Title: What Cost, Friendship? 
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 for violence
Category: SA - ADV
Spoilers: None
Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship
Archive: Yes, please.  
Feedback: Yes!  Please!

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by Chris Carter, 
1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc.  They are wonderfully 
brought to life by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and 
Mitch Pileggi.  I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox 
if they sue me, for I am poor and have nothing material they can 
profit from.

Summary: With the threat of Scully's cancer returning,
CSM blackmails Skinner into another covert operation.  When
Mulder finds out what is happening, he insists on being
involved.

Comments: For the background on Skinner's Viet Nam era
covert ops experience, you need to read "Retrieval," available at 
Daydreamer's Den: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113/
It can also be found at the WalterTorture site:
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Shadowlands/7855/



What Cost, Friendship? 

Skinner walked silently beside the other man, 
his hands clenched tightly into fists, but 
shoved deep in the pockets of his overcoat,
away from temptation.  He shivered in the chill
autumn air, but whether from the cool breeze 
or from disgust, he could not tell.  The man 
was still speaking.

"Your recent performance in obtaining Agent 
Mulder and Agent Scully's release was," the 
man shot him a look from the corner of his 
eye, "well, considering your age and the time
you have been -- out of practice, shall we say? --
your performance was amazing."  The man
paused, obviously waiting for a response.

Skinner continued to walk, remaining silent
until it was clear the man would go no further
without some reaction.  His hands tightened
even further and he thought how easily he
could kill this man.  He took a deep breath
of the clean, crisp air, then grunted, all the
acknowledgment he was willing to give.

The man laughed, then crushed his cigarette
under his foot and lit another.  "Ah, Mr. Skinner,"
he sighed, "how eloquently put."

Skinner stopped abruptly and turned to face
the man.  "I'm here as you *requested,*" he
snarled.  "Let's stop playing games.  What do
you want?"

The man had stopped as well, and was staring 
at him.  Skinner was struck by the picture they
must make.  Two middle-aged men, apparently
facing off in the middle of the Mall.  He shook 
his head at the absurdity of it.  He was tired of
the games.  He held the man's eyes a moment
longer, then shifted slightly to look up at the Capitol.

The man must have sensed Skinner's shift in
mood for he pivoted and began to walk again, 
and Skinner began moving as well.  They 
continued on in silence for some time, then 
the man asked, "How is Agent Scully?"

Skinner took his time in answering, acutely
aware that any information he gave could
later come back to haunt them, but even more
convinced that the question was rhetorical, and
the man already knew the answer.  "She's --
recovering," he said finally.  "She's on medical
leave."

The man was nodding, smoke curling lazily
over his head.  "I did not -- advocate -- the 
treatment she received at the hands of her captors."
He coughed then, almost in embarrassment, and
Skinner glanced his way.  "They were only
supposed to hold your agents.  The rest, well, 
it was one man going too far."

He stopped, then gazed unseeing up the grassy 
expanse of the Mall.  "You can see now why he
had to be eliminated."  

Seeing the man's expression, one of anger and chagrin, 
Skinner slowly nodded.  He felt some of the tension
leave him, then reminded himself to never relax,
never believe, when this man was involved.  The
two continued to walk in silence, each lost in his
own thoughts.

"She is very strong," the smoker commented.

Skinner's anger returned.  She was strong, but there
was no reason for her strength to continually be
tested.  He was seized once more by the desire to
turn and break this man's throat, ending the hold 
he had on them all.  His hands opened and closed, 
deep within his pockets, but his face remained impassive.

"It is a trial to have to be civil to me, isn't it, Mister
Skinner?" the man said harshly.

Skinner remained silent, refusing to be baited,
refusing to look at the man.

Another cigarette fell to the ground, and the man
sighed as he fumbled in his coat for the pack.  He
pulled one out, then dug in his pocket for his
lighter.  Once lit, he sucked greedily, then sighed
again.  "There has been no recurrence of Agent
Scully's cancer, has there?" he said in a dry,
flat tone.

Skinner looked sharply at the man, his hands itching
to make their way to his throat, or perhaps his head.
A quick twist - but, no, he would not let his thoughts
go there.  It brought too much pleasure.  He shivered
again, this time in self-disgust.  "No," he said shortly.
"Why do you ask?"

"I have need of your -- ah, *skills* -- again," the other
man answered.  "I simply wanted to make sure we
were clear on the environment we were operating in
before we move on to the topic at hand."

Skinner nodded shortly, then said, "We're clear.
Move on."

The man laughed again.  "Ah, Mr. Skinner, I do
like dealing with you.  Always to the point."  He
pulled on the cigarette again, then added.  "It is 
actually quite refreshing."

"I won't be your errand boy forever," Skinner
said.  "Perhaps you should be making future
plans."

"There is no need," the man responded.  "Listen
carefully, for I will only make this offer once.  You
should be quite pleased to know that with the 
successful completion of this small task, I am
prepared to provide you with a chip that will not
just keep Agent Scully's cancer in remission, but 
will cure it permanently."  

Skinner noted the man was attempting to maintain
an unconcerned facade, but was sneaking looks in
his direction out of the corner of his eye.  "How can 
I believe you?"

"The first chip worked, did it not?"  The man stopped
walking again, and turned to look expressionlessly at 
Skinner.  "This one task will assure Agent Scully's health, 
and you will no longer be - let us say, *indebted* -- to me.  
But as I said, I will only make this offer once."

Skinner's mind was racing.  A way to save Scully.  A
chance to free himself.  But it all hinged on the ability
to trust this man, a man who had repeatedly proven 
himself far less than trustworthy.  "What do you want
me to do?" he asked finally.

"No, Mr. Skinner, nothing is that easy.  I want your
commitment first, then we can discuss the specifics
of the task at hand."

Skinner started walking again, and the man followed.
He had known it wouldn't be that easy, but had had
to try.  

"I will say this," the man offered, "you will be working
for the security of this nation, and this planet."

Skinner snorted.  National security.  Now where had
he heard that before?  "Am I going to have to kill?"
he asked, and shuddered at the frisson of anticipation
that ran through him.

"Probably," the man said shortly.

Skinner's thoughts were whirling madly.  Could 
he do it again?  It had taken him years after Viet Nam
to put it behind him.  He'd been young.  A boy from
the country.  Good with a gun.  Naive.  Innocent.
Idealistic.  He'd been easy to twist to their purposes.
Easy to entice with words like *Hero.*  *Patriot.*
*Righteousness.*  And, of course, the ever famous
*National Security.*  Even now, he could hear the
capital letters as his captain recruited him into the
special forces unit.  Covert ops.

He'd killed.  And he'd been good at it.  He'd done it 
willingly.  He'd been praised for it.  He'd been known 
for it.  He'd been a success at it.  And, God forgive him, 
he'd *enjoyed* it.  The anticipation.  The sense of his 
own mortality.  The rush.  The *aliveness* of it all.  

And the money.  Off the record operations.  Black 
nights filled with even blacker deeds.  *Compensation*
for good work and silence.  Even then, he'd known 
the money for what it was -- blood money.  Some of
the boys killed for the money.  He'd always looked
down on them.  He'd felt he was there for the right
reasons.  *Loyalty.*  *Justice.*  *Truth.*

But it had still warped him.  He'd had no choice but to 
enter law enforcement.  He couldn't live without his gun 
at that point.  He'd done two years on the DC police
force, two years of hell as he tried to adjust to a world
where you didn't shoot people who were different 
from you.  A world where you didn't shoot people
at all, if you could help it.  

But he'd had three shootings in two years -- all good
shoots, all clean kills -- and he'd been found justified
in his use of force each time.  But had he been?  Could
he have found another way if he hadn't been so eager
to ride that adrenaline wave all the way to completion?

He sighed, then looked at the man.  "I need some time,"
he said.

"There is no time."

Skinner sighed.  He'd known the answer.  "Leave me
for a few minutes," he demanded.

The man stared at him, then nodded.  He jerked his head 
toward a bench that faced the concrete path they walked 
on.  "I will await your decision over there.  Do not test
my patience."  The man walked away and Skinner turned 
his back to him, staring out over the Reflecting Pool.

To kill again.  To knowingly go into a situation where he
would have to kill.  Could he do it again, and have any
hope that his soul would emerge intact?  The addiction
was still there; he could feel it deep in his belly, stirring,
demanding, rising to be fed.

After the last shooting, it had been there too.  Insistent,
an ever present need for the rush, need for the excitement.
He'd disgusted himself with his own lust for killing.
He'd left the force and gone to college.  Shocked his
family -- simple country people who worked with their 
hands.  No one had ever gone beyond high school before, 
but Skinner knew he had to find a different path, or he'd 
never survive.

He'd finished college, then applied to the FBI.  Law
enforcement, but more investigative than confrontational.
And he planned from the beginning to get out of the 
field and into an office.  He knew the dangers of the
field.  He'd felt he could protect others who fought 
the same deadly desires he had.  He could weed them
out, steer them to safe places.  Channel their abilities
in sane directions.

And he'd accomplished his goal.  Locked the money 
away.  Put the tools of his former trade to rest.  He'd
moved up quickly, and been successful in his own 
career plans, and in his ability to recognize and
remove agents who were a danger to others or to 
themselves.  

But like an alcoholic who can never drink again,
he was a killer who could never kill again.  The 
rapacious need was still there, hovering just
below his consciousness, ready to rise and fill
him with self-hatred, and loathing, and disgust
at the pleasure he found in the act of ending a life.

He'd avoided the triggering act -- bringing death
to another -- for years now.  Until recently.  Until
this man -- he turned back and stared at the man
on the bench, cigarette in hand -- this man had 
manipulated him into a termination contract without 
his knowledge.

This man had approved the taking of two people and 
unspeakable things had been done to them.  Scully had 
suffered physically, suffered in a way that should never 
have occurred.  But, Mulder?  Mulder was still 
overwhelmed.  Being forced to watch helplessly as 
Scully was abused, being reminded of his own 
ineffectiveness, his inability to protect those he loved, 
it had nearly destroyed him.

Even now, Mulder was on shaky ground.  Skinner was 
watching him closely, unwilling to let him out alone
on a case.  Insisting he spend time with Scully at her
mother's.  And it had all happened because of this
man.  Perhaps knowing, perhaps not, it mattered not,
because the man *did not care.*  And that was what
made him dangerous.

He scowled, then turned away again, looking back 
to the Pool and the serenity the still water offered.  
A deceptive serenity.  The water was dark, hiding 
unknowns beneath its murky depths.  Rather
like the smoker with his facade of stillness as he
awaited Skinner's decision.  What unknowns did
he hide?

He sighed aloud.  There was no decision.  Once again,
there were no other options.  Once again, he was
being manipulated.  He lowered his head as the 
conflicting emotions of rage and humiliation washed 
over him.  He was still in thrall to this bastard, and he
might never be free.  

He stood silently staring at the clouded water.  
What lay hidden beneath its shallow surface?
What would the smoker demand of him this time?
Could he do this for the right reasons?  To secure
Scully's health.  To help heal Mulder.  To free 
himself from servitude to this man.  

Or would he be doing it for other reasons? 
He hung his head in shame as he acknowledged
the emotions that flowed through him.  Would he
do it because it appealed to his baser instincts?
Because he was good at it?  Because he *wanted* 
to?  He was paralyzed as he forced himself to face
the truth about himself -- a truth he still ran from.
He wanted to kill and he wanted to live.  But if 
doing this didn't kill him, would he be able to live 
with himself?

He turned abruptly and strode briskly over to
the seated man.  "I'll do it," he said.  "But then,
you knew that already didn't you?" he added
bitterly.

The man rose, once more dropping a cigarette 
stub to the ground, and grinding it beneath his
shoe.  "I suspected as much, Mr. Skinner," he
responded mildly.  He pulled a legal size
envelope from an inside pocket and extended
it to Skinner.  "Read this.  Formulate a plan.
I will call you."  

"Scully's cure?" Skinner asked.

"Upon completion."

"Then I'm done as well," Skinner said.  "Don't
think you can call me again after this.  I won't
do it.  Ever.  Do you understand me?"

"I think we understand each other, Mr. Skinner,"
the man said.  "Call me if you need to.  There is a
number in the packet."  He turned and walked away, 
and Skinner watched as he lit up yet another cigarette.

'The devil makes his own fire and brimstone,' he
thought, as he watched the man walk away.  The smoke
twisted and curled as it rose above the man in the brisk
November air.  'And I deal with the devil.  Does he 
own me completely now?'  He sighed again, then turned
and began the trek back to the Hoover, resigned to his fate,
ready to begin.

***************************************

Mulder sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial,
his long legs splayed before him.  He'd come to think, 
to sit in the sun and stare at nothing as he continued 
to try to make sense of all that had happened in the 
past few months.  He laughed humorlessly at his own 
thoughts.  As if there could be any sense in what had 
happened to Scully.

She was so strong.  She was recovering physically
from the trauma inflicted on her.  And she seemed
to be coping well psychologically.  He tried to assess
her reactions in the context of his own psych training,
but it was a useless attempt.  He was too closely involved
to have any objectivity, despite his best efforts.

And his own feelings of guilt and remorse and shame 
were too overwhelming for him to make any assessments
on her condition.  They were all colored by his own
emotions.  He had been useless.  Worse than useless.  He
had been part of the instruments of her torture.  If Skinner
hadn't come ...  He rejected the thought -- refusing to 
allow his mind to travel to the realm of 'what if?'

It was only Scully's steadfast resolve that she did not
blame him that allowed him to remain among the
living.  That, and the knowledge that she really would
be hurt if he killed himself.  Though why she continued
to care about him was beyond his comprehension.
Surely she could see that if she went away from him,
stayed away from him, she would be safe.  She could 
have a life.  There could be a husband, perhaps children.

But she refused.  When he spoke to her of leaving, she
brushed him away, angered that he would want 
her to go.  She claimed he made her feel unwanted,
unloved, and he had hastened to prove how far from
the truth that was.  He no longer spoke to her of 
leaving.  Instead he tried to show her how much he
cared, how important she was to him, as vital as the
air he breathed. 

He was committed to being with her all the time,
never letting her be alone.  If she wanted to stay with
him, he was intent on being vigilant, keeping her 
safe.  He had then smothered her so completely, he
drove her to distraction and she sent him back to
work, with orders not to come every day.

He locked his guilt away, determined not to make her 
carry any more of his burdens than she already bore.
But it made him shaky, edgy, even unstable.  He had
to stay away from her, so he worked.  Skinner still had
Scully on medical leave and she was staying with her
mother.  The distance let him excuse himself as he 
complied with her orders to stay in DC.

But Skinner was watching him as well.  And Skinner
had an uncanny knack for knowing when agents didn't
belong in the field.  Everyone at the Bureau knew it --
Skinner's ability to recognize those on the edge had
saved more lives than could be counted.  And Skinner
had labeled him as 'on the edge.'  Mulder snorted.
'Not on the edge for me.  I'm so far over the fucking 
edge ain't nothing but my fingers visible on the top --
holding on by sheer determination and the Scullycord
that keeps me from plunging to the bottom.'

He scrubbed his face with his hands, then rose and 
climbed to the top of the Memorial.  He stood staring
at the giant statue of one of the greatest leaders
in the history of the world.  A man of great compassion
who struggled through difficult times -- a man who
persevered in his beliefs in the face of great obstacles.

The words of Lincoln's most famous message were 
engraved on the wall of this Memorial, and forever in his
own memory.  "It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated
to the unfinished work ..."  Mulder paused, pondering
this charge from a great man of the past.  Unfinished
work.  He had unfinished work.  Scully would be
coming back soon and he had to be ready.  The psychologist
in him knew he needed to deal with his guilt, get beyond
his feelings of uselessness, recognize that he was far
from ineffective.

He straightened his shoulders and stood erect.  He
could do this.  He could go on.  Scully would come
back.  Skinner would see he was all right.  He would
go back to his unfinished work.  He turned to leave,
walking briskly toward the steps, then froze as he looked 
out over the expanse of the Reflecting Pool and the 
grassy Mall beyond it.

There were two men facing each other, almost squaring
off, at the other end of the Pool.  As Mulder watched, 
the tension flowed out of the tableau before him, and the
men turned and began to walk.  Mulder had thought he
recognized them, but as they faced him, he was sure.
Skinner and the smoker.  What the hell was going on?

Mulder huddled down in the shadow of one of the tall
columns of the Memorial and watched as a fascinating 
scene played out before his eyes.  Skinner and the other
talked as they walked, and Mulder could see the tension
that grew, almost exponentially, in Skinner's body.  The 
AD's hands were deep in his pockets, but Mulder would 
have laid odds they were clenched into fists.

The men had stopped again, then the one turned and 
walked to a bench and sat.  Skinner paced to the side of
the Reflecting Pool and stood, apparently lost in thought.
Mulder watched as Skinner waged an inner battle, then
reached a decision and returned to the other man.  A short
conversation followed, then a packet of papers changed
hands and the smoker walked away.  Skinner stood staring
at his retreating form for some time, then turned and walked
away himself.  

'Unfinished work,' Mulder thought.  'It's come to me.'  

He descended the stairs quickly then walked hurriedly 
after Skinner, determined to know what was happening. 
The smoker had been involved in the last episode where
Scully had been so grievously injured.  What good could
possibly come from this meeting?

He was almost upon the older man now, consumed with 
a need to know what was happening.  He came up behind
the AD, then reached out, catching his shoulder as he 
spoke.  "Sir?"

