Date: Sun, 4 Jan 1998 08:36:21 -0500 From: Jo-Ann Lassiter <70302.3654@compuserve.com> Subject: Follow the Leader (1/4) This story is based on characters created by Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. Characters used without permission. No infringement intended. TITLE: Follow the Leader (1/4) AUTHOR: Jo-Ann Lassiter EMAIL ADDRESS: 70302.3654@compuserve.com DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Post anywhere. Thanks. SPOILER WARNING: "Fire," "Redux II." RATING: PG-13 for swear words and violence CLASSIFICATION: S, A KEY WORDS: Mulder/Scully/Skinner friendship SUMMARY: When an informant offers Skinner a piece of vital information that must be obtained at any cost, the X-Files agents strive to prevent that cost being the AD's life. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Although this has an actual plot, with a resolution and everything, it's (as usual) more a character study than an action-adventure story. THANKS: To my beta readers: Gerry, Jill, Cheryl, Darla and Jackie. Their help, as always, was invaluable. Follow the Leader (1/4) by Jo-Ann Lassiter 70302.3654@compuserve.com Thursday, December 4, 1997 5:05 p.m. Renald Medical Building Third Floor Washington, D.C. "Mulder! Keaney!" Assistant Director Walter Skinner walked the long corridor of the deserted building, searching for the last of his agents. The tap, tap of his heels on the hardwood floor, after the deafening explosion of a minute ago, sounded eerily loud in the silence that had settled over the building. "In here, sir." Keaney's voice came from his right, and Skinner poked his head into the doorway of a partially-destroyed laboratory. He motioned to the agent at the far end of the room. "Come on. We're getting out. There's no deal going down here. The whole building's rigged." The man nodded. "I thought it was a little suspicious that this place would be completely devoid of life this early." "Have you seen Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked. Keaney nodded. "About ten minutes ago. With Agent Scully. They were checking the fourth floor." Distaste flavored the man's words, and Skinner pierced the agent with a look; professionalism immediately replaced personal antagonism. "Agent Scully's out," Skinner told him, "but Mulder's still in here. You get out; I'm going to search for him." Although Keaney did not voice it, Skinner sensed a 'Why?' "He's not answering?" the man asked instead, nodding to the walkie talkie in Skinner's hand, and Skinner recognized the effort the agent was exerting to appear concerned. The AD shook his head. "This damned building's been playing havoc with communications. They've got more protected rooms than the Pentagon." Keaney stood in front of him now, hesitating. Skinner knew that if he ordered him to, the agent would assist him in his search for Mulder. He met the man's questioning eyes. "Go on. Get out," he told him. Keaney didn't have to be told twice. A quick nod, and he headed for the stairwell. Skinner followed the agent's progress, waiting for him to disappear through the door to the stairwell. Just as Keaney's hand closed around the doorknob, another explosion rocked the AD off his feet; Skinner found himself on his stomach, sliding face first toward a gaping hole in the lab Keaney had just vacated. Desperately, he clawed at the chewed-up floor, grasping for a handhold. A shard of wood spiked under his fingernail, and he let out a cry. He barely noticed when he toppled over the edge. ***** 5:12 p.m. "Sir, help!" The plea jarred him back to consciousness, and he gasped as the sliver of wood in his middle finger made its presence known. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of the protruding end and pulled. The fragment wouldn't budge, and he nearly passed out from the pain. Jesus, he'd had shrapnel wounds that hurt less. Forcing his mind away from the throbbing in his hand, he rasped, "Keaney?" "Up here." Dazedly, Skinner took in his surroundings: water gushing from burst pipes in what was left of the walls beside him, plaster filtering down from the destroyed floors above him, debris all around him. "Keaney? Where are you?" "I'm up here." The AD's eyes picked out his agent two floors above him, on the only piece of the third floor still intact, a now-exposed steel beam its sole support. Keaney was lying beneath a huge chunk of plaster. "Are you hurt?" "Not too bad, I think. But I can't move. I think the whole damned wall landed on me." Skinner nodded shakily. At least Keaney was still on the same floor. Skinner should have gotten the hell away from that half-collapsed room as soon as he had sent Keaney on his way. Instead he followed the lab down two stories--along with all the damned equipment. He winced. Was that a Bunsen burner in his back? He reached behind him and almost fainted when the wood in his finger brushed against the floor. Panting, he closed his eyes, feeling himself go limp. His hands splashed into the water pooling beneath him. "Sir? Are you awake? Sir?" Keaney's voice oozed concern, yet even in his half-conscious state Skinner got the clear impression that none of it was for him. "Sir, are you there?" Annoyance, and this time it *was* for him. "I'm here." His voice sounded faraway, disconnected, and he was having trouble focusing; a two-story fall would do that to a guy, though, wouldn't it? He supposed he ought to be happy that he landed on top of all the equipment instead of vice versa. He struggled to a sitting position. "Shit," he muttered, looking around him. "Let me see if I can raise someone on my cell," he called up to the agent. "I lost my walkie talkie." As soon as his fingers left the cold water, Skinner bit back a hiss; he looked at his hands and found that they were a swollen mass of splinters. "Sir?" The voice came from the open doorway behind him and was laced with worry. Thank God, he thought, as Mulder came in and knelt beside him, not noticing or not caring that he was kneeling in three inches of water. "Are you hurt?" the agent asked. "I'll be fine," Skinner said, purposely brusque, slipping his hands back into the soothing water. "But Keaney is trapped upstairs." The agent looked up, walked around the area, then returned to Skinner. "We can't get to him," he said quietly. "That last blast took out the remaining staircase." "Do you have your walkie talkie? Put in a call for assistance." While Mulder did as requested, Skinner closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. Mulder touched him on the shoulder, and Skinner blinked his eyes open. Was that frown on Mulder's face for him, or was the news bad? "What did they say?" "Your evacuation order stands. Everyone's out, and the fire department won't let anyone back in." "I heard yelling. Who was yelling at you?" The agent's eyes met his briefly, and then looked away. Mulder looked like a man evading an answer. "No one was yelling at me." Skinner didn't have the strength to pursue this right now. "It's just us, then?" "Yes, sir." The AD nodded. He'd order Mulder out, but it would only be an exercise in futility. Unlike his fellow agent, Mulder would not abandon them. "Can you get us out, Mulder?" he asked quietly. "I'm going to try, sir," the agent answered. He lowered a coil of rope from his shoulder. At Skinner's raised eyebrow, Mulder shrugged. "I borrowed it from a fireman. He was leaving, so I persuaded him to give it to me." "Can you use it to reach Keaney?" Mulder looked up, and Skinner watched as his agent once again surveyed the area. "I can't," he finally said, lowering his head, avoiding Skinner's eyes. "I'm sorry." Skinner closed his eyes. There were times he really hated this job. "All right, Mulder." Then Skinner let himself sink into welcome oblivion, away from pain, and destruction, and dying agents. ***** 5:40 p.m. His first thought upon waking was that Mulder was holding his hand. His second thought was that his hand hurt a hell of a lot less than when Mulder wasn't holding his hand. "You got it out." Mulder nodded. "It looked painful." "It was." "You were unconscious, so I took advantage." Although Mulder smiled on the last word, Skinner didn't detect any humor in the agent's eyes. Mulder's gaze drifted to Skinner's handkerchief-covered hand. "Bleeding's almost stopped." "Thanks." Skinner sat up with his agent's help. "How'd you get all those splinters?" Until he asked, Skinner hadn't noticed how carefully Mulder was cradling his hand. "Before I took my nose-dive down here. Damned wood floors," Skinner muttered. The agent looked alarmed. "You fell down here?" Mulder turned his head skyward. "From where?" "I was with Keaney." "You fell two stories? Jesus, sir, you could be hurt a lot more than you think." "Some bruises maybe. But it doesn't feel like I'm bleeding internally." His eyes met his agent's. "I do know the feeling, Mulder," he said softly. "Christ, those damned splinters hurt." He tried to pull his hand free, but Mulder grabbed his wrist, then stopped him from plunging his other hand into the cold water. "What--" "The water's swelling the wood. That's why they hurt so much now." He removed the handkerchief and indicated the finger from which he had pulled the piece of wood. "The splinters are harder to remove when they're wet, too. I don't think I got it all." "You got most of it." He smiled grimly. "It felt like there was a whole tree under there." "A little while longer in that water, and you would have had one," Mulder said. Suddenly Skinner remembered that there were three of them in that building. "What about Keaney? Did you come up with a way to get him down?" Mulder shook his head, looking away from Skinner. "There was another explosion up there. I haven't heard anything from him since." The agent wouldn't come right out and say it, but his inference was that Keaney was dead. Skinner squinted at the smoke starting to drift around them. "Is there a fire?" "Yeah." Skinner thought he detected a tremble in his agent's voice. "Are you all right, Mulder?" A grim smile flashed across the agent's face. "I don't like fire much," he said, and Skinner sensed that it was more than just a healthy respect for the dangerous element. "Come on, sir," he said, helping Skinner to his feet. The AD swayed