What Cost, Friendship? (1/2)Date: Wed, 6 Jan 1999 02:43:53 EST 
Title: What Cost, Friendship? (1/2)
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? 01/08 
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." 
End part 01/08 
What Cost, Friendship? 02/08 
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. 
End part 02/08 
What Cost, Friendship? 03/08 
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. 
End part 03/08 
What Cost, Friendship? 04/08 
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." 
End part 04/08