Skinner whirled, his arm coming up to catch Mulder's
wrist as he pivoted smoothly and turned Mulder in
his grasp.  When he stopped moving, Mulder's arm
was wrenched up tight behind his back, and Skinner's
arm was pressed against his throat.  

They stood unmoving for a long moment, both surprised
by Skinner's instinctive reaction.  Finally, Mulder managed
to croak, "Uh, Sir, could you let me go now?" and Skinner
immediately released his hold.

"Sorry, Mulder," he mumbled shamefacedly.  "You startled
me."

"No shit," Mulder responded, gingerly rubbing his neck
above his tie.  "Remind me not to *startle* you again."

Skinner smiled slightly and gave a half-amused snort.
"What are you doing here?  I thought I told you to go
spend some time with Scully."

It was Mulder's turn to be embarrassed.  "I, uh, that is,
we need some time -- how do I say this -- she wants, um,
she needs ..."

"You were getting on her nerves," Skinner said shortly.

"Yeah."  Mulder smiled.  "I do that to people."

"No shit."  Skinner echoed Mulder's words back to him 
and the younger man laughed.  "You were hovering."

"More like smothering to hear her tell it."

The two men smiled at each other, and Mulder noted
that Skinner was truly relaxed, at ease with him.  The
tension he had noted during the earlier exchange with
the smoker was gone.  

Skinner turned and began walking again, and Mulder
moved quickly to catch up.  "Uh, Sir," he began,
"I was sitting in the Lincoln for a while back there ..."
He trailed off again, allowing Skinner to make the
connection.

Skinner flushed slightly, but kept moving.  "For how
long, Mulder?" he asked conversationally.

"Long enough."  Skinner stopped and Mulder halted
as well.  The two men looked at one another.  "What
did he want?" Mulder asked.

Skinner searched Mulder's eyes for a long moment,
then shook his head.  He turned and began walking again.
Mulder fell into step beside him once more.  "You 
look better, Mulder," Skinner commented.  "More
focused."

Mulder nodded.  "I've been working on things," he
responded. 

"And Scully comes back to work next week," Skinner
added.

"Yeah."  Mulder couldn't control the grin that spread
across his face at that thought.  "She does at that."
He looked over at Skinner, noted the tension was
back in the way he carried himself, the worry lines
that creased his forehead.  "Is something wrong, Sir?
Something about Scully?"

"No, Agent Mulder."  AD Skinner was firmly in place
now, a sudden and confusing change.  "I will be
very glad to have my top team back together.  I have
several cases on my desk I'll have sent down to you,
to be pursued only *after* Agent Scully returns next
week."

Mulder stopped suddenly, and reached out to grab
Skinner's elbow, pulling him to a halt as well.  "What
the hell happened just now?" he demanded.  "We were 
talking, like normal people, and then, wham! you
put the AD suit on and everything's business as 
usual.  What did that bastard want?  What did he
do?  And how is Scully involved?"

Skinner stared pointedly at Mulder's hand, still
clutching his arm, and the younger man slowly
removed it.  They glared at one another for a 
moment, then Skinner lowered his eyes and sighed. 

"He offered me a cure for Scully's cancer.  Not 
just remission.  No more threat of recurrence hanging
over her head.  He offered me the cure."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


He was in the back bedroom again, the old trunk on the 
floor in front of him.  Only now, instead of a thirty year
old lock, there was a new Master padlock closing a shiny
new hasp.  He crouched before the trunk, one finger reaching
out to stroke the lid as he thought back to the afternoon.

Mulder had followed him back toward the Hoover, determined
to find out what exactly was the smoking man's deal.

"What do you mean 'a cure?'" Mulder asked.  He was walking
fast, almost running, as he tried to keep up with Skinner's
determined stride.

"A cure, Mulder.  Surely a man with your education knows
the meaning of a cure," he'd responded sarcastically.

"But, she's OK.  Isn't she?  I mean, she is OK, right?"

"She's in remission, Mulder.  Another word you should
be able to define."  Skinner was impatient.  He needed time
to think.  Time to plan.  Time alone.  In peace.  Without 
Mulder.  But the younger man just wasn't taking the hint.

"Yeah, but I thought ..." Mulder's voice trailed off as
he worked things through.  He reached out and grabbed
Skinner again, pulling him to a stop.  

And though he didn't want to, he stopped, for to have kept
moving would have created an even bigger scene than the
one that was occurring.  "Let me go, Mulder," he growled
warningly, but from the look in Mulder's eyes, he could
see the man hardly heard him.

"I thought that as long as she had the chip, she was
protected," he said accusingly.

Skinner sighed, and reached up to gently pry the
agent's fingers from his arm.  "I thought so, too,
Mulder, but apparently not.  Or maybe so.  You know
who we're dealing with."  Skinner shrugged, then 
turned away from Mulder, and the anguished look 
on the man's face.  "I can't afford to take chances," he 
murmured.

He stood silently, then turned back to find Mulder
staring at the ground.  When Skinner reached out and
touched his arm, he jumped, then lifted pain-filled
eyes, and said, "Neither can I."  He nodded grimly
as if coming to some kind of agreement with himself,
then asked Skinner, "What do we have to do?"

Skinner closed his eyes and shook his head.  He should
have seen this coming.  "Nothing," he replied.  "*We*
don't have to do anything."

"What do you mean?  That bastard made a deal with you
for something -- I saw it.  Now -- what does he want?"
The animation was back in Mulder; anger and frustration
creeping to the forefront and threatening to get the best 
of the younger man.

"It doesn't concern you, Mulder," Skinner said sharply.
"I'll handle it."  He started to leave, then added, "Go see
Scully.  Stay with her.  Make sure she's OK."

Mulder was shaking his head -- oblivious to the instructions
he'd just been given.  Skinner could see the man was already
focused on one thing -- finding out what the smoking man
wanted, finding out the terms of the deal.

Skinner turned and began walking again, surprising Mulder
with his abrupt departure and it took a minute for the agent
to get moving.  But once he found his feet, a quick sprint 
brought him abreast the AD.  "Don't walk away from me."

"This doesn't concern you, Agent Mulder."  The Assistant
Director was fully in place.  Anything to get the man to go
away, to leave him alone, to let him do what had to be done.

"Like hell it doesn't," Mulder hissed.  "If it concerns Scully;
it concerns me."

"Agent Mulder, I am giving you a direct order.  You are to
go and check on your partner.  Ensure her safety.  I will not
tolerate your insubordination in this matter."  Skinner pulled
himself erect, somehow seeming to tower over the thinner man,
though they were almost the same height.  His build and
presence worked to his advantage in situations like this.  He
looked at Mulder and saw him bristle.  Well, sometimes it 
worked to his advantage.

"I want to know what he wants.  What do we have to do
to get the cure?"

Time to try another tack.  "Not we, Mulder."  Skinner relaxed his
body, lowered his voice and tried to speak soothingly.  "Me.  
What he wants *me* to do.  And it doesn't matter what it is."  
He reached out again, touching the agitated man's shoulder.  
"You go stay with Scully.  I'll handle this."

Mulder was glaring, unplacated.  "I'll go check on Scully.  But then
I'm coming back.  And when I do, I want answers."  Mulder
knocked Skinner's hand from his shoulder.  "And if you won't
give them to me, I know how to find the man who will."  He 
whirled and walked away, leaving Skinner standing on the
street, his arm still half-raised.

*****************************************************

Skinner was pacing now.  The old trunk had been brought out
to the living room and he was moving back and forth in front of 
the picture window.  

Oh shit, that had been a mess.  Just thinking about the whole 
scene still pissed him off.  At Mulder and at himself.  Would he
never learn how to handle his mercurial subordinate?  What was
he going to do about Mulder?  The man would go to the smoker;
he would sell his soul if he thought it would buy Scully's freedom.

Skinner stopped in his tracks suddenly, as a new thought crossed
his mind.  Maybe that was what the smoker wanted all along.  He'd
been trying to get Mulder from the beginning.  Could he have known
Mulder was in the Memorial?  Was this whole "task" nothing more
than a way to get Mulder?  Oh shit!  God damn the man.  The 
stubborn, stubborn man.  Skinner was going to have to take him
with him, or as sure as there was fire in hell, the smoker would
get him.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  God, this whole thing screamed 
set-up.  But there were no other options.

Skinner walked to the bar and poured a scotch.  He drank it in
one long gulp, then poured again.  Walking to the desk, he withdrew
a notepad and a pen.  He went back to the trunk, sitting on the
couch in front of it.  He placed the pen and paper beside him,
then reached out and turned the tumblers on the lock.  Sharon's
birthday, their anniversary, the day she died.  The lock clicked
and sprang open.  He pulled it off and set it aside, then slowly
lifted the lid.

When the doorbell rang at 3:15 the next morning, Skinner was
still awake, still sitting in front of the open trunk.  The contents 
of the packet from the smoker were strewn haphazardly across
couch, table, and trunk.  The trunk's contents had been removed 
and sorted through, and there was a pile on the floor to his right.  
The notepad had a list a page and a half long.

Skinner got to his feet a bit unsteadily, and moved to the door.  He 
opened it without looking, saying, " 'lo Mulder.  I've been waiting 
for you.  C'mon in."

Mulder peered sharply at his boss, then asked, "Are you drunk, Sir?"

"I certainly hope so, Agent Mulder," Skinner replied.  "I've been 
working on it all night and I hate to think I failed at something
so simple."  He walked back to the couch and sat again.

"Fuck," Mulder breathed.

"Exactly," Skinner agreed.  "How is Scully?"

"She's fine.  Exactly as fine as she was the last time I saw her,
and tired of me."  His voice slipped into a hangdog tone as
he added the last.  "I don't mean to hover, really I don't."

Skinner nodded.  "She'll realize that.  Give her some space."

"Space?" Mulder asked bitterly.  "Correct me if I am wrong, but
didn't you *order* me to go see her this afternoon?"

"Well, yeah, I did.  But I've had a chance to think."  He lifted
his glass in mock salute.  "And drink."

"And?" Mulder asked.  He moved to a chair and plopped down.

"And I have decided that we are fucked."

Mulder lifted an eyebrow.

"You have to come with me."

Mulder nodded.  "What are we doing?"

Skinner rose.  "No," he said.  "No.  You start right now.  You learn
the rules.  MY rules.  My game, my rules.  Rule number one: you
do what you're told and you don't ask questions."  Skinner drained
the glass, then looked down to see Mulder smiling at him with
the amusement the sober often feel for the drunk.  "And don't fuck
with me about this, Mulder.  You don't follow my orders in this, 
and not only do you end up dead, but it could kill Scully as well."

The smile disappeared from Mulder's face, and he nodded, appearing
to accept the gravity of the situation, though he still knew no specifics.

"And you?" he asked quietly.  "Do you end up dead as well?"

Skinner laughed bitterly, then said, "I don't die.  Hadn't you noticed?
When you sell your soul, they can't kill you.  You're already in Hell."

He picked up the pad, rereading it, and missed the mixed look of 
sympathy and concern Mulder shot him.  He tore the top two pages
off the pad and shoved them at Mulder.  "Here."

"What's this?"

Skinner tilted his head and made a "tsk tsk" noise as he shook his 
finger before Mulder's face.  "What's rule number one, Agent Mulder?"

"Don't ask questions."

"Right.  I knew that fabled memory was in there somewhere."

Mulder held the pad, scanning the list, then looked up again,
but this time he remained silent.

Skinner nodded approvingly.  "Very good.  That's your shopping
list."  He reached into the trunk and pulled out a packet of bills.
"Here.  Get everything on the list.  Get exactly what it says.  No
substitutions, no exchanges.  Not even color is optional.  Don't 
screw this up, Mulder."  Mulder was nodding as Skinner narrowed
his eyes and looked at him again.  "I have one more last ditch 
option about you.  I can tie your ass up and leave you in a deserted
warehouse for a few days while I take care of this."  Skinner's 
voice took on a faraway quality, as if he was speaking more to himself
than the man in front of him.  "I'd do it, too, but I'm afraid he'd get 
to you.  He'd get to you and warp you; he'd make you like me.  I don't 
think there is anywhere you can hide from him."

He shook himself, then addressed Mulder again.  "But if you 
screw this up, this *simple* assignment," he spat the words out,
"that is exactly what I'll do.  You understand?"

Mulder nodded.  He didn't understand at all, but he knew enough
to know that this was not the time to go into it.  He'd seen this
man before.  This Skinner, this focused Skinner, this *intense* 
Skinner, this was the man who had saved him and Scully on the 
island.  This was not a man to mess with.  Questions could come 
later.  For now, he had shopping to do.

****************************************************

The plans were detailed, he had to give the smoker that.  It 
was all laid out for him, every possible point of egress, interior
pathways, including ductwork, last known position of the target, 
security measures, it was all there. 

Skinner sighed.  An old farmhouse hiding an extensive 
underground lab complex.  Twenty miles off the nearest
road, and only one drive leading back to the house.  One
seemingly unguarded drive, but actually, very cleverly 
guarded.  A 'farmer' with a shotgun, hostile and direct, who
would suddenly appear out of the woods and stop any vehicle 
trying to go down the road.  Challenging them over being on
private property.  People would be so intimidated by the gun 
and the farmer's hostility, they would be only too willing to 
apologize for the inadvertent trespass and turn around and
leave.  They were truly hiding in plain site.

No way to get in by the road.  They'd have to hike in.
The property was immense; acres and acres of undeveloped
land.  According to the smoker, there were perimeter guards,
but there was no way they could cover the whole property. 
If they dressed right, and moved right, they should be able 
to remain unseen as they made their way to the house.  
Skinner had no doubt he could make the trek without 
incident, but Mulder?  Mulder was another story.

He chuckled ruefully.  For all his interest in the paranormal,
Mulder was a very mundane man himself.  Yes, there was his
eidetic memory and his gift for profiling, which Skinner was
convinced were related; the memory allowing him to make 
connections others missed simply because they couldn't retain
the sheer volume of information that Mulder could.  But aside
from this, which certainly wasn't paranormal, Mulder really 
was, well, ordinary as far as unique abilities were concerned.

He chuckled again as he thought of what Mulder's reaction
would be when Skinner began to instruct him in how to
move through the woods and not be seen.  On how to 'think'
himself invisible.  On 'willing' himself to be part of the 
background, unseen, unheard, unknown.  On seeing a shadow
and becoming a shadow.  All skills Skinner had acquired in
the jungles of Viet Nam, under masters of Eastern beliefs
and philosophies.

Not really paranormal, but not standard skills either.
And he was sure it would amuse Mulder to think that
his stern and serious boss had a metaphysical bent.
Mulder had a tendency to be open to the extreme,
willing to accept and willing to believe, but tending to
see the unusual in others, not himself.  Skinner, however,
looked for reality, wanted proof and substance, and
yet, he had nearly mastered the art of becoming invisible 
at will.

He turned back to his plans.  An underground lab
complex.  Heavily guarded.  He was to secure something
called 'black cancer' and a supposed vaccine for it.  That
was the objective.  Easy enough.  But now, thanks to 
Mulder's impetuosity, he had a second objective -- to keep
his agent alive.  Skinner shook his head.  He didn't like
working with two objectives.  Invariably, you ended up having
to prioritize, and the only way to succeed at your objective 
was to make it *the* priority.  And you couldn't have two
priorities.

He began to sketch out a rough plan.  Hike in; they'd need
to find a secure place to rest, maybe sleep a little.  It was 
over twenty miles from the point of entry he had identified 
to the lab complex.  Too far to make in one day and have 
any reserves left for potential conflict within the complex.
And he only wanted to travel at night.

They'd go in one night, make fifteen miles, then lay low till
the next night.  Hmmm.  Could he make Mulder stay at
the base camp?  He would try, but he better plan on the younger
man being with him.  Odds were, even if Mulder agreed to
stay behind, he would not keep to the agreement.  They would
make the raid.  It was another down and dirty operation; no time 
for subtlety.  He would kill anyone who impeded his progress; 
anyone who threatened either of his objectives.

They'd locate and secure the target then retreat.  Pick up the
equipment left at the base camp and keep moving.  Depending
on how long the actual operation inside the complex took, they
would make anywhere from five to fifteen miles back out 
that night.  Another day of laying low, then they would hike the
final miles and be clear.

And Scully would have her cure.

*************************************************

Mulder had done his shopping.  His purchases were spread 
across Skinner's living room as the AD checked each one,
verifying that it was what he had requested.  Mulder had
apparently taken Skinner's 'no questions' rule to heart, for
he sat quietly watching, but did not speak.

Finally, Skinner nodded, final approval on Mulder's
preparations.  He looked up to see the agent fidgeting
in his chair, but still holding himself silent.

"You have questions, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked.

"Yes, Sir.  Thank you."  Mulder's relief was palpable.
"We're not wearing these -- he held up a pair of the
moccasin-like slippers that Skinner preferred for their
silence -- to trek through the woods, are we?"

Skinner shook his head.  "No, you can wear your hiking
boots.  We'll only wear these the last bit before we actually
enter the compound."

"Why are you only taking two guns?"

Skinner smiled slightly.  "You don't need but one if you hold 
onto it."  He grew serious, then added, "I don't like guns,
Mulder.  It's" -- he hesitated -- "a personal thing."

There was no way he was going to explain to Mulder that
guns took away part of the rush of killing.  The feeling as
the blade slid in, feeling the body twitch, feeling the heat
of the blood pouring over your hands, that was part of
the thrill.  The part you didn't get with a gun.  

He shuddered in disgust at his own thoughts, and looked up
to see Mulder staring at him quizzically.  He straightened, 
mentally snapping back to the present, and asked, "Anything
else, Mulder?"

