By Karoshi
Karoshi12@Ameritech.net

Disclaimer:  All X-Files characters belong to
Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox Network.  The
creation of this fiction is a result of my
having way too much time on my hands on
Saturday nights.  No profit will be earned as
a result of this work (like that needed to be
said).

Thank You:      My heartfelt thanks to Laura & Nikki,
                my two Beta readers.  After reading
                my first two stories, they offered
                their services (a nice way to say
                my writing could be improved).  I
                and YOU, the reader, should be
                eternally grateful.

                Last, but certainly not least, thanks to
                Shirley at MTA for offering a home to
                this series.  The offer to house the stories
                together was very much appreciated and
                provided a new writer with the motivation
                to continue with this story.

                http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dimension/3293/series27.html

Warnings:       Beware of novice fan fiction writers!

Summary:    3rd Installment Fox the Fugitive
                series.

                Mulder takes on the role of a high
                school teacher in a low-income area.
                Will the "Lessons Learned" be enough
                to finally bring Mulder home?

Rating:         R (mostly language)

Title:          Lessons Learned (FF III)
 

>>>>>>>>>>>>

WALTER SKINNER'S OFFICE:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Walter Skinner was having a very good day.  He
had finally out-foxed the Fox.  He stood,
unable to contain his nervous excitement as he
continued his phone conversation.

"Are you sure you were able to block all
transactions," he confirmed. He grunted his
pleasure as the voice on the phone summarized
all actions taken.

"Excellent, excellent work!  If anyone accesses
those accounts, they will receive the message
indicating it's been frozen per my authority,"
he repeated.

He smiled and actually chuckled as he listened
to the answer.  "Thanks Bob, I owe you big time
on this one."  That said, he disconnected the
call.

Moving to the window, he gazed out and
remembered the last time he'd seen Mulder.  "I
can't believe I let that happen," he mumbled.
Every action of the three intruders in
Kalamazoo marked them as amateurs.  He should
have stopped it there.

"Well Mulder, you got me there, but this time,
this time I'm far better prepared."

He stepped back towards the desk and gathered
some papers for his afternoon meeting. He
couldn't help but wonder how long it would take
before Mulder called.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

ATKINS SCHOOL - ROOM 308
MAYWOOD, IL:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mulder shuffled through the papers on his desk
in preparation for another day with his kids.
He stopped short, surprised at his own
thoughts. His kids, how easily the term came
to mind. Over the last five weeks he had come
to know each of them well.  He was a substitute
for their regular instructor who was out on
maternity leave.  She was scheduled to return
to work next week.

Mulder had expected nothing more than to come
in, lay low for a few weeks and disappear
again.  Instead he had connected with these
children, and they in turn had connected with him.
Leaving them behind was going to be very
difficult.

There was Jackson, a slightly built, shorter
than average boy with a major attitude problem.
He had shown little respect for Mulder or
anyone else in a position of authority.  Mulder
was immediately drawn to the young rebel,
recognizing in him pieces of himself.  The boy
only showed up for class when he felt like
it and interpreted any homework assigned as
he saw fit.  All in all a punk. But, as Mulder
had discovered, a punk who could write.

The boy wrote rather depressing
papers documenting what Mulder could only
guess was his life.  Depressing or not, he
was a gifted young writer and Mulder had
already submitted one of his
stories to a national contest.  The winner
would receive a $5,000 scholarship. Jackson had
copped his usual attitude when Mulder informed
him of his intentions, but didn't stop the
submission.  After that Jackson always showed
up for class.  And though his homework wasn't
usually what was requested, at least he tried
and here, trying counted for a lot.

Next came Chante.  She was a small black girl,
approximately 5'2.  She had the most expressive
brown eyes Mulder had ever seen and he enjoyed
her daily hairstyle creations.  She was
extremely creative; manipulating braids and
colors in a way that simply fascinated him.
Somewhat shy, she always sat three rows back in
the aisle furthest to the left.  Each day she
would enter the room, send him a sweet smile
then sit quietly.  He noticed she took
particular pride in the attention he paid to
her style. Mulder sensed he was one of the
first adults she knew who was actually
impressed with her skill instead of shocked by
her fashion sense.

Oftentimes she rested her chin on her hands
during class and there had been several
occasions when he'd caught her dozing.  After
the second incident he asked her to stay after.
They had talked for about twenty minutes when
she abruptly burst into tears.  Mulder grabbed
the tissues and waited patiently.  Once calm
she proceeded to tell him all about her son.
Chante was the mother of an eight-month baby
named Michael. Ordinarily he was a good boy
but, lately, he'd been ill.  Chante had been
spending many of her nights walking the
floor with him.

Her secret revealed, Mulder always took a few
extra minutes to ask after her and Michael.
He'd even offered to arrange medical care if
needed.  And although he didn't like to see her
miss class, he never again took offense if she
drifted off for a few minutes during one of his
lectures.  If he were honest, sometimes he
drifted off in the middle of them too.

And then there was Rolando.  The kid was as
tall as Mulder but three times as wide.  A
large boy who, if judged by his appearance,
would appear Mr. T-ish.  He winced, Mr. T!
Christ Mulder, how old are you? Somewhere along
the way Rolando had taken on the role of
bodyguard to his friends. He watched them
closely ensuring no harm came to them.

Rolando was not a particularly bright kid but
his heart was in the right place.  He was
always so anxious to please.  One would almost
suspect, based on the boy's low self-esteem,
that there was some type of abuse going on in
his home.  His size might limit the possibility
of physical abuse but it might also be the
cause of verbal taunts. He swallowed hard as he
recalled the insensitive comments directed at
him throughout his youth and into adulthood.
In Mulder's experience being constantly
degraded and ridiculed was far worse than a
physical beating.   Poor Rolando was a
sensitive soul who craved approval.  He made
sure to give the boy plenty.  His papers never
warranted an A but, Mulder was determined to
build some self-confidence in this boy before
he left.  He was always careful with his
comments and made sure to highlight the
positive of his work instead of only noting the
errors.

Rolando, Jackson and Chante were just three of
his students.  He had several classes of
children pretending to be adults.  Some were
already parents.  Others were clearly victims
of neglect or abuse.  He suspected a few might
actually live on the streets.  He wanted to
save them all but knew it was more important to
teach them the skills to save themselves.

It was here, in this place, Mulder began to
confront his own childhood demons.  Many nights
he lay in his small rented room reliving his
own nights of terror.  He had run the gamut of
excuses, blaming himself for being too smart or
not smart enough. His eidetic memory
allowed him to replay his every move as a
child.  He welcomed the experience, he needed
to understand what he had done to cause his
father to treat him so brutally.  And why, when
he cried out for her, did his mother ignore
him. Perhaps he could excuse her not stopping
the beatings, after all, she was just as much
a victim as him.  But later, when he lay broken
and shaking, she never offered comfort.
She simply pretended it never happened.

As a psychologist he knew the answers to his
questions.  As a victim it was hard to accept.
The truth was not out there, it was within him.
And it was only by opening himself up to extreme
possibilities that he was able to discover
that, in fact, he had done nothing wrong.  Hell,
even if he had, he wouldn't have deserved what
was done to him.  It was a painful realization.
The physical abuse he'd suffered had been
devastating but it was nothing compared to the
agony he experienced when he realized that they
simply hadn't loved him.  After all, if they
had, they couldn't have done those things to
him.

It had hurt and, for obvious reasons, dominated
his dreams.  After a particularly brutal night
he appeared in class eyes red, clothes rumpled,
seemingly lost.  His students sensed his pain
immediately. They treated him like glass and
did their best to answer all his questions.
They hadn't even complained when he mentioned the
pop quiz! They had allowed him the personal
privacy needed to come to terms with his
demons.  No pushing or prodding for answers,
just quiet support.  It was like cool rain on a
hot summer day.  So very refreshing to be
understood, to be cared for without being
controlled.

The bell rang loudly and "his" kids shuffled
into the room.  It took him only a moment to
realize Chante was not at her desk. Guess the
baby must be sick again, thought Mulder.  Yes,
it must be Michael.  Certainly Chante would
have a good reason for missing class.  His jaw
clenched sending a shooting pain down his neck.
He reached to massage it carefully, "calm
down Mulder, calm down," he muttered.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

SCULLY'S APARTMENT: GEORGETOWN

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Please God if psychic ability really exists now
would be a really good time, Scully prayed
desperately.  Her hands were taped securely
behind her back and a cloth had been shoved in
her mouth.  The cloth had been none too clean
and she gagged as her tongue pushed against the
offensive item.  Speech was impossible which
left her with very little choice but to somehow
send a telepathic message to an abused and
frightened Frohike.

Frohike had arrived earlier that evening under
the pretense of discussing Mulder.  Scully had
called him hoping to get some information as to
Mulder's general health and well being.  After
all, she wasn't just his friend, she was a
medical doctor.  Okay, so since Mulder had taken
off she hadn't had as much opportunity to
practice on live patients but... she still
considered Mulder her personal patient.

The chip in the picture frame allowed her to
get a good idea as to where he was (at least
what town).  It did not, however, allow her to
see how he was doing.  She'd promised herself
she would leave him alone for a while.  At the
time of this promise she had truly meant it.
Now, well now, she missed him.

She continued to work the X-Files during the
day, even closing her first case last week.
After all the reports were filed and Skinner
briefed she made her way home still high from
her accomplishment.  As she paced her
apartment that evening, she played in her
mind the conversation she and Mulder would
have had about the case.  She knew he would be
proud, probably even a little jealous, she
thought smugly. By ten that night Dana Scully
was completely depressed.  He wasn't there,
she couldn't tell him about her day and damn,
that hurt.

With little else to do in the evening, Dana
Scully worried.  WHY DOESN'T HE CALL?
Was he eating enough, he never ate decent food!
Did he have a warm place to sleep? Was he upset
with her for not stepping in sooner when
Skinner handcuffed him to the bed? Did he still
need her, want her?  She moaned aloud at her
last thought.  Mulder teased, Mulder flirted,
Mulder spread soft little kisses on her
forehead, Mulder did not want her?  After all,
if he really was attracted to her, he would
have made a serious move sometime in the
last five years.  Okay, she thought practically,
he doesn't want me, but that still doesn't
explain WHY HE DOESN'T CALL!

Her head full of Mulder worries, she picked up
the phone and called Frohike.  The lovesick man
jumped at the chance to spend time alone with
Dana in her apartment.  Yes, he knew Mulder
would be angry, in fact would probably never
forgive him.  But, if the opportunity arose to
get a little closer to Dr. Scully, he was going
to take it. He would apologize later.  Check
that, if he got that lucky there would be no
apologies, no regrets.

"When was the last time you spoke to him?" she
demanded.

Frohike cleared his throat, "well Dana we
haven't actually spoken to him."

"Then how can you be sure he's all right?"

"He's fine Scully," Frohike insisted, "he's
perfectly capable of taking care of himself."

"Was he perfectly capable of taking care of
himself in that boxcar?  Or how about in
Florida with those horrible mothmen," she
asked, frustrated with the man's limited
information.  She interrupted him before he
could answer, "and the Air Force Base thing,
let's not forget that.  He could be out there
right now and not even remember who he is!"

As difficult as it was for him to believe,
Frohike was bored with Dana Scully.  She was
obsessed!  "Dana," he responded patiently,
"he's fine."

She knew she was overreacting. She stood and
began pacing, running her fingers nervously
through her hair.  "I know he doesn't plan it
Frohike, but he just has a way of falling into
these situations."  She whirled to face him
before asking tensely, "he's not working on a
case again is he?  He's not good at working on
these things alone you know."

"Dana," Frohike reminded, "he was the top
profiler in VCS. Yes," he acknowledged, "he
would sometimes get too involved but," he waved
off her interruption, "his solve rate has yet
to be beaten."

Frohike stood slowly, it was obvious the lovely
Dana Scully only had thoughts for Mulder.  He
had always known it but, well, you can't blame
a guy for trying.  He smiled sadly as he took
Scully's hand, "Dana, thanks for inviting me
over tonight.  Don't worry so much," he added
sympathetically, "he'll come home when he's
ready, when he can."

She forced him to meet her eyes before asking,
"he will come home though, won't he?  He'll come
back to me?"  She stumbled a moment before
adding, "I mean to us."

Frohike wondered if Mulder understood what he
had left behind.  Okay, she was a bit
dominating and yes, even controlling on
occasion.  Her love and caring for Mulder
though could not be denied.  It was obvious to
anyone who spent more than ten minutes in a
room with the both of them that they were meant
to be.  Obvious, that is, to all except Mulder
and Scully.   In any case, tonight provided
him with the proof needed to close the
door on his Scully fantasies.  Wonder what the
blue-eyed waitress at Barneys is doing tonight,
he mused.

