by Dean Warner and Tim Helbing
xangst@marina-pt.com and thelbing@indiana.edu
 

Okay, kids, so... we wrote this before Avatar... Can
you tell <smirk>?
Forget all you learned in that one, okay <g>?

Also, you can write to either Tim or myself about
this one, but, as Tim's going to Alaska for the
summer, where he will be, sadly, emailless, he
probably won't get your message until late August at
the earliest.

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

Standard XA disclaimer applies.

Many thanks to Barb of the Myth Patrol for her
medical advice and editing suggestions.

Author's note, DEAN: Thanks to Tim for, first,
letting me borrow Mike Reynolds (a truly *sexy*
character <cheek>), and second, joining me in
writing this once I realised that I could never get
Mike right on my own <g>. Oh, and thanks to CC,
and to the fans who convinced him that Skinner
needed to be a greater part of the X-Files
mythology.

Author's note, TIM: I agree with Dean about
Skinner, he is indeed a interesting character and has
his own stories to tell within the X-files universe.
Thanks to Dean for letting me co-write this story
with her, it's been a blast.  Mike is my creation and
I've come to enjoy writing about him more than
Mulder and Scully. (heresy I know, but it's
true.<G>)

***************
Opening the Door
by Dean Warner
(xangst@marina-pt.com)
and Tim Helbing
(thelbing@indiana.edu)

Part one

Outside of Baltimore, MA
11:21 pm
Thursday

Mulder absolutely hated drug busts. They always
consisted of hours of waiting around in the dark,
followed by minutes of deadly confrontation. This
one, however, was different.
   He had been a bit surprised when Skinner had
attended the DEA briefing earlier that evening, but
he was even more surprised when the AD donned a
regulation bullet-proof vest and joined the team that
was headed toward the former medical clinic, which
had recently been proven to be yet another
do-it-yourself speed factory. The AD wasn't known
for joining in on busts like this, and the fact that he
had made Mulder wonder whether this was a more
important bust than he'd suspected.
   He surveyed the spotty lawn that covered the fifty
yards of space between the team and the old
building. It was a three level hospital, with a four
level tower attached, that tower surmounted by a
helipad. There were few lights showing, but the
DEA's previous recon had shown that the drug
makers had kept their labs to the interior rooms so
as not to draw attention to the building. It would
take a long time to sweep the entire place, even with
the sixty or more agents in this combined taskforce.
   Still, they couldn't do anything until the final
players showed up. Brad Chandler was the reputed
leader of the drug ring. A respected pharmacologist,
Chandler had discovered a new compound which
increased the impact of speed on the human body,
and had been selling this compound to the highest
bidders--and those bids were astoundingly high.
   Letting the building be for the moment, Mulder
glanced over at the leader of this operation. Max
Held was a tall thin man, more like an accountant
than a DEA taskforce leader. He had greeted
Skinner like a long-lost brother, and the two
crouched now behind a tree, waiting for Held's men
at the gate to inform them of Chandler's arrival. The
ringleader had a set schedule, apparently. He never
arrived at the complex after eleven-thirty, and
generally spent the entire night there. Once he was
inside the gates, the party would begin in earnest.
   Watching the two men, Mulder wondered whether
Skinner might not just be sick of being stuck behind
a desk. He was a vigorous man, and seemed a very
unlikely bureaucrat. Maybe Mulder was making
more of this than there was. It wasn't written
anywhere that an Assistant Director couldn't take
part in the occasional field operation.
   Any further musing was interrupted by a staticky
chirruping from Held's portable radio. The voice on
the other end was a study in controlled excitement.
"Chandler's just arrived, sir."
   "All right," Held murmured, excited himself.
Mulder wondered at men who could actually enjoy
this sort of thing. Held brought the radio to his lips,
and Mulder heard the muted echo of his voice in the
next unit's radio, as Held whispered quietly. "Teams
one and four, move to block off the entrances. All
other teams, let's move in."

The building was in chaos. The drug makers ran
toward what few safe spots they thought they could
find, as the combined DEA and FBI teams bore
down on them. Mulder lost track of his partner
almost immediately in the melee, and followed after
Skinner and Held as their team pursued Chandler
and his henchmen, who were making for the rear
stairwell.
   Mulder was almost insulted by the fact that, after
sprinting up three floors of stairs, the two older men
were barely winded. He obviously had to up his own
training schedule.
   They burst out onto the lower roof in time to see
Chandler scramble up the short ladder toward the
helipad. That was when they heard the approaching
helicopter. Held cursed roundly and poured on more
speed as he zigzagged quickly toward the ladder,
dodging the few bullets Chandler's bodyguards
bothered to send their way.
   The younger agent, now well-winded, was halfway
up the ladder, with Dave Brophy, another of the
borrowed FBI agents, just ahead of him, when he
heard a muffled curse from above, and saw a dark
form slide past him toward the lower roof. He
glanced down quickly, but kept up the ascent. At the
top, he found Held and the rest of his small group
glaring up at the retreating chopper. One young
DEA agent shot determinedly at the rapidly rising
fusilage, more out of anger than any hope of
stopping them. It took Mulder a moment to realise
that Skinner was the one man missing. He ran for
the ladder, though Held and another of his men were
already well on their way down.
   Held cursed as he checked his old friend's throat
for a pulse. No pulse, no breathing... He gestured to
Mulder, who happened to be the nearest agent, and
the younger man dropped to his knees beside the
AD's head, breathing into the man's mouth in time to
Held's chest compressions.
   Brophy, whose communications training had taken
over almost immediately, grabbed the radio out of
Held's belt pouch and called down to the other
teams, looking for the nearest doctor he knew of.
"This is Brophy. We're on the roof, and we've got an
emergency up here. Somebody get hold of Scully
and get her up here, now!"
   The radio crackled slightly and a very young voice
replied. "Scully's down, Broph. We've got
emergency teams on their way."
   Held watched angrily as Mulder hestitated for just
a moment, before resuming breathing for the
Assistant Director. Brophy, however, was all too
familiar with Mulder and Scully's mutual
over-protectiveness, and moved quickly to take over
for the older agent, who simply nodded his thanks
and ran for the stairwell.

Baltimore Municipal Hospital
3:30 am
Friday

The lone doctor who approached the waiting room
was suddenly surrounded by five very tired, very
intense agents. He backed off slightly, as Held
pushed the others back with a look. The doctor was
considerably less nervous as the older man came
forward alone and asked quietly. "How are they?"
   "Farley, Katz, and Dennis are fine. They'll be
released later this morning." He smiled slightly at the
sighs of relief from the agents' partners. "Agent
Scully's still in serious condition. The bullet did a bit
of damage--nicked the femoral artery-- and she's lost
a lot of blood, but she should be fine." Mulder didn't
dare breathe his sigh of relief until he'd heard what
he knew would be the worst of it. "Mr. Skinner is
still unconscious, though he's breathing on his own
and seems to be stablised." The doctor became more
serious as his gaze shifted between Held and
Mulder, who were obviously the two most heavily
invested in this particular patient. "We're concerned
about the severity of his concussion... We'll just have
to wait for a while now."
   Held nodded, asking if he could see his old friend.
Mulder was directed to Scully's room, and the other
agents dispersed to find their own partners.

5:15 am

Scully hated anesthia. She seemed to rediscover this
loathing every time she woke up from the stuff, as if,
after each experience, her mind did its best to forget
how unpleasant it was to wake up with that drugged
haze.
   She turned her head to see Mulder sitting exactly
where he should be, in the chair next to her bed. He
smiled crookedly at her, and she returned the all too
familiar silent greeting.
   "How you feeling?" he asked quietly.
   "Fuzzy," she replied, hissing painfully as she tried
to pull herself into a sitting position. Mulder grabbed
the bed controls and raised the bed a bit. Not too
much--he knew from experience that lying flat was
the best thing at this point.
   She closed her eyes for a moment, waiting for the
worst of the pain to pass before she asked in a wan
little voice. "How'd the *rest* of the bust go?"
   Mulder sighed. "Not great. Five injuries, and
Chandler and Guland got away." He didn't really
want to tell her the next part, but she was going to
find out sooner or later--probably sooner--and she'd
kill him for his overprotectiveness if he didn't.
"Skinner's one of the wounded," he said, with all the
quiet seriousness he could.
   Scully knew him well enough to know that
Skinner was pretty bad off for him to use that tone
of voice. "How bad?"
   "Chandler and Guland and their group were
headed for the helipad. Our group was headed up
the ladder toward them and someone up there got
off a lucky shot. The bullet hit his vest, but the force
of it knocked him off the ladder... It's about thirty
feet down."
   Scully was silent for a moment. "Skull fracture?"
she surmised.
   Mulder shook his head. "Surprisingly, no. Broke
his arm when he landed, but no skull damage. Just
one very serious concussion."
   She nodded tiredly, still a little sleepy from the
drugs, and Mulder grasped her hand lightly. "Get
some sleep. I have to go to the office, but I'll be
back later."
   Scully wanted to thank him--as usual--for being
there when she woke up, but she was already falling
asleep...

J. Edgar Hoover Building
11:45 am

Mulder stared at the files before him, trying to force
himself to put them into some kind of coherent
report, but his mind wasn't focusing. With two of the
drug ring's leaders still on the loose, it was
imperative that they try to get as much information
out of the files they'd confiscated as they could--and
quickly. Drug dealers were notoriously bad losers,
and Mulder didn't think Chandler was above trying
to pay back the government for the inconvience
they'd caused him.
   He was wondering how the other agents were
getting along, when Dave Brophy walked into his
office, sighing loudly. "Hey, Mulder. How's your
partner?"
   "She'll be okay, Dave, thanks. D'you get anything
from the prisonners?"
   Brophy shook his head angrily. "A little, but this
guy Chandler's got some major hold on them.
They're still terrified of him."
   Mulder nodded. No big suprise there. Chandler
had a lot of power, even with his current fugitive
status. Which made it just that much more important
that he actually get some work done on these files.
   Brophy watched him for a couple of minutes while
he tried to concentrate. Then, the younger man
chuckled.
   "What?" Mulder asked, a little irritated.
   Brophy broke into a smile. "You're not getting
anything done, Mulder," he said gently. "Go hover
over your partner for a while, okay?" He gathered
up the files under Mulder's nose. "I'll give these to
those oh-so-intense DEA guys that are camped out
upstairs."
   Mulder started to protest, but Brophy was already
halfway out the door with the files. The older agent
let out a little chuckle of his own, and grabbed his
jacket.

