From: sclay@connix.com (Sheryl Clay)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: New Story:  Lines (1/2)
Date: Wed, 28 Jun 95 21:00:41 PST


This takes place after "Anasazi," from the POV of Skinner and Scully. 
It's not a complete story, more of a "last sequence," and would probably 
be placed at the end of a conclusion to "Anasazi."   I don't speculate as 
to how Mulder got out of his boxcar, I only assume that he already has, 
and that he has gone on with his part of the adventure separately.  
Action begins after Scully has returned to Washington to face Skinner, 
after blowing off their meeting.

Thanks to Tish Sears for all the editing help!

Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner are the property of 
Ten Thirteen Productions, lovingly borrowed without permission,
and without any intent to infringe, annoy or otherwise upset.  

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

LINES (Part 1)


	
"I want to know where he is, Agent Scully."
	
He was not shouting.  It was not any chauvinistic restraint that 
made Walter Skinner keep his temper in check.  Rather, it was the 
belligerent set of Dana Scully's jaw as she watched him that told him 
screaming threats would get him nowhere with her.  That she would go 
to her grave protecting her partner, if necessary.  That they had pushed 
her too far, this time, those forces who had invaded his office, used him 
to get to Fox Mulder.  She was not about to trust him, and he could not, 
in his heart, say that he blamed her much.  	
	
Skinner's fury at Mulder's assault had abated a little, leaving 
him only confusion concerning his subordinate's extreme, but 
uncharacteristic behavior.  But he, himself, was in some pretty serious 
hot water over whatever those documents were that Mulder had 
absconded with, and he sensed that his subordinate was finally in 
deeper trouble than he was likely to be able to handle alone.  He needed 
to reach Scully, to resolve this.  Or at least to get her out of the middle 
of it; there was no need for this perfectly good agent to go down with 
the ship.  Besides that, he honestly liked her, and he owed her 
something.  He still felt a little guilty over his impotence to help her 
after her abduction.  But they did not have time for this dance, too much 
was at stake.
	
"Agent Scully, I don't need to remind you of the consequences of 
withholding this information?"
	
Scully just looked at him.
	
"Consequences to yourself?  To your career?  This could be 
grounds for summary dismissal, Scully.  There is a limit to what I can 
do to protect you."
	
Scully nodded, very slightly.  Skinner sighed.  He pulled off his 
glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose.  Then he stood up, and turned 
his back, looking out the window.
	
"Is he all right?  He's safe?" he asked finally.  
	
Scully frowned, hearing the concern in his voice.  Skinner 
turned to look at her, and she was startled to see the worry in his eyes.  
The compassion.  She relented, just a little.
	
"I haven't heard that he is not," she replied.
	
Skinner snorted.
	
"A good answer, Scully," he said sourly.  "You should have 
been a politician."  He shook his head, suddenly weary of it all.  
	
"That will be all, Agent Scully."
	
The woman nodded, and got up.  She was almost to the door, 
when Skinner called her back.
	
"Scully."
	
He was leaning back against his desk, arms crossed on his 
chest, eyeing her in frustration.
	
"Why?" he asked.
	
She knew without asking that he was trying to understand her 
commitment to Mulder.  For some reason, Scully decided to answer 
him.
	
"Many reasons, I suppose," she replied thoughtfully.  Then she 
focused on her AD.  "We're *not* sleeping together, you know," she 
said.
	
Skinner's mouth quirked up in a small smile and he chuckled.
	
"No, I didn't expect it would be anything as simple as *that*," 
he sighed.  But it was obvious that he was still looking for an answer.
	
"I don't know," Scully continued.  "Maybe, ultimately, because 
he is the one thing that you and I don't have the guts to be."
	
Skinner looked at her in surprise.
	
"And what is that, Agent Scully?"
	
Scully smiled softly.
	
"True."
	
Skinner looked at her for a long time.  Then he nodded, and 
dropped his eyes.  Scully turned and left.


	
She thought they were done, at least for the moment.  So there 
was no describing Dana Scully's shock that evening when she opened 
the door to her apartment to find Walter Skinner standing there.
	
"We have to talk," he said.
	