Scully followed him to the door.  He turned to
add, "Scully, once he works through whatever it
is that's holding him back, I think he'll
return.  He just needs some time alone
to understand who he is and determine his next
steps."  That said he opened the door
to leave.  A tall, green-eyed man smiled and
shoved him back roughly into the room.  Frohike
fell heavily to the floor banging his shoulder
painfully on her end table.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Scully lurched towards the desk for her gun but
froze at Krycek's threat. "Now, now Scully," he
asked pointing his weapon casually at Frohike,
"you wouldn't want to be responsible for this
man's death would you? Now be a good girl and
place your weapon on the floor."  She complied.
"Very good Dana, such a well-behaved, proper
FBI agent you are."  He smiled before adding,
"so unlike our ex-partner Fox."  Moving closer
his voice lowered dangerously as he asked,
"where is Fox, Dana?"

Scully and Frohike exchanged fearful glances.
"I don't know, Krycek."  She rushed on, ignoring
the warning glare Frohike shot her way.  "Even
if I knew, I certainly wouldn't tell you!"

Dana, that was not a smart move, thought
Frohike as he massaged his shoulder. He
continued to watch from the sidelines, unsure
what his role would be in this play.  He
considered making a run for it but, FBI agent
or not, he would not leave Scully behind.  As
for Krycek, he may have only had one arm, but
he was a trained professional.  Frohike was not
a wimp but, more importantly, Frohike was not
stupid.

Krycek shook his head in mock disappointment,
"so quick to protect him from me aren't you,
Scully?"  He moved in another step, "as I
recall he never ended up in the hospital when
we were partners."

"That's because you didn't hang around long
enough to pick up the pieces," she accused.
"You left him in that cell in Russia and from
the way he looked when he returned, he probably
should have been in a hospital.  What happened
there, tell me," she demanded.  Her strategy
was twofold, she wanted to keep him talking as
she considered possible escape.  In addition
she really did want to know what had happened.
She had often tried to get Mulder to tell her
but his only response was a horrified shudder
and a comment about no Playboy channel being
available.

Alex's eyes widened in feigned fear. "Dr.
Scully, are you saying he was never treated for
his exposure to..." he stopped and grinned
maliciously.  "What am I thinking, if Mulder
doesn't want you to know, who am I to reveal
his little secret?"

She felt as though he'd kicked her in the
stomach.  What could Mulder have been exposed
to, "damn you, how could you have left him
there?"

Krycek's eyes narrowed dangerously, his
breathing becoming more pronounced.  He forced
himself to exhale slowly, this was no
time to lose his temper. Another minute passed
before he responded coldly, "as you may recall
Dr. Scully, I was no longer Fox's partner when
we vacationed in Russia.  As to picking up the
Mulder pieces," he shrugged his shoulder
indicating his amputated arm, "as you can see I
might have had a few of my own pieces to pick
up."  Her eyes widened in horror as she saw him
raise his hand.  Seconds later she felt the
sharp sting of the back of his hand connecting
with her jaw.  Frohike rushed forward but
Krycek had already anticipated his move and
waved him back.

"You bastard, you're twice her size!"

"Haven't you heard little man," Krycek quipped,
"size doesn't matter."  Reaching into his
pocket he pulled out a roll of duct tape and
tossed it to Frohike.  "Tape her hands and feet
and leave her on the floor."

Frohike did as he was told.  With Scully
securely tied, he asked them again, "where is
he?"

Scully licked her lips tasting blood. "We don't
know.  If I knew don't you think I would be
there right now," she attempted to reason.

"You're lying, Scully," he snapped.

He paused considering his next move.  The truth
was Scully would probably not reveal Mulder's
whereabouts.  She was too loyal to the man and
he suspected she could not be persuaded to tell
what she knew. He turned and studied Frohike.
Who was this man?  What did he mean to Scully
and to Mulder?  He turned and stood before the
smaller man. Without warning he punched Frohike
twice in the gut.  The man went down quickly.

Frohike gasped harshly, "she's not lying, we
don't know." In a desperate attempt to convince
him he added, "that's why we're here tonight,
we were trying to figure out where he is."

Krycek considered his options.  Scully had only
winced slightly when he'd hit this man.
Eventually this approach might work.  Alex
Krycek though, was not a patient man.  His eyes
moved quickly between Frohike and Scully.  He
smiled mildly and moved towards her.  Bending
low he placed himself inches from her face the
whole time watching for Frohike's reaction. He
sensuously rubbed the back of his gun hand
against her cheek. In a gentle voice he
suggested, "you know Scully I always suspected
if Mulder weren't in the picture that you and
I...."  His words trailed off suggestively as
his hand moved lower to linger ever so lightly
on her breast.

Frohike went wild, "don't you dare touch her
you one-armed rat bastard!"

Scully's eyes widened as she read the look of
victory on Krycek's face.  "Frohike, shut up,"
she ordered tightly.

"Too late," Alex whispered smugly.  He reached
for the cloth napkin that rested on the nearby
table and shoved it roughly into her mouth
effectively shutting her up.

Pulling himself up to his full height, he
turned, his attention now focused on Frohike.
He allowed his hand to linger in Scully's hair
for a moment before she pulled away with a
defeated moan.

"You control what she feels," Alex advised
Frohike, "and, I don't care if you want to
watch."

"You wouldn't," Frohike answered fearfully.

"Where is he," Alex asked coldly.

Frohike sent a helpless glance towards Scully.
She would never forgive him this. Mulder would
forgive him though. Mulder would expect Frohike
to do whatever he needed to ensure this woman's
safety.  In fact, Mulder would not forgive him
if he didn't tell.

Sighing heavily Frohike replied, "he's teaching
school in a suburb just outside of Chicago."

Scully screamed her frustration into the cloth.
It came out as a muffled, mmmumph!  Frohike
begged, "Scully, I'm sorry but Mulder wouldn't
want him touching you.  Mulder wouldn't let him
hurt you like this, please understand," tears
fell as he pleaded with her.

Scully did understand. She knew he was right
about Mulder but that didn't make it any
easier.  When Alex had touched her, her skin
crawled.  This man was capable of many horrible
things.  Rape seemed very minor compared to his
other crimes.  She wanted to somehow signal her
forgiveness to Frohike but at the same time she
was too damned worried about Mulder.  She had
to figure out a way to get word to him about
Krycek.

As Scully listened helplessly, Frohike told
Krycek all he knew.  She also heard Frohike
argue, "he's not hurting anyone, he's not
investigating alien abductions or government
conspiracies.  Why can't you let the man have
some peace?"

Alex considered his words carefully before
replying, "Fox Mulder will never be allowed
peace.  The plans for him have never included
him obtaining any type of inner peace.  In
fact," he added mysteriously, "just the
opposite."  With that said he knocked Frohike
out cold.

Moving back towards Scully, he again knelt
beside her.  She could not suppress a shudder
when he rubbed his lips from her lower neck up
to her small ear.  Pausing a moment, Scully
froze unsure of his next move.  He nipped her
lobe painfully breaking skin, marking her.
Tears flooded to her eyes.

"Don't worry Scully," he assured, "if he
behaves and does what my employer asks, you'll
probably see him again."  He grinned and added,
"not exactly sure what shape he'll be in
but..."   A complete professional again, he
checked her restraints and then left the
apartment.

Scully groaned leaning heavily against the
wall.  Her head hurt, the tape was cutting off
her circulation and Frohike lay unconscious at
her feet.  Worst of all the possibility of
seeing Mulder again relied on him behaving.  Oh
Mulder, she thought wearily, I'm really going
to miss you.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

ATKINS SCHOOL - ROOM 308
MAYWOOD, IL:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Mr. Waters," Rolando repeated, "Mr. Waters,
are you okay?"

Mulder blinked and stepped back from the
students surrounding him.  Their closeness was
overwhelming and he felt a heavy weight settle
upon his chest.  He knew the symptoms,
overwhelming anxiety, chest pain and shortness
of breath.  He inhaled through his nose and
exhaled with short puffs from his mouth in an
attempt to control his reaction.  He simply
could not allow himself the luxury of a panic
attack right now, and definitely not in front
of his students.

Feeling a bit calmer, he looked up into the
faces of the frightened kids.  Damn, he hadn't
meant to upset them.  He ran his sleeve across
his forehead effectively blotting the sheen of
sweat that had appeared within the last few
minutes.  He moved steadily to the front of the
classroom and turned towards the board. "I'm
fine," he assured.  He began to write
tomorrow's assignment on the slate, hoping to
distract them from his behavior.

Taking another deep breath, he bit his lower
lip in an attempt to control the nausea that
threatened to overwhelm.  He leaned lightly
into the board, needing to keep his back to the
class for just another minute.  That's all he
needed, just another minute.  Finally, he
turned to face them.

They had all returned to their desks sensing
his need for space.  Their eyes displayed fear
and curiosity, but above all, compassion.  It
was obvious they were concerned.  He felt his
eyes well up with unshed tears, he didn't
deserve such a reaction. "I...I'm sorry, I must
have faded out there for a minute," he
apologized in a quiet voice.

Jackson and Rolando leaned in closer struggling
to hear his explanation.  Jackson asked, "what
happened Mr. Waters, one minute you were
telling us about the Vietnam War and the next
you were staring at Chante's desk?"

Mulder's head shot up in surprise, he had
momentarily forgotten about Chante.  How could
he be so selfish?  "Does anyone know where
Chante is," he demanded harshly.

Jackson and the others were confused by his
sudden change of subject.  "Maybe the baby's
sick," volunteered Brandy, a petite black girl
who always sat in the seat closest to the door.
The others nodded agreement unsure why Chante's
absence was so important.

"Mr. Waters," Jackson added, "you're acting a
little spooky, are you sure you're all right?"

Mulder paled and replied shakily, "I'm fine."
Jackson looked as though he wanted to pursue
the subject but, to Mulder's relief, the bell
rang.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

10TH AVENUE: MAYWOOD HOUSING COMPLEX:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Somehow Mulder made it through the rest of
his classes.  As the day wore on, he
found himself overwhelmed by his need to check
on Chante, to make sure she was all right.
He had just finished his last class and found
himself again staring at the girl's empty desk.
If he could have, he would have simply called.
But Chante, like so many others, did not have
a phone.  Glancing at the wall clock, he noted
4:00pm.  Surely she and her mother would not
object to a late afternoon visit? He left the
building and scanned the streets for a cab.
Finding none, the feeling of dread that refused
to let loose increased.  Uncaring of the
startled looks sent his way, he began to run
the twelve blocks to Chante's home.

He was breathing hard as he rounded the final
corner.  Ordinarily this type of run would not
have winded him, but today, weakened by self-
doubt and anxiety, he felt dizzy and
disoriented.  It was at this moment that he
ran headlong into a large, heavyset Maywood
police officer.  They both tumbled to the
ground.

Recovering quickly Mulder pushed himself back
on the sidewalk and apologized, "Officer, I'm
very sorry, I didn't...."

The cop, struggling to stand, was obviously
irate as he inspected this lunatic.  "For
Christ's sake," he shouted, "you're lucky I
don't fucking shoot you."

Mulder held his hands in plain site in an
attempt to calm the officer down.  His heart
was pounding painfully in his chest, he
couldn't afford to get arrested right now.  He
didn't have anyone to call.  "I'm really sorry
officer," he apologized, "one of my students
didn't show up for class today.  I was worried
and wanted to check on her and her family,"
he finished lamely.

The cop stepped back and once again examined
the runner.  He was dressed in jeans and a
heavy sweater, no winter coat.  It was clear he
had run here from some distance by the pallor
of his skin and the perspiration that covered
his face.  Something was off here.  The guy
seemed on the level, but how many teachers
actually go to a student's home when they
don't show up for class?  He asked suspiciously,
"do you often check on your students who
play hooky?"

Mulder shook his head, "no sir, I've never done
this before.  It's just, I don't know," he
shrugged, "something doesn't feel right."   What
the hell, thought Mulder, none of this feels
right.   Although he was not a wanted man any
longer he was still wary of cops. Scanning the
area he counted two ambulances and five squads.
Why were there so many cops and why were they
all parked in front of Chante's building?

Suddenly everything slowed, he could hear the
cop talking but he couldn't understand what was
being said.  The sirens were off but the lights
continued to flicker, illuminating the
neighborhood in blood red shadows.  He pushed
past the cop and rushed towards the two
stretchers being wheeled from the building
fighting against the incredible weight that
seemed to pull him back.  On the first
stretcher lay a small figure enclosed in a body
bag.  A child's body, a baby.  Unfortunately,
Mulder had seen it before.  On the next
stretcher lay an adult figure and Mulder knew
without looking that it was Chante.