"Yeah.  How do we get to the drop-off point?"

Skinner cringed inside.  Leave it to Mulder to hone in on the 
weakest point in his plan.  He had planned to disable the car
and leave it near the point of entry, hopefully looking like
a breakdown.  But three days was a long time for a car to 
sit.  He was hoping that since it was a rural area, it wouldn't
be questioned, but it was undoubtedly the weakest point
in his plan.

Mulder was watching Skinner's face, noting the almost
unnoticeable changes that occurred as the AD rethought
his concept.

Skinner briefed Mulder, and Mulder nodded.  But, God, 
it was weak.

"If the car gets towed or something, what do we do?"

"We deal with it.  We'll look like campers, got lost in the 
woods and couldn't find our car.  Someone will pick us
up."

"If it's the wrong someone?"

Skinner shrugged.  He didn't have the patience for this.
"I'll kill him and we'll have a car."

Mulder shifted uneasily, but said nothing.

"You have everything you need?" Skinner asked, changing
the subject.

Mulder nodded again.

"What did you tell Scully?"

"That since I was annoying her so badly, I was going to
go check on a werewolf sighting in Montana this weekend,
and that I'd be there Monday morning to drive her to work."

"She buy it?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"All right then, you get some sleep.  Plane leaves at 0924."
Skinner pointed up the stairs.  "Make a left at the top.  
Bedroom's on the right.  Bath in the hall."

"What are you going to do?" Mulder asked as he lifted his
bag and prepared to climb the stairs.

Skinner was fiddling with the clothing and equipment that
was still spread throughout the room.  "Get us packed and 
ready to go.  I have a few more preparations to make."  He
looked up to see Mulder watching him.  "Go to bed, Agent
Mulder.  Get some sleep."

Mulder nodded, and headed for the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Skinner stood for a moment, scanning the almost
unnavigable thicket, then dropped his pack, saying, 
"We'll stop here."

Mulder looked around, trying to see what it was that
had made Skinner choose this copse of trees rather than
any other of the hundreds they had passed on their trek
so far.  He waited for Skinner to explain, but when no
explanation was forthcoming, he continued to honor
the 'no questions' rule, and dropped his pack as well.

Mulder watched as Skinner rummaged in his pack, 
almost twice the size of his own, and withdrew several
small, disc-shaped objects.  

"Stay," he hissed, and then slipped through the trees,
seeming to vanish before Mulder's astonished eyes.

Mulder shook his head.  It wasn't the first time his boss
had pulled his amazing disappearing act, and each time 
it took him by surprise.  The black clothing Skinner wore 
and the paint he had used to adorn his bare skin made 
it understandable that the man would be able to blend
into his surroundings, but Mulder still found it eerie
when the man walked away and seemed to fade into
invisibility.  It was like he became a shadow or something.

Also dressed in black, his face painted as well, Mulder 
had originally felt more than a little ridiculous.  But 
Skinner treated all of this cloak and dagger, green beret 
stuff with utmost seriousness, and Mulder rapidly found 
himself doing so as well.  After all, Skinner was the one
with the experience here.  And he had gotten them off 
that island; no mean feat.  He sighed, thinking again of 
what had been done to Scully and of his own uselessness 
in preventing it.  If Skinner hadn't come ...

A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped, then
whirled to find himself face to face with Skinner.  The
older man looked vaguely amused at his reaction, but 
made no comment.  Instead, he asked, "Hungry?"

When Mulder only nodded, Skinner added, "You can 
talk now, just keep it down, OK?"

Mulder nodded again, then asked, "Where did you go?"

"I put out some alarms.  It'll give us a chance to make a 
move if we need to."  He walked to his pack and pulled
out two MREs.  "Now, which do you want?  Chicken and
noodles or beef stew?"

Mulder shrugged and Skinner tossed him a packet.  Both
men opened their canteens to add water to activate the
heating elements in their 'Meals - Ready to Eat,' then
sat quietly as the required time for preparation elapsed.

As they were eating, Mulder looked up.  "Why did we 
stop here?" he inquired.  "We're only about 13 miles in by 
my count."

Skinner was nodding.  "Yeah, that's what I've got, too, but" --
he waved at the tightly packed trees surrounding them -- "this 
is too good to pass up."

Mulder looked around again.  The thin moonlight made it hard
to get a really good look, but it looked like any other stand of
trees to him.  He turned back to Skinner and shrugged 
uncomprehendingly.  "I just don't see it."

Skinner sighed as well, then took one last bite of his stew and 
rose.  He held his arms out at full length, contacting a tree with
each hand.  Turning slowly in a circle, he had to pull his arms
in at several points to complete the circuit.  "See how close the
trees are?  Makes it hard for someone to get in.  Most people are
gonna want to walk in the more open areas."  He walked to a fallen 
tree and pointed.  "Look.  See how earth is washed away behind
this log?  Makes an indentation in the ground -- an indentation
that can be used to hide a body.  You lay in the hollow and cover
up with leaves.  As long as no one steps on you, you can remain
undetected for days."  He pointed up a tree, to where the trunk split
forming a natural 'V.'  "Perfect for storing equipment.  When we 
leave tomorrow night, we'll pull everything we're not taking with
us up into the tree and leave it.  People don't think to look up when
they're searching.  You have to train yourself to look up.  It's the
forgotten dimension."

Mulder was nodding again.  As Skinner spoke, his reasons 
became perfectly clear and he was once more reminded that this
man knew what he was doing out here, and he himself was just
a rank amateur.  "Why did you bring me?" he asked.  "This
would have been a whole lot easier for you if you didn't have 
me along, wouldn't it?"

"Would you have stayed behind?  Short of me tying you up,
that is?"

"No."

"And you would have tracked him down, the smoking man, if
I hadn't told you what was happening?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"Well, yes, I would have tracked him down."

"Then I had to bring you."  Skinner said it as if it explained 
everything.  He didn't add that Mulder needed to be there 
for his own sanity.  His helplessness, his total inability to 
protect Scully or to prevent the things that were done to her, 
threatened to drown Mulder in guilt and self-blame.  Being
so ineffective in the face of the pain inflicted on Scully
was tearing the younger man apart.  Being here, being
part of this operation, would be a way for Mulder to regain
some of his confidence in himself.

Mulder shook his head, still not understanding, and Skinner
sighed again and began to pace.

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that Mulder?" he
began.  "I don't like talking about this."

"I'm sorry," Mulder said perfunctorily.

"Sure you are."  The older man halted, then lifted his hand
to his head, a smudge of black paint coming off as he rubbed 
his forehead.  "You know what I did in the war."  When 
Mulder didn't answer, Skinner laughed humorlessly and said,
"I know you must have looked it up.  Once you knew what you 
were looking for, you found the real records, didn't you?"

Mulder nodded again, then said, "I'm sorry," and meant 
it this time.

"Yeah, well, so am I."  He sighed again and then went and
sat on the fallen tree.  "I was just a kid from the country, 
good with a rifle.  It started as sniper work -- from a distance.
But I was good, real good."  

In the moon's pale illumination, Mulder could see Skinner's
eyes narrow and the furrows that creased his brow as he 
remembered.

"I was so good, they decided to train me for 'special' work.
The kind you couldn't do from a distance.  Up close and personal.
Assassinations.  Hostage recovery.  MIA rescue work.  The kind
of stuff you have to get your hands dirty on.  And I was good.  
I was the best.  I was probably one of the top five in the whole
damn war."  

Skinner covered his eyes with his hands for a moment, then rose
and stood with his back to Mulder.

"I was good, and I was doing what I was ordered.  But," his voice
cracked and he paused a moment to get control, "I *liked* it too."
He shuddered, then went on.  "I liked the excitement.  The rush.
The high you get when you take a life.  It's" -- Mulder could see 
him struggling for words -- "addictive.  I was good because I
*enjoyed* what I was doing."  He shuddered again, then turned
and looked at Mulder.  "You're here because I won't let them 
turn you into someone who *enjoys* doing something vile and
evil."

"You're not evil," Mulder said softly.

"Do you think that smoking bastard started out to play games
with people and ruin men's lives?"  He began to pace again.
"No.  It's an acquired taste -- something I understand completely.
He would have started out for all the right reasons.  Protecting
his country.  Maintaining national security.  Maybe a bit of
selfish desire to advance his career.  All perfectly acceptable 
and understandable reasons.  But somewhere along the line,
he got warped.  He became addicted to the power, the control,
and all the good reasons just became justifications for feeding
his addiction.  It doesn't matter who gets hurt, or what damage
is done, all that matters is that the monster within be fed."

Mulder was watching Skinner as the man's pacing grew more
frenzied.  Suddenly, he stopped and faced Mulder.  

"If I didn't bring you, you would have gone to him and done
whatever he asked.  And he would feed you, little bits and
pieces of your heart's desire, until you were so warped yourself,
you didn't know what you wanted anymore.  You couldn't tell
right from wrong.  You wouldn't have anything left.

"I saw it happen in myself.  My intentions were honorable in
the beginning.  But by the end, I was killing because I *wanted*
to kill.  Forcing myself to stop was the hardest thing I ever
did."

"I've killed men before," Mulder said.  "It hasn't changed me."

"It's not the same for everyone.  For me it was killing.  For the 
smoker it was the power.  What would it be for you, Mulder?"
Skinner walked over to stand before the younger man.  "The
truth?  The answers?  Finally understanding?  What would
be your downfall?  I don't know, but I bet he does, and I'm
not playing games with your life."  Skinner turned and strode
angrily to his pack, pulling out a lightweight bedroll.  "Or 
with Scully's."  He thrust the bedroll in Mulder's direction.
"Here.  Go set up in the indent I showed you, behind the log.
Sleep.  I'll wake you about midday so I can sleep."

"Sir, I, uh," Mulder began but Skinner cut him off.

"Enough talking," he growled, then softened his tone.  "Just
get some sleep now, OK Mulder?"

Mulder nodded and headed for the log.

******************************************************

The day passed slowly.  Mulder woke at sunrise, but at Skinner's
insistence, remained in the hollow behind the log and surprised
himself by actually falling back to sleep.  When he did wake, 
it was past noon.  He rose and stumbled over to where Skinner
sat, sorting equipment and fitting it into a smaller pack.  

"I didn't expect to sleep like that," he mumbled apologetically.

" 's all right."  Skinner waived the apology.  "The combination
of nerves, tension, anticipation; it all can lead to exhaustion if
you're not careful.  You hungry again?"

At Mulder's nod, Skinner passed him another MRE, then rose,
yawning.  "I'm gonna sack out for a few hours."  He turned to
face Mulder, all business now.  "You see the 'V' in the tree?"
He pointed up and Mulder glanced that way, nodding.  "You
move from beyond this thicket, and I will tie you up and leave
you in the tree, you understand?"  Mulder nodded again, and
Skinner reiterated.  "Mulder, I am not playing here.  I told
you before, don't screw this up.  This is not the time for you 
to play lone ranger.  Anything, and I mean *anything* unusual
happens, you wake me immediately."

"I will, Sir," Mulder replied.  "This is Scully's life we're talking
about.  I'm not about to screw this up."

***************************************************
 
They began moving once it was full dark.  Skinner had allotted
two hours for the last seven miles.  Late enough for things to
have settled down in the complex, but still plenty of time for
them to complete the operation and return to the safety of the 
thicket before day.

Skinner wore night vision goggles, and Mulder stayed right
behind him.  Skinner didn't expect any alarms in the woods --
animal activity would make it impractical -- but he didn't want
to take any chances.

They reached the tree line by the farmhouse at 2215 hours, and
Skinner had to hold Mulder back from charging right in.

"No," he hissed quietly.  "We wait.  The guard has to go, so 
we wait for the change at 2300, then we should have at least 
eight hours until the next change."  Skinner was studying the
vehicles parked on the far side of the house.  Several sedans, 
a pick-up, and a jeep sat in a small cleared parking area.

When the shift change occurred, Skinner still held back for 
another 20 minutes, then ordered Mulder to remain in the 
trees.  Moving like a shadow, he drifted across the open area
and pulled himself up to the porch of the farmhouse, carefully
avoiding the stairs.  Mulder lost sight of him once he moved 
into the shadows on the porch, but he could just make out an 
almost silent scuffle, then a low whistle floated across to him.  
Taking that as his cue, he moved toward the porch.

He reached the steps, then halted, not sure what Skinner
wanted him to do.  

"Mulder."  It was a bare whisper, sliding into his ear as if
the words were his alone, and he found himself shivering
slightly.  He looked around, then spotted Skinner to his right,
when the older man stepped out of the dark for just a moment
and became visible.  Before his presence could register, he
was gone again, and Mulder was left wondering if he had 
imagined it after all.

He moved to the right, then hoisted himself up to the porch,
moving as quietly as he could, but the noise he made still
seemed to echo in the late night silence.  How the hell had
Skinner done this without a sound?  He climbed to his feet,
then waited and within a moment a hand took his arm 
and he was propelled forward, joining Skinner in the shadows.

They moved to the door and Skinner pushed it open without
sound.  Entering the hall, Mulder looked around for the guard
and was not surprised to see there was no trace of him.  The 
closet, he assumed, or under the stairs.  Wordlessly, Skinner
handed Mulder a uniform of some sort, and indicated he
should put it on.

Mulder took it, then shrugged helplessly, as if asking, "Why
me?"

Skinner stepped closer.  "I'm too big," he whispered.

Mulder nodded, then quickly changed, handing his own 
clothes to Skinner, who somehow made them disappear.

Skinner moved again, tugging Mulder behind him and 
the younger man tried to follow as noiselessly as he could.
They crept lightly to the storage area under the stairs, and 
Mulder ruled that out as the hiding place for the body
when Skinner opened it and began to descend the stairs that 
were hidden there.  Pulling the storage door shut, Mulder
followed quickly, wondering all the while why the stairs
were silent as Skinner trod them, but creaked with each 
step of his own feet.

Halfway down, Skinner turned and pulled Mulder's head
down until his lips were in contact with Mulder's ear.

"Step where I step.  Watch what I'm doing."

Mulder nodded, and refocused on Skinner's movement,
trying to place his own feet as exactly as possible in Skinner's
tracks.  Amazingly, the creaking ceased.

They reached the bottom and Skinner waved him to stand
behind him, out of the way, and Mulder moved to obey.
When Skinner was satisfied Mulder was where he wanted 
him, he pulled out a couple of alcohol wipes and began 
to wipe his face.  He passed several to Mulder who followed
suit.  Once his countenance was clear, Skinner placed a 
hand on Mulder's chest, indicating 'stay,' then quickly
opened the door and disappeared.

Mulder remained in hiding nearly fifteen minutes, each one
longer than the previous, and wondering with each passing
second if Skinner was coming back.  He hadn't really
thought about what he would do if the older man were
killed or incapacitated.  He really hadn't thought it was an 
option.  

He was surprisingly close to real concern, when the door
opened a crack and Skinner slipped in.  Mulder could just
make out the sheen of sweat that covered the AD's face,
and he noted Skinner was breathing a bit heavier than
usual.  He now wore a set of surgical scrubs and his small
pack dangled from his hand.

Wasting no time, Skinner said, "We're hiding in plain
sight.  You're a guard, transporting me, the subject, under
the direction of Dr. Brayboy.  I lead, you follow."

Mulder nodded and the two men stepped out of the cramped
stairwell.  Skinner set off down the hall, shoulders slumped,
head down, and feet shuffling.  He held his hands crossed 
behind his back, and only Mulder knew those hands held
certain death for anyone who dared to challenge them.  They
followed a labyrinthine hallway, making one turn after 
another, until they came to a T intersection in the corridor.
There was a door to a laboratory at the juncture of the T,
and Skinner halted.  

He fiddled with the knob for a minute, then stepped away, 
pulling Mulder with him.  There was an almost silent
"whoosh" of air, and the door rattled.  Skinner gave a
satisfied nod, then stepped back to the door.  "You are
just a guard on duty here.  Don't move, don't talk.  If 
things get ugly, knock on the door.  I shouldn't be long."

Skinner opened the door and slipped in, and Mulder was 
left alone.  He stood sentry duty for another twenty 
minutes, trying desperately to look as if he belonged and
was where he was supposed to be.  Thankfully, he was
left undisturbed until, from down the corridor directly
in front of him, he heard a sound.  He listened harder,
sure he could not have heard what he thought he heard, 
but then a man dressed as he was came into sight.  Mulder
could feel his eyes grow wide at the sight before him, 
and he had to stifle an outraged cry.

The man carried a little girl, who was crying loudly,
and was dragging a young boy.  He pressed a button
on the wall, a door slid open, and he roughly shoved
the boy into the room, then almost threw the little
girl in behind him.  The door slid shut, and the guard
looked up, noticing Mulder for the first time.

"Damn brats.  Drives me nuts when they carry on 
like that."  At Mulder's lack of reaction, he continued,
"Oh well, won't be for much longer, will it?  Once they
terminate the project, the subjects won't be far behind."
He gave an evil wink, then turned and retreated back
the way he had come.

Mulder stood in shocked silence.  The boy had looked 
to be 7 or 8; the girl surely no more than 3.  What the
hell was going on here?  He glanced over his shoulder
at the door behind him, then down at his watch.  Half
an hour.  How much longer was Skinner going to be?
He could feel himself beginning to fidget, an internal
battle already being waged.  His feet were moving,
almost of their own accord, toward the room down the
hall, even as his mind acknowledged that Skinner was
going to kill him, if they lived through this.  But really,
what else could he do?  He could still hear the little
girl's cries in his mind.