He was dressed casually, in a sweatshirt and jeans, and the 
contrast to his usual business attire was startling.  Scully thought, 
irreverently and absurdly, that he looked pretty good in them.  And a 
little less intimidating.  She stepped back from the doorway, and let him 
in.
	
"Please sit down."  She lead him to the living room, directing 
him to the sofa, and then, nervous, poured coffee for both of them.
	
Skinner took a sip from his mug.  He thought himself too 
distracted to even taste it, but the coffee was good, and it soothed him.  
He looked over at Scully, sitting in the chair opposite him, her legs 
pulled up under her, eyeing him warily.  Without makeup and stern 
business suit, she looked almost childlike.  But Skinner was not 
deceived.
	
"Scully," he began without preamble.  "This is just between us.  
Off line, and off the record.  Nothing said here goes any further.  But 
you have to talk to me.  I have to know what's going on." 
	
Scully just looked at him, said nothing.  Skinner closed his eyes, 
then opened them.
	
"I can't help him if I don't know the truth."
	
"Is that why you let them grill me on an open fire the other day?  
So you could help him?"
	
Skinner frowned at her.
	
"I would have preferred not to handle the situation that way, 
Scully.  But Mulder's attack was too public.  And this situation is too 
serious."  He looked down at his hands.  "Calling you in like that was 
not my choice."
	
Scully looked at him.  She knew that he spoke the truth.
	
"I know," she said, almost to herself.
	
Skinner looked at her curiously.  Scully smiled a little
	
"You wouldn't look me in the eye," she said.  
	
Skinner nodded, accepting her observation, and making a 
mental note to be more careful about that bit of body language in the 
future. Then he sighed.
	
"Scully, talk to me."	
	
Scully looked away.
	
"Agent Scully," Skinner fell back on a formality he did not feel, 
"it may be hard for you to believe this, but I am not the enemy.  I am on 
your side."
	
"I don't trust you," Scully said softly.
	
"Scully, will you just listen to me?  You have no one else to 
trust!"
	
Scully swallowed hard, gasping inwardly.  A sudden cold chill 
passed over her body as she heard the echo of Deep Throat, insisting 
that same thing, moments before he sacrificed his life for Mulder.  She 
leaned back in her chair.
	
"What do you want to know?"
	
Skinner looked at her quietly for a moment.  Then he smiled.  
Just a little.
	
"Well, maybe you can start by telling me why Mulder took that 
pop at me the other day.  What the hell was that all about?  I've seen 
him worked up before, but slugging me in the hallway isn't really his 
style.  He's smarter than that, for one thing.  He'd wait until there 
weren't any witnesses."
	
Scully chuckled humorlessly, then got out of her chair.  She 
crossed to her desk, picked up the evidence bag there and tossed it into 
Skinner's lap.
	
"What's this?"
	
"It's a dialysis filter.  Mulder was drugged."
	
Skinner looked at the strange apparatus, like a giant syringe, in 
the bag.
	
"What are you talking about."
	
"That devise is used to transfer substances into solution.  I found 
it in a soft water tank servicing Mulder's apartment building:  his floor, 
specifically.  I had it analyzed the other day.  There is a residue of 
amphetamines in it, as well as other substances.  Mulder was speeding 
his ass off.  He was damn near psychotic.  There was a murder on his 
floor, you know, around the same time.  Some woman killed her 
husband.  I think I can guess why."  She nodded at the bag in Skinner's 
hand.
	
Skinner shook his head.  Then he set the bag to one side.
	
"What do you know,"  Scully demanded.  "Who are these 
people?  Who *is* this guy with the cigarettes?  He was at that meeting 
when I was assigned to the X-Files, but he never said a word.  And 
Mulder has told me that he practically inhabits your office.  I know 
Mulder thinks he's involved with some covert organization.  Is he?  
What do you know about them?"
	
Skinner shrugged, unperturbed by this tirade.  
	
"I know they are ruthless."  He eyed his agent.  "And I know 
they are not *always* wrong.  What Agent Mulder seems to forget is 
that there are no black and white issues in this world.  If there were, we 
wouldn't need a justice system."
	
Scully knew he was right, she argued the same fact with Mulder 
countless times.  But she did not feel like giving in, right at that 
moment.
	
"And therefore the ends justify the means?"  she sneered.
	