He pulled back in horror and leaned heavily
against the nearby building.   A paramedic
reached to support him as he slid numbly to the
ground.  "God no, not Chante," he murmured
choking back a sob, "not Michael."  Chante's
weeping mother followed her daughter's
stretcher.  A news crew, hungry for an
emotional clip, began to film the distraught
woman.  The whole scene appeared surreal to
Mulder.  He observed weakly his pulse being
checked and saw the man's lips move as he
called out for something. The second paramedic
arrived with oxygen and it was only as they
attempted to cover his face that he was able to
pull himself out, out of his slow motion world.
"No...no," he mumbled, "please just give me a
minute...please," he pushed their hands away.

"Okay buddy, no problem," the first man
soothed, "we're just here to help."  Both
paramedics straightened as they watched the
bodies being loaded.  The strange man at their
feet forgotten, the first medic said, "God,
what he did to that girl, I haven't seen
anything like that since, well since never."

"Lucky the mother wasn't home last night or we'd
be wheeling away the three of them.  The guy
has to be a complete psychopath to have done
to that girl what he did," the other man answered.

"Damn, he even slit the baby!"

Mulder raged at the information.  Who would have
done this?  The first man nudged the other as
the officers led a short muscular man from the
building. "There's the guy that did it over
there, someone said he was the baby's father."
The other man shook his head in obvious
confusion, "they said he just went fucking
nuts, no one knows why."

Mulder's eyes followed the assailant, as he was
led from the building.  The man looked stoned,
unaware of the devastation he had caused.  He
had to be at least 30 years old, what kind of
man was he to have already had a child with a
child!  The anger began to build as he imagined
the horror Chante must have felt in her last
moments.  God, I hope she didn't know about
Michael.  Enraged Mulder leapt from the ground
and ran towards the man.  He was handcuffed and
surrounded by two officers but within seconds
Mulder had him pinned.  His hands tightened
on the prisoner's neck as he remembered Michael
bouncing on his knee laughing. "You bastard,
you fucking pervert," he shouted angrily.
Mulder felt himself being pulled off the man.
His arms were twisted painfully behind his
back and someone had him in a headlock.
He continued to attack, continued to struggle
as they pulled him into a nearby building
away from the delighted camera crew.

He was released suddenly causing him to stumble
to the floor in the corner of the hallway.
Gasping for air, he tried hard to contain the
rage he felt towards Chante and Michael's
murderer.  He began to rock, banging the back of
his head lightly against the wall.  The pain
was good, he needed the pain to focus.

The officer and paramedic approached him
cautiously.  "Sir, you must calm down.  If you
don't," he warned, "we'll have to take you into
custody."

His head down, Mulder nodded his understanding.
He panted heavily and attempted to gain
control. The threat of confinement was more
than he could deal with right now. A paramedic
stepped in again with the oxygen mask.  If he
didn't get this guy to slow down his breathing
he was going to pass out.  Mulder, using the
support of the wall, rose slowly to his feet.
He waved the paramedic away again as he
painfully cleared his throat.  In a strained
voice he apologized, "I'm sorry, it's just ...
I mean...  she was just so young."  He wiped at
his irritated eyes with the palm of his hand
temporarily blurring his vision.

"What's your name, sir," asked a taller man in a
dark gray suit.  Mulder assumed he was the
detective in charge.

He squinted and waited for his vision to clear
before answering, "Mu...," he stumbled, "my name
is Henry, Henry Waters, I teach at Atkins."

"And you knew Chante?"

His eyes began to well up again as he nodded
his reply, "and, and the baby, she brought him
to school sometimes," he informed.  "She was
one of my students."

"Mr. Waters, I don't want you to misunderstand
my next question because you are NOT a
suspect," the second suit informed.  "But how
did you know something had happened here, did
someone tell you?"

Mulder had no idea how to answer. How could he
explain the leaps his mind sometimes made to
someone else when he himself didn't understand
it?  He shook his head helplessly, "I just
looked at her empty desk and I knew something
was wrong.  After my last class, I decided to
come check on her."

"Shit," exclaimed the paramedic, "that's
weird!"

Mulder's shoulders slumped and he looked down
at the floor.  "Yeah," he agreed quietly, "kind
of spooky."  He looked towards the detective in
charge and asked in a labored voice, "can I go
please?"   He gestured towards the door, "I'd
like to talk to Chante's mother."

"No more playing cop," the detective warned half
jokingly.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again, "please, I need
to go."

The detective nodded and Mulder left.  Outside,
he found that the cameras and crowds had
disappeared.  Several neighbors were comforting
Chante's mother as he hesitantly approached. He
was not sure she would remember him, having only
been to the apartment once.

Three weeks before he had jogged over to
Chante's building with some reference books she
would need to complete one of his assignments.
It was difficult for her to get to the library
with Michael sick so much.  Planning on doing
nothing more than dropping them at her door he
was pleasantly surprised to find himself pulled
into their apartment. Her mother took him under
her wing and, good-naturedly, scolded him on his
too skinny physique. He was fed and later found
himself lounging comfortably on their sofa with
little Michael giggling in his lap.  Poor
Chante and Michael, they'd done nothing to
deserve this.

"Mrs. Taylor," he began respectfully, "I'm very
sorry."  He could say no more, there was no
more to say.  Mrs. Taylor nodded sadly, tears
streaming from her eyes.  "She was my one and
only baby you know?"  Mulder did know.  Chante
talked a lot about her family life, especially
once she knew he wouldn't turn her in for
sleeping in class. She had loved her son and
appreciated her mother's acceptance of him as
her own.

"I should have been there," the woman moaned
guiltily.  "Maybe if I'd been there I could've
stopped him."

Mulder placed his hand gently on her shoulder,
he understood her guilt better than anyone.
"Mrs. Taylor, you could not have stopped
that man from doing what he did.  If anything,"
he moved in very close to her face, needing her
to understand, "Chante was probably relieved
you were not there.  She would not have wanted
him to hurt you as well."

Mrs. Taylor considered Mulder's words carefully.
She nodded her understanding as the tears once
again began to flow.  "She was a good girl," she
whispered.

Mulder nodded and continued to rub his hand up
and down her arm absently.  He looked up at the
fall sky, the darkened clouds indicated a storm
on the way.  He shivered, just now becoming
aware of the chill in the air.

Mrs. Taylor only now seemed to recognize the
man next to her.  "Oh Mr. Waters, you are so
kind to come.  You know she loved you and
your class, she talked about you all the time."
The woman, looking much older than her 40
years sniffled, "she was just talking about
how she'd like to be a teacher some day, a
teacher like you," she added.

"She would have made a wonderful teacher Mrs.
Taylor, I'm just so very sorry," he repeated.
"Is there anything I can do, anyone I can
call?"

"No," she moaned and began to weep again, "it
was just me and my baby.  Just me and my baby
and her baby and now it's just me.  Oh God,
what will I do without them," she wailed. One
of her neighbors moved to embrace her and
gently lead her back into the building.

Mulder stood by helplessly.  He looked up
at the rapidly dimming sky and thought of
Samantha.  It was night when she left
him.  He tried to stop her but couldn't.  And
then there was Scully, his blood had run cold
when he heard her cries on his answering
machine.  Now he could add Chante and Michael
to his list of innocents that he could not
save.  His eyes pleaded with the early evening
sky, why do people always leave me?  If I
close my eyes, who else will be taken?

>>>>>>>>>>>>

He considered packing up his things and
leaving.  He shouldn't have allowed himself to
become so involved, he should have kept his
distance.  Fortunately, "could of, should of"
didn't stop him from thinking of his students
and how devastated they would be by the loss of
their classmate, their friend.  Before he left
he needed to ensure they would be all right. He
turned to walk back to the school already
planning his next steps.  As he passed one of
Mrs. Taylor's neighbors, she commented to
another, " she's got no way to bury the little
ones.  Guess the state is gong to have to step
in and provide a plot somewhere."

The other woman groaned, "oh but don't you
remember what happened to Miranda's mother?
They provided a spot but it was all the way in
Chicago and it took her an hour and a half by
bus to visit. Mrs. Taylor is going to be real
upset if she can't visit her babies." The
two women continued their gossip as they made
their way back into the building.

Mulder's mind raced ahead.  He needed to go to
his classroom and pick up his laptop. Then he
needed to sign on and review counseling
techniques. Most importantly he needed to get
access to his accounts.  The school was already
locked up but Mulder had a key.  He would
gather his things and then use the phone line
in the office to access on line resources.  He
continued to plan as he walked the twelve
blocks back to the school.  He never noticed
when the rain began to fall. Oblivious to the
thunder and the dangerous lightning, he
continued making his plans.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

CIRCLING ABOVE O'HARE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Alex Krycek jammed the magazine roughly into
the seat pocket in front of him. He's seen
enough Robert Redford fashions to sink a ship.
The plane pitched heavily to the left as more
turbulence was encountered.  Damn, he bemoaned,
it was all going so well. He was sure he would
get to Mulder before Scully could warn him. It
would have been a perfect plan except for this
freak storm.  Already delayed an hour Alex
considered entering the cockpit and demanding
an emergency landing.  The pilot's voice
interrupted his fantasy, "I've just been
informed that we are being diverted to the
Detroit Metro Airport.  We apologize for this
inconvenience but it is unsafe to land our
aircraft at O'Hare International at this time.
Thank you for your patience and, as always,
thank you for choosing United."

"FUCK," snapped Alex pushing his head back
against the seat.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

SCULLY'S APARTMENT: GEORGETOWN

>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Frohike, you're sure you feel okay," Scully
asked, "I think you should be checked for
concussion."

Frohike smirked considering how this scene
would play if it were Mulder who'd been knocked
out cold.  She'd probably have him stretched
out on the couch with a cool cloth and perhaps
a little iced tea.  He waved away her prying
hands as he listened to the ringing of an
unanswered phone.  He had left a message at the
home of Byer's friend and now needed to do the
same at the school.  Damn, where was everyone?
The answering machine picked up after five
rings.  "Yeah this message is for Mr. Brighton.
Tell him Mr. Waters has had an emergency at
home and needs to leave immediately.  Tell him
to inform Mr. Waters that it involves his
Russian cousin."  Message delivered, he turned
to Scully for direction.

"Frohike, could you please call the airport and
book me on the next flight to Chicago," she
asked anxiously?  "I need to pack a few
things."  He watched her disappear into the
other room.  He had clearly been relegated to a
supporting role in this whole situation.  He
turned back to the phone and began to dial.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

ATKINS SCHOOL: PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE

>>>>>>>>>>>>

He let himself into the office and
immediately signed on to the Internet using his
laptop.  Not stopping long enough to even check
his e-mail, he immediately went to his first
account.  Password entered, he awaited
confirmation approval as he nervously tapped
his fingers on his knee.  The response beeped
loudly.  An informational message displayed:

        THE ACCOUNT YOU HAVE ACCESSED IS
        FROZEN UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF
        WALTER SKINNER, FBI.  FOR INFORMATION
        ON THIS ACCOUNT, PLEASE CONTACT ASSISTANT
        DIRECTOR SKINNER AT FBI HEADQUARTERS.

"Well, fuck me," moaned Mulder aloud, "and fuck
you SIR!"

Pissed but not too concerned, he accessed his
second account.  Another twenty minutes passed
as Mulder attempted access to all his accounts
and found himself shut down at every turn.  He
stood and kicked the desk angrily, then hopped
around the room in an attempt to ease the pain.
Skinner had somehow done the impossible.  Those
accounts had been carefully coordinated, one
did not lead to the other.  But the bastard had
done it.  He had completely shut down Mulder's
access to his own funds.  It was humiliating
and Mulder screamed his rage, "FUCK YOU
SKINNER!" He punched the wall causing a picture
to fall and his hand to throb.  "WHO THE HELL DO
YOU THINK YOU ARE?."  His hands clenching in
and out at his sides, he finished weakly "you
have no right to control me like this."  He
leaned back on the desk, why couldn't they
just leave him alone?  Why did the man continue
to dominate him?  As he allowed the rest of his
weight to settle on the desk, he bumped the
answering machine. It fell with a crash to the
 floor.  "Shit, I can't do anything right."

He picked up the machine, set it up on top of
the desk and hit the button to ensure it was
still in working order.  As he listened to the
first couple of messages he began straightening
up.  He was ashamed of his behavior, these
people didn't deserve him trashing their
office.  He was just placing a picture back in
place when he heard Frohike's voice.

Mulder listened intently understanding
immediately who his Russian cousin was. "Oh
great, this is all I need."