and Mulder grabbed hold of him. "Lean on me. I'll wager you've got a concussion to go along with that lump on your head." "No bet," Skinner croaked. Mulder laughed, but sobered immediately. "Come on. Let's go," he said quietly, and Skinner knew the agent purposely avoided looking up. As did he. They'd traveled no more than twenty feet when a crash behind them shook the floor. They turned instinctively toward the sound, and Skinner felt his stomach churn at the sight of Keaney, a bloody gaping hole where his right arm should have joined his socket. "Mulder..." Skinner stopped the agent's approach to Keaney. "I know," the agent said softly. "But I need to check." Skinner braced himself against the wall and let go of Mulder. The agent was halfway to Keaney when a flame leaped out an open doorway a foot in front of him. Mulder stopped dead in his tracks. The flame receded, and Skinner waited a few seconds, expecting Mulder to continue to his goal. "Mulder?" The agent shuddered, then turned away and hurried back to Skinner. "You're right. He's dead." The AD's eyes flicked along the smoke-filled path to Keaney and then back to Mulder. "We should go," he said quietly. Mulder grabbed onto him more firmly than Skinner thought was necessary, and he moved his eyes up to look at his agent. Mulder's eyes met his, and the agent's grip eased slightly. "Sorry," Mulder said softly. Either the concussion was taking its toll, or the smoke was getting to him, but Skinner began to feel very lightheaded. "Mulder..." "Don't pass out on me, sir." The agent was almost begging. "If I do... you get out." The agent shook his head. "You know I can't do that." "Why the hell not?" It was absurd, but he felt angry that Mulder wouldn't leave him to save himself. "That's an order, Agent Mulder." "Yes, sir." "Good." Skinner was silent a few seconds while they skirted a section of sagging floorboards, then he looked at his agent. "Mulder, you're so full of shit your eyes are brown." Mulder turned to him and gave a faint smile. "They aren't but I'll concede the point anyway." The smile faded as a horrendous creaking sounded all around them. "Oh, God," Skinner breathed. "I'm too scared to pass out, Mulder. Let's get the hell out of here." "Can you run? Because if you can't I'm pretty sure I can pick you up and carry you under my arm." "I can run a marathon right now," Skinner said, breaking into a trot. He looked at the man beside him. "Let's book it." Mulder nodded and sprinted toward the building's entrance; somewhat absently, Skinner noted that the agent's grip on his arm had not loosened. Just as they reached the doorway, a muffled explosion sounded behind them. "Down!" they yelled in unison, diving out the door, tumbling down the stairs; heat seared Skinner's back, and a roar filled his ears. After the din faded, Skinner lifted his head. He had landed on top of Mulder and felt the younger man shaking beneath him. "It's all right, Mulder," he said softly, moving off him. "It's over. We're out." "I know. I know. I'm fine." Skinner made no mention of the quiver in his agent's voice. "We..." Mulder took a deep breath. "We need to get you checked out by the paramedics." "You, too." "I'm..." The agent was still shaking. "Maybe you're right. Although I'm pretty sure this is just because I'm still scared shitless." Mulder rose to his feet and gave Skinner a hand up. The AD's mouth dropped open at the sight that met his eyes. "Oh, God," he uttered. Beside him, he heard Mulder's, "Holy fucking shit." The building they were in just a minute ago was a pile of rubble. ***** As they hobbled toward the assembled fire equipment, ambulances and agents, Skinner smiled at the sight of Scully breaking through the police line to make her way to them. "Mulder, you jerk!" Her glare switched to Skinner, and he was surprised when her anger changed to relief. The anger, now tinged with affection, turned back to her partner. "You're damned lucky you both came out of this alive." Skinner had a horrible thought, and he moved around to stare at Mulder. The innocent look on the man's face told it all. "Mulder, you jerk!" Scully and Mulder exchanged amused glances, and Skinner felt his face redden, more from the thought that Mulder had willingly returned to that death trap to find him, than from his agents' mirth. The truth of the matter was, though, that if Mulder hadn't been there, Skinner knew he wouldn't have made it out. "Thanks," he said, quietly. His agents grins' softened, and Mulder met his eyes and nodded. "Let's get you checked out, sir," he said, directing him to the pair of paramedics waiting behind the police line. The adrenaline rush abruptly left him, and Skinner didn't protest when his agents reached out to support him. "Mulder, you'd--" "I'm fine, sir." Then, softly, "It's an old phobia. Passes quickly once the threat is gone." The AD saw no reason to disbelieve him--Mulder looked perfectly in control once again--so he just nodded. They reached the ambulance, and Skinner didn't need to be told to lie on the gurney; it was calling him like a siren. He had just closed his eyes when an angry voice accosted his ears. "You left him in there, didn't you? You bastard! You left him there to die!" Oh, God. Skinner had nearly forgotten. He opened his eyes. It was Michalski. Keaney's partner. ***** End of part 1/4 Follow the Leader (2/4) by Jo-Ann Lassiter 70302.3654@compuserve.com "Stan, I couldn't get to him. He was pinned on the third floor, and all the stairwells were collapsed." The anguish was clearly heard in Mulder's voice, although Skinner knew that it was meaningless to an agent who had just lost a partner. "Michalski," Skinner said, "it wasn't Mulder's fault. We just couldn't reach him." Suddenly the agent was right in Skinner's face; the paramedics had to work around him. "I'm not blaming Mulder. I'm blaming you. You're the one they were worried about. You're the one they told him to save. I can't fault him for following orders." Skinner felt all the color leave his face. *Had* there been a way to get Keaney down? Had Mulder ignored his personal values and left the man to die? Before he even looked up at an appalled Mulder, Skinner knew the answer. "That's not the way it was, Stan." "Of course it was!" Then Michalski seemed to deflate before their eyes. In a broken voice he asked, "Did you even try?" God help them, they hadn't. "We had no way to reach him..." Skinner let his voice trail off. Even though it was the truth, it sounded pretty damned lame. Someone led Michalski away--Skinner didn't see who, and truth to tell, he didn't care--and horrible reality settled upon him. Oh, Jesus, what had they done? "Sir?" Scully was leaning in close to him now, carefully staying out of the paramedics' way. Skinner looked up at her dully. "You should know... Mulder went back in there on his own. SAC Millea only gave him the order when he called for back-up." She sighed, a cross between a smile and a frown gracing her face. "Mulder told him to fuck off." Skinner wasn't certain he understood where this was leading. If Millea told Mulder to rescue him, why tell the man to fuck off when Mulder was doing the very thing Millea ordered him to do? "Millea told him to forget about Keaney and just concentrate on getting you out. Can you believe it? He actually said that, and over an open line. Mulder said no, that if there was a way to get to Keaney, he'd do it." "So that's who it was," Skinner said softly. "You heard?" "Not words. Just a voice. Yelling." Scully looked confused. "He didn't yell, sir." Skinner looked at her sharply. "He was actually very calm about it." She added under her breath, "For a dickhead." "Then who...?" Scully thought a moment, and then looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Oh. That must have been Michalski you heard. He was listening to the whole conversation and sort of... lost it." Skinner stared up at her and swallowed. "Understandable," he said, then closed his eyes. Skinner couldn't help but wonder... if it had been him up there, would his agent have tried harder? Would he have found a way if it was "the AD?" Was the rescue dismissed summarily because it wasn't? Because it was "just an agent?" God, he hoped not. But he feared it was true. However unconsciously, Mulder had left that man to die. And Skinner had let him. He felt a touch on his shoulder but was too tired and too disheartened to open his eyes. "They're taking you to the hospital now, sir. If you don't mind, Mulder and I would like to come, too." "If you want," he said. Then her hand was gone, and he felt like an artery had been severed. All his strength left him; he was overwhelmed with fatigue and, God, he was so cold. The slamming of a door frightened him awake. He looked around, disconcerted, the surroundings unfamiliar. "Easy, sir. We're taking you to the hospital now." A blanket was spread over him, and Scully's face came into focus behind it. "Do you have another one?" The agent knit her brows in confusion. "Sir?" "Another blanket." He shivered. Turning to the paramedic, she whispered to the woman. Even as Scully smoothed the added blanket over him, the paramedic was injecting something into one of the IV tubes. "I thought you left," he said softly. Again, confusion. "I told you Mulder and I were coming to the hospital." He nodded. So she did. "What's wrong?" she asked. His eyes held hers for a moment. "We didn't try to get him out." "Who? Keaney?" Skinner nodded. "We as good as gave him up for dead." "Sir, I know Mulder. And I know you. Neither of you would have abandoned a man to die." "We did." "You didn't. If there was a way to get to him, Mulder would have taken it--and you know it." "Do I? He was under orders--" "Sir," she said quietly. "You've been around Mulder long enough to know that if it came to a choice between following orders or following his conscience, the order goes right out the window." "But what if he wasn't aware of it, Scully? What if somewhere deep in his subconscious, Mulder gave up? I'm not blind. On more than one occasion I've seen Keaney belittling Mulder. Maybe--" "No, sir," she hissed through her teeth. "Not for that. Mulder would ignore him or hit him, but he would never abandon him. Not consciously, not subconsciously." She studied him for a minute, and Skinner thought she might be looking right into his soul. When he saw the light dawn in her eyes, he was sure she could. Her face creased in sympathy. "Mulder didn't give up on him." She covered a bandage-wrapped hand with her own. "Neither did you," she said softly. He felt his voice choked with emotion, but it was necessary to make her understand. "I didn't even try, Scully. Don't you get it? Mulder said no, and I accepted it." "You were hurt and you were scared. There was nothing you could have done." "But even if there was... I never bothered to pursue the matter. I accepted the decision on Mulder's say-so alone." "Sir..." She waited until he looked at her. "I know that even though you and Mulder have had your differences, you respect his skill as an agent. Even more importantly, you respect him as a human being. You know his values; you've experienced them first-hand." He nodded. "Knowing Mulder as you do, why would you *not* accept a decision on his say-so alone? I believe you took into account the situation and came to the same conclusion. Mulder's voicing it only solidified what must have been an excruciating realization: that you were leaving a man to die. That there was no way you could save him. That no matter what you may have wanted, you were powerless to change the outcome. *That's* what's eating at you. Not that you *didn't* save him, but that you *couldn't.