But Skinner was not going to rise to *that* bait.
	
"Tell me about the documents that Mulder was given.  What are 
they?   What the hell is in them, that has caused such an uproar?"  
	
But Scully merely shrugged.  She turned to the window, looked 
out onto the street.  There was no one there.  Still...
	
"I'm not sure what documents you're referring to, sir."
	
Skinner finally exploded with frustration.
	
"Damn it, Scully, don't fence with me!  They are going to kill 
him!"
	
Scully spun around.
	
"You think that's news?"  she shouted.  "You think they haven't 
already tried?  Why the hell do you think I risked missing that meeting?  
Why do you think I had to get him out of Washington?  They almost 
killed *me*, trying to get at him."  She struggled for calm.  
	
"They killed his father, you know," she continued, more quietly.  
"Shot him, while Mulder was right in the next room.  Just blew him 
away, and left Mulder there to hang for the murder."
	
Skinner knew.  At least he knew some of it.
	
"Who?" he asked her.  Scully looked at him hard, her eyes 
glistening with tears.
	
"Krychek."
	
Skinner drew back.
	
"You know that?  You can prove it?"
	
"Not yet," she admitted, head high, and Skinner was struck once 
again by the intensity of this woman's loyalty.  It frightened him, a little, 
this fierce devotion.  And, if he was honest, it made him a little envious, 
too.  He stood up, and took a few steps away, collecting himself.  Then 
he turned.
	
"Are they real?"  he asked softly, almost struggling with the 
question.  "These... beings that Mulder is so willing to risk his life to 
find, that these people will kill to keep secret.  They're real?"  
	 
Scully looked at him in surprise.  She nodded.
	
"Yes, sir," she answered him plainly, quietly.  "They are real."  
She smiled a little, lost in the wonder of her memories.
	
"I've seen the evidence.  I've held it in my hands.  They are very 
real, and the government knows about them.  More than that, the 
government is using them, for the most heinous of experiments. I've 
seen that evidence, as well.  And before you ask, no, I can't prove it.  
They've seen to that.  But I know what I know."
	
Skinner watched her face for a long time.  Then he nodded 
slowly.
	
"What's in those papers, Agent Scully?"
	
Scully bristled, and he watched her face physically close.
	
"I'm not sure what papers you are referring to, sir," she replied, 
turning away.  Skinner, again, felt a flare of angry frustration.  He took 
a deep breath and tried to push it down.
	
And deep within herself, Scully slowly surrendered.  She was so 
tired, and so afraid.  It was too hard, too hard to face this all alone.  She 
had to trust someone.  She just could *not* do it by herself.  She knew 
what Deep Throat had said, what Mulder reiterated over and over.  
Trust no one.  But it was just too much.  She had to take the chance...
	
"If...," she suddenly continued, "if there *were*... papers, 
though, it could be that they might document certain experiments 
conducted over the course of many, many years.  Right up to present 
day.  On human beings.  And alien life forms.  And a conspiracy of 
silence, perhaps, involving many nations."
	
Skinner looked at her, feeling sick. He knew she was telling 
him, without admitting it outright, that these papers *did* exist. That 
she had read them.  That they held the truth.
	
Scully turned and looked out the window.
	
"It might also be," she went on, her voice a little shaky now, 
"that if those papers did exist, that my name might be among them.  In 
a recent entry.  Together with Duane Barry's.  It might be that the 
reference would be there in context with certain tests, experiments...  
that are not fully explained."
	
Skinner sank back weakly against the sofa, realizing what it 
was she was telling him.
	
"My dear God," he murmured in shock.  Scully looked at him.
	
"Mulder is convinced that it was Krychek who gave Duane 
Barry my address.  And Krychek who killed Barry later, to prevent that 
knowledge from ever getting out."  She turned to look out the window 
again.  "That's where he came through.  Duane Barry.  That window.  I 
can still see him, sometimes, when I come into this room."
	
Skinner pulled himself together, and walked over to her side.
	
"Scully..."
	
She looked up at him.
	
"I'm so scared..."
	
The look on her face tore his heart, and stripped away the last 
remnants of professional restraint.  He reached out, touched her hair, let 
his hand fall onto her shoulder, closing his fingers softly around the 
base of her neck.  It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms.
	