Instinctively he reached for his weapon only to
find none.  He dug through his backpack for a
minute finally finding it safely tucked in the
bottom.  He confirmed it was loaded and checked
the safety before shoving it into his waistband.
He didn't like to carry it at the school.  These
kids saw enough of this behavior on the streets.

He reviewed his options.  Again he considered
leaving.  Just grab your stuff and get the hell
out of here Mulder.  Unfortunately in doing
so he would be abandoning his students and
Chante's mom.  He sat down in Brighton's
chair, leaned forward and rested his head
on his closed fists.  He was tired of other
people controlling him.  When would he ever
be able to do exactly what he wanted to do
without the possibility of life-threatening
consequences?

He stretched out his arm and reached for the
phone. He dialed Skinner's office first. He
didn't really expect an answer but it seemed
like a good starting point.  To his surprise
Kimberly, his secretary, answered.

"Assistant Director Skinner's office, can I
help you?"

"A.D.Skinner please," he clipped.

His request was met with a moment of silence as
Kimberly recovered, "I'll check to see if he's
available.  Uh, may I..., Agent Mulder, is that
you?"

His voice cracked a bit as he politely replied,
"Just Mulder now Kim," he corrected. "How are
you?" he added politely.

She smiled remembering fondly the rebellious
agent and his many visits to Skinner's office.
"I'm okay Mulder, how are you," she asked
sincerely concerned.

He avoided the question, "I'm in kind of a
hurry Kimberly, can you put me through please?
It's urgent," he added hastily.

"Of course Ag..., uhm I mean Mulder.  One
moment." She put the call through immediately,
she was sure Skinner would expect nothing less.

Skinner's attention was pulled from an internal
audit report by the ringing of the phone.  He
assumed Kimberly was calling to let him know
she was leaving.  He absently raised the phone
to his ear, "Skinner."

"Unlock my accounts NOW," the voice snapped.

Skinner smiled and leaned back into his chair,
"nice to hear from you too Mulder."

The voice that answered him was cold and angry.
There was something new in Mulder's tone, what
exactly was it, mused Skinner.

"Unlock my accounts now, Skinner."  A simple
statement, no additional detail, was that the
difference?

"So it would appear you received my message,"
teased Skinner uncharacteristically.  It didn't
often happen that he one-upped Mulder and he
wanted to enjoy it.

The voice responded tersely, "Director Skinner
please unlock my accounts immediately."  Ah so
that's it, thought Skinner strangely proud,
authority, yes that's what's new in his voice.
He actually sounds well, almost like me.

"Didn't think I had it in me did you Mulder?  I
told you we needed to talk and we do need to
talk."  He warmed to his subject turning on his
negotiation skills, "I'll make you a deal, I'll
unfreeze your accounts AFTER you and I meet."

"Fu--," Mulder attempted to interrupt but
Skinner cut him off.  "24 hours of your time
Mulder, that's all I want."

He was met with silence for approximately 30
seconds.  He actually feared Mulder had hung
up. Then he heard it, a harsh ragged sob.
Skinner straightened in his chair.  The younger
man's voice was obviously strained when he
asked, "do you want me to beg, sir?   Tell me
because if that's what this is going to take
I'll do it."

Damn, he had forgotten how fragile Mulder could
be.  "What happened Mulder, what's upset you?"
He had expected Mulder to be angry over his
interference but the man's current reaction
seemed far too dramatic even for Mulder.
Something had changed since they'd spoken last.
Something had hurt him. "Tell me what's going
on with you Mulder, why do you need the money
now?"

Kimberly's head peeked in his door, Skinner
looked up curiously as she walked to his
television and turned on the evening news.  She
muted the sound and walked out of the room.
Skinner stood and moved closer to the screen.
What the hell was going on?  The clip showed a
bedraggled Mulder attacking a handcuffed man.
The camera had caught it all and the tag line
along the bottom of the screen displayed,
Maywood, Illinois as the location.  What the
hell was going on?

"Sir...I," Mulder's voice hesitated then
continued on more firmly, "I don't have time
discuss why I need my own money.  I don't owe
you an explanation."

"You're right," Skinner agreed, "it was a dirty
trick but so was that little stunt you and your
friends pulled on Scully and I in Kalamazoo.
Here's the deal Mulder, I'll unlock one of your
accounts for 48 hours.  If, by the end of that
48 hours you have not arranged a date and time
for you and I to meet, I will lock everything
else up so tight it'll never see the light
of day."

"Why are you doing this to me," Mulder snapped.
"Do you get off on continuing to show me whose
boss even when you're not?"

Where had that come from, thought Skinner. In
less than ten minutes Mulder had gone from
demanding, to pleading and now direct personal
attacks.  "No Mulder, I have no desire to show
you who is the boss."  As angry as Mulder's
taunt made him, he would not allow his temper
to screw up this conversation.  "What I do
desire is to sit down with you in a safe place
and talk through why you are not here doing the
work you love surrounded by people who care
about you."

Mulder answered tightly, clearly attempting to
keep his own anger in check. "I don't have time
for this right now.  I need my money now!"  He
paused, as much as he hated to admit it, he was
beat.  "Sir, unlock the account and I promise
to give you 24 hours but first I have some
business I need to take care of."  Then added
desperately, "unlock the fucking accounts now!"

Skinner replayed the film in his head.  Mulder
appeared to be all right physically but what
had happened to cause him to attack the other
man?  Skinner decided he would continue his
efforts to negotiate with Mulder, he needed the
man to agree to meet him.  He knew Mulder was a
man of his word, if he agreed, it would happen.
"All right Mulder, one account will be unlocked
within the hour.  Now when can we meet?"
Skinner pushed.

"I, I don't know," he stuttered.  "I need to
take care of some things here really fast."  As
an afterthought he whispered, "he'll be here
soon."

"Who'll be there soon Mulder?" Skinner demanded
already dreading the answer.  "Please Mulder,
let Scully and I help you!"

Ignoring Skinner's comments, Mulder replied, "I
have to go now.  Thank you for releasing my
funds, sir."

"Mulder, your promise," Skinner reminded.

"P-p-promise, oh yes the promise.  I'll call
you soon and we'll talk more."  With greater
urgency he added,  "I have to go, I have to go
now!"  The line disconnected.

"Damn," shouted Skinner angrily.  Kimberly
again entered the room and placed the details
of the news report in his hands.

"How the hell did you know that was on,"
Skinner asked curiously.

Kimberly hesitated, somewhat embarrassed, "well
sir, I keep a little television in my bottom
drawer for soap operas.  I had the national
news on for company when I saw him. The picture
may have been small but I can spot Agent Mulder
a mile away."

"Well, I never thought I'd owe General
Hospital," joked Skinner.  "Kim, can you book
me on the next flight to . . .?"

She smiled, she knew this man well.  "It's
already done, sir.  You leave for Chicago in two
hours, which gives you enough time to stop home
and pick up your things.  Also, the flight may
experience delays, there has been some unusual
weather patterns reported over O'Hare."

He packed his briefcase as she spoke, "thanks
Kim, I don't know what I'd do without you."

She smiled and replied, "just bring him home,
sir.  The pool here just isn't the same since
he left."

Walter Skinner chuckled lightly as he left the
office.  He, along with the rest of the
building knew of Mulder's red Speedo.  Another
Mulder trick to keep people away.  On one hand
they attracted an enormous amount of attention,
the key term being enormous.  Any female
observers easily discovered the answer to a
topic that had been on most of their minds.
Most men were reminded of, shall we say, their
own lesser gifts.

Either way people might look, but only a few
confident souls braved a conversation with
Mulder in a Speedo.  Mulder never had a problem
getting a lap lane in the pool and, for the
most part, everyone left him alone.

Jesus Mulder, why did I allow you to isolate
yourself so much, he thought sadly.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

DETROIT METRO AIRPORT, MI:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

It had taken an extra two hours to get to the
Detroit Metro airport and deplane.  He was hot
and tired and incredibly pissed off.  Mulder
was in his grasp and every minute that passed
reduced his chances of getting to the man.

He stopped short when he saw the line at the
rental car counter.  Damn, he thought as he
stepped quickly in line, I guess I'm not the
only one who needs to drive to Chicago.  It
took all his self-control not to pull out his
gun and force his way to the front of the line.
Realizing this would not endear him to Michigan
officials, he patiently waited his turn.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

RONALD REAGAN AIRPORT:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Skinner rushed towards the terminal his carry-
on bag tossed casually over his shoulder.  He
had just realized that in his haste to get to
Mulder, he'd forgotten to call Scully. As he
continued his run through the terminal, he
pulled out his cell phone and punched in her
number.  He could see his gate approximately 50
feet ahead and it appeared the plane was fully
boarded. His eyes ordered the gate not to close
before he arrived.

Distracted as he was it was no wonder he missed
the red blur that cut directly in front of him.
Unable to stop in time he pulled to the left in
an attempt to soften the blow. He heard her
surprised grunt as he grazed her shoulder
causing her and her two bags to tumble to the
ground.

Skinner stopped knowing he needed at the very
least to help this person up.  Unfortunately he
had a plane to catch and the gate door had just
been secured.  He was torn between helping her
or catching his plane.

A voice from the floor demanded loudly, "get
over there and stop that plane," as an
afterthought she added, "SIR!"

He stared down at Agent Dana Scully in
surprise, "Scully, are you all ri---

"Go, go now," she said waving him on.

He ran towards the counter, pulled out his
badge and demanded the flight be delayed.  By
this time Scully had pulled herself and her
bags off the floor and stood calmly at his
side.  As the attendant made arrangements to
reopen the door, he turned and asked, "Mulder?"
She gave him a small strained smile and nodded,
"Mulder."

They boarded the plane.  As luck would have it
the storm over Chicago had moved north.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

ATKINS SCHOOL-TEACHER'S LOUNGE:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

He rinsed his face with cool water hoping to
somehow erase the lines of fatigue that had
settled upon his face.  In one night he had
managed the impossible.  A fund would be set up
in Chante's name at a local bank providing Mrs.
Taylor with the money needed to bury Chante and
Michael.  A second fund would be set up for use
by the Atkins School Board.  The money was
placed in this account for the express purpose
of providing the students needed counseling as
a result of Chante's death.  The balance,
approximately $1000.00 he moved into a new
account which was easily accessible through an
ATM. There was no telling how long it would be
before Skinner allowed him access to his other
accounts.  If needed he could get to additional
inheritance money, it would just be a little
tricky.

If it were possible he would stay himself and
counsel them through their grief.
Unfortunately this was a luxury he could not
allow himself. Krycek was too close, he could
feel him.  He had prepared throughout the night
for his first period, Chante's class.  These
were the kids who would feel the most confusion
and distress over her death and he couldn't
compound that by abandoning them as well.

Sometime in the night, he could not remember
exactly when, he had gone back to his room and
packed up his belongings.  They rested at his
feet in an overstuffed pack.  He accepted that
his decision would bring him face to face with
Krycek.  The odds of avoiding that
confrontation were less in his favor the longer
he stayed.  He could only hope that Krycek
would not pull anything in public.  The man had
been very foolish in Kalamazoo and he doubted
he would expose himself in such a manner again.
He rolled his shoulders wearily attempting to
work out the permanent kinks that seemed to
have settled there.  He pushed thoughts of
Krycek away, he had more important things to
worry about now.  There were people relying on
him.

He stared into the mirror above the rusty sink.
His heavy beard stood out starkly on his pale
skin.  His eyes red rimmed, he attempted to rub
the tiredness away with the heels of his hands.
Another check in the mirror proved this method
was no replacement for Visine.  He still looked
like hell.  He reached into his bag for a clean
shirt and put it on tucking it neatly into his
pants.  Shoving the soiled shirt into his
laundry bag, he buckled the pack up tightly.
Ignoring his aching muscles, he hoisted it over
his shoulders and left to join his class.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

ATKINS SCHOOL-ROOM 308:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

His students entered the room slowly, silently.
Heads down they fell heavily into their seats
carefully avoiding any contact with Chante's
desk.  Mulder waited for all of them to arrive
before walking to the back of the room and
closing the door.  As he made his way back to
his own desk he began to speak.

"Morning, how are you all feeling today?"

Jackson laughed harshly before replying
sarcastically, "fucking great Mr. Waters, how
are you doing?"

The other students shifted uncomfortably.
Mulder leaned back on his desk placing himself
front and center.  "To be honest Jackson, I'm
feeling pretty lousy."

His answer captured their attention.  All eyes
raised to study their teacher.  He really did
look like crap.

He continued, "I take it you have all heard
about Chante and Michael's murder?"

Rolando pushed himself further back into his
chair.  "Asshole, fucking asshole," he
moaned.  He was fighting hard not to cry,
adults don't cry.

Mulder nodded, "for those of you that haven't
heard, Chante and her son were murdered the
night before last in their home.  The man
accused is in custody and has confessed
to the crime."