Baltimore Municipal Hospital
12:15 pm
Monday

Mulder followed his usual path these days, stopping
in ICU to check on Skinner's condition, before going
on to Scully's room to update her.
   "Hey," he said quietly. She looked a lot better,
sitting up finally in her hospital bed and flipping
television channels in boredom.
   "Hey," she replied, in a voice that made him slow
down slightly. He knew it well--the
I'm-so-sick-of-being-stuck-here Scully voice. He sat
down with a sigh. "Itching to get out already?" he
joked carefully.
   That always worked. She seemed to relax
immediately, giving him an apologetic smile. "Sorry.
Mom was in earlier, and you know how she moans
over this stuff."
   Mulder smiled in return, and they fell silent for a
moment, as Scully finally chanced on an old Three
Stooges movie and sat back to watch. "Well," she
mused philosophically, "at least I'll be mobile in a
day or so." She grimaced immediately. "Even if it is
a wheelchair."
   "You're lucky," Mulder reminded her. "I was stuck
in a bed for a week before they let *me* have a
wheelchair."
   Scully smiled at that, if faintly. She laughed silently
as she realised that they were now likely to have
matching scars. She shifted with another grimace
and asked the daily question. "How's Skinner?"
   Mulder shrugged diffidently. "He's still
unconscious."
   She nodded worriedly. The longer he took to
wake up, the more she worried about just how much
trauma had been done to his brain. "How's the
investigation going?"
   He brightened slightly at that. "We've got a lead
on him, at least. DEA's going to take it from here,
but they should have him soon."
   Scully was none too sure of that. Chandler seemed
to be naturally slippery. And he had a lot of
resources at his disposal. He was just as likely to
disappear forever as he was to get caught and
charged. She smiled suddenly as Mulder seemed to
get into the film on the grainy television before
them. At least she could sit and watch a movie with
him for a couple of hours before going back to the
terminal boredom that she was trapped in while flat
on her back.

Baltimore Municipal Hospital
2:15 pm
Tuesday

Mulder headed straight for Scully's room today,
running late, as usual. She was wheelchair-ready
now, and he had suggested that they go out and race
around the grounds. It was hardly exciting, but it
would put her in a better mood than sitting in her
hospital bed all day.
   He was a little worried when she wasn't in her
room, but figured she'd gotten tired of waiting for
him, and had gone out on her own. She had very
little patience for his tardiness these days.
   He headed toward the elevators,  walking past the
nurses' station as he went. A familiar nurse stopped
him. "Are you looking for Ms. Scully?"
   "Yeah," he replied with a smile. "Once you get her
mobile, you can never keep track of her."
   The girl smiled in return. She'd gotten to really like
Dana Scully in the past few days. She was one of the
few doctors she knew who actually made a good
patient. "She was talking this morning about going
up to see her boss. Maybe you should look for her
there."

Mulder entered the ICU just in time to see Scully
exiting Skinner's room. She looked a little shaken,
even from this distance, and he was surprised to see
a group of hospital workers wheeling the AD rapidly
out of the room and toward the elevators.
   "What's going on?" he asked quietly, more worried
by the look on her face than by the speed with which
their boss was being transferred.
   Scully's voice was small. "They think he's got
some cranial bleeding," she told him evenly. "They're
going to run some tests, but it'll probably mean
surgery."

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

To: XA, stories
From: xangst@marina-pt.com (Dean Warner)
Subject: NF> Opening the Door 2/9
Cc:
Bcc:
X-Attachments:

****************
Opening the Door
by Dean Warner
(xangst@marina-pt.com)
and Tim Helbing
(thelbing@indiana.edu)

Part Two

Baltimore Municipal Hospital
9:49 pm
Tuesday

Scully glanced at her partner once again, and cursed
herself for doing it. Now she was making *him*
nervous. But she still couldn't forget this afternoon.
She'd felt almost free, rolling around the halls in her
wheelchair, laughing silently that a woman who ran
five miles a day "just for fun," would feel free in a
metal chair. She had slid herself carefully into the
elevator, smiling pleasantly at a young doctor who
politely asked her floor, and wondering if Mulder
was ever going to show up.
   The ICU was a place she'd never liked. She'd liked
it even less when she'd woken up there more than a
year and a half ago to find that she'd lost three
months of her life--and very nearly her life itself.
Still, today, it didn't seem so bad. She'd talked to
Skinner's doctor this morning--a woman who'd
become almost a friend in the last few days--and was
told that Skinner seemed to be getting ready to
finally wake up. Scully, who still remembered,
keenly, waking from her coma to a face she didn't
know, wanted to be there when he woke.
   He was still just lying there, not at all as he had
been when he'd been shot earlier in the year. Then
he'd at least seemed to be *there*, but now... He
breathed shallowly, rhythmically, with no struggle,
no fight. She rolled her wheelchair up to his bed,
almost idly grabbing his medical chart as she went.
   He'd been so lucky, really. Thirty feet was one
Hell of a drop. He'd been lucky he hadn't cracked his
head wide open. Still, he wasn't doing well, and she
hoped that he'd wake up soon, so they could begin
to assess the kind of damage that had been done.
   She sat for a long moment after that thought had
drifted out of her mind, thinking of nothing, really.
Just waiting.
   She almost hadn't noticed when his eyes had
fluttered open, roaming a little too aimlessly. They
slammed shut almost immediately, protesting against
even the scant light that was allowed to filter into
the room.
   Scully levered herself up carefully, leaning against
the bed's railing as she bent her head over. "Sir?" she
called quietly.
   His eyes snapped open again, and she could
instantly see that something was very wrong. She
couldn't hit that nurse's button fast enough. A short
young woman was at the door in an instant. "Get a
doctor, immediately," Scully commanded, using her
best authoratative voice.
   She didn't bother to explain, and the young woman
didn't bother to ask, she just dashed to the nurse's
station and sent out a call.
   Scully had stayed next to him, talking to him,
while the doctor looked him over, and ordered some
tests. He seemed to be able to hear her, but he didn't
seem to understand what she was saying, and while
he made an attempt to speak, nothing coherent came
out. Scully heard the doctor making plans to take
him downstairs for a CT scan, and Scully had a
sinking feeling about what they might find: subdural
hematoma--bleeding around the brain. She'd lowered
herself slowly back into her wheelchair and rolled
quickly out of the way as they prepped him for the
scan. There wasn't anything else she could do, so
she'd simply gotten out of their way and worried.

Which was basically where she was now. Mulder
had taken her back down to her own room to wait,
and an hour later, a nurse had come in to confirm
Scully's fears. They were just going into surgery to
try to stop the bleeding in the layers of tissue that
surrounded his brain. Since then, Scully and Mulder
had been sitting here, talking occassionally, while the
surgery seemed to go on and on.
   Mulder caught her staring at him again. He had an
idea of how dangerous this bleeding was, but she, of
necessity, knew a lot more, which put a lot more of
the worrying burden on her.
   He mused silently that she seemed to be pretty
worried about Skinner--maybe more worried than
she would be under normal circumstances. He had
realised that, after everything that had happened in
the last year, they had both developed an interesting
over-protectiveness toward their superior. He was
almost one of their team, now.
   Still, she seemed almost...
   He shook his head ruefully at that thought, telling
himself again that his partner's relationship with
Skinner was none of his business--regardless of how
interested he might be in the subject.
   "What?" Scully asked suddenly, shaking him from
his reverie. She was watching him carefully now.
   "Nothing," he shrugged easily. "Just wondering
when we're going to know something."
   Skinner's doctor appeared at the door just then,
saving Mulder from the Scully Look that was
threatening. The doctor looked very tired, though
she had changed into clean scrubs, and had
obviously made an attempt to clean herself up.
"Well," she said simply, "He's through it."
   "How did it go?" Scully asked, the doctor in her
taking over automatically.
   The surgeon shrugged. "We'll see. He'll be awake
sometime later this evening, probably." She surveyed
the exhausted agents before her. "Look," she began
apologetically. "I know that neither of you has
gotten a lot of rest lately, and I hate to ask, but..."
She hurried on immediately. "I can, uh, I can set up
a couple of cots in the room, and..."
   Scully just nodded, answering Mulder's slightly
confused look. "They want to make sure someone
he knows is there when he wakes up," she said
quietly, starting the process of levering her damaged
leg out of the bed. "It makes it easier to tell..."
   She didn't finish the phrase, but she didn't have to.
Mulder knew they were talking brain damage. It was
just a question of how much.