"We have to find Mulder," he said.
	
Scully smiled at him wryly.
	
"We?"
	
Skinner nodded, resolved.
	
"I'm going with you."
	
Scully dropped her eyes, reached her hand up tentatively and 
rested it against his chest.  For a brief moment, they just stood their, 
supporting each other.  Then, just as quickly, they remembered who 
they were.  They stepped apart, suddenly, and Scully drew a deep 
breath.
	
"I don't know where he is, exactly," she admitted, and this time 
Skinner knew she was telling him the truth.  "I only know where he 
was the last time he contacted me.  And that he was all right, then."
	
"It's a place to start," Skinner replied.  Scully looked at him, 
assessing.  Then she nodded, and they were committed.
	
"Why don't you go pack some things," she suggested.  "And 
meet me back here in a hour or so?"
	
Skinner quirked a smile at her. 
	
"That won't be necessary. I've got a bag out in my car."
	
	
She went through the drill with him while they drove to the 
airport - the routes they would take, the purchasing of several tickets, 
some on credit, some with cash, to throw off the chase.  Skinner 
listened with growing dismay, though he was careful not to let her see 
how it disturbed him, this intimate knowledge of clandestine 
operations.  Of course she would have been taught such things in her 
Academy training.  But her job was a straight forward role of 
investigation, it did not involve such work.  And this knowledge was 
not theory, learned in some classroom.  This was knowledge gained 
from experience.  He did not like to think about how she had learned it.
	
Scully dropped Skinner at National Airport, and went on to 
Dulles.  They would make their ways separately across country, would 
meet up again in Dallas/Ft. Worth, and then, from there, drive on to 
Farmington, New Mexico.  It was a round about method, and would 
frankly fool no one who was really looking.  They could only hope that 
no one was really looking for *them*.  Eyes would be looking for 
Mulder.  At any rate, no one would likely be expecting Skinner.  Scully 
could still not believe he was even on this trip.

	
Skinner arrived, finally, in Dallas/Ft. Worth airport a good hour 
behind Scully.  He had taken the time, somewhere along the line, to 
shed the heavy sweatshirt, and change into lighter weight wear - a 
simple tee shirt that hung loosely at the hips to cover his gun, but pulled 
snugly across his chest when he moved, and barely covered the biceps 
that bulged beneath the short cotton sleeves.  The picture made Scully 
blink, and she found herself, once again, startled at her reaction to this 
aspect of her AD. She had never really considered it before.  In all this 
time that she had known him, she had never really thought about him 
as another human being, as a man.  She fought her own embarrassment 
as he walked up to her, duffel hanging from a strap over his shoulder.  
If he noticed her discomfiture, though, he gave no indication, but 
merely nodded her toward the rental cars.
	
Scully drove the first leg.  She was wired anyway, and a little 
unnerved still, to have Skinner with her.  It would give her a chance to 
collect herself, and give her something to do.  While she was driving, 
she filled him in.  Skinner listened in silence as she relayed the events 
leading up to her cross country drive with Mulder to New Mexico, 
asking only the occasional question for clarification.  It was only when 
she told him about the incident with Krychek outside of Mulder's 
apartment that he visibly reacted.
	
"You what?"
	
Scully glanced from the road to Skinner, and then back at the 
road again.
	
"I had to shoot him in the shoulder to stop him from shooting 
Krychek.  Mulder was out of his head," she explained, afraid he would 
misunderstand.  "He just wouldn't listen to me.  So I shot him."
	
She glanced over at the AD again, to gage his reaction.  Skinner 
was staring at her in astonishment.  Then, with a suddenness that 
shocked her, he threw back his head and laughed.
	
It was a wonderful sound, deep and rich.  It occurred to Scully, 
as she listened, that she had never heard him laugh like that; in all the 
time she had known him she had rarely even seen him smile.  She 
started to chuckle, herself, then, suddenly seeing it all from his point of 
view.
	
Skinner choked a little, struggling for breath.  He pulled off his 
glasses.
	
"Damn!" he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes.  "I wish *I'd* 
thought of that!"
	
And Scully laughed outright.