Maria, a tall black girl who usually spent his
class looking out the window added, "he was the
father you know, killed his own baby."

"How does that make you feel, Maria?" he moved
next to her desk and kneeled beside her.

She shrugged casually, "its no big deal,
happens all the time around here."

"Is that what you really believe, it's no big
deal?"  He stood and looked around the room
before asking, "is that what you all believe?"

"Why did he have to do that to her. Mr. Waters?"
Juan, a Hispanic boy in the front row asked.
"She was so nice."

"And the baby," added Rolando painfully.

Mulder absently rubbed his temples.  The
pressure in his head was building.  This was so
much harder than he had expected.  It was
impossible for him to maintain any distance
from this situation, from these kids.  Chante
was the exact age that Samantha was when she
died and as much as he worked to separate the
two incidents, he just couldn't.  He barely
noticed when his own tears began to fall.  His
students did though and they froze in shock!

Mr. Waters was----was crying!

Rolando, unable to hold back his own tears any
longer stumbled to the front of the class and,
without thought, pulled Mulder into a hug
completely engulfing the older man.  Maria soon

followed sobbing quietly against Rolando's
back.  Jackson, then Brandy and eventually the
whole class found themselves huddled together
in an emotional, healing hug.

It was at this moment that Skinner and Scully
stepped into the room.  At first Scully thought
they had walked into the wrong class.  There
didn't appear to be any instructor, just a
group of kids who seemed to be performing
some type of group activity.  She turned
sending Skinner a puzzled glance.  They started
to move towards the door when she heard him.
Heard the voice of the only man who could make
monotone sound sexy.

"Hey guys, I'm having a little trouble
breathing in here."

The students loosened their grip on Mr. Henry
and each other and began to separate.  They
might have returned to their desks if not for
the visitors standing in the back of the room.
Instead, somehow sensing a threat, they placed
themselves at Mulder's sides.  Mulder's eyes
met Scully's.

He stared at her for what felt like hours
drinking in the sight of his ex-partner, his
friend.  He fought hard not to go to her, not
to lean his head on her solid shoulder.  His
stomach tightened painfully as he held himself
back.  He was so very tired.  It had been an
emotional 24 hours, one lacking in sleep and
food and right now he imagined crawling into
her lap, curling himself into a tight ball and
falling asleep to her off key humming.  He
shook himself away from that fantasy, he
couldn't continue to rely on Scully in this
way.  He turned towards Skinner.

His eyes hardened and his lower lip pushed out
slightly.  Skinner saw it, saw the slight
stiffening in the man's shoulders and the anger
in his eyes. He nodded a greeting towards the
hostile, young man.  Based on Mulder's look, it
would be a while before all would be forgiven.

Jackson observed from the sidelines.  It was
obvious Mr. Waters knew these people.  What
wasn't obvious was whether he wanted them here
or not.  Jackson placed himself casually in
front of Mr. Water's left shoulder ready to
step in if needed.

He'd always suspected there was more to Mr.
Waters. The man was clearly out of place here
in Maywood.  By day a rather geeky teacher who
seemed to believe every wild story told.  When
Brandy told him aliens had come in the night
and stolen her homework, he had listened
intently asking her if she or her family
experienced any other symptoms such as lost
time.  At this point Brandy could no longer
continue with her excuse and burst out
laughing.  Mr. Waters merely smiled and told
her that if the aliens returned to her home
that night, she should ask for her paper back
and hand it in the next day.

In the evening Jackson had seen him running.
Regardless of the weather, the man ran, he ran
as though demons chased him.  The crime-filled
streets of Maywood did not make the best jogging
path but few that encountered the wild-eyed man
running at top speed bothered him.  Whatever
drove Mr. Henry was not something anyone else
wanted to tangle with.  Observers sensed this
man could hold his own.  Who else but a man
confidant in his self defense abilities would
have the courage to jog through the streets of
this town at night?

Regardless of the mystery Mr. Henry presented,
he had always shown concern and respect for
Jackson and the others.  He listened
patiently whenever needed.  He gave them
respect, something Jackson had never experienced
before.  The boy eyed Skinner and Scully
dangerously. He'd be damned if he'd let
these people hurt their teacher.

Mulder placed his hand gently on Jackson's back
and whispered, "it's okay Jackson, I know them."
He signaled Scully and Skinner to take a seat in
the chairs near the classroom door.  They did so

silently.

"Okay, we only have a few more minutes and
there are some things we need to talk about,"
he announced.  "First you should all know that
there will be a service for Chante and her son
at St. Frances tomorrow afternoon.  From there
they will be taken to the Willow Hills for burial.

The heads were down again.  Mulder sighed,
"listen, if you don't feel like you can go
it's okay.  But," and he waited until he
had their full attention before he continued,
"if you decide to be there, the school has
agreed to an excused absence for each of you."

"Will you be there Mr. Henry?" a shaky voice
asked from the back.

Mulder looked around the classroom taking in
all their faces.  He memorized each one aware
that, after tomorrow, he might not see them
again. He'd been lucky to know them, to be
a part of their lives.  He continued to scan
the room until he found the concerned eyes of
Scully and Skinner. Clearly his remaining here
for the service would not be their recommendation.
Returning his attention to his students he
responded in a soft voice, "I'll be there.
I need to say good-bye."

The bell rang then and they slowly rose from
their desks.  "One more thing," he suggested,
"if you have anything you'd like to say to
Chante, write her a note tonight and bring
it with you tomorrow."

Confused, Maria asked, "how can we write her?"

"Simply write down your thoughts, your
feelings," he stressed.  "Tomorrow we'll leave
the letters with her."

"But how can she read them, she's dead?" asked
Rolando curiously.

"It's all a matter of what you believe
Rolando," he promised.  "It's also a chance
for you all to say anything you didn't get
a chance to say when Chante was with us.  No
pressure though, "he assured, "if you feel like
it, go ahead.  If not, don't."

There were a few nods among the kids before
they left.

He stood behind his desk and straightened the
papers wanting to leave everything organized
for the next teacher. When he was through he
stood silently, head down, unsure what to
do next.

Scully had seen enough.  She stood and
walked to the front of his desk.  Leaning
in towards him she smiled gently, "tough
day huh Mulder?"

He looked at her then, eyes glistening, "yeah
Scully, tough day."

"What happened," she asked.

His eyes found and held Chante's desk.  If he
closed his eyes he could picture her there,
her head resting softly on her hands.

"One of my k-k-ids," he stuttered, "I mean my,
my students was murdered yesterday."

Scully placed her hand on his, "oh Mulder,
I'm so sorry."

He looked down at their hands and added, "he
killed her son too.  He wasn't even a year."
He lowered himself slowly into his chair
never breaking contact with her hand. His
head felt very heavy and he longed to rest
it on his desk.

"Oh God Mulder," she moaned moving around to
stand by his side.  "Are you all right?"

His breath hitched loudly as he pushed down the
sob that threatened.  "I'm fine Scully it's
just, well..." he trailed off here, "she was
so young, only 15."

Scully knew Mulder was in pain over the loss
of his student and her son.  She also knew,
without him saying that thoughts of Samantha
could not be far away.  She rubbed his back
gently wanting him, needing him to need her.
He arched away slightly and then, unable
to deny himself, leaned into her caress.

Skinner had stood silently in the corner
wanting to give them their privacy but keenly
aware of the Krycek threat.  Scully had shared
the details of her encounter with him on the
plane to Chicago. He moved to join his two
agents.

"Mulder," he said, "I'm sorry. I know this has
been hard for you."

Mulder barely acknowledged the older man.  He
pulled away from Scully, stood and moved to the
window, putting as much distance as possible
between himself and Skinner.  Scully threw
her director an angry glare.  All right,
Skinner acknowledged, now they're both angry
with me.

"Listen Mulder, we can talk about your accounts
later but first I need to know if you've seen
Krycek?"

Scully interrupted, "what about his accounts
sir?"

Mulder's eyebrows raised in surprise, "he didn't
tell you Scully?"

"Tell me what?" she answered looking between
the two men.

He adjusted his glasses and answered her
reluctantly.  "I put a lock on his finances."

"You what?" Scully asked clearly shocked.

Skinner shrugged, "I just wanted to talk to him."

Mulder stepped in, "and now that we've spoken
can I assume they will be unlocked?"

"I wouldn't say that," Skinner answered flatly.
Skinner stopped Mulder's next comment with a
raised hand and added, "Mulder, I don't think
it's safe for you to stay here any longer."

"I am not concerned with what you think SIR,"
Mulder answered belligerently.

"Mulder," Scully hissed, clearly shocked at his
tone when addressing Skinner.

Skinner understood his anger but it still hurt
to hear the open hostility.  It was going to
take some time before he regained this man's
trust.  He tried again, "Mulder, I don't
make these statements as your boss, I make
them as your friend."

"A friend would not have done what you did!"

Skinner stepped forward, they were face to face.
"A friend does what he needs to do to help
another friend in trouble."

Mulder's pain was palpable.  It physically
pulsated from him and Skinner found himself
drawn to the man.  He reached out his hand
in support.  Mulder jerked back as though
burned.  "I'm not in trouble," he answered
in a very small voice.  His eyes were
suddenly unfocused and he swayed unsteadily
on his feet.

Skinner looked to Scully for help.  They had
to get Mulder out of here, get him someplace
safe.  He knew the man didn't trust him but
they needed to move him out of the line of
fire until they could get this Krycek
situation under control.  Scully went to Mulder
and whispered, "it's all right Mulder, you're
not in any trouble."

He begged her to understand, "I'm not in
trouble, I didn't do anything wrong."

She rubbed his arm lightly and soothed, "no
Mulder, you didn't do anything wrong."

She was getting frightened now.  When they
had entered the room Mulder was clearly in
control, now he seemed detached, out of it.
She gestured for Skinner to get the pack that
leaned up against his desk.  Skinner did so
and then, upon Scully's nod, reached for
Mulder's arm.  He allowed it.  He allowed
them both to support him until they reached
the outer hallway. It was here that he
became Mr. Waters again.  He straightened
and self-consciously pulled away.  Several
students rounded the corner and greeted him
casually.  Mulder returned their greetings
with a smile.  Skinner and Scully were
shocked by his sudden change.  Mulder
ignored their confusion, his students
were his first priority right now.  Skinner
and Scully well, they would just have to wait.

"I need to stay here," he informed quietly,
"I have a service to attend tomorrow."

Scully knew this was a battle she would lose.
A change of direction on their parts was
clearly required.  "Fine, Mulder.  But until
tomorrow it is not safe for you to stay here.
Come with me and we'll get a room."

Mulder raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Secretly pleased by his response, she pulled on
his sleeve, "come on Mulder, you can get some
rest and, if you want, we'll attend the service
with you tomorrow."

He looked around helplessly, he really didn't
have anywhere else to go tonight.  His only
plans were to avoid Krycek until he could
do what he needed to do.  He just wasn't
sure going with Skinner and Scully was his
best option.  Before a decision could be
made, Mr. Brighton, the school principal
rounded the corner.

"Mr. Waters I was hoping to speak with you
before you left."  He eyed Scully and Skinner
suspiciously before asking, "are you all right?"

Mulder nodded, "then you've made arrangements
for my classes?"

"Of course, and the fund you set up will really
be a great help with getting us the extra
counseling we'll need.  Are you sure you
can afford this?" the man asked curiously.

Mulder glanced up at Skinner before replying,
"the kids need it more than I do." Skinner
looked away guiltily.

"You're a good man, Henry," he said as they
shook hands. "The kids will really miss you."

Mulder fidgeted, unused to such praise, "thanks
Jack, I appreciate everything you did."

"You know you're welcome to come back anytime.
You're a fine teacher."

Mulder had heard enough.  He turned to Scully
and asked, "where are we staying?"

Scully shrugged, "we'll figure it out on the
way Mulder.  For now let's get clear of this
area."

Skinner and Scully attempted to position
themselves protectively around him but he
would have none of it.  Gesturing for them
to walk ahead, he followed keeping a keen
eye out for Krycek.
 

>>>>>>>>>>>>

ATKINS SCHOOL - FRONT ENTRANCE:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Krycek slumped lower in his car as Skinner and
Scully followed by Mulder exited the building.
"Damn, too late," he cursed.

He'd waited forever to get a rental car in
Michigan and, once acquired, found himself
driving through a hellish storm.  There were
times he could barely make out the road through
the fogged windshield of his Ford Escort.  Here
was the other dig, after waiting 45 minutes to
get a car all they had left were economy, 4
fucking cylinder economy cars.  He suspected,
based on the storm, that Mulder had found a way
to control the weather and was lying on a couch
right now laughing his ass off.  Oh yeah, then
there had been the flat tire.