*" He stared at her. Could she be right? "I'll.. have to think about that, Scully." "I wish you would, sir. You did nothing wrong." She pulled the blanket up over his shoulder where it had slipped down. "But why don't you wait until you're feeling better? The world looks a lot less bleak when you're not in pain." "Okay." He'd grant her that. She smiled and laid a hand on his arm. "We'll be at the hospital in a few minutes. I'm pretty sure they're going to admit you. Do you want anything from your apartment?" "Just a change of clothes." "Um... do you have any sort of sweatpants? Something with an elastic waistband? Because I don't think you'll be doing any buttoning up for the next few days with those hands." "They're in... one of the drawers. I don't remember which." "It's all right, sir. We'll find them." "We?" "Me. Mulder, too, probably. Unless you'd rather send someone else?" "No, no. That's fine, Agent Scully. You'll need the keys..." He automatically started to reach for them, then froze. "Do you want me to get them, sir? Are they in this pocket?" She indicated the one he had been aiming for. "Yes." He lay perfectly still while her hand slid down his hip to his thigh. Her hand clenched around the bunch of keys and drew them out. "Which one's to your apartment?" "The square one." She picked out a key and pulled it away from the others. "This one?" He nodded. "You'll need the one for the outside door, too." After he showed her which one it was, she dropped the key ring into her jacket pocket. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly. The fire in his hands had dulled considerably, and his surroundings were dimming. "A little... disjointed. What did you have them give me?" "Just something to take the edge off the pain. You were getting a little shocky." "Mm." So that's why he wasn't freezing any longer. They both remained silent while the paramedic took Skinner's vitals and relayed them to the hospital. Their ETA was two minutes. "I'll take care of the paperwork at the hospital, okay, sir?" "Oh. Yes. Thanks." "Then Mulder and I will drive to your place. By the time we get back, you should be just about settled into a room." "Right." "If you think of anything else you need, have someone give a call on my cell phone." "All right." Skinner suddenly smiled. "You're doing a fine job of keeping me awake, Agent Scully, but the splinters in my hands are doing that quite nicely, thank you." Instead of returning his smile, her expression saddened. "I know. I'm sorry. But we didn't want to give you enough to put you out." "Because of the concussion." She nodded apologetically, sighing. "It's all right, Scully. I understand." The ambulance came to a halt, and Scully moved out of the way so the paramedic could get in position to move Skinner out. The door opened, and the two paramedics whisked him away so fast it made him dizzy. Despite his best efforts, Skinner felt himself slipping into darkness. He didn't resist. ***** Trinity Hospital Washington, D.C. Friday, December 5, 1997 12:45 a.m. The voices were hushed, and he couldn't understand them, but they were strangely comforting. Familiar, yet not. Voices he knew, yet couldn't place. Whispers. He was in a hospital, he suddenly remembered. The voices--people--were being considerate. Not wanting to disturb him, waiting for him to wake. Somehow this warmed him. Dispelled a little of the chill he felt when he recalled how he came to be in the hospital. At whose expense he was alive. His eyes opened and settled on the voices. He knew it would be them. A whole contingent of agents was most likely right outside his door, but only Scully and Mulder were at his side. "Thank you for keeping the wolves at bay, Agent Scully." Her conversation stopped in mid-word, and she stepped closer. "Actually, it was Mulder. I don't know how, but he got them all to go home." Skinner turned to Mulder expectantly; the agent gave a lopsided smile. "Actually, it wasn't me. I talked until I was blue in the face, but they wouldn't budge." Mulder looked embarrassed at that admission. "AD Johnson was standing around the corner. He sent them all on their way." "Where is he now?" "Gone home," Mulder answered. "He stayed awhile, but the doctor said he thought you'd probably sleep a few more hours, and you were out of danger, so he left." "What time is it?" "Quarter to one," Scully replied, yawning. Skinner was dismayed. "Why are you still here? Don't you two have to be at work in the morning?" Mulder hid a yawn behind his hand. "Yes, sir, but we didn't want you to... Um... we just thought... when you woke..." The agent looked down at the floor as if by not meeting his eyes he could avoid his boss's disapproval. "Mulder," Skinner said softly, and the agent looked up. "Thanks. I appreciate it. You, too, Scully." Mulder was right: he felt better just knowing there was someone waiting for him. He skewered both agents with his eyes. "Now get home and get some sleep." The agents grinned tiredly. "Yes, sir." ***** Monday, December 8, 1997 10:40 a.m. AD Skinner's Office Skinner watched the group of agents file out of his office, while two others filed in. "Please." He motioned Mulder and Scully to the pair of chairs in front of his desk. "How are you feeling, sir?" Scully asked as she lowered herself into her seat. The AD knew she was asking after his mental health as well as physical. "Better, Agent Scully. Thank you." That little talk with Scully had finally sunk in, and he did feel much better about the situation. He shifted his gaze to Mulder and found the agent avoiding eye contact. Scully must have mentioned their conversation to him. "Agent Mulder." The male agent looked up reluctantly. "Do you have that report I asked for?" "Yes, sir." Mulder hesitated momentarily before placing the folder in Skinner's bandaged hand. Skinner sat back and sighed, not looking at the report in front of him. "Mulder, it wasn't my intention to doubt your integrity. I realize there was nothing you could have done for Keaney." Mulder's eyes flicked to his, then retreated to his hands in his lap. "I tried," he said very softly. His head raised, and he met Skinner's puzzled gaze. "When you passed out. The two times I actually got the rope to reach, there was nothing for it to grab onto. Then the explosion, and..." The agent shook his head in defeat. "And then his body, lying there, and I just left it." His eyes darted to Scully and then back to Skinner. "Because I was afraid. I left him because I was afraid of the fire." The AD stared at him. It wasn't as though Skinner had forgotten that he wasn't alone in that building--he had just forgotten that he wasn't the only one who'd left a man. Here he was so concerned about Mulder's feelings toward his comments, that he had completely overlooked Mulder's feelings toward abandoning a fellow agent. "He was already dead, Mulder. Even if you had gotten to him, there was nothing you could have done." He softened his voice. "Let it go." His agent was studying him with a look Skinner was seeing more and more of these days: disbelief, hope, and then finally, acceptance. Skinner almost smiled at how far they'd progressed. At the agent's barely imperceptible nod, Skinner broke eye contact, turning his attention to his desk. "I have something I want you to check out." "On the bombing suspect, sir?" Mulder was back to business-efficient. Skinner nodded his head and reached into his middle drawer, withdrawing a cassette tape. "This was here when I arrived." Mulder took the tape from Skinner. "It was already here when Kimberly arrived." He met his agents' eyes. "It wasn't there Friday night, according to her." "It's been checked for prints already?" Skinner nodded. "Wiped clean." "What's on it?" Scully asked. The AD drew in a deep breath. "A song. American Pie. You know it?" They both nodded. "Who doesn't?" Mulder said. Skinner watched as each agent mentally played the song in their heads. They looked up almost simultaneously. "This'll be the day that I die?" Scully beat Mulder to it. "Is this personal?" Mulder asked, holding up the tape, and Skinner detected the alarm in his voice. "I'm not sure," Skinner replied. "The tip about the arms exchange was called in to you, wasn't it?" Mulder stabbed him with piercing eyes. "Someone wanted to be sure you were in that building." The AD nodded. "And on the top floor. If Danon hadn't found that first bomb and cleared the floor, Keaney wouldn't have been the only fatality." Skinner frowned. "The only thing troubling me, though, is..." He sighed deeply. "He's provided me with information before." "With the stipulation that you personally conduct each raid?" Skinner nodded. "Or that would be the end of it." "And you weren't suspicious?" Mulder's tone was incredulous. "Of course, I was," he snapped. "But