LINES (Part 2)

	
They changed drivers when they hit the New Mexico boarder, 
and Scully took the opportunity to get some sleep.  Skinner glanced at 
her occasionally as she dozed with her head against the car door 
window, and wrestled with the desire to pull over and just leave her off 
someplace safe.  It was absurd really, this sudden urge to protect her.  
Absurd, and pretty sexist, he reminded himself. 
	
Dana Scully was a trained agent. She was as capable of taking 
care of herself as he was.  Maybe more so, if he was totally honest, it 
had been years since he had been actively in the field. But sleeping 
there, in the moonlight that poured over the barren landscape around 
them, she did not look like a capable field agent.  She looked... well,  
very young.  And very vulnerable.  And very... very beautiful.  Skinner 
blew out a breath.  Now, where the hell did *that* come from, he 
wondered?  He sighed, and made himself pay attention to the road.
	
It was rising dawn when they pulled into Farmington, and 
Skinner woke Scully so that she could direct him to the Navajo 
reservation, and the home of this code talker, Albert Hosteen.  The sun 
was already up over the horizon when they finally found the place.  But 
Hosteen was not there.  The only one around was his grandson.
	
"You have to hurry!"  the boy shouted as they pulled in.  
	
"Antonio, what is it?  What's wrong?"
	
"He came.  He came for Mulder, he took the papers, and he 
followed Mulder up into the hills..." the boy babbled.
	
"Calm down, son," Skinner commanded.  Antonio calmed 
down.  "Where is Agent Mulder, and who followed him?"
	
"He went back up into the hills to that ravine with the railroad 
cars filled with those... things.  The man followed him.  I don't know 
who he was.  He forced his way into my grandfather's home, and took 
the papers.  He..."  the boy choked, "he made me tell him were Agent 
Mulder had gone."
	
"It's all right, Antonio," Scully comforted him,  "but you have to 
tell us.  What did this man look like?"
	
"Young," the boy answered quickly.  "And handsome.  Almost 
pretty, really."
	
Skinner and Scully looked at each other.  
	
"Krychek," Scully said.  Skinner nodded.
	
"Antonio," said Skinner, "can you take us up to this ravine 
where Mulder went?"
	
The boy shook his head.
	
"Not both of you," he replied.  "The only way in is on the dirt 
bike.  I can only take one."
	
"No," Scully protested, before Skinner could say anything.  
"Antonio, you've done enough, risked enough, already."
	
Skinner looked at her a moment, then nodded.
	
"Can we borrow your bike?  Can you show me the way?  Tell 
me how to get there?"
	
He nodded.
	
Skinner looked over at Scully out the corner of his eye. 
	
"It's been a while since I handled a bike.  You trust me?"
	
Scully looked up into the hills.
	
"I'd trust the Devil himself it would get me up to that ravine," 
she said without thinking.  Skinner snorted.  Scully turned, suddenly 
realizing what she had said, how it must have sounded.
	
But Skinner was grinning at her.
	
"Well, I don't think it will be as bad as all that," he assured her 
wryly.  Scully smiled with chagrin, and Skinner asked the boy for his 
keys.
	
Handling the bike actually came back to him pretty quickly.  
Scully hung demurely onto the back of the seat, right up until the first 
hard bump nearly threw her off.  Then she wrapped her arms around 
Skinner's waist securely and pressed her face against his back.  Smiling 
to himself, Skinner told her to hang on, and pushed as much speed as 
he could coax out of the little dirt bike.  With their combined weights, it 
was not that much.
	
The boy's directions were good.  It took them little time to reach 
their destination.  Dumping the bike on the ground, they raced to climb 
up the dirt bank that blocked their view of the ravine below.  They came 
over the top of the embankment, and looked down into the ravine to see 
Krycek, there, with Mulder at gun point.  Neither man saw them.  
Krychek raised his arm to shoot.
	
"Mulder!"  Scully screamed, training her gun on Krychek's back.  
Beside her, Skinner had drawn his weapon, and was advancing slowly.  
Krychek spun around.  He glanced at the two quickly, and knew there 
was no way out.  But at least he could do what he had come to do.  He 
wheeled back on Mulder and raised his gun, squeezing the trigger.  He 
never got the shot off.  Skinner calmly took aim and emptied his entire 
clip into Krychek's body.  
	