Now Alex Krycek, one armed or not, was a very
capable man.  He was physically fit and fully
able to care for his own needs.  One arm or
not, he was deadly.  But being a skilled
assassin never prepared him for changing a
tire on the side of I-90 in the rain with a
piece of shit jack made out of aluminum.
Removing the tire was easy enough, getting
the little donut they had left him in the
trunk onto the car proved a bit more difficult.
If not for an elderly couple who stopped to
help, he would have still been there.

He'd been so angry at the situation, he'd
actually considered killing the old couple and
taking their car.  But then the old man had
offered him
Author:  Karoshi12@Ameritech.net
Title:          Lessons Learned (FF III)

>>>>>>>>>>>>

LAKE SHORE DRIVE - CHICAGO:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

The ride to the hotel was conducted in silence.
Mulder had spread himself out in the back seat,
thrown his arm over his eyes and fallen asleep.
In reality he simply didn't want to talk.
In his current state he recognized that
everything would seem bigger than it was.
He was exhausted both emotionally and physically
and feared he would somehow slip in front of
them, causing them to push what they seemed to
think would be a nice vacation in a
safe little sanitarium.  He was already
regretting his decision to go with them, his
control had already slipped once back in
the classroom.

Arching his lower back he attempted to untie
the many knots.  His body ached and he longed
for the comfort of a steamy, hot shower.  His
head began to throb to the sound of the country
western song playing on the radio. The song
was about a man who lost his dog, his girlfriend
and a six pack.  Oh man, Mulder thought
miserably, live my life for a while pal.
Pushing his face further into the cushion
he moaned softly.  "Off, turn the radio
off."  Scully must have heard because the
music stopped immediately.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"No problem, Mulder," she answered before
rolling her eyes at Skinner.  With everything
the man had been through he chose to complain
about a song on the radio.

Mulder's mind was filled with thoughts of the
two of them.  Why were they here again?  Surely
it wasn't only the Krycek thing, he had handled
Krycek before.  A warning was all that was
really needed, certainly not a babysitter.

Okay, it was obvious why Scully was here.
She hated to be left out of things and
although he would have preferred her
stepping back with Krycek involved, he knew
the possibility of that was nil.  He believed
she was here to offer her help, to keep
him safe.  After all, she hadn't tipped Skinner
off in Kalamazoo until he was long gone.  He
could trust her but only so far as she felt was
good for him.  If she decided his decisions would
cause him pain, she would attempt to stop him.
It was impossible for her to just let go. She
was far too practical not to consider the
consequences before taking action.  While in
theory this seemed like a good approach to life,
he found it stifling.  Like the bumper sticker
said, if you follow the rules, you miss all the
fun.

Then there was Skinner, lately he had no idea
what to make of Skinner.  Who was he to Mulder?
The man was his boss but, no longer, so why did
he continue to involve himself in his life?
As much as they joked about it, Skinner
had cared for him when he was ill.  He had
vague memories of the older man's soothing
voice.  He might have even thought kindly of
the man except for the handcuffs at the hotel
and now his assets being frozen.  Was he some
type of control freak or was there more to him?

Both of these people talking quietly in the
front seat were serious and practical.  They
were committed to doing the right thing. They
took care of themselves and their friends.
They followed the rules.  Well, most of the
time.  He suspected, if not for their
relationship with him, it would be all of
the time.  He was a little proud of that
accomplishment. He smiled into his arm, let's
face it without him they'd probably each have
their perfect little careers in their perfect
little FBI world.

A picture of Scully and Skinner together at a
social function flashed through his head.  He
had to admit they would make a stunning couple.
Okay, not as good as he and Scully but...  he
moaned softly causing Scully to ask, "you okay
Mulder?"

He decided to fake sleep, not prepared to speak
just yet.  Where the hell had that come from,
he thought angrily?  Scully and I are not a
couple.  He pictured them together, her so
serious, always correcting his assumptions,
always cutting down his theories.  Then he
saw her laughing at his stupid jokes, her
strength at his mother's bedside and the night
in the Florida forest as she sang the first
verse over and over again knowing the second
would bring forth too many Mulderisms.  He knew
he challenged her.  He knew he made her laugh.
He knew, stop Mulder, stop in the name of
personal sanity. He forced thoughts of Scully
and Skinner from his mind, rolled over,
pushed his back into the cushions and
drifted into an uneasy slumber.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

"How's he doing back there?" Skinner asked
quietly.

I think he's asleep, he looks completely beat."

Skinner agreed, "I doubt he's taken the time to
eat or sleep in quite a while."

She nodded then turned to examine the sleeping
man again.  Skinner had described the news
footage to her on the plane.  She was shocked
that Mulder had allowed himself to lose control
so near a camera crew.  Regardless of his
emotions at the time, he shouldn't have been
so careless.  He literally risked his life with
stunts like that and she would tell him so as
soon as she felt he was up to hearing it.
Krycek's words also returned with a vengeance,
was he lying, had Mulder actually been exposed
to something?

Unable to contain herself any longer, she
unhooked her seatbelt and leaned over the seat
to check on him.  Skinner chose this moment to
turn and was met with the sight of Scully's
small behind wiggling over the back of the
seat.  He looked away quickly as her skirt
hitched higher revealing a shapely leg.  As she
touched Mulder's forehead, his hand swatted hers
away.  He hated when she treated him like a
child.  "Scully, back off," he warned.  He
pushed up into a sitting position and shoved
himself up against the door behind Skinner.
Her arms were short and she wouldn't be able to
reach him here.  Again he threw his arm over
his face as though to block the light but,
Scully could see, it was her he was attempting
to block out.

She was hurt, after all, she had only been
trying to help.  As she returned to her
original position she noticed the position
of her skirt. She'd obviously given Skinner
an eyeful.  She apologized, embarrassed,
"sorry sir, wasn't thinking.  When I'm with,"
shrugging her shoulder towards Mulder, "it's
not really an issue."

Skinner frowned, confused by the remark, "well
if," duplicating her shoulder shrug towards
Mulder, "didn't notice moves like that, perhaps
he really is crazy," he teased.  Scully blushed
bright red and giggled.

If looks could kill they would both be lying
dead on the side of the road with Mulder
driving happily away.  In the last twenty-four
hours he'd been on an emotional roller coaster.
Leaving those kids was hard enough but, leaving
them now so soon after Chante's death, felt
like a betrayal.  Great, he thought selfishly,
more Mulder guilt.  His cover had been blown
and Krycek was probably following them right
now.  He swung his head around to check the
surrounding cars.  On top of all this, his
head hurt and Skinner had basically stolen
all his money.  If this weren't bad enough
Scully had just giggled, yes giggled at a
Skinner comment and a sexual comment at that!
If they were still working together he would
be helping her fill out the complaint against
the man right now! Well to hell with them both,
he thought angrily, and fuck me for giving
a damn.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

MARRIOTT SUITES, DOWNTOWN CHICAGO:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Skinner had checked them into a two-bedroom
suite.  The rooms were connected by a small
sitting room.  The first bedroom had two
doubles and the second had a king.  Mulder
stood quietly and considered his options
carefully.  If he took one of the doubles
he was basically agreeing to share a room
for the evening.  If he took the king that
meant Scully and Skinner might end up in
the same quarters for the evening.  He
moved slowly to the double closest to the door
and wearily sat down.  His backpack slid to the
floor next to the bed.

Scully watched as Mulder ran his hand lightly
over the pillow of his bed.  Poor Mulder, he
was a rumpled mess.  His hair fell carelessly
across his forehead, shoulders curved forward
and that child's pout which always became more
pronounced when he was tired and stressed.
She sighed in a very un-Scully like manner, the
man was... she stopped suddenly.  He's what
Dana, where are you going with these thoughts?
Unaware of Scully's perusal, Mulder pulled off
his shirt and tossed it to the floor.  He stood
and stretched lazily his arms reaching towards
the ceiling.  The T-shirt he wore pulled
tightly across the muscles of his back.  Was
it her imagination or was he, well, buff?

He looked up and caught her gaze.  "Scully, I'm
fine," he insisted, misunderstanding her look.

She moved a few feet closer and asked quite
seriously, "have you been working out, Mulder?"

He raised his eyebrow in a perfect imitation of
Scully, "Scully, are we in Comity or Chicago?"

She grinned, "sure, fine, whatever."

He returned her smile, "it's good to see you
too, Scully."

She grabbed her bag and headed for the other
bedroom.

"Such a big bed for such a tiny person," Mulder
stated.

Skinner, who had watched their latest interaction
in complete fascination, followed her with his
eyes before replying, "yes, she is quite,"
another pause for effect, "compact."

Mulder's eyes narrowed.  When had this
attraction between Skinner and Scully
begun?  With him gone did they suddenly
find themselves with more time to
spend together?  Unable to stand his own
thoughts, Mulder grabbed his bag and stomped
into the restroom.  He needed a shower!

Skinner smirked as Mulder left the room,
"mess with my head, Mulder," he mused aloud
remembering the handcuff comment from
Kalamazoo.  Maybe if Mulder thought he was at
risk of losing Scully to another, especially
Skinner, he would stop this childish behavior
and get his ass back to work.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Skinner and Scully were deep in conversation
when he exited the bathroom.  He was shirtless
and Scully again found herself staring.  What
was the matter with her, she had seen Mulder
completely naked before.  Why then did the
sight of him shirtless, jeans slung low on his
hips suddenly leave her breathless?  Her eyes
were pulled to the trail of fine hair that led
into his... don't go there Dana!  She forced
her eyes up and caught sight of the scar on his
shoulder. It was as effective as a cold shower.

"Mulder," Scully asked gently, "don't you think
you should try to get some sleep?"

Mulder noted the time, 2:30pm.  Shaking his
head more in an effort to convince him then her,
he replied, "not really tired, Scully."

He actually was tired, but the kind of tired that
after a while one became accustomed to.  He
knew if he lay down now he would simply stare
at the ceiling.  Add to that Scully and Skinner
hovering above and his decision was made, sleep
would wait.  He pulled on a shirt and
announced, "I'm going to head downstairs to the
connecting mall. I need some clothes for
tomorrow."  With that he reached for the room
key on the desk, pulled his wallet out of his
discarded pants and headed for the door.

Scully and Skinner exchanged incredulous looks.
What was he thinking?

"Stop," Skinner ordered firmly, "what the hell
are you doing?"

Mulder turned slowly, he had really expected
nothing less.  He replied very slowly as though
speaking to a small child, "I- --Am ---Go---
Ing---To---The---Mall---To---Buy...."  He didn't
need to go further.

Skinner snorted, completely exasperated with the
man, "don't use that tone with me Mulder!"

"Then don't treat me like a child," Mulder
countered.

"Then don't behave like one."

Mulder was angry and he didn't need this crap.
He walked back to his pack and crammed in his
dirty clothes.  Tossing the key at Scully,
he saluted them both and headed for the door.

Scully chased after him and grabbed his arm.
He stopped, his hand gripping the doorknob
tightly.  Skinner stood frozen in disbelief.
What had he done now?

Holding on to his sleeve she turned and threw
a warning glance at Skinner.  "Will both of you
just stop," she ordered. She felt Mulder tense,
he leaned his forehead onto the door.

Skinner knew he had to make the first move,
"Mulder, I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have said that."

Mulder exhaled slowly then turned his eyes
clearly reflecting the hurt Skinner's
comment had caused.  "But that's the problem,
sir," he accused, "you're not really sorry.
You really believe I am behaving like a child."

"No Mulder, it's not that," Skinner argued.

"Yes," Mulder insisted, "it is that.  Somewhere
along the way, instead of a boss, instead of a,"
he hesitated here, "a friend, you've felt
compelled to take on the role of an authority
figure, a parent."

Skinner was uncomfortable with Mulder's
accusation, "I don't think that's the case,
Mulder," he denied.

"Skinner's only trying to help, Mulder.  Please
don't attack him," Scully defended.

Mulder looked down gathering his strength
before giving it another shot.  Raising his
eyes to meet Scully's, then Skinner's, he stated
firmly, "I had a father and I have a mother and,
quite honestly, I'm not looking to relive that
experience with the two of you."

"Mulder," both Scully and Skinner responded
shocked.

Holding up his hands for silence, Mulder
continued, "hear me out.  Scully the way you
fuss around me is not like a partner, not like
a - a - peer, it's really very much
like a mother.  You're always touching my
forehead, feeding my fish and keeping my
refrigerator stocked with calcium-enriched
orange juice for God's sake."  Turning
towards Skinner, "and you sir, you talk
down to me.  Anytime I express an opinion
different from your own, you shoot it down.
Christ, you've already had me committed
once FOR MY OWN GOOD," Mulder added loudly.
"Both of you have to stop taking care
of me because, to be honest, I'm choking
here."  His heart pounded wildly in his
chest, he needed to leave.  Come on Mulder,
just turn the knob and leave.  He started
to turn towards the door.

