careless.

Now," Skinner continued, "turn slowly toward me."

Again, she complied, making sure she moved leisurely in the small rotation of
her body, knowing how this man would react when he saw her face. To have
a traitor so close would be a shock and just might give her the edge she
needed.

Hello, Walter," she greeted quietly and watched as the gun wavered in his
hand. This was better than she expected...his surprise was overwhelming.

*No*

Skinner forced himself to steady the gun, trying to quell the panic he was
feeling. He saw her lips quirk up on one side and recognized the mocking
expression in her eyes. His anger rushed back.

"What the hell is this all about, Lydia?" He demanded hotly.

"You, of all people, have to ask that question? She all but snorted, letting the
knife handle roll in her palm. She canted her head back in the direction of the
bed but didn't look at the man sleeping there. "It's time to let this one go,
Walter."

"Why? Who do you work for?" He asked the questions but didn't know if he
really wanted to hear her answers. A sick, sinking sensation was beginning to
settle in the pit of his stomach.

Her taunting chuckle made him angrier. "Oh, don't be stupid. I follow my
orders just like everyone else does...just like you do. I don't ask questions 
and
I don't look for answers that should be obvious." She turned her head, eyed
Mulder's sleeping form and then looked back to Skinner. "He's going to die.
Whether by my hand or someone else's, what difference does it make? I can
do it quick and painless, unlike that imbecile who poisoned him yesterday."

"So," Skinner's voice was as deadly as she'd ever heard, "you work for
Cancerman."

"I've never heard anyone call him that," Lydia smiled cooly. "But I work for
the government...just like you."

Skinner shook his head. "No. The government doesn't sanction the murder of
it's own agents. Discredits, punishes, casts them out, maybe, but never
murders them."

The woman only smiled. Behind her, Mulder shifted in his sleep and rolled to
one side. The sheet pulled tightly across his hips, exposing his upper body to
the two people standing near the end of the mattress. There were bite marks
and bruises visible on his skin, high on the shoulder, near the neck, and lower
on the back. The woman turned to solemnly regard the AD, her eyes burning
into his.

"So. That's how it is."

Skinner didn't speak. He knew she could see the truth on his face, see the
reality in his eyes. He tightened his grip on the gun and tried to school his
expression into neutrality, feeling a small trickle of perspiration starting to
snake its way down his forehead.

"I can't let you kill him, Lydia."

"And I can't let him live. If I turn away form this assignment, I'll be throwing
away all I've worked for over the past twelve years...I'll probably be
eliminated myself. You can see why this is important to me, Walter. You can
see that I don't have any other choice."

Skinner regarded the woman silently. He'd known Lydia Hernandez since
their academy days, had worked with her on numerous cases, and had
celebrated with her as they took their individual jumps up the Bureau ladder.
Even though they'd drifted apart over the past several years, he couldn't
believe this of her. *Not Lydia* He knew of others who'd been recruited into
those so-called black organizations but he would have never, in a million
years, expected this woman to be swayed from the true path of their beliefs.

"Lydia..."

"Don't," she warned, almost as if she could hear his silent questions. She took
one step back, the knife now pointing down and out. "Just turn around and
walk away, Walter, and forget you even saw me."

"You know I can't do that."

"Of course you can," she stressed taking another step toward the bed. She
turned slightly away and tilted her face to look down at Mulder's smooth
back. A new thought suddenly crossed her mind and she let her eyes slide
back to Skinner. "Do you love him?"

Skinner hesitated. "I...care for him."

She nodded her head in understanding and looked back to Mulder. "I'm sorry
then."

She moved quickly...but Skinner was quicker. He dodged to the left and fired
his weapon as the knife flashed by his head and embedded itself in the plaster
of the wall directly to his right. Before the blade had ceased its quivering,
Skinner's bullet had found its mark and penetrated her skull, shattering bone
and mangling brain tissue. Lydia Hernandez was dead before her body fell to
the floor. 

Skinner was rooted to the spot, his feet unable to move and his mind numb
with disbelief and regret. He had killed Lydia...had killed a friend...because
he'd been given no other viable choice.