For a moment, the body of the dead man just hung there in 
space.  Then Krychek's bullet ridden form crumpled to the ground.  
Scully looked over at Skinner in shock.  Then her eyes turned back to 
her partner.
	
"Mulder." 
	
She holstered her weapon, and skidded down the embankment, 
past Krychek's still form, and into Mulder's arms, hugging him tightly.  
They clung together, oblivious to their surroundings.  Skinner walked 
calmly down the bank, a look of grim satisfaction on his face, and 
kicked over Krychek's body.   He looked over at his agents, still 
wrapped in each others' embrace.  It was Mulder who finally noticed 
him watching, and let Scully go, moving her a little away.  He held out 
a hand, partly to Skinner, partly toward the body, his eyes full of 
questions.
	
"That wasn't for you, Mulder,"  Skinner said as the other man 
drew nearer.  "That was for her."  He nodded at Scully.
	
Mulder glanced at his partner curiously.  Then he turned back to 
Skinner, to find his AD standing right in front of him, suddenly minus 
his glasses.
	
"This is for you."
	
And Skinner's fist connected with Mulder's jaw, sending him 
flying back into the dirt. Mulder rolled to his side, and gaped at Skinner 
in shock.  He rubbed his jaw.  Then all the years of frustration suddenly 
flared, and he launched himself at the other man, catching him in the 
belly and bringing him to the ground.
	
Scully jumped back as the two men tumbled, fists flying, along 
the floor of the ravine.  For a moment, she was too shocked to react, 
then a small smile crept onto her face.  They did not seem to be hurting 
each other too badly, she thought.  And Dana Scully, who had been 
raised between brothers, understood that this was, perhaps, something 
they needed to do.  She relaxed and watched them patiently.
	
"What's going on, we heard shots?"  
	
Scully turned to the voice suddenly at her side, and smiled at 
Albert Hosteen standing there.
	
"Everything's okay, now," she told him.  The man looked at the 
dead body, and then at the two men rolling around on the ground; 
Mulder and this large stranger.  He looked back at Scully.  She did not 
seem too concerned.
	
"Why are they fighting?" he asked conversationally.
	
"Them?"  Scully chuckled, "Oh, they're all right.  They're just... 
pawing the ground."
	
Albert raised an eyebrow at her.
	
"Over you?"  he asked.  Scully looked at him, horrified.
	
"No!"  she responded quickly.  But Albert did not miss the odd 
look that suddenly flitted across her face.
	
"No," she reiterated more calmly.  "they just have some things 
they, well, need to work out.  I suppose I better break this up, though, 
before somebody gets hurt."
	
She pulled out her side arm, and fired it twice over her head.  
The two men, bloody and covered with dirt, separated, and looked up at 
her, both breathing hard.
	
"If you gentlemen are finished," Scully suggested, mildly, one 
hand on her hip and gun still pointed in the air,  "can we, maybe, get 
out of here?"
	
Mulder flopped back on his elbows.  It was obvious that he had 
taken the worst of the beating, and yet he looked up at Scully and 
grinned.  He glanced over at Skinner, who was rubbing dirt and blood 
from his face.  The two men made eye contact warily.
	
"We'd better do what she says,"  Mulder advised his boss.  "The 
last time I ignored her, she shot me."
	
Skinner looked blank for a moment, then burst out laughing, 
and the two men suddenly relaxed.  Skinner nodded and climbed to his 
feet.   Holding a hand down to the younger man, he pulled Mulder up.  
He found his glasses where he had tossed the case into the rocks, and 
put them in his pocket; his face was too battered to put them on.  He 
looked over at Mulder, who was staggering slightly, his eye and mouth 
already beginning to swell.  He noticed the man's shoulder was 
bleeding again, too.  Skinner felt a little badly, suddenly; but not very.  
Scully walked up to the two of them.  She eyed them patiently and 
shook her head.  
	
"Come on," she sighed, taking them each by an arm, and turned 
them toward the path.


	
Back at Albert Hosteen's house, Scully put the finishing touches 
on Skinner's cuts and bruises.  She had already attended to Mulder, 
who was now slumped at the kitchen table, with his head on his arms.
	