after six operations--good ones, too--" His anger dissipated. "I relaxed my guard, I guess." Mulder fingered the tape. "Is this from the same guy?" "I have no way of knowing, Agent Mulder. I can only assume that it is." "You didn't bring this up at the meeting, did you?" Scully asked. Skinner shook his head. "Only you and Mulder know about the tape." "Why did you hold this back, sir?" Scully's question was asked very quietly. "Because if it is personal..." He swallowed. He didn't particularly want them involved, either, but he couldn't do it alone. Hell, he couldn't even tie his shoes alone. "...I don't want the whole Bureau to know my business." He met each of their eyes, hoping that they understood the faith he had placed in them. "They won't, sir," Scully averred. "But this is an official investigation, isn't it? Even if it turns out--" "It is," he cut her off, then purposely softened his voice. "I don't expect any special treatment, Agent Scully, but I'd prefer not to be the subject of the lunchroom gossips." "No, sir," she answered. He looked at Mulder; the agent nodded solemnly, and Skinner was sorry he'd utilized that particular analogy. Mulder had been the topic of many a lunchtime discussion. God, this emotional shit was for the birds. "That'll be all," he said gruffly. "Let me know as soon as you find anything." The agents practically bolted out of their chairs. "Yes, sir," they said, making for the door. "Mulder. Scully." Mulder was reaching for the door, his hand on his partner's back, about to usher her out. Their heads turned, and he read the puzzlement on both faces. "Thanks." The briefest flicker of surprise flashed through their eyes, and they nodded. Mulder opened the door, and his agents left quietly. Skinner dragged the pad of paper over from the corner of his desk, then cursed when the bandages on his fingers wouldn't let him hold onto a pencil for more than two seconds at a time. He picked it up once more so that he could throw it down in disgust. He leaned back and began mentally composing his own list of suspects. ***** End of part 2/4 Follow the Leader (3/4) by Jo-Ann Lassiter 70302.3654@compuserve.com Monday, December 8, 1997 4:20 p.m. AD Skinner's Office "Alfred Collings?" The name meant nothing to Skinner. He looked questioningly at his agent. Scully met his gaze. "Twelve years ago, you participated in a raid on the Bowneville Encampment, near Culpepper." Skinner's head snapped up as the memory clicked into place. "The man I shot." Mulder nodded. "His name was Alfred Collings. He was paroled from prison two years ago." The AD squinted at his agent. "Two years? And he waited this long?" "His parole officer says he reported in for five months, and then she never heard from him again. She believes he linked up with another militia unit." "We believe it took him this long to infiltrate deeply enough to supply you with the information he did," Scully said. "So that I'd be sure to show up at that building." Skinner closed his eyes; his head was pounding relentlessly. His doctor had ordered him to work half-days only, and he was vaguely surprised that Agent Scully hadn't mentioned the fact that he had missed it by four hours. He opened his eyes, and was shocked to find himself lying on the couch in his office, Mulder's face inches above his. "Christ, sir, you weigh a ton," the agent said, out of breath, backing away. Mulder jumped when he saw Skinner's eyes upon him. "Jesus!" Then he recovered and moved closer. "Do you know what happened?" he asked softly. Skinner shook his head. His voice felt rusty, and he refused to show any more weakness. "You passed out. Too much, too soon, Scully said. She's upset with you, but she's more upset with herself for not calling you on it." "Where is she?" Skinner asked, hating his cracking voice. "Gone to get her medical bag." "She wants to examine me?" The very thought alarmed Skinner, and he struggled to a sitting position, pushing away his agent's offered hand. "I'm fine," he said, breathing heavily. "Yes, sir," Mulder said, taking a step back and saying nothing more. The agent's face was carefully neutral, non-judgemental. Skinner glared at him. "I can take care of myself." Mulder shrugged. "I never said you couldn't." Suddenly he felt like shit, and not just physically. He swiped the back of one bandaged hand across his wet forehead. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I just hate being like this." The agent sat at the other end of the sofa. "Yes, sir." Mulder stared at him until Skinner relented and met his eyes. "She just wants to make sure you're okay." Skinner sighed. "All right." Scully bustled into the room, and Mulder stood up, close but not hovering. Except for a few medical commands, Scully said nothing to Skinner, and Skinner preferred it that way. Finally, she closed her bag, stood up, and looked down at him. "Go home and get some sleep," she said, not unkindly. "And take your pain medication. That's what it's for." Skinner dared a look up at her, but his head hurt too much from the eye strain. "All right." Thanks, he wanted to say, but the word stuck in his throat. He didn't ask for her help, and he certainly didn't need it. As soon as she left, Mulder walked to his desk and snatched up the vial of pills. The agent studied the instructions a moment, then popped open the container and shook out two of the small white pills. He offered them to Skinner, and Skinner stared at him defiantly. Silently, Mulder nodded his head. He retrieved a cup of water from the sink in Skinner's bathroom. The AD took the cup in both hands, and swallowed as Mulder placed the pills in Skinner's mouth. "Doctors, huh?" Mulder said. "Tell you what to do but not how you're going to do it." Skinner downed the last of the water. "Yeah," he said in a low voice. "Um... how'd you get here this morning?" The AD narrowed his eyes. "I took a cab. Why?" "No reason," Mulder said. "I *can't* drive, Mulder." Skinner held up his hands. Soaking them in the water had really done a number on them. His palms had puffed up so badly that the doctor had one hell of a time getting all the slivers out. Skinner wasn't so sure that he had--both hands still hurt like a son of a bitch. He was scheduled for a follow-up in the morning, and he hoped that they'd take care of it then, and that that would be the last of it. "You should probably let one of us drive you home." Skinner's attention was drawn back to his agent. Mulder's attitude spoke of nonchalance, indifference even, but the concern in his eyes gave him away. The indignant refusal Skinner had automatically prepared for Mulder's proposal died before it made it to his lips. He thought about the episode at the desk. "All right." The look of surprise on Mulder's face positively delighted him, and he couldn't suppress a laugh. Mulder's surprise turned to astonishment, and Skinner had to turn away before he gave the agent either a fond memory or a complex or both. "Did you take your pills?" Scully walked in his door, and the no-nonsense look on her face quelled his humor in about half a second. "Yes," he answered, feeling the blush at how he'd had to take them. "Sir?" The stern doctor tone gave way to worried agent tone. "Is something wrong?" He shook his head. "Nothing's wrong, Agent Scully." She looked as though she didn't believe him but was willing to let it slide--for the moment--as she nodded. "We may have more information on Collings in the morning. His current location, anyway." "Okay," he said, rising, and not missing as he did, his agents' muscles tensing. Ready to catch him. But other than an overall feeling of exhaustion, and the residual aches from the bruisings he received in the fall, he felt fine. Even the stinging in his hands was gone. Good stuff, he thought, thinking about the pills in his pocket. "My office. 8 tomorrow. Before the team meeting. We'll go over what else you learn then." "Yes, sir," both agents said, following him to the door. He stopped, just short of opening the door. "Don't stay too late. You should follow your own advice, Agent Scully." If she was surprised, she didn't let it show, and once again Skinner admired the tight reign she kept on her emotions, unlike her partner, who usually wore his like a placard. "Yes, sir." Satisfied, he opened the door and strolled over to his assistant. While apprising her of his plans, he heard the muffled voices of Mulder and Scully behind him. "I'll see you in the morning then, Kimberly," Skinner said, and started walking. "I'll be back in about an hour," he heard Mulder telling his partner. "Do you want me to bring you the usual?" "Mm, hm. But no mayo this time, Mulder. Just plain, okay?" "Right," Mulder said, as she turned toward the stairway to the basement and he trotted after Skinner. 