By Mary A. Turner
matturnerx@aol.com
 

DATE: October 1997
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: Slash ( M/S )
SUMMARY: After an attempted poisoning inside the Bureau, AD Skinner
                   deals with a very sick Fox Mulder.
DISCLAIMER: All characters ( although they are really out of character
                   here ) belong to Chris Carter. No infringement intended.
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CHANGES
Mary A. Turner

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm all right, Scully," he tried to sound as convincing as he could. "You
don'thave to treat me like an invalid."

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

"I'm not wandering."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel...a little better."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I give up," he mumbled in misery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unexpectedly, another spasm hit and Skinner found the front of his shirt
caught tightly within Mulder's grip, the pain-filled face pressed against the

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He began to touch Mulder with affection and desire.
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concluded in part two-------
 
 

CHANGES (Conclusion )
Mary A. Turner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't."

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

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

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

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

"Please..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*No*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So. That's how it is."

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

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

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

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

"Lydia..."

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

"You know I can't do that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. You were very good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subject: CHANGES (Epilogue )

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skinner remained silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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