Scully peered down at her handiwork, then dabbed a little more 
at the gash in her boss's forehead.  Skinner pulled away in protest.
	
"Oww."
	
"Hold still," Scully admonished.  "You've got half that ravine 
ground into your face here."  Then she dropped the washcloth into the 
bowl of soapy water on the table beside her. 
	
"It will have to do, I guess," she sighed.  She spread some 
antiseptic cream on the cut, and covered it with a large square bandage.  
Looking down at the man, she chuckled softly, and shook her head.  
She carried the bowl to the sink, then fished a couple of beers out of the 
refrigerator.  She deposited the amber bottles in front of the two men.
	
"You two kiss and make up," she suggested pleasantly,  "I'm 
gonna go see if I can get us on a flight out of here."  She looked over at 
Hosteen.
	
"Albert, do you have a phone I could use?"
	
"In here," the old man replied, and he guided her toward a 
bedroom.  Mulder looked up, watching her go.
	
"You know, one of these days she's gonna be running the joint," 
he speculated.  Skinner followed his gaze, nodded in agreement.
	
"It wouldn't surprise me in the least."  He looked back at the 
younger man.  Mulder looked terrible; battered, true, but beyond that, 
exhausted and dehydrated.  Completely worn out.
	
"You look like shit," Skinner said.
	
Mulder turned his eyes back to his boss.
	
"Well, I wouldn't go looking for the photographer from GQ 
either, if I were you," he replied conversationally.  
	
Skinner quirked a smile, then winced.  His face hurt.  He leaned 
over and tapped his beer bottle against Mulder's, then took a long drink 
from it.  It tasted wonderful.  He put the beer down and saw Mulder 
watching him carefully.  He looked down for a moment.
	
"Were you able to determine what was done to her?"  he asked, 
finally.
	
Mulder looked at him in surprise.
	
"She told you?"
	
"A little.  Very little, actually.  I surmised the rest."
	
Mulder shook his head.
	
"No.  The, uh, documentation was not complete.  I don't know 
anything, conclusively."
	
"Where are the papers?"  Skinner asked, feeling a little like he 
had been asking that question for most of his life, by now.
	
"Gone,"  Mulder replied bitterly.  "Destroyed.  And the tape, too.  
Krychek was very thorough.  He burned them, out in the ravine.  Just 
before he tried to execute me."  He cocked a sardonic grin at his 
superior, the closest he could manage with his swollen mouth.  
	
"Thank you, anyway," he said.  Skinner nodded.  He took 
another pull on his beer.
	
"So what happens now?"  asked Mulder.
	
Skinner shrugged.
	
"We go home."
	
"Just like that?"  Mulder protested.  "We just walk away?"
	
Skinner sighed.  Did this man *never* learn?
	
"Just like that," he concurred.  He looked at the younger man 
sternly.  "There will be another day, Agent Mulder.  Right now, we 
have a murder charge to clear you of.  And you have a father to bury."
	
Mulder sagged, suddenly, against his arms, and dropped his 
eyes.  Skinner's expression softened compassionately.
	
"I'm sorry," he said gently.
	
Mulder looked back at him, then nodded slowly.
	
"Drink your beer," Skinner suggested.  
	
Scully came out of the bedroom, effectively cutting off Mulder's 
reply.
	
"I got us on the 4:10 out of Phoenix," she said.  She let her hand 
drop lightly, almost possessively, onto the back of Mulder's neck.  
"Drink up.  If we leave now, we'll just about make it."


	
He knew the man had to be around, someplace, it only stood to 
reason that he would have followed Mulder.  But the last place Walter 
Skinner expected to run into him was there on the airport concourse.  
Nonetheless, there he was, omnipresent cigarette burning unattended in 
his fingers, watching them.
	
Actually, it was Mulder who saw him first.  Thank god for 
Scully's attentiveness, or the younger man would have been off before 
anyone could have stopped him.  As it was, she managed to halt him 
only long enough for Skinner to notice what was going on.  He clamped 
his hand down on Mulder's shoulder.
	
"Go to the gate."
	
Mulder wheeled on him.
	
"Go to the gate, Agent Mulder,"  Skinner repeated, sternly.  
"That's an order."  He eyed the other man.  "This is mine to do."  
	