2:34 am
Wednesday

Skinner woke silently, his eyes opening catiously to
a nearly-dark room. He hurt *everywhere*. His
head, his arm... His left thigh felt like it was on fire,
it hurt so much. His head hurt so, that it took him a
minute to realise that someone was talking to him.
   "Sir?" the voice came again, "Sir, can you hear
me? It's Agent Scully."
   His eyes took a minute to respond to him, but they
slowly slid around to reveal the young redhead, who
seemed to be leaning rather painfully against his
hospital bed.
   "Scully," he rasped quietly. "Sit down. You're
making my leg hurt just looking at you."
   With a smile, and a very pain-filled grunt, she sat
back in a wheelchair next to his bed, her left leg now
resting comfortably in the wheelchair's prop. "How
are you feeling?" she asked, still keeping her voice
low.
   Skinner almost smiled at that. It was one of those
stupid questions that they asked on bad television
medical shows. He put a hand gingerly to his head,
and figured that, given the bandages that covered his
skull, he probably looked like he belonged on one of
them.
   Scully smiled at his grimace. "Don't worry. It
doesn't look all that silly."
   "Good," Skinner grunted, as much his old self as
he could be, under the circumstances. "I'd hate to
ruin my image."
   "If you mean your grumpy-bureaucrat image, it's
pretty safe," Mulder said from the other side of the
bed. Skinner turned to him, almost a little angry.
What was this? Were they babysitting him?
   Mulder seemed almost to read his mind. "Sorry,
sir. It's doctor's orders, really." He looked up at the
door. "Speaking of which..."
   A very good-looking young lady in surgical scrubs
walked in from the door, a tired smile on her face,
and a cup of coffee in her hand. She smiled wider as
she followed Skinner's gaze. "Trust me, Mr.
Skinner, coffee is not going to be on your menu for
a long time."
   Scully almost blushed. She was fairly sure that the
cup of coffee, which the doctor held just in front of
her chest, *wasn't* what Skinner was after.
   "Okay, Mr. Skinner," the doctor said as she set her
coffee down, suddenly all business. "Now that
you've finally decided to wake up, why don't we play
a game of twenty questions."
   She ran through the standard questions: What's
your full name, How old are you, What year is it...
He was pretty bored after just those three, but he
simply put up with it. After a couple more questions,
the doctor suddenly smiled very winningly at him.
"I'm sorry, I know this is boring... Why don't you tell
me how you came to be in the hospital?"
   Skinner was just the tiniest bit confused. He
remembered bits and pieces of some sort of bust...
And Max Held... And--he had a sudden flash of a
body falling past in the darkness, and it all started to
click. "We were going after Chandler... We reached
the helipad, and--" he looked to Mulder at this point
for confirmation-- "I got shot...?" This last was a
question, and Mulder nodded in agreement.
   The doctor bobbed her head in satisfaction,
noticing that Skinner's eyelids were starting to
droop. "Tell you what, Mr. Skinner, we're going to
leave and let you get some sleep, okay?"
   Skinner nodded tiredly, though, with all the
strange thoughts running around in his head, he
wasn't sure that he *could* sleep. There was
something strange going on--something he couldn't
quite put his finger on. Still, as the trio walked and
rolled out of his room, his mind seemed immediately
to quiet, and he found it very easy to sleep. Even the
pain in his leg was beginning to ease off...

His surgeon had a strange look on her face as they
left the room, a look that Scully mirrored. Mulder
looked back and forth between them. "What?"
   "It's... unusual... for a person with his kind of
injury to remember events that close to the time of
injury," the doctor replied. Her face got a slightly
resigned look, which immediately transmuted to a
frown. "His injury just seems too severe for that
kind of recall." She looked at Mulder, then down at
Scully. "Could one of you stay here? He's not under
sedation right now, and if he wakes up again, I'd like
to be able to find out how much he really
remembers. He could have just been putting
together clues that his intact memories gave him."
   Scully nodded, looking to her partner, whose eyes
darted to her injured leg worriedly. "I can spend a
boring sleepless night in any hospital room, Mulder,"
she assured him. "Besides, I'll just get situated on
that low cot they brought in. I've slept on worse."

11:56 am
Wednesday

Skinner felt a good deal better when he woke again.
His head still throbbed, but it wasn't nearly as bad as
it had been. He looked around sleepily, not terribly
surprised to see Scully sitting in a wheelchair beside
his bed. He smiled tightly at her. "Still babysitting?"
   Her face lit prettily as she readjusted her bandaged
leg, which only served to remind Skinner that his
own leg was now throbbing again. "Mulder's the one
who generally needs babysitting, sir."
   He looked down at her leg questioningly, and she
grimaced. "Lucky shot from one of the drug dealers.
I'm beginning to feel like I'll be in this wheelchair
forever."
   Skinner nodded absently, but he was suddenly
taken by an image that had popped into his head. A
dark corridor, the flash of a gunshot, a pain in his
leg... He shook his head to clear it, and immediately
had to fend off a wave of concern from Scully. Was
this what she was like with Mulder? No wonder the
guy hated being in the hospital!
   "I'm fine, Agent Scully," he said pointedly. She
seemed to want to differ with him, but he didn't give
her the chance. "Now that that *other* doctor isn't
around, do you want to tell me what happened?"
   "What do you remember, Sir?" she asked
worriedly.
   He thought about that a minute, sifting through a
number of confusing memories. "I remember... Max
Held had a bust going, and he wanted some extra
manpower." She nodded him on. "We were...
waiting for Chandler to show up..." He shook his
head again, as his memories seemed to double back
on themselves. "He made a--a run for the helipad...
When we got to the top of the stairs, we could hear
the helicopter coming...I remember wondering how
Max could sprint accross the roof like that--I was
pretty winded, myself..." he paused a long time now.
"Brophy was ahead of me, and we started up the
ladder..." He still had that image of a body falling
past, but that was all he could really remember.
   Scully, a wary look still in her eyes, gave him the
abridged version of the rest of the events from
nearly a week ago. She was a little surprised by his
recall of the moments before his injury. It just wasn't
normal.
   Skinner shook his head again toward the end of
her description of how he'd fallen from the ladder,
and the subsequent attempts to revive him. It
seemed like maybe all of Mike's razzing when they
were younger was true--he *did* have a thick skull.
   He glanced quickly at Scully, whose face had
taken on a cold look. "Is there something wrong,
Agent Scully?"
   "No, sir," she said quickly, trying to shake the
thought that had inexplicably entered her mind. Why
would Mike Reynolds pop into her mind now? She
tried to push away the vaguely unpleasant feeling
that thought left behind, and turned her wheelchair
around with the expertise she'd acquired in the past
two days. "I hate to tell you this," she said, a spare
touch of sarcasm hitting her voice, "but you *are*
going to have to talk to that doctor again today."
   Skinner wasn't a blusher, so he knew there was no
chance that she might pick up on just how
perseptive that comment was. But, damnit, he had
every right to notice a good-looking woman, didn't
he?
   Still, as the young redhead said a demure goodbye
and wheeled herself out, he couldn't help but think
that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

12:45 pm

Scully sat on the large slab of concrete that the
hospital liked to call their back porch. There was
something strange going on here, something she
couldn't quite figure out. It went beyond Skinner's
astounding recall of the drug bust.
   Maybe it was the simple fact that she'd been
keeping her distance from Skinner since all those
rumours had started a few months ago, but she
wasn't used to being able to read him so easily. Yet,
since he'd woken up last night, it was almost as if
she could see everything he was thinking, written
plainly on his face. It was disconcerting.
   And why *had* Mike Reynolds come to mind?
She didn't like thinking about him and his "powers"
at the best of times--and this was most certainly
*not* the best of times. It was almost as if... She
shook her head, dismissing a rather Mulderesque
thought that had popped in to visit.
   It was persistent, though... <Was *Skinner*
thinking about him?>
   She'd gotten the idea that Reynolds and Skinner
were, if not friends, at least acquaintances. And it
was awfully easy to figure out what Skinner was
thinking...
   She shook her head angrily. He was in a
vulnerable position right now, and that always made
a person's walls a little thinner. Skinner was known
for having very thick walls, normally. He never let
anyone know what he was thinking--not unless he
wanted them to.
   Still...
   "There you are," Mulder said, coming up beside
her quietly.
   "Where else would I be?" she quipped, a little
stir-crazy all of a sudden. "Not a lot of streets
around here that are wheelchair friendly."

Thursday
1:55 pm

Skinner had survived the first day of the "battery of
boring tests" he would be subjected to in the next
week. The woman who conducted the tests, was,
like his doctor, almost embarassingly attractive, but
when she was holding up images of everyday objects
to see if he could tell her their names, she quickly
became the ugliest woman he'd ever met.
   He'd been sitting quietly, just giving himself a rest,
when a young agent walked in. He looked fairly
familiar--more like an agent he'd seen in the halls
than a man he'd actually worked with--and he
stepped into the room with all the trepidation of a
chicken entering a weasel's burrow. "Yes," Skinner
asked.
   The boy all but jumped. "Um, hello, sir. I, um, just
wanted to... to drop off a card from the--from VCS.
We, uh, we all signed it."
   Skinner smiled what he hoped was a reassuring
"superior's smile". Given the boy's reaction, it
obviously tended more toward the "I'm going to
have you for lunch" end of the spectrum. The boy
dropped the card on the table as quickly as he could,
and bolted.
   The Assistant Director grinned bemusedly, and
pulled the rolling table over to him so he could open
the card.

2:15 pm

"Sir, we have a problem." The young man who had
so recently taken flight from Skinner's room sat in
his car, with his cellphone in hand. "He's opened the
door... No, sir, I don't know how... I don't know,
sir... Yes, sir... Yes, sir."
   The young man hung up, and immediately started
sweating. The syndicate had obviously not been
expecting this.
   His hand shook as he started the car and pulled
into traffic. Keeping track of an ailing Assistant
Director was one thing, but Skinner had opened the
door. He shook a little harder as he remembered the
force of the man's thoughts, his will, his... power.
And until they found out just *how* extensive his
powers were going to be... The young man
immediately shut off that thought with a shudder.

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

To: XA
From: xangst@marina-pt.com (Dean Warner)
Subject: NF> Opening the Door 3/9
Cc: stories
Bcc:
X-Attachments:

***************
Opening the Door
by Dean Warner
(xangst@marina-pt.com)
and Tim Helbing
(thelbing@indiana.edu)

Part Three

Scully Residence
1:45 pm
Friday

Scully fought her way into the apartment, dropping
her bag and settling carefully into her easy chair. The
crutches were going to be a royal pain. She'd
thought the wheelchair was bad, but at least it gave
her a chance to rest herself. She already felt like her
right leg would be broken by the time she could
stand on both feet.
   Her mother smiled slightly as her daughter sighed.
Scully saw it immediately, and scowled at her. "Do
you want to take some of those pills, yet, Dana?"
Margaret asked, her smile cleverly masked in
motherly concern.
   "Why not," Scully asked bitterly. This was going
to be absolute Hell. She couldn't wait to get back to
the office.
   "How's Mr. Skinner?" her mother asked from the
kitchen. She'd been keeping tabs on him, apparently,
though she'd obviously been talking to Mulder, not
her own daughter.
   "I talked to his doctor this morning," Scully
replied, as Margaret brought in a glass of water and
a couple of pain pills that were guaranteed to knock
her out in about fifteen minutes. "She said they still
have a number of tests to run, but he seems to be
doing surprisingly well. He'll probably be out some
time late next week."
   "That's good," her mother said quietly.