'The usual.' Skinner suddenly yearned for the camaraderie of his days as an agent, of always having someone at his side. Someone he could talk to, joke with, confide in. Where everything was black and white and not a thousand different shades of grey. Where what he said and did and thought actually made a difference. At least to him. Those days were gone, he reminded himself; an Assistant Director did not belong in the field. Unconsciously, he quickened his stride. "Did you find anything else out about Collings?" he asked. The agent's answer came out in short spurts as he tried to keep up and talk at the same time. "We didn't get a chance to tell you. While he was in prison his wife left him. Took their four-year-old son and went to live in Sweden. Collings never got to see him before they left. Hasn't seen him since. Sir, did you forget to feed the fish or something?" "What?" Skinner asked, not looking at him, heading for the garage elevator. "Why are you in such a hurry?" Skinner immediately slowed. "Oh." They reached the elevator, and he stabbed the "up" button with his knuckle, perturbed to find himself still thinking about his bygone days, and angry with Mulder that for him they weren't. The doors opened, and Skinner stalked inside. His hand hovered over the control panel. "Floor?" "Five," Mulder said, lightly pressing the number. Skinner's hand tensed, and he let it drop uselessly to his side. As Mulder leaned against the back of the elevator, Skinner glared at him. The agent blinked in surprise, and Skinner realized how close he'd come to taking his frustrations out on the younger man. All of a sudden, Skinner felt sorry for the agent. Skinner had memories of something Mulder never had, nor was ever likely to have. The man did not make friends easily. And he trusted no one but his partner. Yet here he was. The surge of adrenaline abruptly left Skinner. When the doors opened, he no longer saw Mulder as someone who irritated him. Just someone who cared. ***** Tuesday, December 9, 1997 8:25 a.m. AD Skinner's Office Kimberly poked her head in the door, and Skinner looked up. "Line two, sir. I think you'll want to take this one." "Is it him?" She nodded. "I think so, yes." The AD returned the nod. "Thanks." He waited until the door closed, picking up line two and pressing the "record" feature simultaneously; he darted a glance at the two agents in front of him. "The bomber?" Mulder mouthed silently. Skinner nodded, even as he barked his official, "Walter Skinner. May I help you?" into the mouthpiece. When the terse conversation was over, he replaced the phone in its cradle. Silently, he rewound the tape and pressed, "Play." The conversation began with Skinner's, "May I help you?" The voice was gravelly. "Take Route 33 into the park. Go in exactly six point two miles due north." "And?" "An exchange. I'll give you their encampment." "Why should I believe you? You set us up the last time." The laugh still gave Skinner the shivers. "There was a deal going down. Two 'suppliers.' One decided to eliminate the other. They got wind of it, so neither showed." "Just us." Skinner's voice was tight. "Hey, man, if I knew I would have told you. It happens. You know?" "Yeah, I know. So how do I know they'll be there this time?" "This ain't a deal. This is the base. I want out, man. You can have the whole enchilada this time." The man paused, and Skinner could just picture him licking his lips. "I want five times the usual. This is my last call, and it's gonna be worth a helluva lot more than that. You're gettin' off cheap, man." "I don't know if I can--" "They got an A-bomb." Skinner's voice was a horrified whisper. "What?" "They got this fuckin' genius workin' for them. They got him some plutonium, and the fucker built them an atomic bomb. No way do I want to be a part of that. I mean, killin's one thing, but that's like... annihilation." "Jesus," Skinner breathed. "So what about it? You make the drop at those coordinates, and I'll hand you the location on a silver platter." "Is it near there?" "It's within a 50-mile radius." "What? That's--" "If I told you where it was, you wouldn't need me any more, would you?" "A deal is a deal. I won't renege--" "That's *my* deal. Take it or leave it." Skinner hesitated. "They have a target and a date. And it's real soon." Skinner heard himself sighing. "Okay. When and what time?" "Tomorrow. Bright and early. Six a.m. Exit the car, walk past the trash barrel into the woods. There's a tree that was struck by lightning. Leave the money behind it." "I'm not coming alone." "Then there's no deal." "I can't drive. My hands were injured as a result of our last 'deal.'" There was a brief silence. "Okay. A driver and you." "I'll be there." "Don't be late." Skinner clicked the tape off. "That's it." "You're not seriously considering going, are you?" Scully asked. "How can I not?" "Sir, he's targeted you. That part about the bomb is probably false." "But what if it's not?" he asked. "I can't afford *not* to go." "It's obviously a set-up!" "You don't know that." "It's a good possibility." Mulder's was the calm voice of reason, and Skinner stared at him. With Mulder's track record of launching himself into dangerous situations, Skinner thought that he would be the last person to argue against his going. "But I think it's a risk he has to take." He directed this last toward his partner; Skinner didn't know if he wanted to thank him for his support or hit him for agreeing with him. "You're both crazy. This is so--" "If there's even the possibility that he's telling the truth, if he's willing to give us this information, it could save thousands of lives." Skinner's voice was quiet. "For the price of yours." The AD heard her anger, but he also heard her fear. For him. And even though he was quite likely to be dead at this time tomorrow, it made him smile inside. "Hopefully not, but if that's the only way... yes." Scully stood up, nearly knocking her chair over. "I refuse to be a party to this... condoned suicide." Skinner nodded. "That's your privilege, Agent Scully. Your participation in this particular operation has been fulfilled. You identified the informant, and a combined ATF/FBI unit will handle the raid." "I'd like to go with you, sir," Mulder said, not looking at his partner. Skinner glanced quickly at Scully before turning his gaze to Mulder; other than her jaw stiffening, there was no outward sign that she had even heard him. "Very well, Agent Mulder. I'll include you on the team." "Not the raid. With you. To meet Collings." Skinner considered the offer. He wasn't willing to risk any other lives on what was clearly a personal matter between him and Collings, yet he needed someone to drive him. And Mulder was the obvious choice. "I had you in mind, Agent Mulder." Mulder nodded. "Thank you, sir." "I'm going, too," Scully said, her voice deathly quiet. Skinner turned to her, surprised; it never even crossed his mind to tell her of Collings' "driver only" limitation. "As much as I abhor this whole situation, and since you're so determined to see it through, I will accompany you in my role as medical doctor." Still standing, she leaned over his desk, laying her palms flat on the surface. "I forbid you to avail yourself of my pathology services, however." He remembered to take a breath. "I'll bear that in mind, Agent Scully." "See that you do," she said, reseating herself. The intercom on his phone buzzed sharply, and all three jumped. He depressed the "Listen" button. "Your nine o'clock's here," came Kimberly's voice. "Shall I send them in?" Skinner glanced at his watch. 8:57. "Yes. Go ahead." He moved from his desk to the conference table, waving Mulder and Scully to seats. The agents filed in. A few eyebrows were raised and a snicker or two was heard at the sight of the X-Files agents. Scully shifted uncomfortably, and Mulder gazed at her in sympathy. Skinner simply stared at the offending agents until they squirmed. He filled them in on the phone call, their parts in the operation, and sent them all on their way. The team would follow him into the forest, but the last mile would be just him, Mulder, and Scully. "You'll be wearing a vest, won't you sir," Scully asked, even though it was not really posed as a question. He considered refusing. If Collings wanted him dead, a kevlar vest was not going to prevent it. But what could it hurt? "Yes," he finally said. "We'll all wear vests." "Any idea how he's going to play this, sir?" Mulder asked. Skinner took a minute to think. "If he follows his MO, I leave the money at the designated site, then he phones me on my cell to tell me where I can find the information." "You, personally, have left the money?" Mulder asked. "That was always part of the arrangement, yes." "That means he's watching you," Scully said. Skinner nodded. "He could have taken me out any time he wanted. Why wait until now?" "Maybe he's after more than just you." Skinner looked at her in alarm. "You think this was all a prelude to taking out an entire squad?" "He almost succeeded five days ago." He thought it over, then shook his head. "No. This feels personal. The previous raids netted us not only commodities, but personnel." "Sacrificial pawns," Scully threw back. "Giving themselves up for the greater good." Skinner stared at her, mulling it over. "You could be right, Agent Scully. We'll proceed under both assumptions." He glanced at the clock on his desk. "If you'll both excuse me now, I've got a date to get these damned bandages removed." Mulder stood, but Scully leaned in closer, stretching her hands toward him. "May I?" She indicated his wrapped hands. Somewhat confused, he nodded his assent, and moved his hands closer to her. After a few seconds of intense scrutiny, she pressed a thumb into his palm. He yelped and pulled his hand out of her grip. "That hurt?" She sounded surprised. "Yes, it hurt." He cradled the still-stinging hand in his lap. "Let me see the other one." "What for?" he asked, not willing to consciously submit himself to this particular brand of torture. "I just want to look at it," she said softly. "I won't hurt you again." His hackles immediately raised at her soothing tone, one she might use to placate a crying child. Yet as he slowly raised his hand, he realized that that promise was the only reason he was allowing her another chance. He grit his teeth and laid his hand on the table. "Is this one sore, too?" she asked, looking but not touching. He glanced at Mulder, still standing silently behind his partner, then looked back at Scully. "Yes." "How long have they hurt like this?" He blew out a breath. "I don't know. A couple of days, I guess." She stood up. "Well, I wouldn't count on getting rid of those bandages today," she said. "It looks like they missed a few slivers." She nodded to his hands. "Those are infected." He looked down at the guilty hands, then back at her. "Infected?" She nodded. "They look like they're full of fluid. They'll probably give you something to numb them, then drain the fluid and go after those slivers." Her look changed from detached professional to sympathetic friend. "They'll most likely bandage you up again." He felt a little stupefied, although he knew he shouldn't be so surprised. His hands hurt when they should have been healing; now that he knew the reason, he was appalled at his stupidity. "Well, I'd better be on my way, then." He nodded to the agents, dismissing them. Scully hesitated, then followed her partner out the door. Skinner looked at his hands and decided to indulge his position of Assistant Director. He called Kimberly on the intercom and requested a car and driver for the remainder of the day. ***** Wednesday, December 