Then he looked over at Scully.
	
"Take him to the gate," he said, more gently.  "If I'm not there in 
time, I'll meet you back in Washington.  Go on." 
	
Scully met Skinner's eyes, and held them for a long moment.  
Then she nodded.  She took Mulder's arm, and drew him away.
	
"Come on, Mulder,"  she said.  "It's all right."
	
Skinner turned and looked back at his nemesis.  The man 
crushed out his cigarette, and walked over casually.
	
"You surprised me, Assistant Director Skinner," he said 
conversationally.  "You crossed the line."
	
"I moved the line,"  Skinner corrected.  The other man just 
raised an eyebrow at him.
	
"As a game progresses, play must be modified,"  Skinner 
glossed.  "To accommodate the skill of the players.  And the condition 
of the field."
	
"Don't push your luck, Skinner," the man warned.  "We don't 
need you."
	
Skinner shrugged.
	
"You do, though," he countered.  "Or you would have gone over 
me, or around me, or through me, a long time ago.  If you drive him out 
of the Bureau, he'll turn rogue.  You know that.  Then you'll never be 
able to control him.  You'll have to kill him, then, you'll have no choice.  
And if you think the *man* is difficult to handle, just try to control the 
myth.
	
"You need me, because he does respect my authority.  At least a 
little bit."  Skinner smiled humorlessly.  It looked more like a grimace.
	
The man stared at him for a moment.  Then he lit another 
cigarette.
	
"Why?" he asked finally.
	
"You murdered that man's father before his eyes," Skinner said 
tightly.  The other stiffened, surprising him.
	"
I had nothing to do with that," he protested sharply.  For some 
reason, Skinner thought he was telling the truth.  He frowned.
	
"And I suppose you had nothing to do with what happened to 
her, either."
	
The other man drew long on his cigarette, and sagged inwardly, 
suddenly realizing where his mistake had been made.
	
"I did not order Agent Scully's abduction," he said, bending the 
truth.  "Nor did I have anything to do with what happened to her after 
she disappeared."
	
"What did happen to her?"
	
The other man blew smoke from his mouth.
	
"I don't know."
	
And Skinner knew that he was telling the truth.  In the bright 
light of the airport concourse he suddenly saw this man for what he 
was.  A man on the verge of being old.  A player from an earlier game.  
One who still had some power, yes.  But who no longer had control.  
The realization made him sad, strangely.
	
Something must have showed on Skinner's face, because the 
other man suddenly shifted aggressively.
	
"What do you want, Assistant Director Skinner?"  he asked 
sardonically.  "What do you have to gain in this game?"
	
Myself.  I want *myself* back, Skinner thought, but did not say.
	
"What do I want?" he repeated.  "To go home."
	
And at that moment, as if in answer to his request, his flight 
was called.  He leaned down, and picked his duffel up off the floor.
	
"If you will excuse me?  I have a plane to catch."
	
And he turned his back and walked away.
	
Yet, even as he did, both men knew that the game was not over.  
The rules had simply changed.


	
The plane took off uneventfully.  Mulder had not questioned 
Skinner about his encounter, and although Scully had looked at him 
searchingly before they boarded, she, too, had left her questions 
unasked.  A lot of this reprieve had to do with the fact that Mulder was 
finally beginning to collapse.  That last adrenaline surge had ebbed, 
leaving him weak and in need of Scully's care.  Skinner let them be.  
Once they were in the air, however, and the seat belt sign was off, he 
did turn around to look back where they were sitting, across the aisle 
behind him.  The sight made him smile.
	
Scully had settled Mulder against the window with a pillow and 
blanket; he was out before the plane had left the ground.  And now she, 
too, had finally dropped off, her head on Mulder's chest.  In sleep, they 
looked, for all the world, like a couple of sunburned kids who had 
played too long outdoors.  Then Skinner looked again and saw their 
fingers laced together, holding hands.  He shook his head.
	
Well, he was probably going to need to deal with *that*, 
eventually, too, he supposed.  But not, at least, until they figured it out 
for themselves. And that, knowing the two of them, would probably 
take a while.  He turned around, then leaned back against his seat, 
sighed, and closed his eyes.