He reached the door and stared at the button on the
wall.  No keypad, no apparent security.  Just a button.
Shrugging his shoulders, he reached out, pressed the
button, and said a silent prayer.  The door slid smoothly
open, and he was promptly tackled by a small ball of
fury.

"You leave her alone!" the boy yelled.  "Just leave
her alone!"

"Shhh."  Mulder hurried to quiet the boy, even as he
picked himself and the child up from the floor and stepped
into the room, whirling too late to catch it, as the door
slid shut behind them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The boy wriggled out of his grasp and moved a few feet away.
"Shhhh," Mulder shushed again, not knowing if the room
was wired.  He scanned for cameras and didn't see any, but
that was no guarantee of safety.  For all he knew, there were
guards on the way to take him right now.  He looked down
at himself.  Hey!  He was a guard.  If he was being monitored,
they would only see a guard in the room with the children.
Hopefully, there would be no alarm until he managed to 
find a way out.  Trying to leave with the children might 
clue any watchers into the fact that he wasn't what he appeared
to be.  

And there was still Skinner to contend with.  He needed to get
the children out and find the older man.  Regardless of his
feelings, Skinner would never leave these children here.  Not
now.  Not after what Mulder had heard.  Termination.  It could
only mean one thing.

He looked around.  The little girl -- really little, he revised his
age estimate down to two years -- sat on a small cot, thumb in 
mouth, watching him with huge eyes.  The boy stood several 
paces away, between him and the girl, obviously prepared to 
fight again.

He looked around.  Table with one chair.  Toilet and sink
in a corner, a small bookcase with diapers.  He was right 
about the girl's age.

Mulder knelt, taking himself down to the boy's level, but not
moving any closer.  "Hey," he said quietly.  "My name's Fox
and I'm here to help you."  He waited but got no reaction.
"I'm here with a friend and we're going to take you with us
when we leave."  He waited again, smiling tentatively and
willing the boy to believe him.  "What's your name?"

"Teeben."  The answer came from the girl.

Teeben?  What was that?  Her name?  The boy's name?  What
the hell was Teeben?

He refocused on the boy and asked again, "C'mon now, I
told you my name, and how many people do you know
named Fox?"  That earned a slight smile from the child.
"The least you can do is tell me yours."

The boy's smile widened a bit, and a mischievous look
lit his eyes.  "She already told you," he teased, then
immediately grew somber again as the situation reasserted
itself in his mind.  "Are you really here to take us home?"

Mulder nodded.  "Yes.  I'm getting you both out of here."

The boy continued to stand rigid for a moment, then relaxed,
tension flowing out of his small body.  And this time when
he flew to Mulder it was not in attack, but in need, and Mulder
found himself holding a crying child and murmuring soft
words of comfort.  

The boy's crying had upset the girl, and she was wailing on 
the cot now, but oddly enough, that seemed to help the boy 
get control of himself.  He took a couple of shuddery breaths 
and pulled out of Mulder's arms, then walked to the cot and
climbed onto it.  The little girl immediately held out her 
arms and the boy pulled her into his lap and began to soothe 
her.  " 's OK, Jess.  You don't have to cry.  We're gonna go 
home now."  He looked up at Mulder again.  "We are gonna 
go home, right?"

Mulder was looking at the door now, trying to figure a way
out and he turned around and answered, "As soon as I can
get us out of here."

The little girl was quiet now, and the boy tried to rise, but
she was insisting on being held.  He finally managed to get
to his feet, still holding the baby, and carried her over to 
where Mulder was looking at the door.

"Is your name really Fox?" he asked.

"Yep.  It really is."

"Cool."

"Coo," the girl echoed, face half buried in the boy's neck.
She was sneaking the occasional peek in Mulder's direction,
then hiding when he caught her eye.  Getting out of here
was gonna be hard enough.  Getting out with two children
was gonna be nearly impossible.  Skinner was going to kill
him.

"I wish I had a neat name like Fox.  Steven is just boring."

"Teeben," the little girl repeated.  

Oh, so that's what Teeben meant.  "So, Steven, how old are
you?" Mulder asked as he worked on the door lock with a 
small pick.

"Seven.  I had my birthday just before I got here."

"And your sister?  How old is she?"

"She's not my sister."

Mulder froze, then turned to look at the two children.  
They looked so much alike.  He would have sworn they 
were siblings.  

"How ..." he trailed off, not sure what he wanted to ask.

"She was here when I got here.  She cried a lot at first, 
but now she likes me."  He patted the little girl on her 
back and she snuggled into his arms more securely.

"How do you know her name?"

"Me Jess," the girl piped up.

"Oh," Mulder laughed softly, "well, that does make it a
bit easier, doesn't it?"

"Can we go now?" the boy asked.

Mulder returned his attention to the door.  "I'm trying. 
I'm just not very good at this.  My friend would have us 
out of here by now."

"So why didn't your friend come get us?" the boy asked
logically.

"He was, uh --" Mulder pushed the pick again, and was 
rewarded with a soft click, "busy, but we're gonna go get 
him now."  He slid the door open and stuck his foot in it 
to keep it there.  "You ready, Steven?" he asked.  

The boy nodded, then put the baby down.  She stood next 
to him, holding his hand, thumb back in mouth.  "Sorry," 
he mumbled up to Mulder, "she gets heavy."

"Will she let me carry her?" Mulder asked.  "Because we 
need to be able to move fast."

The boy shrugged.  "Ask her."

"Jess?"  This was a really weird feeling.  "Can I pick 
you up?"

She clung to the boy, moving to hide behind his legs. 
"Who dat?" she whispered up to him.

"C'mon, Jess," Steven said to her.  "You know who that 
is.  His name is Fox."  The boy giggled slightly when he 
said the name and Mulder felt his face flush.  This was 
getting ridiculous.

"Pox," the girl said, then she giggled too.  This was beyond
ridiculous.

Mulder reached out and picked the girl up, settling her in 
his arms as gently as he could.  She stiffened at first, then 
relaxed and laid her head on his shoulder, one chubby little
hand coming up to play with his hair.  "Pox," she whispered 
in his ear, and he found himself smiling.

"C'mon Steven," Mulder said, "let's go find my friend."

**********************************************

Finally!  Skinner gave a sigh of relief and pulled the vials
from the specimen drawer.  The smoker had gotten him to
the correct lab, but finding the properly labeled vials had
been up to him.  It had taken him much longer to search 
than he had planned for.  But Mulder had not knocked and
there was no indication the younger man was in any trouble.

Skinner opened his pack, and pulled the small container
that had been brought specifically to transport these little
tubes -- tubes that meant the end of the threat hanging over
Scully's life.  Stowing them with utmost care, Skinner 
closed the container and secured it back in the pack.  He
hefted it, then moved swiftly to the door. 

A tug on the handle and he was in the hallway, ready to 
move out but there was just one small problem.  He was 
totally alone.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  The chant was ringing
in his head.  He was going to *kill* Mulder, if he found
him again.  He glanced to the left and then right, then 
stared at the hallway before him.  Fuck.  The man could 
be anywhere.  And no indication if he was captured, or
if he just wandered off in typical Mulder fashion, seeing
something that intrigued him and following without thinking
of the potential results.  

Skinner looked down at the pack in his hand.  The chip 
would be almost useless if he returned without Mulder.
Scully would never accept something that was earned with
Mulder's life.  She'd be angry enough with the two of 
them for bargaining with the smoker.  Where the hell had
Mulder gone?

There was noise from down the hall in front of him, and
Skinner stiffened.  He crossed to the wall in front of him,
flattened himself against it, and peeked carefully around 
the corner.  There was Mulder, stepping out of a doorway,
and -- Skinner felt his eyes go wide.  It couldn't be!  Not
even Mulder would --  How could he --  Skinner couldn't
even finish a thought.  He came around the corner and 
moved swiftly down the hall.  

"Agent Mulder," he gritted out, "what ..."

"Shhh," Mulder cautioned, "you're gonna scare the baby
if you don't keep it quiet, and *nice.*  Use soft tones."

"The baby?"  Skinner stared at the little girl in Mulder's
arms, then looked down at the boy cowering behind his
agent's legs.

"This is your friend?" the little boy asked.  "He doesn't
seem so friendly."

"Hush," Mulder chuckled, "he's not as fierce as he acts."
He looked over at Skinner, then shrugged.  "What was I 
supposed to do?  Leave them?"

"Who are they?  How did you find them to begin with?"

"Me Jess," the baby chirped, then hid her head when 
Skinner glared at her.

"Do we need to do this now?"

Skinner shook his head.  "No," he growled, "you're 
right.  Let's move out."  He looked at the children again,
then said, "No more hiding in plain sight.  Just stay
with me, all right?"

Mulder nodded, and looked down in time to see Steven
nodding too.  

"He's in charge, isn't he Fox?" the boy whispered up to 
Mulder, and Mulder smiled and nodded.

"Fox?" Skinner asked.

"That's his name," Steven said.  "What's yours?"

"Mine?  My name?"  Skinner was stammering and didn't
like the feeling one bit.

"Yeah," Mulder smirked, "your name.  That's not that
hard, is it?"

Skinner just looked helplessly at Mulder.  "I can't do
this," he said.  "I'm not good with kids."

"Try this.  'My name is Walter.'  How hard is that to 
say?" Mulder responded.  He looked down at the boy.  
"Hear that?  His name is Walter."

Steven nodded and Skinner moved down the hall.
"Hey, Walter," Steven called.  "Wait a minute!"

Skinner froze, then came back to where Mulder still
stood in the doorway.  "What's your name?" he demanded
as he stared down at the little boy.

"St - Steven," he responded.

"Well, Steven, we need to be *very* quiet, you understand?
No more yelling.  If you need something, you tell Mul -- Fox."

The boy nodded gravely.  "Sorry," he whispered.

When Skinner didn't answer, Mulder patted the boy's head
and said, "It's all right Steven.  What do you want?"

"I need to go to the bathroom."

Mulder took the boy back into the room, leaving Skinner to
hold the door.  It was going to be next to impossible to get 
out of here now.  Two children, one who had to be carried.
Neither old enough that he could be assured they would keep 
quiet.  Even the boy wouldn't be able to keep up with the pace
they needed to set to get away.  And someone was bound to 
notice something.  There was no way the children were 
unmonitored.  His whole plan was right out the window.

Mulder returned with the boy, the girl still in his arms.

Skinner squatted down to speak to the boy.  "Now Steven,"
he began, "it's very important that we be as quiet as we can.
No talking.  And you have to keep up.  Hold on to Agent 
Mulder," at the boy's quizzical look he corrected himself,
"hold on to Fox, and he'll keep you safe.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Walter," the boy replied.  "But ..."

"Do you have a question?"  Skinner figured they might as well 
get as much of this over with as possible.  There wasn't
going to be time for talking once they started moving.

"Yes.  Aren't you going to take anything for Jessie?"

"Anything?  What are you talking about?"  Skinner had
to restrain himself from snapping at the boy.

"You know, diapers.  She's not big enough to go to the 
pot.  And she probably needs to be changed."

Skinner closed his eyes.  This was too much.  It was positively
surreal.  His simple mission, retrieve the vials, had turned into
a routine from the Keystone Kops.  First he had to bring
Mulder along, and now he had two children to contend with,
one still in diapers!  He groaned softly.  He rose to his feet, 
eyes still closed, and said, very quietly, very precisely, "Agent
Mulder, would you attend to that matter please?  I am going
to look for another way out."  His eyes opened and he fixed
Mulder with a hard stare.  "Stay here.  Do NOT pursue any 
additional investigations, no matter how intriguing they may
be.  Is that clear?"

Mulder swallowed.  "Yes, Sir."

"And be ready to move when I come back."

Mulder nodded, not willing to risk Skinner's wrath by asking
questions at this point.  He stepped back into the room, taking
the boy with him, and suppressed a frisson of anxiety as the
door closed behind him.

"He's coming back for us?" Steven asked worriedly.

"Oh yeah, he'll be back.  He's very reliable."  He found his own
words comforting somehow.  He shifted Jess to his other arm,
then asked Steven, "Now, do you know how to do this thing
with her diapers?"

********************************************

Skinner was walking, eyes automatically scanning for traps
or other potential problems, but his mind was frantically
working on a new plan to get out.  With the children.  With
Mulder.  And with the vials.  He shook his head, then ducked 
through a doorway.  From around the corner, he could hear
steps coming down the corridor.  Hiding, he watched through 
a window as two men dressed in the "guard" uniform walked 
past.

When they were out of sight, Skinner emerged and headed
off to follow them.  He visualized the floor plan the smoker
had given him.  There were no other exits indicated besides
the one they had used to enter the complex.  But there had
to be another way out.  There had to be some ventilation
shafts, something, that could be utilized to get back to 
the surface.  In his preparations, he had outlined several
alternate routes in the event of an emergency change in 
plans.  Two children should qualify as an emergency 
change in plans.

He headed for the electrical room he had seen on the
diagram, and once there, quickly picked the lock and let 
himself in.  Sure enough, there was an air-shaft.  Now,
if only it would be large enough for them to crawl through.
Working as swiftly and silently as possible, he removed 
the grate, and hoisted himself into the overhead.  He pulled
the grate up behind himself, and secured it with a small
cord.  Pulling a flashlight from his pack, he set off to
follow the vent and see where it emerged.

He crawled for about ten minutes -- the complex was
huge! -- and finally found what he was looking for.  A
vertical shaft with a fan at the top.  If they timed it
right, they could get out this way, and never have to 
make the long trek back to the stairwell.  There was less
chance of being caught with the children if they stayed
out of sight. 

He made his way back to the electrical room, and peered 
through the grate.  The two men he had seen walk past
him earlier were now in the room below him.  Skinner
checked his watch.  It was getting late.  They had to
get out and get away, or there was no hope their escape
would be successful.

Oh God!  That was a whole different set of problems.  
How were they going to keep the children quiet all during
the daylight hours later today?  And he and Mulder needed
to sleep some too.  He shook his head.  He'd have to deal
with that situation when it came.  He looked down again 
and saw the two guards had apparently chosen this as their 
hidey-hole while on duty, for they had broken out a deck
of cards and seemed to be settling in.

Skinner shuddered.  He looked at his watch and knew he
couldn't outwait these two.  He shuddered again, and then
felt the disgust creep over him as the shudder turned to a
shiver of excitement and he knew what he had to do.  The
throwing knives came out, and he hefted one lightly in his
hand.  Delicately balanced, it was honed to a razor's
sharpness.  

His eyes narrowed as he stared down at the two men and 
willed himself to stillness.  Emptying his mind of everything
but the task at hand, he took several deep breaths, focusing
intently on the targets.  When he was ready, he cut the cord
that held the grate up, dropped through to the floor, and
launched the first knife.  It caught the target square in the
chest, and the man stood a moment, staring at the knife
protruding from his breast, then his eyes rolled back in
his head and he crumpled to the ground.

The other man had been frozen in place, but now he moved,
dashing frantically for the door.  Skinner bounded over the
first body, and caught the new target as it reached for the
door handle.  The man whirled, and Skinner was shocked
to feel a flash of pain across his arm.  He glanced down and
saw blood, and a wave of rage rolled across him.  His body
began to act, even as his mind disengaged completely.

Sometime later, he came back to himself, and found he
was kneeling in the room, both targets having been dispatched.
The first had died from the knife wound, the second had been
beaten to death.  Skinner glanced down at himself.  There was
a bloody bandage around his arm.  He didn't remember doing
that, but he must have.  His "borrowed" hospital scrubs
were bloodstained in several places.  He felt weak and a little
queasy.

He shook his head, then pushed himself up to his feet.  Swaying
slightly, he decided the knife must have nicked an artery for 
him to have lost enough blood to be dizzy.  He took a moment
to gather himself, then moved the bodies to one side, out of
sight of the door, but visible if someone searched the room.  He'd
been gone too long to do much else.  He had to get Mulder, and the
children, and they had to get out now.

Cautiously opening the door, he checked the corridor, then left
the electrical room and began to jog back to where he had left 
Mulder.  He moved quickly and was left alone.  Reaching the 
children's small "cell," he pressed the button and the door
slid open.  Mulder stood across the room, holding the baby,
and the little boy stood next to him.  Seated on the only chair,
with gun in hand, was a man.

"Assistant Director Skinner," he said, "we have been waiting for
you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The man rose languidly and walked to stand behind Mulder
and the children.  "It would seem, Mr. Skinner," he said,
"that this is the second time you have been called into play
to assist our mutual friend in his struggle for control.  Do you
not find that an awkward position to be in?"

Skinner's eyes had gone black, and he narrowed them as he
stared at the man, then shrugged.  He had no time to waste
on power games and issues of control.  He had to find a way
to salvage the situation and still get everyone and everything
out of here.  And he was running out of time.  One plan had
presented itself but he didn't like it, and he didn't think Mulder
would either, but he had yet to think of another option.

The man was still speaking.  "... so it really just comes down
to that."  He paused and waited but Skinner had missed the 
vital points so he remained unspeaking, unmoving.

Finally, the man spoke again.  "Your decision, Mr. Skinner?
You can take Agent Mulder or the vials, but not both."

Ah, that was what he missed.  His brow furrowed as he tried 
to figure Mulder's importance in all of the covert power
plays that seemed to surround the X-File department.  Mulder
would never leave without the vials, and Scully would never
accept the chip if it was purchased with Mulder's life.  He'd
already been through this circular argument.  