Baltimore Municipal Hospital
3:45 pm

The second speech pathologist in two days had only
been gone a few minutes, when the pretty young
surgeon who was overseeing his treatment--Dr.
Halford--walked in. She was obviously a little
agitated.
   "Mr. Skinner," she began heatedly. "I think we
need to have a talk."
   He was baffled by her sudden hosility. "About?"
   "I know this isn't the most exciting set of tests
you've ever been through, but you're making this
harder than it has to be."
   "I'm sorry?"
   She sighed and gave him a hard glare.
"Intimidation won't work on *me*, Mr. Skinner,"
she assured him haughtily.
   Skinner was getting a little irritated now. "Dr.
Halford, I really have no idea what you're talking
about."
   She looked at him, slightly confused now. "Miss
Galvin said that you were being quite... difficult...
with her."
   He looked at her candidly. "Doctor, this is
probably the most boring three days I have ever
spent *anywhere*. I'm sorry if that boredom
translates into difficulty."
   She nodded, a little less sure of her self, and
Skinner just stared in amazement as she smiled
tentatively. "I'm sorry, Mr. Skinner. Obviously Miss
Galvin *did* misinterpret your reactions." And with
that, she strode out of the room.

Officers Club
The Pentagon
Washington, D.C.
5:30 pm

"So he really did it?" Mike asked incredulously, eyes
wide and disbelieving.
   "He really did it, swear to god." replied Captian
Mark Bine USN.  "The captain was madder than I
have ever seen before or after, and at the time  I was
a freshly promoted Junior Grade Leiutenant  piloting
a brand-new Tomcat." He was describing the antics
of one of his fellow naval aviators that took place
nearly twenty years ago.  Mike, a grunt who secretly
loved the idea of being a fighter pilot, just sat there
enjoying it.
   Since the Defense department had wrested
command authority of the Raiders back from the
syndicate after the Diaz incident,  he was coming up
to Washington at least once a month for briefings on
various world hot spots.  He also attended briefings
that dealt with more... *unusual* problems.
   The Raiders were once again under the Pentagon's
command and he was happy to have it that way.  He
was worried, though. The syndicate never let
anything go completely, once they got their hands
on it.
   Pulling himself out of his musings, he took a sip
from his drink and returned to the conversation.
   After meeting Mark at the first briefing, he had
quickly befriended the naval aviator and the monthly
dinners at the officers' club had shortly become
traditon.   Mike also told tall tales from past
missions in Vietnam and his stint in special forces.
The briefings were over for today so they had plenty
of time to trade war stories over a few drinks.
   "Excuse me, Colonel." Both officers looked up to
see one of the waiters standing next to thier table.
   "Yes?"
   "You have a messenger looking for you, sir, over
at the entrance."
   Mike got up. "Should just take a minute Mark, I'll
be back shortly," he apologised, and went over to
the mesenger.
   Mark saw him exchange a few words with the
messenger.  Then he turned and walked back to thier
table, picking up his jacket from the chair.  "Sorry
Mark, I've got to go.   I'll talk to you tommorow."
   "No problem on this end, Mike, I'll see you then."

Mike absently returned salutes from various people
as he walked out of the building and towards his car
in the lot.  Skinner had opened the door, he mused.
What would that mean for all concerned?  Could he
be trained? What kind of abilities had his friend
acquired?
   Pulling on to the beltway, he grimaced to see that
rush hour traffic was the usual bumper to bumper.
All the federal employees were done for the day and
headed out to their homes in the suburbs. He'd be
stuck in the car for a while.  <So, what do I do? Just
check up on him and warn him or do I try to help
him get some control over his abilities?>  He
thought about that for a time while listening to a
hard rock station on the radio. A song suddenly
caught his attention:

      "But when Johnny Come Lately comes marching
home
      With a chest full of medals and a G.I. loan
      They'll be waitin' at the station down in San
Antone
      When Johnny comes marching home

He contemplated switching channels, or, better yet,
switching off the radio altogether. He knew the
song. His younger son had played it constantly for a
week--a subtle form of rebellion against his father's
choice of careers. It had hurt at the time, but it was
doubly troubling now.

      Now my granddaddy sang me this song
      Told me about London when the Blitz was on
      How he married Grandma and brought her back
home

      A hero throughout his land

Definitely no turning it off now. It would only run
through his head endlessly in the silence of the traffic
jam. He took a deep breath, and listened to the rest
of it.

      Now I'm standing on a runway in San Diego
      A couple of Purple Hearts and I move a little
slow
      There's nobody here, maybe nobody knows
      About a place called Vietnam

      But when Johnny Come Lately comes marching
home
      With a chest full of medals and a G.I. loan
      They'll be waitin' at the station down in San
Antone
      When Johnny comes marching home

He released the deathgrip he'd acquired on his
steering wheel. Damn.  That song always got to him.
Today, it reminded him of a duty to help his friend,
who now needed it more than ever.
   Cursing quietly, he reached down to get the
carphone and punched the top button.  Looking at
the clock in the dash, he figured his wife would be
home by now.  "Hi Jackie, it's me.  I won't be home
tonight like I thought.  Walt Skinner--do you
remember him? Yeah, that's him. Anyway, he's been
injured and I'm going to go visit him in the hospital.
I might be here a few days, I'll let you know when
I'll be back.  Yes honey, I'll be sure and tell him.
Love ya, babe. Bye."