Scully approached with an evil glint in her
eyes, this man was going nowhere.  "Did you ever
think Mulder," she purred his name, he had
no idea she could purr, "that I might be
turned on by your forehead? I might even find
it," she gave him her best elevator eyes before
continuing, "hot."

He smiled, he could never resist her, "Scully,"
he warned lightly, "don't do this."

She reached out, pushed his hair away and began
to gently massage the lines of his brow.
"Really Mulder, these worry lines are just
so," she paused before adding huskily, "deep."

His cheeks blazed as he pulled away.  Score one
for Scully.  "Seriously you two, I need to get
some clothes for tomorrow.  It would be
disrespectful to go in my jeans."

Skinner spoke first, "do you mind if I join you
Mulder?"

Mulder recognized an olive branch when he saw
one.  "Okay," he agreed before teasing mildly,
"I'll even call you dad if you let me use your
credit card."

"Sure Mulder, I'll just deduct it from your
account," replied Skinner smugly.

"Scully, you coming," Mulder called from over
his shoulder.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she
answered as she grabbed her purse and followed
them out the door.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

MICHIGAN AVENUE, CHICAGO:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Just wrap it up," instructed Mulder.  The
salesman added the suit to the shoes, socks
and dress shirt Mulder had selected.  He
tossed a pair of Ray Bans on top of the pile
and watched in amusement as Skinner pulled
out his personal credit card.  Serves him
right.  His eyes blurred slightly as he
scanned the area outside the store.  He needed
coffee.

Scully was off in the corner looking at ties.
It would only take a minute to grab a cup.
He slipped out the front of the store.
I'll be back before they even know I'm
gone, Mulder thought.

He handed the store clerk a $5.00 and waited
for his change.  Glancing up he caught the
man's reflection in the mirror behind the
counter.  "Well, well," Mulder mumbled, "I
was wondering when you'd make an appearance."
He ordered a second cup of coffee, turned and
walked directly towards him.

"Hello Alex," Mulder said calmly, "Cup of
coffee?"

Alex couldn't help but grin, he'd known
the exact moment Mulder had spotted him.
Reaching for the cup, he took a slow sip.
Anyone observing the two would assume they
were old friends.

Mulder gestured for him to sit at a nearby
table just out of sight of the store
containing Skinner and Scully.  Eyeing the
younger man wearily, he asked, "what do you
want Alex?"

Alex replied immediately, "you."

Mulder smiled, "Alex, putting my sexual
preferences aside, you're simply not my type.
Too moody," he added.

Krycek grinned meanly, "funny that's exactly
what Scully told me about you."

"She did not," Mulder denied haughtily.

"It's just way too easy to get to you Mulder,"
Krycek chuckled.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I get that a lot.  Either
someone gets to me to kick my ass or maybe
abduct my partner from her home and give her
cancer and, oh yes, mustn't forget that kill
my father thing... yeah you're right Alex,
it's way to easy to get to me."  He sipped
his coffee, thank God for caffeine.

Krycek's lips tightened, when had Mulder gotten
a clue?

Alex relaxed and leaned forward, "I've got a
gun pointed at you Mulder.  Why don't you
very slowly get up and we can leave quietly."

Mulder glanced around at the hundreds of people
surrounding them.  Two options, Krycek would
shoot him and he'd be dead or Krycek would not
shoot him and leave.  Either way he'd be able to
lie down.  He replied strangely calm, "I don't
think so Alex.  I'm done playing this game
with you."

"I'm warning you Mulder, I'll take you down
right here."

"Pull the trigger Alex," Mulder dared, "pull
it now."

Krycek pulled back surprised.  He'd heard rumors
that Mulder was suicidal but had not really
believed them.  At least not until now, "you're
nuts Mulder.  It's true what they say about you,
you are certifiable."

"The truly great ones are," Mulder responded
egotistically.  "Why don't you go back to our
smoking friend and tell him to back off.  You
tell him I'll return when I'm good and ready
and not a moment before.  And," he threatened,
"you tell him when I return it'll be for him."

"I've got a job to do Mulder, why don't you
make it easy on me and tell him yourself."

"Hmmmm, this is a tough choice Alex.  Let's
see, make it easy on Alex or tell Alex to go
FUCK himself, decisions, decisions..." he
mocked mildly.

"Mulder I'm not kidding, either you come with
me now or one of these innocent people might
find themselves caught in the crossfire."

Mulder poked his own weapon against the inside
of Krycek's knee under the table.  Alex sat back
in surprise.  "I have an idea Alex, how about if
I shoot one of your balls off.  It'll match your
arm," he taunted.

Alex pounced over the table all thoughts of
gunfire forgotten.  Right now he wanted to choke
the life out of this bastard with his bare hand.
He had no doubt he could kill Mulder right here,
right now.  Mulder pulled back fast, but not
fast enough.  Alex had somehow managed to get
a solid grip on his throat.  He could feel the
man's fingers tighten, effectively cutting off
all access to air.  Defensively, he stopped
resisting.  Alex loosened his grip slightly
thinking the man had passed out. It was a
mistake. Mulder gasped then shoved Krycek
roughly.  Krycek fell back pulling Mulder
on top of him.  They rolled, oblivious to the
crowd they were attracting, and continued to
pound on each other.  Mulder, feeling himself
begin to weaken, knew he had to end this soon.
He pulled back his head and solidly head butted
Krycek.  The green-eyed man fell back onto the
cold tile slamming the side of his face into
the floor.  Mulder dragged himself off the
ground, walked over to Alex and landed two
solid kicks into the bastard's side.  "Dad
said to say hello," added Mulder before he
turned and left.  Alex Krycek lay in the middle
of a food court of a shopping mall wondering
exactly where he had made his mistake.

He attempted to follow Mulder but found himself
being held down by an elderly woman in a nurse's
uniform, "you stay still young man.  Don't try to
move now," she fussed.  "What is the world coming
to when perfectly healthy men attack the disabled?"
Krycek pulled himself away angrily and stumbled
out the side exit.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mulder straightened his shirt and ran his scraped
hands roughly over his jeans uncaring of the
bloodstains they left. He returned to find a
very worried Scully and an, as usual, angry
Skinner.

"Where were you Mulder," Scully demanded,
immediately spotting his scraped knuckles and
the beginning of a bruise around his neck.

"Coffee," he answered roughly wincing a bit
as he felt his throat close.  "Needed some
caffeine to wake me up," he rasped.

"Did you have to wrestle someone for it Mulder?"
Skinner asked suspiciously.

Mulder directed a wide grin Scully's way and
answered, "no sir, I didn't want to wrestle."

Scully flashed back to that cold Florida night.
"Come on Mulder, let's get back to the room."
Grabbing his arm she pushed him towards
the hotel elevator.  He would tell them what
happened when he was ready.  Until then she
would enjoy the wit and wisdom of Fox
William Mulder.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

MARRIOTT HOTEL ROOM:

>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was just around 5:30pm when they arrived
back in their rooms.  His eyes immediately
focused on his bed.  It literally shouted
at him to lie down.  He was blindly following
orders when he remembered he was not alone.

Scully yawned widely behind him obviously
feeling the effects from her late night flight.
Skinner looked to be feeling the strain as
well. He kneeled slowly in front of the wet bar
and searched for a beer.  "Anybody hungry?" he
asked.

"I could eat," answered Scully.

Mulder shrugged, "I'm not really hungry, you
two go ahead."  He walked to the window and
stared out at the fading daylight.

Skinner and Scully exchanged concerned glances.
Who turned the lights out on Mulder?  In the
mall he had been more the man they remembered
throwing out sarcastic comments as he modeled
various suits.  The act of reentering the room
seemed to have dimmed him somehow, made him
less, less Mulder.  Skinner attributed it to
the circumstances of the last few days.  Scully
was not so sure, she continued to watch him
closely, her thoughts still on Krycek's words.
Perhaps whatever Mulder was exposed to caused
him to have mood swings?  Skinner straightened
and reached for the room service menu, "if you
two don't mind, I'd rather not go out again.
How about some room service?"

Scully smiled her approval, "great idea, sir."

Skinner frowned and asked, "Scully, sir just
doesn't seem to fit this conversation.  Would
you consider calling me Walter for the evening?"

Mulder's head whipped around sharply.  Scully
was actually blushing as she answered, "if you
don't mind, Walter."

"I don't mind, Dana," he grinned.  After all
they'd been through the least they could do was
call each other by their given names.

Mulder had seen enough, he moved from his spot
by the window into the adjoining sitting room.
He snapped up the remote angrily and sprawled
out on the couch feet perched on the coffee
table.  If you don't mind Walter, he mimicked
Scully, completely disgusted.  "Why don't the two
of you just get ANOTHER room and leave me alone,"
he muttered under his breath.  He toed off
his shoes and without further thought of
Skinner, Scully or Krycek stretched out on
the sofa and began to channel surf.

Scully shrugged, seemingly confused. Skinner
smirked, looked like his plan might be
working.  He picked up the phone and
ordered dinner for three.  He was sure
Mulder would eat when he smelled the food.
After all what man could turn down prime rib?

No clearer as to what had just happened, Scully
went to her own room to change.  The tension
between Skinner and Mulder was beginning to
wear on her and she needed a few minutes to
herself.  A mere twenty minutes later she
reappeared, looking barely 21, in soft blue jeans
and a long sleeve knit shirt. Her hair was
pulled back in a pony tail and she had washed
away the day's make up.

Her less formal appearance did nothing to quell
her medical urges.  Unable to contain herself
any longer she went to check on Mulder.  Moving
around to the front of the couch she smiled and
indulged herself with a long stare.  His neck
was bent awkwardly to the side, mouth partially
open with a little trail of drool on the side.
One leg was on the couch while the other hung
over the side of the sofa.  The hand grasping
the remote was, amazingly, still pointing towards
the television, his thumb resting lightly on
the channel select.

>From the other room she heard sounds of their
dinner arriving.  She hesitated to wake him,
his exhaustion was obvious in his every move.
But, knowing Mulder, he'd probably not eaten in
days and he'd need his strength to get him
through tomorrow.  She wavered, he looked
so peaceful.

She decided it was best to let him sleep, if
necessary they could order another meal up
later.  She started to the other room then
stopped, the least she could do was make him a
bit more comfortable.  After all in the
position he was in, he'd wake up with a stiff
neck.  She reached out and pulled his leg down
so it rested next to the other comfortably.
Next she very carefully removed the remote
from his hand smiling slightly as he moaned
its loss in his sleep.  Kneeling now, she
ran her fingertips lightly over his neck
attempting to gently straighten its position.
He awoke suddenly, violently and threw himself
over the back of the couch.  His fingers running
over his face frantically checking for something
known only to him.

"Mulder!" she shouted.

"What the hell..." cursed Skinner as he ran
into the room.  Mulder crouched defensively,
his back to the couch as he surveyed the room
weapon in hand.  Skinner froze not wanting to
startle the disoriented man.  He hadn't
realized Mulder carried a gun, didn't think to
check.  Worse yet, from the look on Mulder's
face, he wondered if Mulder realized he carried
a gun.  Slowly he moved further into the room
gesturing for Scully to stay still. He had seen
similar flashback reactions with some of his
friends.  In truth, he had experienced similar
reactions although never with a loaded gun in
hand.

"Mulder," Skinner soothed as he stepped closer,
"it's me, Skinner.  You're safe here," he
assured.

Mulder's hand shook as he pointed the gun at
Skinner. His eyes were cloudy, unfocused and he
continued to run his free hand over his face
and neck.  Clearly he was lost someplace
extremely uncomfortable.

"Mulder," Scully called from behind.  He
turned and pointed the gun towards her. "Mulder,
it's me Scully.  It's okay, you're safe here.
Mulder, please wake up," she pleaded.  His eyes
became confused and his arm dipped slightly.
The distraction was all Skinner needed.  With
Mulder's attention on Scully, he moved behind
the dazed man and reached for his gun, forcing
his arm down so it pointed toward the floor.
Mulder tensed and Skinner expected his temper
to explode at any moment.  Instead, Mulder
relaxed his arm and dropped the gun the few
extra inches to the ground.  Skinner snatched
it up and removed the ammunition.  Another minute
passed before Mulder blinked.  The first thing
he noticed was his gun in Skinner's hand.  He
reached over and snatched it back shoving it
into his waistband.  No longer loaded, Skinner
decided to let him keep it.  Mulder apologized
calmly, as though it was a normal thing to
wake up on the attack.  "Sorry," he rubbed
at his chin and neck roughly, "for a minute,
I thought I was somewhere else."