10, 1997 5:45 a.m. "There." Skinner pointed to the sign up ahead. Mulder set the marker on the odometer to zero just as the sedan entered Shenandoah National Park. It was decided that Skinner, Mulder and Scully would retrieve the information, but no agents would be sent to the encampment until a reconaissance team sketched a layout of the facility. Once the director got wind of the risks involved to the AD, Skinner had to fight long and hard for the privilege of making himself a walking target. The stakes involved, however, convinced the director that the risk had to be taken. Even he couldn't put the life of one AD above ten thousand civilians. "Which one's north?" Mulder asked, as the road split in three different directions. "That one." Skinner pointed to the right, and Mulder turned onto the dirt road. "I still don't like this," Scully muttered from the back seat. "You're leaving yourself too exposed. He can take you out any time." "We've been over this already, Agent Scully--" "And I don't like it any better now than I did then." He heard the agent take a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she breathed out. "I understand that this has to be done. I just wish there had been another way." "I'm still open to suggestions." "No suggestions, sir." He almost jumped when he felt her hand on his shoulder. "Except to please be careful. I'd hate to have to break in a new AD now that we've just gotten the old one broken in." "Old?" He shifted around in his seat and threw a quick glance over his shoulder. God, she really was so young. In the seat beside him, Mulder stifled a laugh. "And they say *I've* got no tact." "And they're right," she shot back. Mulder's lazy smile gave way to concentration as the road narrowed and he tried to avoid debris still not removed from the last storm. After several stops mid-road to remove branches too big to skirt, Mulder pulled over to the side of the road, beside a trash barrel. "This it?" Skinner asked. "Six point two miles," Mulder replied. "Exactly." Skinner pulled at the door handle, hissing at the pain the contact with his hands induced. "Here. Let me get it." Mulder leaned across his lap and snapped the lever, then pushed the door ajar before returning to his seat. The AD propped it open with his elbow. "Thanks." He placed one foot onto the grassy surface, then turned to his agents. "Stay in the car. No matter what happens, you don't get out of this car." He looked from one face to the other. "Clear?" Neither wavered from his gaze as they both answered, "Yes, sir." And although the agents never made eye contact, Skinner got the impression that through some silent communication they agreed to totally disregard his command. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he nodded and stepped out of the car, the briefcase containing Collings' payment tucked under his arm. He walked what he estimated to be about fifty yards before he spotted a tree split almost down the middle. Reaching for the briefcase with his bandaged hands, he missed the handle, and the leather case slipped out of his grasp to land on the grass with a dull "thwump." Sighing, he bent to retrieve it. Suddenly, the crack of an M1 rifle rang in his ears, and the unmistakable sound of a bullet whizzed over his head. Leaving the money, he dove for cover behind the thick trunk of the tree. He reached for his gun, but couldn't grab hold of it because of the bandages. Savagely tearing at the gauze with his teeth, he freed up his fingers and pulled the weapon out. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was telling himself that he would regret that move later, while another part of his mind prayed there'd be a later to regret. The security normally engendered just by the feel of cold metal against warm flesh was notably absent; the only sensations relayed to his brain were the seventy million knives stabbing him in each finger. He had a fleeting picture of his squeezing the trigger and fainting dead away, offering up his best, "Here I am; kill me," pose. Several more shots pealed out, and he ducked, but nothing came his way. The "ping, ping" of metal striking metal told him that Mulder and Scully were under fire. Almost simultaneously, the sharp report of a hunting rifle reached his ears, and Skinner swore. Those shots were being fired from the road, not from the sniper in the woods. Damn Scully; she was right: there was no information; there was no bomb. They'd walked into a trap. A hail of bullets peppered the tree trunk beside his face; pieces of bark chipped off, showering his cheeks and eyes, and he jerked back involuntarily. Less than a second later, his arm was on fire. Still blinking furiously against the foreign objects in his eyes, he gasped and flattened himself back into the tree. He looked down at his arm; damn, he had forgotten how much a graze could sting! A muted "phwtt!" sounded off to his left, and he froze as he recognized the sound of a bazooka being fired. "Mulder! Scully!" From the sound of the explosion, the shell had only nicked its target. "Get out of the car! Get out of the car!" he shouted. Another "phwtt" and a thunderous explosion as the car's gas tank exploded. He choked back a cry, uncertain if it emanated because of his injuries or his sense of loss. Were they out? Or did he lose two more agents? Two more friends. Suddenly feeling supremely reckless, self-preservation be damned, he started for the car; a volley of bullets drove him back behind the tree. He was panting heavily, exertion and pain making him lightheaded. Just as he felt about to pass out, the sound of tires skidding on dirt, a slamming car door, and branches being trampled reached his ears. It appeared that reinforcements had arrived. The only question that remained was: whose were they? ***** End of part 3/4 Follow the Leader (4/4) by Jo-Ann Lassiter 70302.3654@compuserve.com Skinner closed his eyes and slid down the tree trunk to the ground. His arm was throbbing, his hands hurt so much they were almost numb, and a steady stream of tears flowed from eyes that felt like they'd absorbed an entire forest. "Sir?" His eyes sprang open at the harsh whisper. He scanned the surrounding woods trying to locate its source. "Mulder?" After a brief hesitation, "No, sir. It's me. Stan Michalski." The still-whispered answer came from behind him, off to his left. Skinner chanced a look in that direction, and Michalski gave a quick wave. "Michalski... Are you here with the team?" Skinner ducked back under cover. "Yes, sir. They're rounding up the militants." "Mulder and Scully? Are they all right?" The reply was a long time in coming, and Skinner feared the worst. "Michalski?" "They didn't make it, sir." Skinner felt sick. After all they'd been through, to die like this... "Are you sure?" His voice broke, but he didn't really care what Michalski thought of him at this moment. "Yes, sir. I saw..." He stopped; Skinner wasn't sure he wanted to ask him to continue. "What, Michalski?" he asked softly. "I saw their bodies." That was it then. All that fighting for Scully's life, Mulder's all-encompassing search for the truth... It all ended because they had to go and obey a damned order for once. Skinner suddenly apreciated the fact that his eyes were already tearing. "Sir?" Michalski's voice pulled him back to the situation at hand. "Yeah?" "Your sniper. Draw his fire for a second, would you?" the agent whispered. "I don't think he's seen me." Skinner nodded. He pointed his gun in the general direction of the sniper, gritted his teeth and squeezed the trigger. Immediately, a hail of gunfire greeted him. He heard Michalski fire once, twice, three times, and then a satisfying "plop" was heard as the sniper fell out of his tree. "All clear, sir. You can come out now." Skinner looked where Michalski's voice was coming from and saw the agent kneeling next to a body. Very cautiously, the AD ventured out into the open, scanning the trees for more snipers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that his eyes had finally stopped tearing, and that he could blink without too much discomfort. Thank God for small miracles. "Good job, Stan. Thanks." He forced a smile onto his face. After all, this agent had just saved his life; he didn't deserve the sight of an AD falling on his ass, which is what Skinner really felt like doing. He suddenly noticed the absence of gunfire--the absence of any sound at all. The other agents should have reached them by now; at the very least, the controlled mayhem of an operation should be in evidence. Instead there was only quiet. "You're wounded," Michalski stated. Skinner wanted to laugh. He imagined he looked like he'd been run over by a train. At least that's what it felt like. But he was still the AD. "Yeah, it's okay, though. I've had worse." "I know," Michalski said, as he brought his rifle to bear on Skinner's chest. "Michalski, what..." All of a sudden, it all clicked into place. "There are no reinforcements, are there?" Michalski shook his head. "And no militants. Your man was alone." Unrealistically, Skinner's spirits perked. If Michalski lied about the militants and he lied about the team's being there... "Mulder and Scully? The explosion?" "They were already out of the car when your sniper hit it with the bazooka." Even with a rifle pointed at him, Skinner felt almost giddy with relief. Collings hadn't killed them after all. Michalski smiled at Skinner, and the AD felt his blood freeze in his veins. "Unfortunately, they were dead at the time." "What?" It was the most coherent thought Skinner could voice. Michalski looked wistful. "Death by explosion would have been better for them. It's so much more... permanent." Skinner was shocked. "That was you I heard firing? At Mulder and Scully?" "I really didn't want to do it. I like..." He paused. "...liked Agent Scully." He shrugged. "Mulder was a jerk, though. It's okay that he's dead." "Jesus, Stan. Listen to yourself. You just killed two people in cold blood. How will you be able to live with yourself knowing you're responsible for the deaths of two of your fellow agents?" "Three," Michalski said, smiling. "Although you're high above we mere agents, aren't you *Assistant Director?