A movement caught his eye and he glanced up to find Mulder sitting up on
the bed, blinking uncertainly at him, at the gun in the AD's hand,  and at the
blood now splattered across the sheets of his bed. His eyes traveled to the
dead woman on the floor and Skinner saw the brows arch in surprise at the
mess. 

Slowly, Mulder eased back and leaned against the pillows, his fingers shying
away from the bits of gray matter and red spots he could detect in his
immediate area. The two men gazed silently at each other across the small
expanse of the room, knowing they'd have to put any personal conversations
away until this new situation was settled. Skinner could see the questions
lurking in those expressive eyes and was slightly amazed when that
wonderful mouth stayed closed. It wasn't like Mulder to be so quiet.

Skinner holstered his weapon and stepped carefully toward the bed, his eyes
raking the exposed chest quickly before settling on the face again. Slowly, he
reached out and touched Mulder's cheek, his fingers brushing the skin in a
gentle caress. He had to swallow the sudden rush of emotion as he reached to
grasp the younger man's arm.

"Come on," he prompted, pulling slightly at Mulder's questioning look. "Let's
get some clothes on you and move out into the living room. I've got to call the
police and report this and I don't think you'll want to be in this bed when they
get here."

By the time the proper authorities had been notified, the evidence collected,
and the body removed, Skinner was visibly exhausted. With jacket in hand,
he wandered back into the kitchen and stopped short in the doorway. Scully
sat in a chair close to Mulder at the table, her hand resting gently on his
forearm and their heads only inches apart. He could hear her calm
whisperings and watched as Mulder nodded in agreement, a small smile
playing at the corners of his mouth. A brief surge of jealousy had to be
tamped down before he stepped into the room to face them. He watched as
they shifted slightly apart at the sound of his approach and turned to face him
in unison. It was uncanny, how they sometimes seemed like one being instead
of two separate individuals.

Skinner cleared his throat and met their combined gaze. "I'm leaving now.
There will be a police cruiser outside and a pair of agents posted at the
building's front entrance."

"I'm staying the night," Scully announced, tucking a strand of hair behind an
ear. "I want to make sure Mulder takes his medication and behaves."

"Hey, this wasn't my fault. I was being good," he turned his head to look
squarely at Skinner, the hazel eyes unreadable. "Wasn't I, sir?"

Skinner was like a block of stone as he stared back. He never once looked at
Scully, his eyes only for Mulder.

"Yes. You were very good."

The two men regarded each other for several more moments, something
private passing between them. Scully looked from one to the other trying to
understand what was happening. Abruptly, Skinner was gazing at her.

"Take tomorrow off. If I recall the doctor's original orders, Agent Mulder was
suppose to stay home for a couple of days and rest. Make sure he does just
that."

"Gladly." She smiled and looked to her partner, expecting to see him ready to
put up another fight. Instead, he sat quietly, his head bent slightly forward 
and
a small smile curving his lips. "Mulder, you're not even going to argue? Are
you sure you're feeling all right?"

He glanced in her direction and then focused again on his superior. "I'm fine,
Scully. I've just decided it's easier to do what I'm told...at least, for now."

That left her speechless. She saw Skinner turning to leave and watched as
Mulder pushed slowly to his feet. He was still a bit shaky.

"Sir," the quiet voice stopped the AD at the doorway. Skinner angled his head
back toward the younger man and raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Thank you.
For everything."

Skinner sensed the sincerity in the voice and nodded, feeling a weight lift
from his chest. He glanced at Scully and then turned away, letting his feet
carry him out the front door and away from the apartment.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Really concluded in the epilogue---------

Epilogue 

Once outside Mulder's apartment, Skinner promptly located the police cruiser
parked along the curb across the street and allowed himself to relax a bit.
With his attention momentarily diverted, the AD didn't immediately see the
trench-coated figure standing casually against a tree just ahead. As he reached
his own car and started to unlock the vehicle, the dark figure stepped forward,
freezing Skinner in his tracks. This was the last person he wanted to see
outside Mulder's apartment.

"What the hell do you want?" He snarled, watching the man leisurely light a
cigarette.