Baltimore Municipal Hospital
6:15 pm

"Okay... now I want you to raise your right arm,
point at the ceiling with your left hand, and then
point at the door with your right."
   "While it's still raised?" Skinner asked bitterly.
After this afternoon's bizarre conference with his
doctor, he'd been treated to yet another pathologist,
this one young, and obviously not long out of
school. If Galvin had been sensitive, this one was
timid as a mouse. She had started the session with a
profuse apology for putting him through this, and
had taken to almost begging him to take part in each
phase of the testing.
   It was really the most annoying thing he'd seen yet.
   This particular test was apparently designed to
make sure he could understand what they were
asking him to do, as well as determine whether he
could do it. Mainly, he thought he looked like an
idiot, pointing at damn near everything in the room
while raising his hands, or his legs, or looking up, or
looking down. Anybody he knew saw him now...
Well, maybe he wouldn't let them get out alive with
the secret.
   That rather bloodthirsty thought saw him through
to the end of that particular test, some forty-five
minutes later, though he still wanted nothing more
than to be left alone. Strangely, his head really
seemed to hurt only when other people were in the
room. If he was by himself, he felt all right.
   He just wanted out.
   The timid young girl looked at him, barely able to
meet his eyes. "Okay, Mr. Skinner," she said quietly,
"One more test."
   "For today?"
   She nodded quickly and continued. "Okay, I'm
going to say a proverb, and you have to tell me what
it means."
   Skinner just stared at her, hard, feeling no remorse
at all for "intimidating" the little mouse. He was so
sick of this. His head had started throbbing again.
   "Just this one, Mr. Skinner," she all but pleaded,
causing Skinner to shoot her a slightly perplexed
look. She cleared her throat and said quietly, "
'Never look a gift horse in the mouth.' What does it
mean?"
   "Don't complain about something you didn't have
to pay for." <*Boring!*>
   "Make hay while the sun shines."
   "Get things done while you have the chance."
   "Keep your friends close, but your enemies
closer."
   Skinner smiled slightly at that. He'd be dead by
now if he didn't know the answer to that one. "Keep
your enemies where you can keep an eye on them--"
   "--Which is exactly why I'm here," came a familiar
voice from the doorway.
   The young speech pathologist turned to see a tall,
lanky man leaning in the doorway.  His face showed
amusement at the scene in front of him and his eyes
were full of mirth.  Skinner was surprised to see his
friend in his class A "Greens" with ribbons and unit
patches displayed, rather than the normal BDUs or
civilian clothes.
   "Mike! What brings you to DC?" Odd, the pain in
his head seemed somewhat  diminished.
   "Oh I was in the neighborhood, and heard that the
vaunted AD Skinner  nearly got himself killed on a
drug bust." He shook his head. "After all you've
been through, you let some punk with a toy pistol
shoot you.  I can't let you go anywhere anymore can
I?"
   Skinner laughed.  "What's with the fancy duds,
Mike? You didn't get all dressed up to visit me."
   Mike carefully put his uniform cap on the table,
bringing back memories to Skinner of the hours
spent polishing the brim to mirror-shine during his
own time in uniform.
   "You got me." Mike admitted. "I had to spend the
day at the pentagon.  You can't go there in BDU's or
the Brass will cut you off at the knees."
   "Excuse me Mr... pardon, *Colonel* Reynolds."
The pathologist interupted the little reunion,
glancing at his nameplate and rank insigna. She
seemed a little bolder with him--probably, Skinner
thought, because she wasn't likely to have to run
*him* through these stupid tests.
   "Yes?"
   "I'm sorry sir, I'm not quite finished with Mr.
Skinner.  Could you wait outside? I'll be done with
him in a few minutes." Who was this guy and why
did he give her the creeps? She sighed inwardly. At
least he wasn't as downright *scary* as Mr. Skinner.
   Mike just smiled. "I don't think so, I need to talk
to the big lug  privately.  So if you'll come back in a
little bit, you can finish up then."
   Skinner's eyes narrowed as the young woman
blinked, and said "Of course,  I'll be back later and
we'll finish then." She hurried out and closed the
door behind her.
   "She's cute," Mike commented with a smile.
   "Okay Mike, why did you chase her out of here?
This isn't just a  social call is it?" he asked warily as
his friend procured a chair,  reversed it and sat down
facing the bed.
   "No, Walt, it isn't.  You opened the door to
voodoo land and you need to be trained before you
get somebody killed."
   <Opened the door to voodoo land? What the hell
is he talking about?>
   "You somehow managed to get yourself some
abilities similar to my own." He raised a hand to stall
Skinner's protest. "I know you never got the wonder
drugs that made all us Brightstar subjects the way
we are, but somehow your accident gave you
abilities."
   Skinner shook his head with a cold smile. "If this
is a joke, Mike..."
   Mike was deadly serious. If Walt didn't get control
of this soon, there was no way he'd be able to
protect himself from the syndicate, who were
probably sitting in their posh club right now, trying
to figure out the best way to get rid of him.
   He listened to Skinner's thoughts for a moment. It
wasn't hard--Walt was broadcasting so loudly that
all Mike had to do was sit back and listen. His face
softened after a moment.
   "How's Agent Scully?" he asked, deceptively mild.
"What happened to her in this bust?"
   Skinner was wary of the sudden subject change.
"She's fine--or she will be. Left leg was pretty
messed up, but she's healing."
   Mike nodded calmly. "And how are *your* legs?
No problems, right? I mean, I can see you trashed
your arm, but..."
   Skinner got a very strange look on his face. He
suddenly remembered the throbbing in his leg--it
wasn't there now. In fact, it was only there when
Scully was in the room... His eyes narrowed at his
calm old friend.
   "So you have total recall of that night, huh?" Mike
continued, a little more amusement suffusing his
tone. "Pretty good, given the kind of crack you gave
your head..."
   Skinner glared at him now. He hated being
manipulated like this. And he didn't want to hear this
crap about him suddenly being some sort of
"psychic". He just wanted Mike to get the hell out
and leave him alone.
   Mike sat a little straighter as he easily fended off
Skinner's clumsy--and probably
unintentional--mental command. He was strong. It
made it just that much more important to get him
someplace where he could learn to use what would
obviously develop into a useful tool--and a great
weapon.
   "Watch it, Walt," Mike said mildly. "I can see why
that cute little doctor's so afraid of you."
   Skinner looked at him in bafflement, and Mike got
back to his first point. "So, you were going to tell
me what you remember about that night?" he led
easily.
   "What are you getting at, Mike?" Walt asked
angrily.
   "What I'm getting at is that, with one little fall, you
may have just become the biggest commodity on the
market." All pretense of mirth fell away. "The
syndicate isn't going to just let you roam free with
this kind of power, Walt. They'll come after you, and
we've got to make sure you're ready to defend
yourself."
   Skinner still didn't believe him. So he remembered
a good deal of what had happened that night, so
what? Just because he'd fallen thirty feet didn't mean
he was supposed to forget his own name, did it?
Some people cracked their skulls right open, and
remembered everything. He thought back to that
night again, thought back to the dark body moving
past in the...
   "Damn," he whispered silently. The body had
fallen *past* him. How could he possibly remember
it that way if *he* was that body?
   Mike watched him for a moment. "The headaches
you've got? They're not just from the head injury. It's
pretty hard to soak up the thoughts of everybody in
the room at one time--believe me, I know from
experience."
   "How come my head's not bothering me now?"
Skinner demanded, still a little unwilling to believe.
   "Because I'm using my own abilities to keep yours
locked down and I have twenty plus years
experience in control and use of this." Mike stood
up suddenly. "Look, Walt, they're coming after you,
buddy, and I think the best thing would be to get
you somewhere where I can teach you a little
something about what you're doing." He shook his
head ruefully. "Otherwise, you're going to end up
convincing everyone in the world to stay the hell
away from you--everyone but the ones you want to.
That's keeping your enemies a little *too* close,
don't you think?"
   "How do they know anything?" Walter trailed off
as he remembered the nervous young agent who'd
dashed out of his room the day before. "Damnit." He
looked up at his friend, deadly serious now. "So?
What do you want to do?"
   "Me?" Mike joked easily. "Hell, Walt, you know
I'm a homebody.  Going back to Jackie and the kids
would suit me fine, but she'd kill me if you just
suddenly tagged along.  She said 'hi' and 'get well' by
the way." He raked his friend with an appraising
glare. "How are you feeling?"
   Skinner thought about it a moment, then nodded
his head determinedly. "I'm okay."
   Mike smiled. "Aside from a splitting headache?"
   Skinner smiled back. It was like they were young
marines, sneaking off-base for the night. "I didn't
*split* my head, Mike. Just shook it up a bit."
   "Uh-huh. I always knew Jarheads had thick
skulls." Mike grabbed his cap. "Okay, we'll leave
then."
   Skinner shook his head, glaring at his friend for
that marine dig. "They aren't going to just let me go,
Mike. They haven't finished poking and prodding me
yet."
   "Just tell the doctor you're leaving, Walt. Trust
me, with your... *forceful* personality, I can almost
guarantee she'll agree immediately."
   Walter gave him a strange look and began to slip
out of bed. Dr. Halford chose that moment to walk
in.
   "What are you doing, Mr. Skinner?" she asked
angrily.
   "I'm leaving," he replied gruffly, looking straight at
her. It seemed Mike thought it would really be that
easy.
   "I'm sorry Mr. Skinner, but letting you leave the
hospital this early is simply out of the question.  You
just had major surgery three days agoand we have to
make sure we really got all the bleeders.  It's simply
not possible."  Halford crossed her arms over her
chest and stared at him, trying to make him back
down.
   Well, that hadn't worked. Skinner glanced over at
Mike, who just leaned against the wall watching the
confrontation with amusement.  He shook his head
at his friend. <*If you want to get out of here, you'll
have to convince her on your own.  I won't be a
party to it.*>
   <*Thanks!*> Skinner thought back, knowing his
friend would hear him. He grimaced and returned his
attention to the young doctor, focusing his thoughts
on just wanting to leave, and leave *now*.  "I
appreciate all you and the hospital staff have done
for me, Doctor. Nevertheless I *am* getting out
tonight." He kept the gaze up, though his head had
started throbbing lightly again.
   Janet Halford blinked and had a slightly dazed
look about her when she replied, "All right, Mr.
Skinner, I'll go prepare the check out paperwork."
And she left the room to go to her office.
   Skinner shook his head in amazement, wondering
if this was why that confrontation earlier in the day
had ended so abruptly. "So what do I do about
clothes Mike?" he asked, looking down at his
hopelessly inadequate hospital gown. "They trashed
the ones I had on when I was shot."
   "Not to worry, Walt.  I've got my overnight bag.
We're about the same size, so I'll loan you a pair of
jeans and a shirt.  Then we're outta here."

7:23 pm

Skinner was still amazed that they'd gotten away
with it. Dr. Halford was apparently hooked for good
after that first... push? <God, I'm going to have to
learn a whole new vocabulary,> he thought with a
silent laugh. <I'm going to start sounding like
Mulder soon.>
   "That's *all* we need," Mike replied as he led the
way through the undergound garage to his car.
"Another Mulder."
   "Stop doing that," Skinner admonished.
   "Stop broadcasting your thoughts to everyone in a
one mile radius, and I'll consider it," Mike shot back.
   Skinner grumbled, feeling vaguely like a kid who'd
been reprimanded by a particularly sharp-tongued
teacher, then tensed slightly. The sense he was
getting had nothing to do with any *psychic*
abilities he might recently have acquired. It was
straight out of a long, frightening tour in Vietnam.
"Someone's watching us," he said quietly.
   Mike nodded carefully as he unlocked the car
doors, motioning for Skinner to enter. "Do you
know where he is?" he asked.
   Skinner shook his head. "I just know he's there.
That particular skill a *marine* never forgets."
   Mike grinned at the dig. "I already knew he was
there, buddy. Try to find him--No--" he admonished
as his friend began to turn away from him. "In your
mind, Walt. Might as well start your training now.
You know he's there. Just find him."
   Skinner scowled. "Easier said than done."
   Mike shook his head. "No, Walt. In your case, it
really is a case of easier *done* than *said*. Just
think about him. You'll get something."
   Skinner did as he was told, thinking only about
whoever might be watching him. He knew the
person. "It's the guy they sent to my hospital room
yesterday."
   Mike nodded. "He's a sensitive. His own
receptiveness makes him easy to pick out. Where is
he?"
   "In a car by the entrance."
   "And he saw us get in the car?"
   Skinner nodded angrily. He couldn't abide being
spied on. He wished he could get his hands on that
kid, and... And all that anger suddenly lashed out at
the subject of his ire. Mike immediately heard the
mental sensitive the syndicate had sent to keep tabs,
screaming in his mind. "Walt!" he called sharply,
reaching out to try to intercept the power, but the
attack had only taken a second.
   Skinner fell back against his seat with a groan, his
vision blanking and his head throbbing unbearably.
"Oh God!"
   Mike cursed roundly and tried to be nonchalant
about pulling out of the garage. Skinner, his eyesight
clearing slowly, stared in horror at the motionless
form in the spy's car.
   "Walt?" Mike asked worriedly after a few
moments. "You okay?"
   "Yeah," Skinner gasped back, rubbing painfully at
his temples.
   "Time to take you where you won't kill anyone
else," Mike stated angrily. It wasn't really Walt's
fault--just a combination of the new-found powers
and his own inattentiveness. It *wasn't* going to
happen again...
   <Damnit! I never had to worry about the kids
killing anybody when I trained *them*! What have I
gotten myself into?>

***************
The song quoted in this chapter is "Johnny Come
Lately" by Steve Earl off of his
"Copperhead Road" Album. No infringement
intended, really.