"You can even have the children, Mr. Skinner.  They are no
longer of use to us as we are shutting down this facility now
that it has been breached.  Consider it your payment for services
rendered.  Your thirty pieces of silver so to speak."  He nudged 
the boy, but the child wrapped his arms around Mulder's leg 
and clung to him.  

Mulder bent slightly and whispered to the boy, then gently
pried the small hands from his legs.  He placed the little
girl in Steven's arms and pushed the boy forward.  The boy
took two steps, then stopped and looked back at Mulder.
"You said you were gonna take me home, Fox," he said
with just the slightest whine.

"Walter will," Mulder replied.  "Walter will take you home."

"He's scary, Fox, like the other guys here."

"He's not really scary, Steven, he just acts that way to
scare the bad guys.  Inside, he's a real nice guy.  He'll
get you home in no time.  You take Jess and go on over 
there now, OK?"  Mulder smiled encouragingly at the
boy, then looked at Skinner, nodding toward the children.

Skinner spoke for the first time.  "Come, Steven.  Bring
the baby and come stand with me."  He tried to smile at
the child but it felt more like a grimace and he was afraid
he'd done more damage than good though the boy did 
start moving again.  

The tension in the room was palpable.  Every nerve in 
Skinner's body was on fire and he was sure Mulder felt
the same.  No other options had presented themselves
so he was ready to act on his plan.  He needed the children
out of the way though.  When the boy finally reached him,
Skinner gently directed him to stand behind and to the side
of himself, never taking his eyes off the other man as he did
so.

"Stay there, Steven," he said softly.  When the boy started
to put the baby down, he added quickly, "And please hold
onto Jess."

Steven hitched her back up on his hip, but said, "She's
getting wiggly, Walter.  And she's heavy."

"I know.  Can you hold her till we get things settled here?
Just a little longer?"

The boy nodded.  "Isn't Fox gonna come with us?"

"We're working on that."  Skinner's eyes were still locked 
with the man standing behind Mulder.

The man had been quiet through the whole exchange.
"Which is it, Mr. Skinner?  Agent Scully or Agent Mulder?"

Skinner's chest grew tight.  So this was the cost of friendship.  
When you let someone into your heart, you had to make 
painful choices.  How could he choose between Scully and 
Mulder?  He shook his head.  He couldn't.

"Neither.  I'll stay, and Mulder takes the vials and the 
children and goes."

"NO!" Mulder was adamant.  "That was not an option,
Sir."

"Quite correct, Agent Mulder.  That is not an option."

The man was still standing behind Mulder, carefully 
keeping his agent between himself and Skinner.  There
was no way Skinner could get a clean shot at the man,
unless Mulder moved.  And with the gun in his back,
Mulder was not likely to move of his own accord.

"Why is that not an option?" Skinner asked curiously.
He was still searching for another way to move Mulder.

"You are not as important to the program as Agent
Mulder.  Or Agent Scully for that matter."  The man's
voice took on a thoughtful tone.  "Though I will admit
our smoking friend has found a creative way to use your
natural talents."

"So I can have Mulder, or I can have Scully?"  Skinner's
voice had dropped to a dead monotone.  Had Mulder 
known him better, he would have recognized that as a
sign that Skinner was detaching, preparing for action.

"Your choice, Mr. Skinner."

"I don't like that choice."  Skinner's hand flashed and
a star flew, striking Mulder hard in the thigh, sinking deep
in the muscle there.  The younger man screamed, then 
dropped without thinking, and Skinner's hand moved 
again, and this time it was the man behind Mulder who 
fell, a star protruding from his chest.  Skinner was across 
the room before the man hit the floor, the gun kicked loose 
from his hand, and a knife sliding in to finish the job his 
star had started.  

He knelt beside the man, staring into his eyes as the life 
slipped slowly from them, his hands warm in the crimson 
that flowed over them.  And for the first time in over thirty 
years, there was no flush of excitement, no endorphin 
high.  This man had almost killed someone he cared 
about, and killing him had been a necessity, not a 
game.

Skinner's head dropped for a moment, and then slowly,
he began to take in the surroundings again.  The children
were crying, and Mulder had crawled over to them and 
was trying to soothe them.  He looked up to see the trail
of blood Mulder had left and knew he needed to get his
agent's wound bandaged, and they needed to get out.

He pulled his star and knife from the body.  Who was this
man?  What was his role in all of this?  More unanswered
questions.  He looked up to see Mulder with his hand on
the star still embedded in his thigh.  "No," he called,
"don't.  Let me get it."  He tried to smile again, then
added, "After all, I put it there, I should take it out."

He wiped his weapons on the man's clothing, then restored
them to their hiding places.  He pulled himself to his feet
and walked over to where Mulder had pulled himself to 
sit, leaning against the wall.  Jess sat on Steven's lap, 
teary-eyed, with thumb in mouth, and the boy was talking
to her between his own quiet sniffs.  As Skinner approached,
Steven cringed slightly and Mulder was quick to soothe
the boy.

"Shhh, Steven," he said, "it's all right.  Walter's here to 
help us."

Steven nodded and Skinner knelt beside Mulder, looking
at the star embedded in his leg.  He shook his head ruefully,
then rose and walked to the small cabinet and took one 
of the diapers.  

"Why did Walter hurt you, Fox?" Steven asked.

"Hur' Pox," Jess echoed around her thumb.

Mulder tried to smile.  "It was the only way to get us out
of here.  I told you my friend was good at this stuff."

Skinner slipped off his shirt and began to rip it, making
long strips of the material.

Steven was staring up at the older man, his eyes wide in 
admiration but still tinged with a little fear.  "He's like 
Hercules, isn't he?  He can really get the mean guys."

Skinner had torn the bottom of his shirt and formed several
lengths of the cloth.  He pulled what was left of the shirt back
on, then cut the diaper up, and laid both cloth and diaper 
beside Mulder, kneeling again.

Mulder laughed and said.  "Yeah, he is in a way."  He reached
out and touched Skinner's arm, forcing the older man to meet 
his eyes.  "I'm just glad he's on our side."  Mulder's hand 
tightened for a moment, then he let go, and clenched his teeth.
"Go on, Sir, take it out."

"Gonna hurt," Skinner muttered, looking closely at the star
and the depth it was buried.  "I think it hit bone."

"It already hurts.  And I *know* it hit bone.  Just get it out."

Skinner shifted, sitting on Mulder's leg just below the knee, 
trying to immobilize the younger man as much as possible.  
Once settled, he took hold of the star and pulled steadily, his
own muscles bunching with the effort.  Mulder's eyes were 
closed and his whole body was rigid as he fought for control.
Skinner was sure he was trying not to frighten the children 
any more than had already occurred.  The star was deep, and
it was resisting even Skinner's considerable strength; obviously
it had not only hit bone, but was embedded there.

"Sorry," Skinner murmured again, then he wiggled the star to
break it loose.  Mulder stiffened even more, then his whole body
relaxed.  Skinner grunted.  Mulder had passed out.  At least he
wouldn't have to suffer through the rest of the extraction.  Skinner
shifted his grip, threw all of his strength into it, and the star
finally came free.  

"Is Fox all right?" Steven asked, tears still hovering in his
eyes.  

Skinner nodded.  "He'll be OK.  This hurt and he's resting 
now."  Skinner had the piece of diaper pressed tightly over
the wound, covering the little geyser of bright red blood
that had erupted with the weapon's removal.  Bright red meant
arterial.  They could only hope it was one of the small surface
arteries that was nicked, and not a deeper, life-threatening one.
It should respond to his pressure and stop bleeding if it was
the surface kind.

Skinner continued to bear down on the wound, glad that Mulder 
was unconscious and not having to suffer through this as well.
After what he felt was a sufficient period of time, he gently
lifted the diaper and checked.  The bleeding had stopped.  He'd
gotten very lucky this time.  He hadn't killed his friend.  He
placed another piece of the diaper over the wound and bound 
it there with the strips from his shirt.

Rising shakily to his own feet, he walked to the sink and
filled a plastic cup with water.  He also wet a small towel
and came back.  Wiping Mulder's face carefully, tenderly,
he shook the man gently, and called his name.

After two or three more shakes, Mulder came to.  Even
though his eyes were still closed, Skinner was aware that
the younger man was back with them from the shift in his 
body posture from totally relaxed to tight and stiff.  Skinner
stroked his face once more, then asked, "You with us?"

"Oh yeah," Mulder answered, "with you and aware of 
*everything.*  Is it out?"

"Yes," Skinner responded, "and I'm sorry."

Mulder waved the apology away.  He opened his eyes and 
saw the cup in Skinner's hand.  "For me?"

Skinner nodded and started to hand it to Mulder, but noted 
the trembling in his hand, and held it to his lips instead. 
Mulder took several swallows then nodded.  "Thanks."
The two men stared at each other for a long moment, neither
one quite sure of what to say.

Finally, Jess reached out from Steven's lap and patted Mulder's
shoulder.  "Got owie?"

Mulder took a deep breath and then gave a shaky laugh.  
"Yeah, Jessie, you could say that."  The baby reached for him 
and he took her, settling her in his lap.  "What do we do now, 
Sir?  I'm afraid my mobility is compromised."

"I know."  Skinner stood and began to pace.  "Do you think you 
can walk at all?"

"Probably, but I doubt I'll be moving very fast."

"I can help him," Steven said.

Skinner regarded the small boy seriously and said, "Thank you,
Steven.  I'll rely on you for that."  He turned back to Mulder.
"Did you get the things needed for the baby before --" he stopped
and pointed with his thumb back over his shoulder toward the
body -- "that?"

"Steven changed her, but we didn't pack the supplies."

"Steven?"  Skinner spoke to the boy now.  "Can you take this,"
he dumped his pack and handed it to the boy, "and put the diapers
in it for me?"

The boy nodded and moved to perform his chore.

Skinner lowered his voice.  "Mulder?  Have I scarred the kid or 
anything?  I mean, seeing that ... well, it can't be good for him."

"I'm not sure what has happened to them, but I don't imagine
any of it has been fun.  I think he's doing amazingly well 
considering he's been ripped from his family and God knows
what they've done to him.  I haven't even had a chance to ask
him."

"What about his sister?"  Skinner nodded at the baby in
Mulder's lap.

"She's not his sister," Mulder said flatly, and Skinner's eyes
widened in surprise.  "I know.  That's what I thought too.  They
sure do look alike, don't they?"

"Are they -- could they be -- well, you know?"

"I don't know.  Anything's possible, and there must be some
reason they were here."

Steven was back now, the full pack in his hand.  "Are we
going now?" he asked.

Mulder nodded.  "Just as soon as I get up.  Here," he lifted
the baby and set her on her feet, "hang onto her for a minute."

Steven took the baby's hand and pulled her a few steps away,
giving Mulder room to maneuver.  Skinner leaned down and
put his arms around Mulder's chest, then lifted.  A strangled
gasp slipped out, but other than that, Mulder was quiet.  His
forehead was bathed in a sheen of perspiration, but he was up
and he leaned against the wall, holding Skinner's arm for 
additional support.  

"You all right?" the AD asked gruffly.

"Just fine," Mulder mumbled.  "Give me a minute, OK?"

Mulder closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and Skinner
stood watching him closely.  Steven was watching as
well, and all three were jolted from their concentration
when the baby suddenly said, "Bang!"

Skinner whirled to find her holding the dead man's gun, 
pointing it directly at him.  Oh shit!  There was no special
ops course in the world that covered this situation.

He was moving without thinking, scooping the child up,
pulling the gun from her hands gently, holding her awkwardly
when she began to cry.  "We've got to go, Mulder," he said.  "I
can't control this environment."

Mulder nodded, then spoke.  "Give her to Steven."  He looked
at the boy.  "You need to hold onto Jess for a bit.  You can put
her down if she gets heavy, but you've got to hang onto her,
OK?"

The little boy nodded, then took the baby's hand.  "That was 
bad, Jess," he scolded.  "Bad girl."

"Bad Jess," the baby echoed happily, and Skinner shook his
head.  Could you control an environment where children were
two of the variables?  He didn't know, but he assumed he
would be finding out shortly.  Quickly scanning the room for
any more dangers, he knelt to sort through the items he had 
dumped from his pack.  He pocketed many of them in the 
special waist pack he wore beneath the borrowed scrubs.  
The remainder he passed to Mulder, who slid them into his 
own borrowed pockets.  The last item, a second pack made 
of nylon, he unfolded and studied for a moment.  Pulling a 
knife, he made several modifications, then sat back and looked 
at what he had created.  

"Bring the baby over here," he ordered and Steven complied
quickly.  

The boy walked back to stand beside Mulder, reaching up to
carefully slip his small hand into the agent's much larger one.
He looked up at Mulder and said, "He's a good guy, right?  
And he really is in charge, isn't he?" and Mulder nodded.

The baby was looking cautiously at Skinner, and he wished
Mulder were able to bend down and do this.  The younger
man seemed to have established a rapport with these two
right off.  Perhaps because he was so much like a child 
himself in many ways.  He debated on how to handle his
next move, then just decided to hell with it.  He was not
going to debate a two year old.  He picked the little girl
up and set her in the modified pack, her legs slipping 
through the holes he had made.  He zipped the side to hold
her securely, then used some of his cord to wrap around 
her to make sure she wouldn't fall.  He hefted the pack
and slipped it on, then wrapped the cord around himself,
tying the baby to his torso.  

Skinner looked up to find Mulder watching him in 
amazement.  "Well, what else was I going to do?" he
asked in exasperation.  "You know I have to have my 
hands free, and you can't carry her now."

"I can carry her," Steven piped up.

"You carry her pack, please," Mulder interjected quickly.
"That would be a big help."

Steven nodded and put the pack on, turning obediently when
Skinner knelt to tighten it for him.  "Now, Steven,"
he began, "I told you before you would have to hold onto
Fox, but that won't work now, because I am going to 
have to help him walk.  So you need to stay right with us."

The boy was nodding, but Skinner went on.  "I mean
right with us.  I need to be able to turn around and touch
you, that's how close you have to stay.  And no talking
unless it's an emergency, OK?"

The boy nodded again, and Skinner rose and walked to
Mulder.  He put one arm around his waist, then Mulder
threw his arm around Skinner's shoulder.  The baby 
patted Mulder's arm happily, then leaned over to plant
a sloppy kiss on his ear.  "Pox," she said.  She touched
Skinner's head, her chubby little hand polishing his
bald pate.  "Who dat?" she asked.

Mulder smiled despite his pain.  "Walter, Jess, that's
Walter."

"Oh.  Wa-tah."

"Good, Jess.  It's Walter," Mulder praised.

"Wa-tah, Wa-tah, Wa-tah," the baby prattled happily.

"Mulder," Skinner suddenly had a thought, "how do we
keep her quiet?"

"We don't.  We can't.  We just get out of here as quick
as we can."

"Shit."

"Szit," the baby echoed.

"You, uh, might want to watch that, Sir.  Her parents aren't
likely to appreciate her new, more colorful vocabulary."

"Shit," Skinner repeated, then shook his head.  "Sorry," he
added sheepishly.

"Szit," Jess said again, giggling, and Steven laughed too.

Mulder just looked at Skinner this time.  "Shall we move?" he 
suggested.

They turned to the door and were ready to leave, when another
thought crossed Skinner's mind.  "Steven," he asked, "do 
you have to go to the bathroom?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The secondary exit of the air-shaft was out now.  Mulder
wouldn't be able to make the crawl.  That meant retracing
their steps to the stairway.  Though they were back in
the more heavily frequented front end of the complex,
they were completely undisturbed as they made the trek
back.

Mulder struggled gamely along, jaw clenched tightly 
against the pain, only speaking to softly murmur to the
baby, "Shh, Jess, shh."  

What had taken them twenty minutes to cover coming in, 
took almost an hour going out.  And there was no way
Mulder could travel seven miles through the woods
before day.  Skinner knew he had to find another place, 
closer, where they could stay till full dark tonight.  He'd 
seen several on the way in, his natural instinct to always 
have a backup kicking in, but the closest of those was 
about two and a half miles out. 

He looked at Mulder.  The man was still moving as
fast as he could.  No word of the agony he must be in
with each step jarring the wound.  Could he make another
couple miles?  Skinner shook his head.  He didn't like it,
but there was no choice; he'd have to make it.  

They had reached the stairwell, and Skinner lowered
Mulder to sit on the stairs.  He retrieved the items 
they'd left there, sorting through them rapidly.  He changed
his clothes back into his all black from before, then helped
Mulder change as well.  In deference to Mulder's injury,
Skinner pulled the dark clothing on over Mulder's "guard"
uniform.  The younger man was in considerable pain, and 
every movement wracked his body, but there was nothing 
to be done for him now.  Skinner rummaged in his supplies, 
and produced another black shirt, and pulled it on over 
Steven's head.  It hung past his knees and the short 
sleeves hung below the boy's elbows, but it covered most
of his light colored clothing.

Pulling out a small pot, he began to blacken his own face 
again and was startled when laughter bubbled up from 
Steven.

"Me, too," the boy cried.  "Do me, do me!"

Skinner laughed softly.  "Shhh, remember?  And I'll
do you next, OK?"  

The boy smiled happily, then eagerly lifted his face up
when it was his turn.  When Skinner was done, he asked,
"Aren't you gonna do my head too?" and this time it was
Mulder who laughed.

"Your hair covers your head Steven," he said.  "I don't 
have to do my head either."  Mulder pointed to his own
dark hair.  Mulder was streaking his face as he spoke, the 
paint mixing with the pain sweat that layered his skin.
He finished and asked, "What about her?"

Skinner shrugged.  The baby was asleep and he didn't want
to risk waking her, but she would be visible if she began to
move.  He thought a moment then shook his head.  "Let
her sleep.  At least she's quiet."