The man inhaled deeply before replying, the smoke curling like a snake from
his mouth. "You've left me a little short-handed, Mr Skinner. I'll have a
difficult time finding a replacement for Ms. Hernandez."

"That's too bad," Skinner responded sarcastically and tried to push past.

The man held his ground. "Did she tell you why she decided to work for my
organization?"

"Shut up!" Skinner hissed, his handsome face twisting in rage. "I don't want
to hear anything you have to say!"

"Oh, I think you do. Ms. Hernandez had a lot more in common with you than
you would imagine. She hated me, too, but emotions mean nothing...
especially to men like us." He puffed again and regarded the glowing tip.
"She found it easier to come around to our way of thinking. It was simple,
really. A person can only take so much frustration before they weaken, before
they start looking at things differently. You can understand the importance of
change, can't you, Mr. Skinner?"

Skinner could only stand silently listening to the bastard. He wanted to move
but was, somehow, compelled to remain. The need to rush back to Mulder's
apartment washed over him like a tidal wave, urging him to go back and
check on the one person who'd suddenly become much more than just another
one of his agents. But he forced that desire away. He was alone now...as he
had been for most of his career.

"You'd fit very well into our organization," the man's voice was like silk.
"You have an obvious talent for the game."

Skinner remained silent.

"Well," a small, feral smile touched the old mouth, "maybe now isn't the time
to discuss this matter. You certainly have a lot to think about, considering the
afternoon you've just spent with Agent Mulder."

Skinner froze. The words, uttered so casually, hung over him like a threat.
*He knows! Oh, dear God, he knows!* Skinner kept his features schooled
into perfect calm and shouldered past the man, reaching to key open the door.

"Mr. Skinner," the voice stopped him before he could get in the vehicle. He
raised his eyes to meet those of the older man. "Don't wait too long. Your
decision could mean life or death for those...how should I say...close to you.
It would be foolish to throw away a life you've only recently saved."

"Fuck you," Skinner whispered between clenched teeth, thinking how easy it
would be to pull his weapon and put a bullet in that head...just like he'd done
to Lydia. "You can threaten me all you want but I wouldn't work for you if it
meant saving all the agents in the Bureau. Take your act and peddle it on
another corner." He pointed a warning finger at the older man, his eyes like
ice. "But let me tell you one thing: if Agent Mulder dies, mine will be the last
face you'll ever see."

The man smiled again and tossed his cigarette to the ground. "I'll be looking
forward to it."

He turned away from the AD, moving back down the sidewalk and entering a
car parked near the corner. Skinner watched the vehicle pull away and
continued to stare until it was out of sight. He rotated his head and looked
back toward the apartment complex, his eyes traveling automatically to a
window on the fourth floor. A movement there caught his attention and he
held his breath, watching as Mulder's silhouetted form continued to occupy
the space outlined by the rectangular opening of the glass.

He swallowed nervously and wondered how much of the conversation
Mulder had witnessed and, more importantly, if he understood what he'd
seen. Skinner wanted to go back, to reassure the younger man of his
convictions but, suddenly, found it unnecessarily.

With great relief, he saw Mulder raise one hand and nod in his direction, the
small gestures an indication of his understanding. Skinner nodded back and
forced himself to get in his car, sealing out the rapidly approaching night and
the eerie feeling playing across his back. He took a moment to relax and catch
his breath, forcing his hands to ease their grip on the steering wheel. He gazed
unseeing out the front windshield for a few seconds longer.

Cancerman's words hung like a tangile gloom in the evening sky. Skinner
would have to be extra-careful now...for his sake and, more importantly, for
Mulder's sake. *Mulder.* Again the name brought a flash of an emotion too
foreign to really identify and Skinner sighed deeply, finally reaching to turn
the key in the ignition. He pushed the feeling down but couldn't help the small
grin that crept up uninvited.

Whatever would happen next, he'd be ready to face it. But, this time, maybe
he wouldn't have to face it alone.

*No, not alone now. Maybe not alone for a long time to come.*

The thought was enough to soothe his soul. Checking the side mirror and
putting the car into gear, Skinner pulled smoothly away from the curb and
headed home.

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