To: XA
From: xangst@marina-pt.com (Dean Warner)
Subject: Opening the Door 4/9
Cc: stories
Bcc:
X-Attachments:

****************
Opening the Door
by Dean Warner
(xangst@marina-pt.com)
and Tim Helbing
(thelbing@indiana.edu)

Part Four

Mulder Residence
9:46 am
Saturday

"Hello, Baltimore Municipal Switchboard."
   "Hi, I wanted to check ona patient of yours.
Walter Skinner. His doctor is Dr. Halford."
   "Just a moment, sir, and I'll page her."
   Mulder sat staring at his muted television while the
perky operator put him on hold.
   "Doctor Halford, how can I help you?"

"How could they do that?" Scully would have paced
if she could. "Mulder, that's insane! Regardless of
whether he sustained any permanent damage or not,
no doctor would let a man in his condition just walk
out of the hospital--not three days after that kind of
surgery!" She stared at the ceiling for a moment. "I
talked to Halford yesterday. She said they were
looking at next Thursday at the earliest."
   "She seems a little confused, Scully," Mulder said,
that *extreme possibilities* tone creeping into his
voice. "She also says she saw a tall man with rather
intense eyes. She didn't get his name, but he was
wearing an army uniform. Sound like anyone we
know?"
   Scully supressed a sudden shudder. Mike
Reynolds again. And she'd just bet that he had
something to do with Skinner's early discharge.
   "Did you call Skinner's house?"
   "Yeah. No answer. I'm going to go over there just
in case, but..."
   "I'm coming with you. Come pick me up on your
way."
   "Scully..." Mulder said uncertainly.
   "Just pick me up, Mulder. I'll be fine."

Scully wrestled her way out of the car when they
reached Skinner's house. After three knocks at the
door, she was sure he wasn't there. She leaned on
her crutches angrily.
   "Where would they have gone?"
   "I don't know, but given Skinner's--" Mulder
broke off suddenly as his cellphone rang. "Mulder...
Okay, we'll be right there." He put the phone back in
his pocket and stared strangely at his partner.
   "What?" Scully asked, expecting the worst.
   "That was a friend of mine at the Baltimore PD.
They just found a man dead in the Municipal
Hospital parking garage. His ID said he was Agent
Gentry of the FBI."

Balitmore Municipal Hospital
11:15 am

Scully leaned heavily over the table, examining the
untouched corpse. She looked up at the resident
pathologist. "What's the preliminary cause of death?"
   The short, plump man adjusted his glasses
nervously. "Frankly, I can't find one."
   She nodded angrily. No big surprise. She looked
over at her partner. "Do you want to talk to
Skinner's doctor? I want to start on this autopsy as
soon as possible." The little pathologist looked like
he was about to protest, but she cut him off. She
wasn't a *complete* invalid. "This is a federal
matter, Dr. Pillton. I do have jurisdiction here."
   Pillton backed off immediately, but still gestured a
little helplessly to her crutches, the splinted and
bandaged leg. "I'd be happy to assist, Agent Scully,"
he offered carefully.
    She nodded as Mulder left the room.

"Gil," Mulder called to the bent, grey detective who
stood at the ICU nurse's station.
   "Mulder!" the man all but bellowed back. "So,
what's this all about, huh? Dead agent, missing AD?
What's the deal?"
   Mulder leaned in quietly. "Forget about the
missing AD, okay, Gil. That's not for general
knowledge." Gil nodded his head, and Mulder was
instantly reassured. Once Gil made up his mind to
forget something, it was forgotten.
   "I've got Dr. Halford waiting in her office for you.
She insists that Mr. Skinner was completely cleared
for discharge."

"I really don't see what the problem is, Agent
Mulder," Halford said resonably. "He was cleared
for discharge. There wasn't any reason to keep him
here."
   Mulder nodded quietly. "What's the normal
hospital stay for a surgery like that?"
   "Oh... It would depend. Usually a week and a half.
We have to check to make sure we caught all the
bleeders, assess damage that might have been done
by the subdural--"
   "So, three days, would be an... abnormally short
time to keep a patient?"
   "Oh, absolutely," Halford said, a little insulted.
"No doctor I know of would let a patient leave after
three days..." She trailed off, confused.
   Mulder knew about Reynolds' ability to change
people's minds for them, and didn't press the issue.
He stood up quickly. "May I talk to the speech
pathologist that was working with him last night?"
   "Certainly," Halford replied, a little more subdued.
Something wasn't right here, but she couldn't quite
figure it out.

"Kells," she called quietly to the young woman who
was currently testing another patient. "Can I see you
for a second?"
   "Sure." She turned to the woman in the bed and
whispered something to her before stepping out into
the hall.
   "Kelly Paulson, this is Agent Mulder, of the FBI,"
Halford said formally. "He's got some questions to
ask you."
   "To ask *me*?" Kelly asked incredulously. "About
what?"
   "You were working with a patient last night,"
Mulder said. "Walter Skinner?"
   Kelly shivered. "Oh, *him*?"
   Mulder was surprised by her reaction, and said so.
   "He was just... there was something about him--all
the therapists thought so." She went pensive for a
minute. "It was like... You, know, I'm usually a
pretty asseritive person, but when I was working
with that guy, it was like I was scared to death. Like
he was trying to stare right into me, you know?"
   Mulder looked at her for a moment. Skinner was
abrasive, certainly, but that was a pretty intense
reaction to his sternness. "Did another man come in
while you were there?"
   She shook her head. "No... no, we were just going
through the testing."
   "And you finished it?" Mulder asked, watching her
closely.
   "No," she replied casually. "I had to go do
something. I was going to come back later, but he
was gone, by then."
   "What did you have to do?" Mulder knew what
the answer was likely to be.
   "I don't know," she said, almost breezily. "But I
was going to come back in a little while."

2:35 pm

"So what do you think?" Mulder asked, as his
partner pulled off her gloves angrily.
   She dismissed the little pathologist with a look,
and Mulder couldn't help but smile. The rotund man
had obviously weathered quite a storm during that
autopsy. Scully had a very forceful personality.
"Massive intracranial trauma."
   "Meaning?"
   Scully sighed as she grabbed her crutches and
hobbled tiredly to a chair. "Meaning that, while I
can't find any *external* damage, his brain was
literally torn apart by *something*."
   Mulder nodded. "Something... extrasensory?"
   Scully glared at him. She was tired, sore, and
absolutely *not* in the mood to discuss what Mike
Reynolds was capable of.
   Mulder took the hint and dropped the subject for
the moment. "Can I take you to an early dinner,
Scully?"
   She sighed again and struggled to rise. "Sure. But
let's get back to D.C.  I want to check and see if
Agent Gentry had any reason to be here that might
be unrelated to Skinner and his disappearance."
   Mulder nodded as he held the door for her. She
just couldn't buy that Reynolds was the only person
they knew who would have had any chance to inflict
that kind of damage on the dead FBI agent. Not
until she'd spent a day and a half dismissing all the
other possibilities.

Crazy's on E
3:46 pm

Scully stared over her iced tea at her partner. His
head was fairly bursting with ideas, she could see.
After a decent meal and a little rest, she was finally
ready to hear them.
   "Okay, Mulder," she said, almost angrily. "What
do you think?"
   He leaned forward tensely, every inch of his body
telling her that he'd only been waiting for her to ask
before launching into his bizzarre theories. "I talked
to Skinner's doctor, face to face this time. She
admitted to releasing him, saying that he had been
cleared for discharge." Scully just nodded wearily as
he continued. "She then went on to say that no sane
doctor would have let a man in his condition out of
the hosptial. And the therapist that was working
with him that evening decided that she absolutely
had to do something else in the middle of their
testing--she just has no idea what that something
was."
   "But Halford saw Colonel Reynolds there?"
   Mulder shook his head. "She said she saw an army
officer there--one of the shift nurses said she saw
Reynolds. She remebered him, because she used to
be an army nurse. She just glanced at his nameplate
in passing."
   She shook her head. "Why would he kill a federal
officer, Mulder?"
   "I don't know, Scully," he replied reasonably. "But
you have to admit he's capable of it."
   She said in denial for a moment before nodding
reluctantly. "Okay, Mulder. But why take Skinner?"
   "I don't know, but he had to have a reason.
Reynolds has never--"
   "--to our knowledge--"
   "--acted recklessly," Mulder continued without
missing a beat. "He has to have a good reason,
Scully." He fished some money out of his pocket to
pay the check. "I think it's time we find out more
about Agent Gentry."
   Scully nodded tiredly. As uncomfortable as she
was with Colonel Reynolds, she had to admit that
Mulder was probably right. He wasn't the type to do
something without a reason.
   She just had no idea what his reason would be.

Near Central Park,
New York City, NY
4:45pm

"Reynolds has obviously pre-empted our plan to
aquire Skinner's services.  He was supposed to be a
trusted subordinate! What is going on in this
organization?!" demanded the Los Angeles
associate.
   The old man before him took a long drag from his
Morley before responding.  The clone in the old
facility had been a wise investment, giving up it's life
so he could arrive here and state his case before his
collegues.  That had saved his life and re-established
his position of power--destroying that of the
associate who'd tried to do it to him. "Colonel
Reynolds is too much of a 'mom and apple pie' type
to be truly under our control. And he has abilites
that make him imune to threats.  He also has
contacts which make grabbing his family risky, but
not impossible."
   A finely coiffed, well-manicured Englishman
entered the conversation warily. "We need
associates that can neutralize the advantage of
Skinner and Reynolds' abilities." He suggested the
next plan carefully.  "I propose admiting some of the
more... ruthless Brightstar subjects into the
organization.  I also propose bringing Richard Kang
in at our level as payment for his help in earlier
dealings.  He would be a valued member of the
organization, bringing in his abilities--as well as the
Hawaiian Organized Crime Syndicate."
   The Russian associate spoke up. "I agree with our
English friend.  Bringing in Kang and other
Brightstars would be a wise strategy."
   The smoking man exhaled a cloud of spent
nicotine, and brought his Morley down to the
ashtray, grinding it to a stub before speaking. "I
think that can be arranged. I'll send a messenger to
Oahu to make the offer personally."