Mulder nodded and let Skinner pull him up.  They managed 
the stairs again, though there was no controlling the
creaking this time.  Once at the top, Skinner slipped out
first, then motioned Steven forward as he helped Mulder again.
They moved unmolested to the front door, out to the porch
and down the steps.  Skinner scanned the area again.  No
vehicles in sight.  Not a good sign.  The breach had been 
reported and they were evacuating the complex.  The man 
said they were terminating, and Mulder had heard that from
the guard earlier.  So they knew about the breach, but were 
they still searching for them?

No way to tell.  Have to assume they were.  He half pulled,
half dragged Mulder through the yard to the woods and then
they all faded into the trees.

The sun was beginning to come up when they reached the
backup spot Skinner had decided on for their day's wait
for night to fall again.  Mulder was gray when Skinner 
lowered him to the ground.  Gray and cold.  He checked
the bandage.  The wound was seeping blood again.  He 
looked up at Mulder, warning him with his eyes, and
received a brief nod of approval.  Skinner pressed hard
on the wound, and felt Mulder stiffen involuntarily.  He
held the pressure for long moments, watching silently 
as Mulder gritted his teeth and tears formed in his eyes.
At last, he peeled back the bandage again and looked.
The bleeding seemed to have stopped.  For now.  Mulder
was going to have to move again, and that was likely
to start it up once more.  

"Steven, you need to stay here with Fox, OK?  I'll
be back as fast as I can."

The boy nodded and then Skinner turned back to Mulder.
"Mulder?  Hey, Mulder, wake up."  The younger man
was already half asleep -- or was it unconscious?

Mulder lifted heavy lids and peered up at the AD.  
"Where're you going?"

"I need to go get our stuff."  He peered back over his
shoulder and saw Jess was still sleeping.  "I'll take her
with me and be back as soon as I can."  He focused on
Mulder again, handing him a gun out of Steven's sight.
"Mulder, you've got to stay awake till I get back."

"Yessir," Mulder slurred.  "I will."

Skinner nodded.  Mulder would do the best he could.

He took off through the woods at a steady trot, moving
quickly, but not fast enough to wake the baby still 
sleeping against his shoulder.  He reached the tree 
with their supplies, pulled them down and slung one 
pack over each arm, boxing Jess in behind him.

He turned to head back, acutely aware of his own injury
and blood loss.  And his age.  He was feeling his age.
It took longer to retrace his steps and the sun was full up
when he finally reached Mulder and the boy.  Mulder 
was awake, but barely aware of his surroundings, and 
Steven was asleep in his lap.  At some point, Mulder had
stripped off his outer shirt, and pulled the uniform shirt 
off, using it to cover the small boy.  He must have exhausted
himself in the effort, for the black turtleneck was still on 
the ground beside him, and Mulder sat shivering in 
the early morning dew.  Skinner suppressed the fear, and
the anger born of fear, that the sight of Mulder's pale chest
gave him.  Anyone looking for them would be able to 
see them from a mile away.  

"Mulder," he called softly, not wanting to startle the barely
conscious man into shooting.  "Mulder?  You with me?"

Mulder stirred, looking blearily around, his eyes finally
lighting on Skinner.  "Yessir, 'm here," he mumbled.

Skinner knelt and took the weapon from his agent's
numb fingers.  The man was like ice!  "Here," he said
quietly, lifting the shirt and pulling it down over Mulder's
head, "Let's get this back on, OK?"

"Sorry, sir," Mulder mumbled.  "Steven was so cold."  

And you weren't?  Skinner once again felt a mix of admiration
and anger at the way this man was able to put everyone ahead
of himself, regardless of the consequences.

"It's all right, Mulder," Skinner said calmly.  "I've got the 
bedrolls and no one needs to be cold.  You can let yourself
rest now.  I'll take first watch."

Mulder nodded gratefully and let his eyes close.  "Wake me 
for my turn," he mumbled even as he drifted off to sleep.

Skinner dropped the packs, and began to pull the 
bedrolls out and make spaces for the children and 
Mulder.  He had the clearing set the way he wanted it, 
the alarms were laid out, and he was moving the boy to 
the first bedroll when there was a muffled explosion from 
the direction of the farmhouse.

The project was officially terminated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Skinner got up again and began to make the same small circle
he'd paced so many times before.  The baby was squirming in
the makeshift pack and he had a feeling walking wasn't going
to settle her this time.  He sighed, then glanced over at Mulder
again.  If only he would wake up.  Mulder could keep the baby 
entertained for a while and then he could possibly grab a few
hours sleep.  Skinner jostled the baby once more, but nothing
seemed to be helping to settle her.

"Did you change her?" a small voice asked.

Skinner stopped and turned to look at the boy.  Change her.
That was what he had forgotten.  He wrinkled his nose in
distaste.

"She's probably hungry too.  Do you have anything to eat?"
Steven continued.  He was climbing to his feet now and looking
around the clearing curiously.  "Uh, Walter?" he asked.

"Yes?" Skinner answered absently as he worked the knot on 
his chest free so he could put the baby down.

"Where do I go to the bathroom?"

"I set up a latrine area over there."  Skinner waved toward a 
small thicket of bushes near a natural ditch.

"What's that?"

Skinner sighed again.  The knot came loose and he slipped
the pack off, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he enjoyed
the relief from the weight.  He pulled the baby out of the pack, 
settling her against his chest then immediately holding her out
at arm's length.  "She's wet!" he exclaimed.

"Well, duh!" Steven responded.  "Babies get that way if you 
don't change them.  Don't you know anything?"

Skinner dropped his head and murmured, "Apparently not."
He set the baby on her feet and she began to wander about
the clearing.  He watched her a moment, then decided this
was not too bad.  She was just looking at things as she toddled
around.

"I really need to go, Walter," Steven said again, and Skinner 
nodded.

"Here, come with me."  He led the way to the temporary latrine,
and provided a handful of leaves in response to Steven's request
for toilet paper.  He waited until the child was done, then led him
back to the clearing.  Mulder was still sleeping in his bedroll;
his condition seemed unchanged.  Skinner scanned the area quickly,
then scanned again.  

"Where's Jess?" Steven asked.

Shit!  Where was she?  "Steven," Skinner ordered, "go and sit
with Mul - Fox.  DO NOT move from his bedroll, OK?"

The boy nodded and went and plopped down next to Mulder,
who opened his eyes and asked, "Wha'?"

"Walter lost Jessie," Steven volunteered, and Skinner felt
his skin flush.

Mulder was struggling to rise now, and Skinner had to waste
valuable time soothing the man, and forcing him to stay and
"watch" Steven.  And more time instructing Steven to "watch"
Mulder.  Shit!  He was never going to find the child.  

He set off through the woods, quietly calling, "Jess?  Jess?
Where are you?"  Fuck!  How far could a two year old go
in woods this dense?  He called again, and then realized 
he'd reached the perimeter alarm.  He turned, looking for
anywhere she could have gone and began to make a circle,
working his way back in toward the camp. 

He was walking past yet another fallen log, still softly 
calling the baby's name, when he heard a tiny giggle.  He
froze and called again.  "Jess?  Come to Walter."

He was rewarded with a little louder giggle, and then
a small voice echoed, "Wa-tah."

He bounded over to the log and found the baby sitting
in a pile of leaves, her pajama bottoms and diaper sitting
next to her.  She looked up at him and smiled.  "Hi, Wa-tah."

His head sagged as he realized how ridiculously pleased
he was to see the child.  He knelt beside her and held out
his arms and she stood and came to him.  

"Jess," he whispered into her soft baby hair.  "You scared
me."

"Jess wet," she said fussily, pointing at the soiled diaper.

"I know," he answered.  "I'm sorry.  C'mon," he stood, holding
the baby in one arm, and the wet diaper and pants in the other.
He headed back to base camp, saying, "We'll take care of that."

The baby was playing with his glasses, her little fingers leaving
smears all along the lenses, and tickling his ears where the frames
rested.  With both hands full, there was nothing he could do to
stop her, so he endured it stoically.

He reached the clearing to see that Steven was still sitting by
Mulder, but his agent was unconscious again.  From pain or
blood loss, Skinner didn't know, but he needed to find out.

He put the baby down, then took out a diaper.  He spread the
child's legs and was in the process of situating the diaper 
between them, when he heard a distinct giggle from behind
him.

He turned to face Steven.  "What?" he asked.

"Not like that.  It'll never stay on.  You have to lay her down."

Skinner carried the baby to the bedroll and set her down, but
she immediately popped back up.  He gently laid her down 
again, and watched for a moment to make sure she stayed 
there, then turned to retrieve the diaper.  When he turned 
back she was up and gone again.  He looked around and
saw her smiling at him from across the clearing.

He rose to his feet again and went and got her, settling her
on the bedroll once more.  She promptly rolled over on her
stomach and began to crawl away.

Steven was laughing out loud now, and Skinner was getting
more than a little annoyed at both children.  Was it his
fault he didn't know how to do this?  He reached out and
caught the baby's feet, pulling her back gently and turning
her over again.  With one hand on her tummy, he slid
the diaper up under her bottom, only to hear Steven call,
"No, Walter, not like that.  That's backwards."
 
Walter looked back at the little boy.  "Do you know how to
do this?"

The child nodded.

"Well," Skinner paused, reaching for control, "I really would
appreciate it if you would take care of this for me," he said 
through gritted teeth.

"Sure," Steven said, and he bounced over to where Walter 
still knelt holding the baby. 

Skinner rocked back on his heels, out of the way but ready
to lend a hand to keep the wiggly baby still if needed.  He
watched as the baby turned to tummy again and began her
break for freedom.

"Bad Jess," Steven said, and the baby froze.  "Come get
changed.  Right now."

The baby obediently rolled over and scootched down toward 
Steven, where he efficiently picked her legs up by the ankles,
slipped the diaper underneath, and then pulled it up and 
together, fastening it with small tapes that were attached to
each side of the thing.  He looked up at Skinner and smiled
proudly.  "You just have to tell her what you want her to do."

Skinner nodded, still staring at the baby who was now sitting
quietly on the bedroll and playing with the zipper.  He shook
his head, then asked, "Can you watch her for a while, Steven?"

"She's OK now, but I'm hungry, Walter," the boy responded.  
"Can we have something to eat?"

"Yeah, let me see what we have."  He went to the pack and
pulled out an MRE.  "Chicken and noodles?"

Steven nodded and the baby clapped her hands.

Skinner added water to activate the heating element 
then set the cardboard container against a rock for it 
to warm.  He stepped over to Mulder and checked him 
again.  Damn!  From being gray and cold, he'd gone to 
flushed and warm.  Did the man have a fever now?  He 
carefully pulled the makeshift bandage free, noting that 
it was again soaked, and began to cut up another diaper 
to redo Mulder's leg. 

As he placed the absorbent pad down on the wound and
pressed, Mulder remained unmoving, convincing Skinner
he was indeed unconscious and not just sleeping.  Fuck!
There was no way Mulder would be able to walk the
16 or so miles to the road.  How the hell was he going 
to get everyone out?

He wet a cloth and sponged Mulder's face, then lay the 
cool strip across his brow.  "Best I can do," he whispered,
then turned to check on the children's lunch.  

Steven was kneeling by the rock, watching the box and
it looked to Skinner as if he was counting.  Jess was --
Skinner looked around -- Jess was gone again.  

"Steven," he called, "where's the baby?"

The boy looked around, bewildered.  "She was here a 
minute ago, Walter.  Is lunch ready?"

Skinner reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, 
biting his tongue till he tasted blood.  "Just a few more 
minutes, Steven.  I need to find Jess again."

The boy nodded and went back to watching the box.

Skinner set off again, calling softly and searching through
the woods.  She hadn't wandered too far this time, and he
was back shortly with her in his arms.

"I need you to help me watch Jess, Steven," he said to the
boy when he returned.  "She can get hurt out here."

The boy nodded, then said, "She needs to be able to move
around.  I told the men at the place, but they always wanted
her to be still."  He gave a tiny snort of disgust.  "I'm just
a kid and I know babies have to be able to play, but they
didn't listen to me."  He lifted big eyes to Walter.  "They 
were mean to her."

"And to you?" Skinner asked gently.

The boy shrugged.  "She's just little.  You shouldn't be mean
to little ones."

'Amen,' Skinner thought.  'You shouldn't be mean to little 
ones.'  He cleared his throat and asked, "How 'bout lunch, 
you two?"

They ate ravenously, and Skinner was amazed at the amount
of food both children put away.  He had intended to share this
meal with them, but there was none left for him when they were
done.  "Didn't they feed you?" he asked as Steven finished the
last of the noodles.

"Just some yucky oatmeal stuff.  All the time.  It was all we
ate."  He shuddered, then said in a conspiratorial tone, "I think 
they put something in it.  It was nasty tasting."

Indeed.  Skinner looked longingly at Mulder.  He was the
psychologist.  He would be so much better at talking to the
boy about this.  But he was out.  And that was something else
Skinner was going to have to deal with before nightfall.

"Steven, do you think you can sleep some more, now?" 
he asked as the boy yawned.  "You were up all night, 
and we're going to be moving tonight as well."

The boy nodded sleepily.  "I am sorta tired, Walter, but 
what about Jess?"

"I'll watch her.  She slept in the pack last night, so she
probably won't sleep as much today as you and Fox."

Both man and boy turned to look at Mulder.  

"He's pretty sick, isn't he Walter?"

"His leg is hurt, but he'll be OK.  When we get to the 
car, we'll take him to a hospital and they'll fix him 
right up."

The boy wandered over to his bedroll and Skinner 
followed.

"And you'll call my mom and dad?" the boy asked.

"Yes, we will.  And they'll come and get you and you'll 
go home."

The boy slipped under the top cover and wriggled a bit, 
getting settled.  Skinner reached out and gently stroked
his hair back from his face.  This child was being so brave,
so strong, it was easy to forget how very young he was too.

"And Jess?"

"And Jess."  Skinner looked up, appalled that he had forgotten
the baby again, and sure enough, she was nowhere to be seen.

"Sleep, Steven," he murmured, "I need to go get Jess again."

The boy laughed, but closed his eyes obediently.  "You gotta 
watch her better than this, Walter," he said, then yawned again.

Skinner patted him once more, then rose and began the
now familiar search pattern until he found the baby again.
This time she was perilously close to the edge of the latrine,
and Skinner refused to even consider what would happen
had she finished her explorations in that direction.

He carried her back to the clearing, then rummaged in his
pack.  Within minutes, she was tied to a stake in the middle 
of the clearing, with about a ten foot circle of room to
wander.  She explored her new "freedom" happily for
a while but then began to fuss.  Skinner rummaged in the
pack again, and presented her with an assortment of items
to keep her occupied.  A compass, small flashlight, closed
pocket knife, his extra pair of glasses, and his cuffs.  For some 
reason, she liked the cuffs best, and was playing contentedly
with them.  Skinner went and sat by Mulder, sponging his
forehead again and again, as he watched the baby play.

He was dampening the cloth again, when Mulder spoke.
"Guess you showed her, huh, Sir?"

Skinner blinked and looked down to see Mulder's eyes,
fever bright, staring at the baby across the way.  Her tether
was clearly visible around her waist and she had managed 
to put both hands through one of the cuffs, effectively trapping
herself, but she seemed quite pleased with the results and
was banging the flashlight on the ground as she hummed 
a little tune.

"What?" he asked as he looked back at Mulder.

"You showed her.  Got her tied up and cuffed.  She knows
who's in charge now."

Skinner laughed, then helped Mulder to sit up a bit, and
offered him water from the canteen.  "Oh yeah, there's 
no doubt who's in charge," he answered.  "No doubt at
all."  He looked down at Mulder and watched as his eyes
slid shut again.  He lowered the man back to the blanket
and tried to adjust him more comfortably.  He glanced up
at the baby again, and when she waved at him, he self-
consciously waved back, glad no one was awake to witness
the action.

"No doubt who's in charge here," he repeated.  "She is."

**********************************************

The baby had finally fallen asleep, but Skinner was too nervous
to try to sleep himself.  He had visions of her escaping her bonds
and wandering off, never to be found again.  He filled the 
remaining hours of the day building a travois.  Or at least as
much of one as he could fashion without use of the bedrolls
that Steven and Mulder were sacked out on.  

Mulder continued to feel feverish, and even with no movement,
the wound was seeping blood.  Skinner went and applied pressure
frequently, but he knew there was no way the younger man 
would be able to walk again.  As he knelt beside him, wiping his 
face yet again, Skinner was amazed that Mulder had managed
to walk as far as he had last night.  He was pretty sure the bone
was broken.  It had to be serious for the level of pain that
Mulder was experiencing and the concomitant manifestations --
sweating, chills and fever, drifting in and out of consciousness.

He had condensed what they were taking out down to one
pack.  The other pack, and miscellaneous items that would
remain were secured high in a tree.  The bedrolls would form
the support for the travois, and he would carry the baby in 
her pack, but strapped to his chest this time.

He scrubbed his face and took a sip of water.  God, he was
tired.  How was he going to get them all to safety?  They'd
been incredibly lucky that no one had pursued, no one had 
found them.  But there was no way to be sure that luck would 
hold.  He could feel his eyes trying to slip shut, and he rose 
to walk, knowing that movement would keep him awake, 
even if it added to his fatigue.  