*" "Is this about Keaney?" Skinner asked quietly. "Yes, it's about Keaney, goddammit! You *left* him there! You and Mulder just left him there to die!" "Stan, listen to me. We tried. Mulder tried to get to him. There was just no way--" "Shut up!" Michalski screeched. "Your precious Mulder ran back in for *you.* He had no intention of rescuing Keaney." "Because he didn't know about him when he went in. Once he found that Keaney was trapped, though, he tried to reach him." "But he didn't." Michalski's voice was very quiet. "He *couldn't,* Skinner stressed. "Forget it, Skinner. I've heard the lies already. I was standing next to Millea when he gave the order." "Michalski, Mulder didn't--" "I said shut up!" Michalski's screams were becoming hysterical. "He's dead. You're alive." Michalski smiled. "But not for long." Everything slowed then, from the rifle's moving up to point right between Skinner's eyes to Michalski's finger tightening on the trigger to the agent's pitching forward to sprawl at Skinner's feet. He stared at Michalski's body a second, then lifted his head, blinking in disbelief when he saw Mulder limping toward him. "Are you all right, sir?" the agent said, huffing painfully. The AD nodded, still a little in shock by the whole turn of events. His eyes met Mulder's. "Scully?" Mulder indicated the road with his head. "Back there. She caught a little of the concussion from the blast. She's okay, though. Just not up to running in here and saving your life," he said, just before he swayed and landed on his knees. "Doesn't look like you got away clean, either," Skinner told him, noting the dilated pupils. "What did you do? Recover before her and tell her you weren't hurt?" Mulder grinned up at him, then grimaced and rubbed his chest--in exactly the spot a very neat bullet hole was etched. He unbuttoned his overcoat and slipped a hand under the kevlar vest, massaging what Skinner remembered from experience to be a very painful bruise. "Did Scully take one in the chest, too?" he asked softly. "Yeah," Mulder breathed out. "She's gonna have one helluva black and blue." The agent started to stand up. "Let's get back to her. I don't want to..." Mulder paled and instead of rising, fell back down heavily; he looked up at Skinner. "I hate to ask you, sir, but..." Skinner leaned over and held out a hand. Mulder latched onto the AD's forearm, and Skinner pulled him to his feet. "Okay, Agent Mulder?" The agent's eyes were slightly unfocused, but he nodded, stumbling back to stand on his own. "I'm a little wobbly, but I can walk. What about you?" Skinner considered keeping up the facade, but quickly changed his mind when he saw the sincere concern on his agent's face. "Same here," he said, suppressing a smile as Mulder raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Let's go then, shall we?" Mulder said. Skinner nodded and took a step. Mulder took a step and fell onto his face. Skinner sighed and picked his agent up. "Why don't you just let me help you, Mulder? It doesn't look like you'll be making your way out any too soon, and I don't think Scully will be too happy if I left you lying on your face in the dirt." Mulder's eyes met Skinner's. "You look like you could use a little help yourself." Skinner chuckled. "I don't doubt it." Then he eyed his agent critically. "But I don't have a concussion." Mulder stared a moment, then nodded. The AD supported the agent with an arm around his waist, and Mulder's arm draped over the AD's shoulder in return. Skinner braced himself for the shock of Mulder's hand hitting his sore arm, but the agent hooked his arm around Skinner's neck instead. Skinner looked at him, thoroughly surprised. "Don't want to bite the hand that's feeding me--so to speak," Mulder said. Too weary to smile, Skinner simply nodded and started them on their way. "How are you doing, Mulder?" Skinner asked, after they'd gone a few steps. "Fine," the agent said. "Fine enough to tell me what happened back there? Michalski said he shot you and Scully before the car exploded." "Yes, sir," Mulder said. "He caught us flat-footed." Skinner heard anger and glanced at his agent's face. "We got out as soon as we heard the first shot..." Skinner sighed, partly in frustration over his agents' overt disobedience to his specific order, and partly in gratitude that they never even considered obeying it. "...and he was down the road, about a hundred feet behind us, waving. Scully walked over to me, waved back, and he raised his rifle and shot her." Mulder swallowed and closed his eyes. "At that moment, when Scully went down without a sound, I understood how he felt, and why he was doing what he was doing. I wanted to kill him myself." Mulder veered off suddenly toward a tree trunk lying on its side. "I'm sorry," he panted, wheezing. "I need to sit a minute." "Mulder? Sir?" Caught off guard by Scully's voice, Skinner had to catch a very surprised Mulder as the man nearly toppled from his perch. "Agent Scully?" Checking with Mulder and receiving an emphatic nod that he was all right, Skinner hurried to the shaky female agent and helped her over to the log. "Thank you, sir," she said, sitting beside her partner. She ran her eyes up and down Skinner, not missing his wounded arm, his unbandaged hands or, he imagined, his bark-pocked face. "I called for the EMT's and backup," she said, taking hold of his arm and starting to examine it. "What happened to your face and eyes?" He sighed. "Never use a tree as cover, Agent Scully." Briefly glancing away from the bullet wound, she inspected his face. "Your eyes seem clear now. Were the particles cleansed by your natural optic secretions?" It took him a heartbeat to decipher what she'd asked him. "Yes," he answered, smiling to himself and silently thanking Scully for finding a dignified way of asking him if he'd cried them out. "And your hands? The bandages?" She nodded to the appendages in question. "I needed to use my weapon." That seemed to satisfy her, and she returned her concentration to his arm. He didn't miss her wince of pain as she moved her head too quickly. "Actually, I seem to have come out of this better than you two." She shook her head slowly. "No, I'm all right." He followed her gaze to Mulder, who looked to be on the verge of collapse. "I think you may be right about him, though." She let go of Skinner's arm. "The bullet just nicked you. It doesn't look too bad." "Agent Mulder was telling me about the two of you and Michalski. Do you remember anything after you were shot? Michalski thought you were dead." She nodded. "He was pretty far down the road, so he aimed for the chest. I went down, but I wasn't unconscious. I heard Mulder shout, and then he was down. We had no cover, and he had a rifle. All in all, it seemed that the best way to stay alive was to play dead." Skinner was slightly confused. "I heard a car, but that was after Michalski had already arrived." Scully thought for a moment. "Michalski got back in his car when the first explosion hit. I felt Mulder tugging on my arm, saying that we had to get away from the car. Michalski or no, if we were next to it when it exploded..." She left the thought unfinished. "We managed to get a few feet away before the next shell hit. I don't remember anything until I woke up and found *him* on top of me." She glanced over at her partner with an expression of annoyed affection. Mulder picked up the story, his voice softer than normal, Skinner noted. "I heard firing back here. Michalski's car was behind ours, but he was nowhere to be seen. Scully was a little out of it, but otherwise okay, so I came after him." He shrugged. "You know the rest." Scully scowled at her partner. "Well, *I* don't." Mulder's look of schoolboy guilt almost made Skinner laugh, until the agent looked at him pleadingly. "Sir, would you mind? I don't feel too well." "What's wrong, Mulder?" Scully asked, her voice softer. He turned to his partner, looking for all the world like a man about to face a firing squad. "My side hurts." Skinner exchanged a look with Scully, confirming that they both feared the same thing: internal bleeding. "Any idea on the ETA of the medics, Scully?" "About thirty minutes from when I called." She glanced at her watch. "About twenty now." Scully bit her bottom lip, clearly worried. "Sir..." Skinner nodded; while Scully unbuttoned Mulder's coat, the AD stood up. "I'm going to get Michalski's keys. Maybe we can meet them partway." Hardly feeling his own injuries, Skinner ran to where the fallen agent lay. As he pulled the keys from Michalski's coat pocket, it struck him how just one incident, one minute, could change--or end--a person's life. He stared at Michalski a moment, gave a fleeting glance to the forgotten briefcase full of cash, then hurried back to Mulder. "Don't be such a baby. Just hold it there while I check the other one." Hearing Scully's voice, Skinner immediately relaxed. If she was yelling at Mulder, then it couldn't be too serious. "How is he?" Skinner knelt beside the--he could see now--thoroughly exasperated female agent. "Whiny," she said, more to her partner than to the AD. "He's got a couple of pieces of glass in his side." "It hurts," Mulder said so pitifully that Skinner threw an accusing look Scully's way. "Sir, would you, please?" She indicated the bloodstained cloth Mulder was pressing to his hip. "I can't hold that and examine the other wound, and *he's* not much help." "Are these the only injuries?" Skinner asked cautiously, taking over for the wounded agent. Scully nodded. "And a concussion. Which would account for the nausea." Skinner darted a glance at the male agent, feeling a pang of sympathy as he took in the tightly-closed lips and the pain-filled eyes. "Then he's not..." Scully looked up at him for a second, a question in her eyes, then shook her head. "There are no signs to indicate internal bleeding, no. Other than the nausea and dizziness, and those can be attributed to the bump on the head and in some small part to the wounds." "Scully, I had no idea he was hurt." "I know, sir. For someone to whom the truth is paramount, he covers it up pretty well." "Scully, I didn't--" Mulder broke off abruptly in a fit of coughing; Skinner wrapped an arm around the agent to prevent him from