Mulder Residence
11:21 pm

The phone woke Mulder from his musings. The files
he'd managed to put together this evening on Agent
Gentry were yielding very little. Other than a stint in
the military and the obvious connection to the
Bureau, Mulder couldn't find anything to connect
him to Skinner or Reynolds. He knew Scully should
be sleeping, but she had probably been going over
the information she could get as well. Maybe she'd
found a clue.
   "Mulder."
   "Hello, Mr. Mulder." The cultured voice was
instantly familiar, and, given the current situation,
the sound of it gave him chills.
   "What do you want?"
   "Would you care to have a short conversation with
me, Mr. Mulder?" the man asked. "I guarantee you'll
want to hear what I have to say."
   Mulder rolled his eyes. The man was just a little
too polite. "Certainly.  I'd love to. I think you'll
know where to meet me, yes? An hour?"
   "That would be fine, Mr. Mulder."

Jefferson Memorial
12:24 am
Sunday

The man, well-manicured and coiffed as always,
stepped out of the darkness exactly one hour after
he'd hung up the phone. Mulder just loved
punctuality in an opponent. "So, what did you want
to talk about," Mulder asked flippantly. "I'm not
really up on the Cricket rivalries anymore, but..."
   The old man smiled in appreciation of the joke.
"Cricket really isn't my game either. Chess,
perhaps?"
   "What do you want?" Mulder repeated shortly.
   "Please, Mr. Mulder," the man admonished. "You
could at least be cordial to a friend."
   "Oh, and *you're* a friend?"
   "Oh, yes, Mr. Mulder," the elderly Englishman
assured him quietly. "I am perhaps the best friend
you could have just now."
   "And why is that?"
   "Because I have some very important information
about your injured superior."
   <It's about time,> Mulder thought. He kept his
face expressionless. "So what is it?"
   "Men often outlive their usefullness in our
business, Mr. Mulder, wouldn't you say?"
   "Too often," Mulder agreed.
   "Certain of my associates  have decided that Mr.
Skinner is one of those who has," the man continued
evenly. "I do not agree, of course. An Assistant
Director always has his uses--perhaps now more
than ever."
   Mulder nodded angrily, filing that last quip away
for future reference. "So where is he?"
   The old man was taken aback. "Surely *you*
know, Mr. Mulder. I understood that you and your
young partner have a vested interest in keeping an
eye on him."
   That stung. "Yeah," Mulder growled, "well,
someone obviously fell asleep on guard."
   The old man became thoughtful. He'd thought to
play both sides against the middle, in an attempt to
acquire this new player for his own designs. But if
Mulder and Scully had no idea where Reynolds and
Skinner *were*...
   "It is imperative that you find him before my
associates do, Mr. Mulder," he stated seriously. "His
life most assuredly depends upon it."

Somewhere in Virginia
Sunday
6:45 am

Skinner was so surprised at what he had done that
the block almost immediately slammed back to the
table above which it had been hovering.
   "Come on, Walt," Mike quipped angrily. "This is
important, all right? Just pick it up again, okay?"
   "Watch it, Mike," Skinner hissed angrily as he
once again set the block drifting on air above the
table.
   "Concentrate on it, and I'll think about it, Walt. If
we can't get you trained before they find us--and
they *will* find us--"
   Skinner suddenly sent the block flying, narrowly
avoiding Mike's head as it drilled into the old
farmhouse wall. Mike turned away from the ruined
wall and looked at his friend angrily. "Damnit,
Walt!"
   Skinner's voice was low, with that dangerous little
rumble in it that Mike had seen used on his friend's
underlings at the Bureau. "I am *not* a child, Mike.
And I don't need any of this to teach you that."
   Mike backed off immediately. Not that he couldn't
have taken Skinner--psychically *or* physically--but
he realised that they weren't going to get anywhere if
Walt spent most of his time in a state of fury. He
held up his hands. "Okay, Walt," he grumbled
quietly. "Okay. This just... isn't what I was
expecting."
   Walt stood up angrily. "And *I* was?"
   Mike spent a moment looking at his friend's back,
and suddenly gave out a low chuckle.
   Skinner whirled on him immediately. "What!"
   "Guess this just proves that the Army and the
Marines can't work together," Mike said quietly.
   Skinner's face broke out in a grin, as he took his
seat again. "Not unless we've got guns to our
heads."
   "Which is exactly what we'll have, soon," Mike
replied seriously as his mind picked up the block and
deposited it back on the table. "I assume you're
going to pay Mark to fix that wall, right?"
   "Sure Mike," he sighed. "I'll foot the bill."
   His friend sipped on a mug of coffee and looked at
him "Hey Walt, I really am sorry.  The last time I
had to do this sort of thing, my student was a
thirteen year old."
   "That's all right..." Skinner replied and then sat
straight up in shock. "Wait a minute! Thirteen?! You
don't mean your..."
   "Yes, I do.  And this is between us, Walt.  If I
*ever* find out that you even inadvertantly let it slip,
so help me..." Skinner could feel the emotion rolling
out of Mike at the idea, and it was not something he
ever wanted to face.
   "Easy, Mike, easy. Thier secret's safe with me."
   Mike relaxed instantly. He knew better than to
think Walt would ever expose what he considered
confidental information "Good, now let's do it
again." he motioned to the block with the coffee
mug.
   "I'll give it a try.." Skinner replied as he
concentrated on the object, sending it floating up
from the table again.
   " No Walt. 'Do or do not. There is no try.'" Mike
joked in his best imitation of Yoda.
   Walter Skinner chuckled. "I can see why they only
let you teach teenagers, buddy."

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

To: XA
From: xangst@marina-pt.com (Dean Warner)
Subject: NF> Opening the Door 5/9
Cc: stories
Bcc:
X-Attachments:

**************
Opening the Door
by Dean Warner
(xangst@marina-pt.com)
and Tim Helbing
(thelbing@indiana.edu)

Part Five

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
Monday
8:45 am

Mulder stuck his head casually in the Assistant
Director's office door. "Hi, Kim."
   The young blonde looked up at him with a smile.
"Can I help you, Agent Mulder?"
   "I was just wondering if you'd heard from AD
Skinner."
   "Sure. He called and left a message on my voice
mail. He said he'd be back late next week." She
widened her eyes slightly. "I can't believe he's out of
the hospital already."
   "He is?" Mulder asked, concealing his excitement.
   "Well, that's what it sounded like. He just said he'd
be recupe-ing, and he'd call in at the end of the
week." Skinner had obviously sounded convincing.
"How's Agent Scully?"
   "Can't wait to get back to work," Mulder replied
easily.
   "Here?" Kim asked incredulously. "God, why?"

Scully Residence
Alexandria, VA
11:15 am

"So it doesn't look like it was all Reynolds' idea,"
Mulder finished.
   Scully looked at him speculatively. "So why did he
disappear?"
   Mulder shrugged. "If what my oh-so-polite
informant told me is true, maybe Reynolds knew
Cancerman was after Skinner."
   "But *why*?" she asked angrily. "What possible
reason would he have for going after him now?" She
sighed. "And how do we go about finding them?"
   He looked across at her quietly. "I think we wait,
Scully. Reynolds has to have some sort of plan up
his sleeve."
   Scully glared at him, suspicious. "You know,
Mulder, you put an awful lot of faith in Colonel
Reynolds. I'm not sure that's healthy--for you *or*
Skinner."
   "I've got my reasons, Scully," he replied quietly.
<The fact that you're here to second-guess me being
cheif among them.>
   She looked at him strangely for a moment,
obviously trying to gauge how far she should push
him for an answer, before pulling herself to her feet,
grabbing her crutches for support. "Well I can't just
wait for them to show up, Mulder. I'm sorry."
   "What are you going to do?" he asked, following
her into the kitchen.
   She pulled the phone down from the wall, leaning
heavily on her crutches. "I'm going to see what I can
dig up on Reynolds."
   "Like we haven't tried that before?" he asked
incredulously.
   "There are easier ways to find someone than
hunting through their military records, you know."
She dialed the phone, still holding his eyes with hers.
"Hi, Danny? Dana Scully... Good, thanks... Yeah,
listen, Danny, I want you to trail some credit cards
for me, okay? It's our little secret, though..." She
looked speculatively at her partner. "I'm sure I can
convince Mulder to pay you back..." She smiled as
her partner all but burst a blood vessel. "You'll be in
New York next month? I'm sure Mulder could scare
up some Knicks tickets for you..."

The Reynolds Household
5:53pm

Jackie Reynolds opened the door and walked
wearily into the house. Work had been absolute hell
and she just wanted to have a nice long bath and
forget about it.
   "Mom!" Oh damn. The kids. They'd be hungry.
   "Hi, Sweetie," she said to her daughter, who had
been watching TV, but now came up to hug her
mother.  "Where's your brother?"
   Sally Reynolds made a face, displaying her
thoughts on the matter.  She and her middle brother
didn't get along--normal for teenagers.  "He went
out to play basketball with Dave and Scott, and then
order pizza.  They said they'd be at Scott's."
   Well, that was one child she didn't have to worry
about feeding tonight. Inspiration struck: pizza
equals no cooking, which, in turn, equals a nice,
long bath. "How would you like pizza tonight
Sally?" she inquired of her daughter.
   "Cool!" Sally exclaimed happily. "Can we have
anchovies?"
   "Sure, kiddo.  You go call the order in while Mom
has a nice hot bath."
   Her daughter nodded. "Okay Mom.  You look like
you could really use it."