"Where?" Skinner asked.

Mulder stepped back, unsure how to respond.
"It doesn't matter," he answered evasively.
"Is that dinner I smell?"

"Where," Skinner repeated, "where were you
Mulder that you needed a gun to protect
Yourself?"

Mulder shuddered as he remembered the black
creatures that twisted and turned beneath his
skin.  He was not ready to talk about this so,
using a classic Mulder technique, he attacked.
"For Christ's Sake, Sir," he mocked, "take
your pick.  When am I not someplace I need a
gun to protect myself?"

He walked into the other room praying they
would let the subject drop.  He wasn't up to
this right now, in fact he didn't think he'd
ever be up to discussing that.  What was the
point?  If he was infected with a cancer there
was little to be done about it.  He'd watched
everything they had put Scully through and knew
this type of treatment, the endless poking and
prodding was not for him.  He was willing to
roll the dice and take his chances.  The food
looked good though, he thought, eyeing the
salads and rolls.  Skinner and Scully had
joined him now and watched in silence as he
picked out his meal.

"Mulder, this doesn't have anything to do with
what you were exposed to in Russia, does it?"
asked Scully.  She watched his reaction
closely.  She had to know if Krycek lied.

Mulder's eyes widened in horror, how did she
know?  She couldn't know!  "Scully, I-I don't
know what you're talking about.  I wasn't
exposed to anything in Russia except really bad
food," he joked lamely.

Krycek hadn't lied.  "Mulder, tell me the
truth," demanded Scully.

Skinner looked between his two agents unsure as
to what they were discussing.  He remembered
the time Mulder had traveled with Krycek but
what was Scully talking about?

"There's nothing to tell Scully, drop it," he
answered coldly.

"Fine Mulder, if you don't want to discuss it,
just say so," Scully offered, realizing
any more pushing on her side would only be met
with more resistance.

"Fine," he answered, more sharply than intended,
"I don't want to talk about it."  He reached
over and pulled the metal cover off a steaming
plate.  Prime Rib and a baked potato met his
stunned gaze.  He quickly replaced the cover
and instead selected a dinner salad, several
rolls and an iced tea.  He balanced the food
carefully as he headed back towards the couch.

"Mulder," Scully scolded, "you need to eat."

Mulder stopped and turned towards her careful
not to drop the rolls that teetered atop his
salad bowl.  He shrugged and replied, "this is
plenty, Scully, I'm not really hungry."

Skinner sat down at the table and pulled a
plate from the tray.  "Well, at least join us
Mulder.  Since you don't want to talk
about your world travels, you could tell us
about your experience teaching.  Did you
enjoy it?"

Scully sat down next to Skinner and joined in
the let's patronize Mulder game.  "Come on
Mulder, tell us all about it?"

He hesitated, he knew they were just trying to
keep him in the room, get him talking.  Tonight
though, after the events of the last few days,
he felt too raw, too exposed to play games.
He sighed, it's just dinner Mulder. They can't
commit you for eating a salad.

He reluctantly walked back towards the table
and took a seat.  Head down, he began to pick
at the lettuce.  It was not very appealing but,
of everything on the table, he found it the
least offensive.  Just the thought of a
heavy meal turned his stomach.

"So," asked Skinner, "how was the life of a
teacher?"

He continued to push the lettuce around with
his fork. "Fine, it was fine," he replied.

Scully pushed, "come on Mulder, I saw you with
those kids, you were great. Tell us about
them."

He placed the fork on the table and reached for
the roll.  Nervously he began picking at it,
tearing off small pieces and nibbling on them
absently.  "There's not much to tell.  They all
have lives that are," he paused noticeably,
"difficult.  Some live on the streets, some
live in condemned buildings, many in subsidized
housing."  Warming to his subject his eyes
filled with pride as he thought of them.
"Some have been abused either emotionally
or physically and some still are."  He
sobered and pushed himself back into his
chair.  "Yet they survive and beyond that
they," he stumbled here as though just
discovering some deep mystery, "they seemed
to like me and, and really appreciated my
help."  Skinner fork froze at his comment.
Was it possible Mulder didn't feel his
work was appreciated?  Mulder tore off a
larger chunk of bread and chewed it
thoughtfully before continuing.  "You
should have heard their theories on JFK's
assassination," he smiled widely, "I swear
Maria had it all figured out."  He looked
directly at Skinner and joked, "you should
hire her, she'd be perfect for the X-Files."

Skinner shook his head, "sorry Mulder, I
only have one opening in the X-Files and
I'm holding it for an extremely qualified
candidate..."

"Who I hope will come back soon," Scully added
hopefully. "It's tough working those cases
alone, Mulder."

Mulder looked from Scully to Skinner, what were
they thinking?  "Scully, you should not be
working any case alone," he stated angrily.
"And you sir," pointing his finger insolently
in Skinner's direction, "you should know
better than to send her out on her own.
It's not safe!"  He stood now, all thoughts
of food abandoned.

"Now who's treating who like a child," replied
Scully.  She was furious that he did not feel
she was capable of working on her own.  "What
about you Mulder?  When I disappeared, I heard
stories of you refusing to work with a partner
and going off on your own.  What makes this
different?"

Skinner continued to eat his dinner, he was
becoming used to the emotional roller coaster
ride they all appeared to be on.  He decided
to let Mulder's accusation go unanswered as
he dug into his baked potato.  Surely Scully
could handle things from here.

Mulder paced the room, "Scully, that was
different," he defended.

She stepped in front of him effectively
blocking his next step.  "How was that
different from this?  I was gone, you worked.
You're gone, I need to work."

"But Scully," he whispered, "when you were gone
the X-Files were all I had.  You have," waving
his arms widely, "everything.  Don't put all
that at risk for some cases."

"Define 'everything,' Mulder?" she asked, genuinely
curious as to how Mulder saw her.

Exasperated, he attempted to push by her and
leave the room.  She would not allow it.
Blocking his path, she mirrored his every move.
"Define 'everything,' Mulder," she insisted.

He sighed heavily and looked to Skinner for
help.  "Mind if I use your sour cream Mulder?"
he asked innocently.

Mulder scowled before answering, "everything
Scully, everything is you!  You have friends,
you have family, you have your faith and you
have a career you love.  People care about you,
Scully and you too, sir," he added turning
toward Skinner who was now giving Mulder his
full attention. "They respect you both."  He
pulled in a deep ragged breath attempting to
control the anger and self-pity that had
suddenly surfaced.

Scully was stunned, this was how he saw her?
And if this was how he saw her then how did he
see himself?  When he came in everyday was he
constantly reminded of everything he felt he
was not?  And how, after all these years,
could she not have understood his feelings?
She turned away from him and covered her face
with her hands.  She did not want him to
see her tears.

Skinner remained at the table shocked by
Mulder's words.  As much as he wanted to join
the conversation, now was not the time.  They
needed to settle this.  Later would be his turn
to clear the air with Mulder.

Mulder, seeing her tears, groaned in
frustration and guilt.  He grabbed her
shoulders and pulled her roughly to him.
"Scully, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you
cry."  Nudging his chin gently into her hair
he begged, "please Scully, please don't cry
I don't...I can't..."  Scully's tears were
his breaking point, his control disappeared.
He pulled her to him tightly and sobbed into
the security of her shoulder.

In only a moment the tables had turned.  Scully
now held him, caressing his neck gently and
cooing her forgiveness.  Skinner left the
room, closing the door behind him.

She led him to the bed and, as he weakly
attempted to resist, pushed him down. She
flipped off her shoes and shoved several
pillows against the headboard.  Mulder lay,
curled into himself, with his back to her.
His sobbing was painfully silent and she
felt her own stomach clench with his every
gasp for air.  She pushed her back up
against the pillows and pulled him into her
lap.  He did not resist, just curled himself
into a fetal position and hid his face in
her lap. She felt his every breath, his
every movement.  "I'm sorry Mulder, I didn't
understand.  I'm so sorry," she repeated
over and over.

Eventually, he slept wrapped tightly around her
small frame.  Long after it was necessary she
continued to hold him, to stroke his hair, his
neck, his shoulders.  This man was so
complicated. Amazingly brilliant with a sense
of humor that could only have developed from
great pain and endurance.  A compassionate man,
a man who cared for everyone but himself.  He
was a gift and she and Skinner had both
overlooked him and his needs for too long. Her
hands lingered over his shoulders before
traveling down his arms.  Oh yes, Mulder
had definitely been working out.  He was
nowhere near the bulk of Skinner, much
slimmer but still incredibly appealing.

Whoa Dana, where had that come from?  She
pulled her hands away from him guiltily.
Christ, she'd have to go to confession for the
thought that just flashed through her mind.
She'd never, well almost never looked at Mulder
this way.  Why now? she asked.  Did it take
losing Mulder to realize how much she wanted
him?  Or was it simply that Mulder didn't want
her that caused her to want him so badly?  In
the end, would having Mulder be worth the loss
of the life she eventually planned to lead?
Enough, thought Scully, she would not allow
herself these type of thoughts.  They were here
to help Mulder, not seduce him.

She carefully crept from the bed.  Turning, she
allowed herself another lingering look. God he
was beautiful when he slept, the face of an
angel albeit a fallen one. She closed her eyes
in embarrassment, still appalled by the
direction her mind had wandered.  Leaning over
him, she removed his shoes and loosened the
collar of his shirt. She allowed herself one
last check before leaving the room to join
Skinner.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Skinner turned from his post at the window,
"how is he?"

She shrugged, "he's sleeping now.  I think it
all just caught up with him, he just couldn't
hold it in anymore."

"Nor should he have to," reminded Skinner.

"Nor should he have to," she agreed.  She
stepped closer to Skinner and spoke, her
voice barely above a whisper.  "I had no
idea that was how he saw me."  Shaking
her head she added, "why does he think so
little of himself?"

Skinner responded sadly, "maybe because,
in his eyes, he thinks everyone thinks so
little of him and his ideas."

Scully bit her lower lip as she looked over
her shoulder towards Mulder's door.  "Considering
he's a genius, he's not very smart."

Skinner smiled and nodded his agreement.

"Sir, I mean, Walter...."  Scully began.

"Yes, Dana," he answered kindly.

"Are you going to be okay with him tonight?  If
you like we can switch rooms," she offered
hopefully.

"No Scully," he refused, "you need your sleep
too.  If I have any problems, I promise to wake
you."

"Well okay then," she walked towards her door,
then turned, "you're sure?  It's really no
problem."

"To bed Scully," he ordered, "get some rest."

To Skinner's amazement she actually pouted but
did as told.  She moved quietly into her own
room and closed the door behind her.

Skinner looked from her door to Mulder's and
considered his own position.  Since Mulder had
left he had developed, if possible, an even
deeper admiration for Scully.  Another time,
another place he would have pursued this woman.
He stepped into the darkened bedroom, and then
there was Mulder.

This boy---no, this man was, a paradox.  An
outstanding agent, his skills in VCS still
unsurpassed, the man had no idea he was already
a legend.  Yet he chose a path that often
brought him ridicule, pain and great personal
loss.  He could have had it all and yet chose
to have nothing.

Skinner moved to stand over the sleeping
figure.  Mulder lay on his stomach, arms
wrapped tightly around his pillow.  Only the
left side of his face was visible from within
his fluffy sanctuary.  He leaned in to examine
Mulder's hands more closely.  What the hell
had happened back in the mall?  Was it
possible Mulder had actually dealt with
Krycek on his own in the middle of the
mall in front of hundreds!   Impossible,
he thought, as he left Mulder's side to shower.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

The classroom was empty so late in the day.
He'd stayed to finish the final grades for
the quarter.  So engrossed in his work was he
that he did not notice the darkness that
descended upon the room.

"Mr. Waters," a small childlike voice called,
"Mr. Waters, please help us."

He searched the classroom shadows and saw
Chante standing in a darkened corner near
the back of the room.

"Chante," he scolded not unkindly, "what are
you doing here so late?"  He stood and moved
closer to her.

"Mr. Henry," her voice noticeably anxious,
"please help him."

With every step forward she seemed to retreat,
"help whom Chante?"  He reached out his hands
to her. It seemed his every step forward moved
her further away.

She stepped towards him then, face pale white,
eyes unseeing and he retreated in horror when
he saw the jagged neck wound.  She was nearly
decapitated!

"Chante," he moaned, "oh God Chante, I didn't
know.  I couldn't get to you in time."

"Help him, Mr. Waters," she pleaded pushing the
small bundle into his arms.  Her message
delivered she faded into the dark corner.  He
looked down to find Michael.&