He looked at his watch, then gazed up at the sun.  Several 
more hours till dark.  He was ready but they had been
safe here and he didn't want to take any chances.  Best to
stick with as much of the original plan as possible.  He 
walked to Steven and gazed down at the sleeping child.  
Dark hair fell across his brow, and Skinner knelt to push 
it back, feeling the slightly sweaty brow that often accompanied
hard sleep.  The child murmured something and rolled to 
his side, and Skinner rose again.  

He looked at the boy, then looked over at Mulder.  His eyes
narrowed as he looked again.  He shifted his glance to take 
in the baby -- the baby who was *not* Steven's sibling, but
who looked so much like him.  He looked at Mulder again,
then back at the boy, then the baby.  They looked like him.
The children looked like Mulder.  Shit!  Skinner couldn't 
believe he'd missed the resemblance before.  The boy even
had Mulder's slightly oversized nose and the same cowlick 
that caused that strand of hair to flop in his face.  He looked 
again at the girl.  She was so much younger, still unformed 
in many ways, her features still distorted with baby fat, but 
she had the same hazel eyes, the same wayward hair.  These 
two could be Mulder's kids!  What the fuck was going on?  
Who were these children and why were they here?

Skinner suddenly went cold as one of the alarms he'd set 
was tripped and the sensor in his pocket began to vibrate.
He woke Mulder quickly, helping the man to sit up, and
ignoring the pain that flashed across his face at the movement.

"We've got company," he murmured, as he checked the 
clip in Mulder's gun, then shoved it into his hands.  "Do
the best you can."

Mulder nodded muzzily, but remained sitting up when
Skinner let go.  He checked the boy -- still sleeping --
then checked the leash he'd attached to the baby.  He
may be slow, but he did learn.  She was asleep, and still
secure in the harness he had fashioned for her.  He looked
back at Mulder, nodded once, and slipped into the trees,
vanishing amidst the shadows.

He headed directly for the alarm that had been triggered,
keeping to the shade and shadows of the trees.  As he 
approached, he caught sight of a man in a guard uniform
from the complex.  Rifle in hand, the man was examining 
the alarm, which looked like a pine cone.  The man placed
the cone back on the ground, then stood and surveyed the
area, obviously searching for something.  Searching for them,
Skinner amended.  This man was searching for them.  They
weren't going to let them get away this easily.

Skinner tensed, and when the man turned his back, he 
pounced, tackling him from behind, and bringing him
down smoothly.  A quick twist of the man's head, a snap 
as the neck broke, and it was over.  Skinner was hardly
breaking a sweat from exertion, but he was suddenly shaking
from fear.  What if there were more?  What if they found 
the clearing while he was out here?  What if this was a ploy
to separate them, to force him to leave the vulnerable ones
alone?  He had to get back.

He hefted the man's body and began to circle back to the 
clearing.  He deliberately came up on the side of the latrine,
and used the natural ditch to form a shallow grave and hide
the body.  He would come back and cover it later.  For now,
he needed to check on his charges.  

He crept up to the clearing and checked it carefully before he
risked showing himself.  Mulder was still holding himself up,
barely able to maintain a sitting position, the gun held tightly
in one hand, but laying limp in his lap.  The two children still
slept.  There was no indication that anyone was there, or that
they had been.  He called softly to his agent, "Mulder?" and
was rewarded with a nod.  

He strode into the camp, and took the gun from Mulder's hand.
"Good job, Mulder," he said, "very good.  Rest now."

"I'm not going to be any help, I don't think I can even sit
up again," the man muttered as Skinner helped him to lay
back down.  He winced as he shifted on the blanket.  "Shit!
It really hurts, Sir."  

"I know, Mulder, and I'm sorry.  If there were any other way ..."
Skinner began.

"Not.  Your.  Fault."  Mulder gritted out through clenched 
teeth.  "Should've been more alert.  You were great.  Saved
us all.  Small price to pay."  Mulder stopped, gasping for
breath.

"Rest, Mulder," Skinner soothed.  "Don't try to talk."  He
fumbled with the canteen.  "You want some water?"  

Mulder's eyes were closed now, but he nodded once.  Skinner
lifted his head, and held the canteen to his lips, waiting patiently
as he took several long swallows.  Finally, he nodded, and Skinner
lowered him back to the blanket.  He recapped the canteen, then
patted Mulder's shoulder gently and rose to his feet.  "I'm gonna
wake the kids and we're moving.  I don't want to wait any longer
if they're out here looking for us."  He checked his watch again.
"It'll be dark soon enough."

He woke Steven and fixed another MRE for the boy, then while
the child ate, Skinner completed the travois.  He pulled it over 
near Mulder, then shifted the wounded man around and dragged
him, bedding and all, onto the blanket that now hung from two
long poles.  At the first movement, Mulder had tensed and
Skinner could see him clenching his jaw, but by the time he was
situated, and Skinner had secured him to the frame, the man was
unconscious again.

"Are you finished, Steven?" Skinner asked, and the boy nodded.

"Jess needs to eat, too," he reminded Skinner.

"And be changed, I bet," Skinner remarked.

"I need to go to the bathroom again," Steven said, and 
Skinner could see the puzzlement on the boy's face when he 
directed him to some bushes on the edge of the clearing, rather 
than the latrine.

Skinner managed the baby's change this time, and helped her to 
finish Steven's meal, then he laced her into the now dry pack again,
and slipped it on backward.  She was nestled against his chest, her
little body a solid presence beneath his heart.  He did a quick weapons
check, making sure he could get to everything with the baby in 
place, then slipped the one remaining pack on his back.  The night
vision goggles were balanced on his head since it was still daylight,
but ready to be pulled down as the sun sank below the horizon.

Skinner called Steven and the boy came immediately to his
side.  "You must stay right here with me all the time, understand?"
he instructed the boy.  "We're going to have to walk for a very 
long way, and I need you to be very strong and very brave."

"I am," Steven said proudly.  "I hardly ever cried when they did
the hurting things."

Skinner felt his heart clutch again.  The hurting things.  What had
been done to these children?  "I know you are, Steven, I know you
are.  You must also be very quiet.  If you need to say something,
tap my leg to get my attention, then we'll whisper, OK?"

Steven nodded solemnly, and Skinner bent and hoisted the two
poles of the travois.  "Sorry, Mulder, this is gonna hurt like a bitch."
He took one more look down at Steven, then set off into the woods.

They had only gone a few feet when there was an explosion from
the woods to the left, and Skinner froze.  He waited as he processed
what had happened, but nothing else occurred.  He set off again,
the baby murmuring little baby things against his chest, Steven
walking quickly by his side, a serious expression on his face, and
Mulder, unconscious, behind him.  

Thirty minutes passed, and there was another explosion, this time to 
the right, and Skinner suddenly knew what was happening.

The woods were mined, and they had decided to try a different
kind of search.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The little boy was struggling and Skinner wanted nothing
more than to stop and let him rest.  And to rest himself,
he admitted.  Mulder was an easy 170, the pack had to
be around 40, and the baby?  Maybe 25?  He was getting
tired.  He sighed and looked at his watch.  They'd been
walking for about four hours.  Their journey continued
to be interspersed with the periodic explosions from 
all directions, but none had been close to them.  Yet.

The baby was asleep, Mulder drifted in and out of 
consciousness, and Steven?  Steven just struggled 
along, not a word of complaint despite the exhaustion 
the child had to be feeling.

Skinner glanced down and saw the boy reach up and wipe
his eyes.  He looked closer and saw the tears, dripping
slowly down his cheeks.  He dropped his head, then
sighed.  The child was trying so hard, but regardless
of his effort, he was still a child, and he was never going
to be able to walk the entire way.

Skinner reached out and touched Steven's shoulder,
then stopped.  "We're gonna take a break, OK?"

The little boy nodded furiously, then limped over
to a log to sit down.  Skinner's brow furrowed.
Why was he limping?  He laid the travois down, 
shed the backpack, and rolled his shoulders a few 
times, trying to clear the knots that had taken up
seemingly permanent residence there.

Skinner followed and sat beside the boy.  "Are you
all right?"

Steven hurriedly wiped tears from his eyes and 
then looked up at Skinner.  "I won't cry anymore,
I promise.  And I'll keep up.  Please don't leave me."

Skinner was astonished.  Why would the child think
he would leave him?  "Steven," he said very softly,
"I'm not going to leave you.  You know that, right?
We're all going out together."

The boy gave a half shrug, half nod, and Skinner 
tentatively put an arm around his shoulder.  "I'm
not going to leave you, Steven.  You're doing great.
You're a strong, brave young man, and your mom 
and dad must be very proud of you."

He could feel the little shoulders begin to shake,
and the child lifted his hands to his eyes for a long
moment, then turned and buried his face in 
Skinner's side.  He cried for a very long time, and 
Skinner stroked his back and hair, and murmured
soft, soothing words to him.  Finally the sobs 
began to quiet, and the boy whispered, "I'm sorry,
Walter, I won't cry anymore."

"Shhh, Steven, it's OK to cry sometimes.  Do you
feel better now?"

Steven was still for a moment, contemplating the 
question, and Skinner was again struck by how 
much this child was like Mulder.  "I think so," he 
said hesitantly, then a smile broke over his face.  
"Hey!  Yeah, I do feel better!"

"Good!"  Skinner smiled back.  "Think you're ready
to walk some more?"

The boy nodded then looked around curiously.  "Is 
there a potrine around here?"  

Skinner laughed.  "That's *latrine,* and you can take
your pick of the local bushes.  Just don't go out of sight."

"Sir?"  

Mulder was calling him.  He watched Steven a minute
more, then stepped back to kneel by Mulder's side. 
"You're awake," he said.

"I think I'd rather not be," Mulder said wryly.  The
younger man paused and Skinner watched as he started
to drift away.

He reached out and gently shook the man.  "You wanted
to tell me something?"

Mulder visibly pulled himself back, and said, "Oh, yeah.
Steven.  He's beat.  He can't walk all the way out."

"I know."  Skinner was frustrated.  "I don't know what 
else to do.  I can't carry him too."

Mulder nodded.  "You're doing great, you know that, don't
you?  I can't think of anyone else who would have gotten
us all this far."  Mulder's hand came up to grip Skinner's
arm.  "Hercules, remember?" and Skinner smiled.

"Good," Mulder said, "you look better now.  Look, can
you ditch the big pack and swap that weight for Steven?  I
know you've got to be at or beyond your limit, but maybe
he could ride with me."

Skinner thought for a moment.  What was in the pack that 
he absolutely had to take?  Just the container with Scully's
vials.  He could risk leaving the food and other supplies.  
Just take the water and a couple more diapers -- it would 
all fit in the small pack with the vials.  Most of the weapons
he already carried, or they were in Mulder's pockets.  He 
looked over at the boy who was sitting wearily on the log 
again.  "Steven, please come here," he called softly, and the 
boy rose and limped over.

"Why is he limping?" Mulder asked, concerned.

"Don't know.  I think he's just tired of walking.  I was going 
to ask."

The boy stopped beside the travois and looked down at Mulder.
"You're awake, Fox!" he said happily.  "Are you feeling better?"

Mulder nodded.  "Some.  How 'bout you, Steven?  How are
you feeling?"

"I'm OK," the boy said.  "Walter let me cry some and I feel
better now.  He didn't yell or anything when I cried.  My dad
doesn't yell at me either when I cry."

Mulder and Skinner exchanged a glance.  More clues to
what had happened at the complex.

Skinner had taken off the pack with Jess in it, and handed
the sleeping baby over to Mulder.  She settled right in next
to him, never once waking.

He now turned to the boy and rose.  "I need to see how much 
you weigh, Steven," he said, and hefted the boy into the air.  

The child's arms went instinctively around Skinner's neck,
legs around his waist, and he snuggled in against the man's
chest.  "My dad would carry me when I got tired sometimes.
Even after I was a big boy, like now, sometimes he would
pick me up and carry me."  He sighed wistfully.  "Daddy 
said even big boys get tired too."

Skinner hugged him tight for a long moment as he looked
down at Mulder.  "I can't carry you, Steven," he whispered,
"I'm sorry.  But do you think you could ride with Fox?"

The boy had gone stiff in his arms when Skinner said he
couldn't carry him, but he relaxed at the idea of riding with
Mulder.

"I could do that.  I'll be real still so I don't hurt his leg."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Steven," Skinner said.
"I know Fox will appreciate that."

Skinner started to put the child down, but he suddenly 
tightened his grip around the big man.  The boy hugged
him tightly, planted a soft kiss on his cheek, and whispered 
into his ear, "I don't think you're scary anymore, Walter."

Skinner swallowed hard, then hugged the child back and
slowly lowered him to the ground.  He scampered around
to the other side of the travois, and carefully climbed in
next to Mulder.  Only Skinner saw Mulder wince, but
when Steven asked, "Is this OK, Fox?" Mulder answered,
"Just fine, Steven.  You're just fine."

Mulder looked up at Skinner.  "How 'bout I keep the baby 
for a while since she's sleeping?  I think I can hang onto
her while she's asleep."

"Don't count on it," Skinner rumbled, but he left the child
where she was.  He rolled his shoulders one more time,
made his own visit to the "potrine," and they were ready
to move again.

************************************************

It was well after sun-up, closer to late morning,
when they reached the road.  The children had 
miraculously slept the rest of the night, and Mulder 
had continued to drift between varying states of 
waking, sleeping, and unconsciousness.  The bouts 
of unconsciousness were in direct proportion to the 
number and severity of the bumps the travois
passed over.

When Skinner could see the road, he looked for a 
place to leave his charges while he went for the car
and made sure everything was safe.  The woods were
sparser here, no close set trees to offer the type of
hiding place he'd come to look for, but he did find
a thicket of bushes.  He quickly cut them down,
then slid the travois over and set the bushes around it.
It was makeshift, and certainly wouldn't withstand
hard scrutiny, but with continued luck, it wouldn't
have to.  

Skinner had learned his lesson with the baby.  He 
reattached her harness and tether even though she
was sleeping, and left her with a very short leash.
At least she would be there when he got back.

Steven had awakened when they stopped moving,
but he had nodded obligingly when Skinner had
instructed him to remain laying down and stay
hidden until he returned.  Mulder was unconscious
again.

His charges as securely hidden as he could manage,
Skinner climbed wearily to his feet to begin the
last leg of their journey.  He was feeling every one
of his years today.  He'd gotten drunk and not slept
three nights ago.  He'd grabbed a few hours
during the day two days ago, and walked all night
that night.  Once again, a few daytime hours of sleep,
then had come the raid on the complex, and all the
ensuing events.  He hadn't slept again.  And the
possibility of sleep anytime soon was looking pretty
remote. 

He shook his head, and hiked on toward the place 
they had left the car.  Skinner felt a rush of pleasure
when he saw it and realized it was still there.  He 
was so tired, and the car meant a chance to sit, even
if he did have to drive.  Mulder could lay in the
back and the children could sit up front with him.

Skinner circled the car, looking for signs of tampering,
and relaxed when he saw none.  He went to the hood
to open it and restore the wires he'd disconnected to
simulate the breakdown.  As he pulled the latch on the
hood, he saw it -- a wire that didn't belong.  He turned
and began running, heading back for the woods, only
one thought in his mind.  'Get out of sight; this is
gonna be bad.'

There was a massive explosion and he was hit from 
behind.  The fireball lifted him into the air and
he flew the rest of the way across the road and 
into the woods.  He landed on an incline and rolled
to the bottom.  In his mind, he kept hearing a chant,
'I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive,' and then the darkness
of unconsciousness swallowed him and he heard nothing
more.

******************************************

When Skinner came to, the sun had reached its zenith.
He tried to move his head to check his watch and was 
rewarded with lancing pain through his whole skull.
Concussion.  He lay still a bit longer, and took a silent
inventory.  Everything hurt.  There was no way to sort
out one injury from another.  He had cuts, and scrapes,
and swollen places on top of cuts, and scrapes, and 
swollen places. 

He finally forced his head up and looked at his wrist.
The crystal on his watch had shattered at 11:15.  The
sun was directly overhead.  He'd been out about forty-
five minutes.  His arms were bright red; he looked as 
if he had a severe sunburn.  He gingerly touched his 
face and felt the tightness there, indicating the same
type of burns.  He could feel blisters where his glasses
rested; the metal frames had superheated and left the
natural result.  

He forced himself to sit up, then climbed painfully to 
his feet, and clutched at a tree for support as he was 
overcome with dizziness and swayed.  

He took several deep, cleansing breaths, then twisted
around to look over his shoulder at his back.  The 
material of his shirt was burned and he could see it
sticking to open blisters in several places along both 
shoulders.  He couldn't really see his back, but he could
imagine the mess of red, raw skin, and oozing blisters 
that it was now.  He reached up and touched his scalp,
wincing as he brought his hand quickly back down.
He looked at his fingers -- blood and fluid from more
blisters.  He was covered in blood and the sticky fluid
from the broken burn blisters.

Open burns seemed to attract infection.  He had to 
get himself and his charges out of the woods and
into a hospital.  His reserves had been seriously
depleted before the blast, but now he was perilously
close to collapse, and there was still so much to do.
Starting with getting a vehicle. 

He looked around and realized that the woods 
were strangely quiet.  He cleared his throat, but
heard nothing.  He spoke, and still heard nothing.
And then it hit him.  The blast had not only injured
him.  Not only burned him.  It had deafened him
as well.

Skinner dropped to his knees, a darkness consuming
him and threatening to drag him under.  How could
he finish his mission without his hearing?  He relied
so heavily on it.  It was integral to his ability to
keep everyone safe.  He had to be able to hear to
get them out.  He allowed himself the indulgence
of a moment more of self-pity, then struggled to his
feet again.  He'd just have to compensate.  He refused
to even think what it would mean if this hearing loss
wasn't temporary.