falling off the log. "I swear I didn't even feel these until a few minutes ago." He turned to the AD. "Thanks, sir." "You're welcome, Agent Mulder," Skinner said softly. "Don't talk anymore, all right?" Mulder swallowed and nodded; he let his eyes close and leaned into Skinner. Almost in reflex, the AD tightened his hold on his agent. "Why do you--" Skinner turned to Scully, but broke off when he found her staring at him, her eyes alive with amusement. He cleared his throat and fixed her with a stern look. "How could he have run around with wounds like these? Shock?" "Shock, adrenaline, fear..." She shrugged, examining the other wound. He heard her suck in a breath. "This one's going to hurt, Mulder." The male agent said nothing, but Skinner winced in sympathy when he felt Mulder stiffen. As Scully drew out the thin piece of glass, Skinner held onto the agent trying so hard to keep himself in check that he was shaking. Finally, the piece was out. Mulder collapsed against Skinner, panting heavily. Scully shook her head at the two-inch-long shard of glass covered in Mulder's blood. She threw it on the ground in disgust. "Scully," Skinner said. "My coat pocket. There's a handkerchief in there." The agent reached in and pulled out the clean cloth. "Thanks." She pressed it to the wound, which was now bleeding freely. "How are you doing, Mulder?" she asked, gently brushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair out of his eyes. "Okay," he said in a voice so clearly out of it that Skinner wondered how he even heard the question, let alone answered it. The agent shuddered suddenly, and Skinner realized that while he and Scully were buttoned up snug and warm inside their coats, not only was Mulder's unbuttoned, but his pants and underwear were peeled down enough to reveal his injuries. Skinner was about to suggest they move somewhere warmer when Scully spoke up. "Can you help me get him to the car, sir? This cold's not doing him much good." Without waiting for his reply, she told the trembling man, "Mulder, I need you to stand up. Can you do that?" Skinner could only wonder at her about-face. A minute ago, she had likened her partner to a whimpering child; now she treated him like he was the most precious gem in the universe. Beside him, he saw Mulder nod; the AD helped him to his feet while Scully checked the two wounds on his left hip. "The bleeding's slowed; I think he can withstand a short trip." One by one, she held each handkerchief to a wound and carefully pulled the material of his boxer shorts over it. She zipped her partner's fly, but left the button and belt undone. When he looked at her in curiosity, she explained. "If that wasn't necessary to keep your pants from falling off, I'd have left it down, too. You don't need anything rubbing up against those injuries." "All set, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked. "He's not going to last too long on his feet, and I don't think either of us are in condition to carry him." "Yeah. Sorry." She slid under Mulder's other arm. "Let's go." It was only about twenty-five feet to the car, but before they reached it, the soreness of Skinner's hands, which he hoped had gone on permanent vacation, began to assert itself once more. The rough material of Mulder's wool coat rubbed against the bare skin where he'd torn the bandages, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. "You can let go, sir. I've got him." "What?" he asked, not really hearing the question. "Let go," she said, and her voice was so soft that he stared at her, baffled. "Your hands hurt." He nodded. "Let go, sir. We can make it the rest of the way on our own." "But--" "It's okay, sir," he heard Mulder say. "I appreciate your help, but I'm all right now." "Well, it's all moot now anyway," Scully said, stopping their progress. "We're there." Skinner quickly released his hold on Mulder; he let his hands drop down to his sides but almost immediately raised them chest-high when the blood rushing into them increased the pain level. "Do you have the keys?" he heard Scully ask. "Yes. In my..." He stopped, and when his eyes met Scully's, they shared a tiny smile. "In your pocket?" Her hand slipped into his coat pocket and came away with the car key. She met his eyes again. "Are there any I haven't tried yet?" He nearly choked on his surprise. "Sir!" He heard Mulder's voice and felt Scully's hands close around his arms. When he could breathe again, Scully's apologetic face shimmered into focus in front of him. Skinner found himself sitting on the ground, Scully kneeling before him, Mulder off to the side leaning against a tire, looking worried. "I'm sorry," Scully said softly, biting her lip to keep herself from laughing. "It's all right," he sighed. "I was a little... unprepared." He saw her bite harder on her lip before turning to her partner. "Mulder? Are you okay?" "Is Skinner all right?" he asked. She nodded and glanced at the AD. "He's fine. Just swallowed wrong." A siren sounded suddenly, and they were invaded by FBI and medical personnel. While Skinner informed the agents about the bodies in the woods, Scully filled the EMT's in about his and Mulder's injuries. Mulder was hurting again, but he had enough presence of mind to send a message Skinner's way a second before an IV needle was jabbed into the agent's arm. "Just a minute, please," Skinner directed at the EMT's starting to work on him. "Agent Scully was injured also." She whirled around on him, a mixture of betrayal, confusion and gratitude in her eyes. "I'm--" "No, she's not," Skinner cut her off. "She was shot in the chest--" As the EMT's stared at her in alarm, he continued quickly. "She was wearing a vest. But I want her checked out. And she was unconscious for about five minutes from the explosion of that car." He indicated the smoldering heap that was his Bureau-issue car. Mulder smiled. "I think you're outnumbered, Scully." She sighed and plopped down onto the ground between Mulder and Skinner. "Okay. I know when to give in." "But never give up," came Mulder's drug-slurred voice. "Michalski was wrong. We didn't give up." Hopeful eyes turned upon Skinner. Skinner met Scully's eyes; the conviction he saw there was what finally convinced him. He looked at the male agent and smiled when he saw the hope change to belief. "No, Agent Mulder. We never gave up." ***** Epilogue FBI Headquarters Employees' Break Room Friday, December 12, 1997 7:30 a.m. "How are the hands, sir?" Skinner's eyes alit briefly on the white gauze his hands were encased in. "Pretty damned useless," he answered, fumbling with the full coffee pot, raising it awkwardly to hover shakily over his mug. The pot grew too heavy before he could make the attempt to fill his cup, and he set it down none too gently. Mulder silently picked up the glass container and filled the empty cup with coffee. "Were you going to drink this in here?" Skinner got the feeling Mulder already expected the "no" but asked anyway as a courtesy. "In my office," the AD answered, reaching for the cup. "I can get it." Mulder moved the mug out of Skinner's reach, picked up his own full cup and started for the corridor. The agent paused at the open door, and Skinner sighed as he preceded his agent out. Walking swiftly ahead of Mulder, Skinner reached his office and opened the door, holding it ajar, waiting for the agent to catch up. "Give me those. Are you trying to reopen that wound?" He looked back in surprise as Scully's irritated voice reached his ears. Hurrying to the agent caught halfway between the break room and the AD's office, Skinner reached out to take his cup from the female agent. "It's my fault, Agent Scully. I shouldn't have let him carry it." She moved the coffee away from him. "You shouldn't be carrying this with those hands, either." "I'm fine, Agent Scully. Give me my coffee." She pulled it back. "Begging your pardon, but I don't think so, sir." A wisp of the coffee wafted up to his nostrils; his mouth started to water for the life-giving brew. "All right. Conceded. Could you take it to my office, please?" She nodded. "Be glad to, sir." A quick glance to her partner. "Come on, Mulder, before you fall." "I'm--" "Don't even say it." And she turned, walked away, and disappeared into Skinner's office. About to apologize for his inadvertently causing a disagreement between Mulder and his partner, Skinner was surprised to find the agent gazing fondly at the door Scully had just vanished through. "I'd say she could definitely use a cup, wouldn't you, sir?" Skinner nodded. "Definitely." He looked at his hands, then at Mulder holding up the wall. "But I'm not going to be the one to bring it to her." Mulder glanced toward the break room, then to Skinner's office. "Me, neither. She'd cut me up into little pieces and feed me to my fish." Skinner smiled at the idea of his six-foot agent fearing for his life from his five-foot-three-inch partner. He almost laughed when he realized that he'd just about admitted the same apprehension a second ago. His heart started beating rapidly as Scully exited his office and headed for the two men. Very quickly he replayed the past minute in an attempt to determine which of them was about to incur her wrath. He darted a glance to Mulder and when their eyes met, he realized that the agent was running a few calculations of his own. Agent Scully was certainly a force to be reckoned with, yet Skinner knew that she'd managed to piece her partner together on more than one occasion. And if he was honest with himself, Skinner would admit that she'd done a little repair work to his psyche the past week also. So it was with a feeling akin to glee that he realized that he'd managed to shock her by nullifying her steely glare with his gaze of warmth and gratitude. He caught Mulder's understanding smile out the corner of his eye as the AD bowed gallantly to his female agent. "Agent Scully, I'd like to buy you a cup of coffee." The End My God, this is a hell of a job. I have no trouble with my enemies. I can take care of my enemies all right. But my damn friends, my goddamn friends. They're the ones that keep me walking the floor nights. --Warren G. Harding Comments would be greatly appreciated! Jo-Ann at 70302.3654 @compuserve.com