His ankle was weak, and protested with each step.
Sprained?  Quite possibly.  But he couldn't stop and
deal with it now.  He hobbled back to the tree line
and stared across at the hulk of the car.  There was no 
sign that anyone had come to investigate and he 
assumed that the car explosion just melded into  
the mine explosions that had been occurring all night.

He knelt in the scanty bushes by the road, just out
of sight, as he contemplated his next moves.  He
needed a car.  This was a fairly well-traveled road.
That was why he chose it.  So there should be a 
vehicle along any time now.  He checked his
weapon then looked up to see a car driving past.

Shit!  Without his hearing, he couldn't be prepared
for the cars in advance.  He raised a hand to his
face again, and wiped away blood that trickled 
down over his brow.  He was hurting, and tired,
and thirsty, and now he couldn't hear.  He needed
a break.  

He looked up as a dark sedan stopped by the 
burned-out car, and two men exited, both wearing
the now familiar guard uniform.  This was his 
opportunity.  He dug in the pockets of his waist 
pouch and quickly armed himself.  Two well-balanced
throwing knives appeared in his hands, two
stars went into his mouth, clutched between
his teeth.

Keeping low, he made his way across the road, 
and knelt near the rear bumper of the sedan.  He
edged around the back of the vehicle, and eyed
the two men talking by the front of the wrecked
car.  With a mighty roar, albeit soundless to him,
he rose and launched the two knives at the men.  
The first landed dead center and the man went 
down.  The other man whirled at the last second 
and twisted away, catching the knife in the arm.  
He turned to face Skinner, then pulled the knife 
from his arm, and bowed.  

Oh, shit!  Not this.  I really do not need this 
Chuck Norris shit.  Skinner bowed back, hand
searching frantically in his waist pouch, and
when he pulled himself erect again, he pointed
the small gun at the man, and fired.

This time, the man went down.

Skinner sighed.  There was no more thrill to killing --
it had become nothing more than a means to an
end, and a disheartening means at that.  He stumbled
forward to the driver's door, then looked in and saw the
keys still in the ignition.  Slipping into the car, he
moved the seat back to accommodate his long legs,
turned the key and pulled the car in a sharp U to
head back to where he'd left Mulder and the children.

He parked as close as he could, leaving the car on the
wrong side of the road with flashers going, and made
his way back into the woods.  Moving quickly, he
searched for his hiding place of bushes, then halted
abruptly as he saw Steven walking to the side of the
bushes, the baby pulling him by her leash.  

The child looked up at him, a smile on his face and
began to speak, but Skinner couldn't hear any of it.
As he watched, the boy's face fell, and he slowly 
stopped talking, and then stopped moving.  Tears
were hovering in the child's eyes again, and Skinner
had no idea what had happened.

He knelt and beckoned the boy to come closer.
Steven picked up the baby, and then moved 
slowly toward Skinner.  When he was directly
in front of the kneeling man, Skinner said, "Steven,
I'm not mad at you.  There was an explosion and 
I was hurt a little.  I can't hear you right now, but 
I'm not mad.  Do you understand?"

The boy was talking again, but his head was 
nodding as well, and the smile was back.  Skinner
nodded back, then pushed himself to his feet.
There was a tug at his waist and he looked down
to see the boy pointing at his back, a worried 
look on his little face.

"I know.  It's all right.  Don't worry about me.
Are you ready to go?  Is Mulder awake?"

The boy nodded then shook his head and Skinner
took that to mean he was ready to go and Mulder
was *not* awake.  He looked at the boy again.
"Has Mul -- er, Fox, been sleeping the whole time
I was gone?"

The boy nodded again, and Skinner felt the 
worry clutch at his heart, but he forced a
smile for the child.  "You were very clever
to keep Jessie occupied while I was gone for
so long.  I'm very proud of you, Steven."

The boy raced the few feet between them, and
threw his arms around Skinner's legs, burying 
his face in his thigh and began to cry.  When 
Skinner winced and pulled away, the boy stepped
back, and then looked at the blood on his arms,
Skinner's blood, and began to cry even harder.
That set the baby off, and Skinner tumbled to his
knees and tugged both children to his chest.

"Shh," he soothed, "shhh now.  It's all right.  We're
almost home.  Hush, now, hush.  We're all going
to be all right."  It took some time but the children
settled and Skinner was finally able to go and 
free Mulder from beneath the bushes.  

He dragged the travois up to the car, loaded his 
unconscious agent in back, piled the children into
the front, then made one more trip for the pack.
The pack with the vials that had started this whole
chain of events.  The last thing he did was slice the
side of the pack open and pull out his ID.  He had
a feeling he was going to need it.

*******************************************

The drive to the hospital took over an hour.  The children 
sat beside him, as still as two children could be, sharing
a seat belt.  It was the best he could do for safety.  

By the time they reached the city, and he had to begin to
negotiate turns, trying desperately to follow the blue 
signs with the large H, indicating hospital, he was weaving
all over the road.  He was praying for a cop to stop him,
anything, just so that someone else could take over for
a while and he could rest.  

Finally, he could see the hospital in the distance.  Signs
to the ER swam in and out of his vision, competing with
the darkness that was threatening to overtake him again.
There was a circular drive in front of the ER doors and 
Skinner wanted to be sure he was close.  He knew he wouldn't
be able to walk again.  He was going to have to rely on 
the hospital personnel.  

He aimed for the door, disregarding the flower-beds that
lay between him and his goal, then handed his ID to Steven.
"Give this to the people in the hospital, Steven.  It's got
my name on it.  And tell them who Fox is.  Fox Mulder."

Steven nodded and Skinner said, "Good boy, now hold onto
the baby," and the car bumped through the flower-beds,
across the drive, through the glass doors of the ER, and came
to a stop against the sign-in counter, where insurance 
information was collected.  Skinner's head dropped to the
wheel, and the horn began to blow.

But he was aware of none of it.  The big man had finally 
given in, and he was unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The first thing he noticed was a beeping sound, and he
lay still, trying to figure out what was so odd about the
sound.  It finally hit him, and his eyes popped open.  He
could hear it!

He turned his head to look around, and pain lanced 
through his skull.  His eyes slid shut of their own 
accord, and a soft alto said, "Bet that hurt, didn't it, Sir?"

Skinner forced his eyes open again, and focused on 
a very familiar face.  "Agent Scully," he began formally,
but she cut him off.

"Do not take that tone with me," she began.  "I will not
be placated with your AD act.  What the *hell* did you 
two think you were doing?"

"Mulder?" he asked, trying desperately to shift the
attention anywhere but on himself.

"Don't get me involved," said a voice from the other
bed.  "I've sat through two days of her lectures.  It's 
your turn."

"Mulder is fine," Scully answered him.  "Well, as fine
as someone who walked three miles on a broken femur
can be."

"I can hear," Skinner said.

"Yes, and you have no idea how lucky you are.  Whatever
blast you were caught in could have ruptured your tympanic
membranes and you could have been permanently deaf."

"Enough!"  Skinner raised his hand, IV and all.  "I appreciate
your concern," he smiled wryly, "though you do find a rather
odd way of expressing it, but I will not be bullied in my sick
bed."  He rolled on his side, turned his back to her, and closed
his eyes.  Within minutes, he was asleep again.

*******************************************

The next time he woke, there was a nice, objective
doctor by his bed, and she answered all his questions
with no commentary.  Yes, he had a concussion.
Yes, he had a pretty severe scalp laceration, hence the
bleeding.  He'd needed stitches in several places to
close gashes from the explosions.  His ankle was, 
indeed, sprained.  And while there was still a slight 
ringing in his ears, his hearing should be completely
normal within a few weeks at most.  The burns were
a little more problematic, and the IV was to make
sure he didn't become dehydrated.  

"When can I go home?" he asked, and the doctor
laughed.

"You sound like your friend over there," and she
pointed at Mulder's empty bed.

"Is he gone already?" Skinner asked.

"No.  His wife took him down to pediatrics to see the
children."

Skinner's heart leapt into his throat.  "The children?  
Were the children hurt?"

"Just minor cuts and abrasions from the car wreck.
You totaled our ER, by the way.  Social services is
searching for the kids' parents and since they *were*
injured, and the little boy was almost hysterical at
the thought of leaving you, we just kept them here.
They've come up to see you several times, but you
must have been sleeping."

"How long?"

"Two days."  There was a noise at the door and she
turned to look.  "Ah, we were just talking about you."
She turned back to Skinner.  "You've got visitors.
Don't exert yourself."  She patted his hand and left.

Scully pushed the wheelchair in, and rolled Mulder
up next to the bed.  Jess was seated on his lap, and 
she immediately crawled over the rail and plopped
down on Skinner's chest.

"Wa-tah!" she cried happily.  "Wa-tah, Wa-tah, 
Wa-tah!"  She leaned over and planted a sloppy baby 
kiss right on his nose.

"Jess," he sighed.  He checked her over, noting only
a few small band-aids and a couple of bruises.  He lifted
her little hand and kissed one of the bruises.  "I'm
so sorry, Jess," he whispered.

"Jess got owie," she said, and then snuggled down
against his chest.

"Where the hell are my glasses?" Skinner demanded,
and was rewarded when Scully handed them to him, 
and Mulder chuckled softly, saying, "Language, Sir."

"Oh, yes, well," Skinner cleared his throat.  "Where's
Steven?"

"I'm here," said a small voice from behind Scully.
He stepped forward slowly, and stood staring at the
man in the bed.  "Are you all right, Walter?"

"I'm fine, Steven.  How are you?"  Skinner struggled
to sit up and was grateful when Scully pushed a button
and the bed began to move.

The little boy touched a bandage on his brow.  "I
banged my head," he said seriously.

"I see," Skinner responded in the same serious tone.
"Does it hurt?"

"Some.  But I'm tough, like you.  I can take it."

Skinner swallowed hard, then wiped his eyes to clear
the sudden blur that had arisen.  "Would you like to
come sit on the bed with me, Steven?" he asked.

The little boy nodded and then clambered over the
rail before Scully could help him.  He sat on both knees
next to Walter and looked at him gravely.  "You
don't look so good, Walter," he offered.  "Are you sure
you're all right?"

Skinner chuckled and nodded.  "I'm just fine now,
Steven, just fine."

"We'll see about that," Scully grumbled under her breath,
and Steven leaned down to whisper in Skinner's ear.

"Dana's really mad at you and Fox.  Did you leave without
asking permission?"

Skinner laughed out loud at that, and Mulder joined him.
"See Scully, even Steven has your number," Mulder teased,
and Scully had the grace to blush.

Jessie had fallen asleep on Skinner's chest, and he suddenly
felt that was a wonderful idea.  He patted Steven's back,
and the boy laid down with him as well.  Skinner looked over
at Mulder and Scully and shrugged, then closed his eyes
as well.  Just before he fell asleep, he offered, "You know,
the doctors think Scully is your wife, Mulder.  Why do
you suppose that is?"

********************************************

Three days later and they were to be discharged the next
day.  The children had come to visit several times, every 
day, and all the staff commented on how they had bonded 
with the two FBI men.  Mulder would be in the wheelchair
for several more weeks before he would be allowed to
start using the crutches.  Skinner had to suppress a 
twinge of guilt every time he looked at the man.  There
really had been no other way.  His own wounds were 
healing nicely, but he would carry reminders of
the burns on his back from now on.

There was still no word on the children's parents though.
Jess was too young to give a full name, but her picture 
and description had been faxed all over the country.
Steven Miller however, should not have been so difficult
to trace.

They were all down in the pediatrics playroom.  Mulder
and Steven were playing checkers and Jess was sitting
on Skinner's lap, when the social worker came in.  She
walked to Skinner and said in a quiet voice.  "We
believe we've found Steven's parents.  They're outside,
but I wanted to give you and Agent Mulder a chance to
prepare him, since he's so fond of you both."

Skinner nodded.  He knew this day would come.  Hell,
he wanted this day to come.  But it still didn't change the
sudden pain in his heart at the thought of not seeing these
two -- his hand stroked the baby's hair -- each day.  "Hey,
Steven," he called, "can you take a break and come talk 
to me?"

Steven nodded and Mulder looked up curiously.  When 
the boy reached his side, Skinner said, "There are some 
people here, and we think they're your parents.  Are
you ready to see them?"

The boy's eyes had lit up at the mention of his parents
and he was craning his head at the door.  So much for
wanting to prepare him.  He was ready.

The door opened and a small, blonde woman entered,
followed by a short, also fair-haired man.  The woman
immediately burst into tears and fell to her knees, calling,
"Stevie, Stevie."  The man dropped beside her and
Steven ran to their outstretched arms, crying as well.

When Steven began to cry, Jess did too, and Skinner
missed much of the rest of the reunion as he tried to 
calm the distraught baby.  When Steven had finally
settled, snuggled in his mother's lap, his father's 
arms still wrapped around him, only then did Jess
settle as well.  

She looked up at Skinner and demanded, "Down,"
then toddled over to the sofa when he released her.

"Teeben," she said, standing before the couch.  
"Teeben.  Get Jess up."

Steven extracted himself from his parents' arms
and lifted the baby up.  Skinner was staring at the
group.  The two children, both tall for their age
and dark, and the two adults, the woman only
about five feet tall, the man not much taller.  Both
blue-eyed and blonde.  There was no biological
connection here, but they seemed to love Steven.

And now they had made room to include Jess
in their little family group.  The baby seemed to
fit right in.  Skinner nodded at Scully, and she 
pushed Mulder to the door of the playroom.  
Skinner followed, and couldn't resist the urge
to turn and take one last lingering look at the
children who'd slipped into his heart.

**************************************

They were packed and ready to leave.  Though
Mulder and Skinner had flown out, Scully had
rented a car and they were driving back.  She
was adamant that he not drive, but he felt sure
he'd be able to change her mind once they were
on the road.  A two day drive would be enough
to make anyone want to share the driving.

Mulder was in his wheelchair, the pack with
the vials had been returned from the local police,
and they were set to go.  Scully had been kind
enough to go to the local K-Mart and pick up 
a few clothes for both men, so they were at least
able to leave in something other than hospital
gowns.

Mulder seemed to have a knack with Scully.
He didn't contradict her when she lectured, agreed
with her continual assessment that all men were
idiots, and didn't complain when she fussed over 
him.  After two days of non-stop arguing with
her, Skinner had finally adopted Mulder's approach,
and his life had become much more pleasant.

As they waited in the lobby for Scully to bring
the car around, Skinner was surprised to see
Steven and his mother walk up.  His mother was
holding Jess, and the baby was smiling contentedly.

"Hi, Wa-tah," she said, and Steven translated for
his mom.  "That's how she says Walter."  He scampered
over to Skinner and threw his arms around him.
"Hi Walter," he echoed the baby.  "Guess what?"

Skinner laughed.  "What?"

"Jess is coming home to live at my house!"

Skinner lifted his eyes to Steven's mother.  "What?
How?" he asked.

She laughed and came to sit with them, acknowledging
Mulder as she joined Skinner on the bench.  The baby
reached out for Mulder this time, and he took her happily.
She reached up and grabbed his nose, saying, "Pox, Pox,
Pox," and Mulder gently removed her hand as his eyes
began to water.

"There's no word on her parents and she was going to
have to be placed with foster parents.  Since we're already
approved, and Steven is so fond of her, Tom and I asked
if she could come home with us."  She shrugged.  "I couldn't
bear to tell Steven no, and he was determined not to leave
without her."

"I suspected Steven was not your biological child,
but you haven't completed the adoption?" Skinner asked.

"Steven was found abandoned at the hospital where I
work when he was about Jessie's age.  He knew his
name, but that was about it.  There's been a waiting 
period before he is totally cleared for adoption."

"So your name is not Miller?" Skinner asked.

"Oh, no," she laughed.  "Poor child.  He's gonna have to 
learn how to spell LaFreniere.  But he's so smart -- he 
won't have any trouble I'm sure.  He was reading by three
and can remember anything he sees."  

"And you're not sure of his age then either?"

"No, we just celebrate the day we got him as his birthday.
Just like we'll celebrate today as Jessie's until her real
parents turn up."

Just then, Scully and Tom Miller -- no, Tom LeFreniere --
walked in.  "Did you hear," she started to say, then took
in the picture before her.  "Oh, of course you did."

Skinner shook hands with the parents and wished them 
well.  They were all invited to come and visit again, and
Skinner could see Mulder was already making plans to
do so when his leg healed.  Maybe he would ride along
as well.

Kisses and hugs were exchanged between all the FBI
agents and the children, and Scully received extra
instructions from Steven.  "Don't fuss at Walter and
Fox too much, Dana.  I'm sorry they were bad and didn't
tell you where they were going --" the child snuck a look
at his own mother -- "but I'm glad they came and got me
and Jess."

Scully laughed and hugged the little boy.  "OK, Steven,
no more fussing.  But they better remember the rules
next time."

At last it was time to leave.  The LaFreniere's took their 
children and went on to their car.  Scully gathered up the
men's few belongings and piled them on Mulder's lap.

"You ready, Sir?" she asked, interrupting Skinner's
reverie.

"Oh, yes," he said, looking up from the folder he had
been reviewing.  He'd ordered blood tests on the children
and then had the lab compare them with Mulder's 
file.  Inside this folder was the result.  He smiled as
he closed the folder and stood.  "Yes, indeed, Agent
Scully.  I am ready."

As he followed his two agents to the car, all he could
think was, 'Mulder is the Dutch form of Miller.'


The End