Jackie sighed as she slipped deep into the hot water
and mass of bubbles. It was her usual treat after a
particularly bad day.  It also was something she and
Mike would do together on occasion.  She smiled at
the thought. She'd be happy when he got back from
visiting Walter.
   The phone started ringing downstairs, bringing her
out of her reveries for a moment, until she heard her
daughter pick it up.
   A moment later, there was a knock on the
bathroom door. "What is it Sally?" she called.
   "Dad's on the phone, Mom, I've got the portable
with me."
   Jackie slid deeper into the tub, until only her head
and an arm were exposed, and had her daughter
bring in the phone.  After the door closed behind her
retreating form, she activated the phone.
   "Hi Honey"
   "Hey there.  I've got some bad news..."
   "Don't tell me that!" Jackie groaned. "After today,
all I want is good news."
   "That bad huh?"
   "You have *no* idea" she exclaimed, sitting up a
bit in the tub so as not to drop the phone.  "So
what's this bad news Mike?"
   "I don't think I should tell you.  You'll be mad...
You throw things when you're mad," her husband
observed with only a slight hint of mischief in his
voice.
   "You're not here to throw anything at, Honey."
she replied sweetly, "so go ahead and tell me."
   "I'm going to be gone for a week... or two."
   "WHAT?!" Jackie sat straight up. "Michael
Jeremiah Reynolds, you'd better have a damn good
reason or I'll whup you harder than your granddaddy
ever did!" she railed, in an loud, exaggerated version
of hill country accent her husband had once had--so
loud, in fact, that it made him wince and hold the
phone away from his ear.

Skinner looked up and noticed the expression on his
friends face, shooting him a questioning look.  Mike
grimaced again as a tirade, audible even to where
Skinner sat, wafted over the phone.
   *She's really mad* Mike mouthed to to his friend,
who started to laugh at such an obvious deduction.
   "But it's really important, Jackie!" he pleaded,
once she'd calmed down a bit.
   "You'd better explain yourself Mike, this started
out as just another trip to DC.  Does it have
anything to do with Walt Skinner?" Her stomach
dropped suddenly, and she asked quietly. "God,
Mike... He didn't... die, did he?"
   "No, Babe, of course not." He looked at his friend
speculatively. "But I think he almost wishes he had,"
he added, dodging the dishtowel Walt launched at
him.
   Mike proceeded to explain some of what
happened, leaving out the part about the syndicate
coming after Skinner.
   "My God," she breathed quietly.  "Put him on,"
she ordered.
   "Hunh?" Mike replied, staring at Skinner
incredulously.
   "Put him on Mike," she repeated firmly. "I have to
talk to him."
   Mike held the phone out to his friend with a wary
look on his face "She wants to talk to you."
   Chuckling, Skinner took the phone from him,
whispering "God, Mike, you didn't get *me* in
trouble with her, did you?" before putting the phone
to his ear.
   "Hi, Jackie."
   "Hi, Walt.  This isn't some scheme you two
concocted to go hunting is it?" Jackie sounded like
she'd come up and skin him if it was. She also
sounded like she hardly believed that was the case.
   "No Jackie," Skinner answered soberly.
"Unfortunately, he's telling you the truth."
   "All right then.  I just wanted to hear it from you."
Her voice became tender, suddenly. "You take care
of yourself, Marine. Semper fi." Jackie's father had
been a career Marine, and she'd always had a soft
spot for Mike's marine buddy.
   "Yes, Ma'am." Skinner replied seriously.

Somewhere in Virginia
Wednesday
8:52 pm

Training was done for the day. Both men were too
sick of it to go any farther.  Reception in the hills
was terrible and Mark used the house more to get
away from the outside world than anything else, so
watching TV wasn't an option.  Mike and Skinner
sat across from each other at the kitchen table,
playing cards and drinking beer.
   "You know what this reminds me of?" asked
Skinner, picking up a card from the deck.
   "What?" Mike replied, intent on his cards.  He
smiled and then put three tens down in front of him
on the table, glancing triumpantly at his friend.  Walt
had lost the last two games, and it looked like he'd
lose this one too.
   "Saigon.  Back in the hospital.  You, me, Jack
Mayfield, and Bruce Webster sat around for hours
playing poker and leering at the nurses, remember?"
   Mike sat back, memories flashing through his mind
of that time when he'd spent two months at the
hospital in Saigon, recovering from a mortar
fragment.  That was where he had met Walt and
struck up a friendship with the man. Skinner was
being discharged from the Marines upon recovery,
so Mike never *really* violated military
fraternization rules.
   <Now those rules I understand, the bureau's
prohibitions on it's agents, I don't.>
   "Yeah, you're right, Walt.  You know, I ran into
Mayfield a few years ago.  I was out bow-hunting
with Jimmy, back home in my Granddady's country."
His nearly erased acent re-emerged momentarily
with the memories of his paternal grandfather.  "He
was out hunting himself. Guess he's become a
mountain man living out in the hills.  Anyway, I did
a little checking once I got home, and it turns out
he's involved with a lot of the survivalist and milita
groups and is living out by the Kentucky/Virginia
border in a little home made cabin."
   Skinner shook his head sadly. "I never would have
figured Mayfield to be the type. Somehow, he
seemed like he'd end up a college professor
somewhere. Definitely not the type to hide away
from the world like that."
   Mike laid down a set of kings, leaving only a pair
of cards in his hand to Walt's four. "Only need one
more card, Walt. You'd better think of something
quick, or you'll loose--third time in a row."
   Skinner just glanced at him before picking up a
card from the deck.  He looked at it and smiled
broadly, laying down four aces, and threw the last
card into the discard pile. "Gin."

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

To: XA
From: xangst@marina-pt.com (Dean Warner)
Subject: NF> Opening the Door 6/9
Cc: stories
Bcc:
X-Attachments:

************
Opening the Door
by Dean Warner
(xangst@marina-pt.com)
and Tim Helbing
(thelbing@indiana.edu)

Part Six

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
Thursday
9:15 am

Scully fought off yet another worried look from her
partner, as she closed the file she held in her lap. He
still thought that her being back in the office this
soon was a bad idea, but she was damned if she was
going to sit around and wait for Skinner to show up
on his own. He'd been missing almost a week now,
and given the meeting Mulder had had with his
cultured old informant, every day they didn't find
him alive brought them closer to a day when they'd
find him dead.
   Danny had been as good as his word, hunting up
all the credit information he could on Colonel
Reynolds. Unfortunately, the Colonel wasn't using
his Visa much this week.
   Which was exactly what Mulder had thought
would happen. Reynolds wouldn't do anything that
would alert the syndicate to his whereabouts--not if
he knew the kind of danger Skinner was in. And
Mulder was sure that he did. He was also sure that
Reynolds knew exactly *why* Skinner was in that
trouble--which was a hell of a lot more than he and
his partner knew.
   Scully sighed quietly. "Okay, Mulder... You were
right. Nothing's coming up through the credit cards."
She sat quietly, thinking for a moment. "Wait a
minute... Reynolds has a son at West Point, right?"
   Mulder nodded. "What good would it do us,
though? I'm sure he didn't call his family to let them
know where he'd be."
   "No," she agreed, hauling herself to her feet. "But
his son might know of some likely places to look."

US Military Academy
West Point, NY
Thursday
2:43pm

  "Cadet Reynolds, reporting as ordered, Sir!" James
Reynolds said from his position in front of the table
where Mulder and Scully sat.  The agents' escort, a
4th year cadet, returned his junior's salute.
   "Cadet, these people are Agents Scully and
Mulder of the FBI.  They believe you can assist
them in an investigation.  You are ordered to
cooperate with them to the best of your ability.
Upon completion of this meeting you are to return
to your normal duties.  Is this clear?"
   "Yes, Sir!" Reynolds barked loudly.  Both agents
winced at the kid's militarism.
   "Very well, Cadet, take a seat," the senior
ordered. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder, I'll be
outside, if you need anything."
   "That will be fine, thank you, Cadet." Scully
responded. The senior saluted the two agents, and
walked outside.
   Mulder took the time to examine the younger
Reynolds.  He was the spitting image of his father,
with the exception of green eyes that he supposed
were from the mother's side of the family.  The cadet
just sat there quietly, seemingly focused on
something beyond where he and Scully sat.
   He wondered suddenly if the young man had
inherited more than his father's looks and
intelligence.
   Scully addressed the cadet, the Navy brat in her
taking over out of instinct. "Cadet Reynolds, we are
here because we have reason to believe that your
father, Colonel Michael J. Reynolds, is responsible
for the disappearence of the Bureau's Assistant
Director."
   James Reynolds looked at her speculatively for a
moment before responding. "With all due respect,
Ma'am, you're plum crazy.  My father would never
do anything like that."
   "He was positively identified at the hospital where
the Assistant Director was a patient, and was seen
leaving with him."
   Mulder could see where this was going. Scully had
inadvertantly insulted the boy's father and the son
was going to stonewall until she got fed up.  He'd
have to do something quick. <If Skinner and
Reynolds are friends, maybe...> "Cadet, do you
know a Walter Skinner?"
   Reynolds' eyes went wide with confusion and
surprise. "Sure, I know him.  I haven't seen Uncle
Walt since I graduated from high school, though.
What does this have to do with your missing
Assistant Director, Sir?"
   Scully shot a look at Mulder, who returned it with
a slight grin.  She glared at him again and then
returned her attention to the young Reynolds.
"Cadet, your... 'Uncle Walt' *is* our AD.  He left
the hospital in your father's company against
doctor's orders." Well, that wasn't strictly true--but
Scully was a doctor, and it was definitely against
*her* orders.  "The body of a federal agent was
found in the hospital's parking garage. His brain had
been torn apart from the inside." James couldn't help
the subtle reaction to that information, and Scully
jumped on it.  "That's right, we know about your
father's abilities. We've worked with him before... in
Hawaii." She stopped as the cadet became visibly
agitated.
   "So *you two* are the ones who nearly got him
killed out there!" he said angrily, forgoing the "sir"
or "ma'am".
   The two agents glanced at each other, somewhat
surprised.  "I wasn't aware that your father would
discuss confidential information with people it didn't
involve." Scully said coldly.
   "It involves the family," he shot back, not noticing
Mulder's reaction.
   "You have it too, don't you?" Mulder asked
excitedly, causing Scully to nearly fall off her chair
in surprise.
   "That is none of your business, Sir, if I do or do
not," James replied, with a deadly quiet tone that
said *don't push me any farther.* "If you want my
help in trying to figure out where my father and
Uncle Walt went, I will do my best." He rose
swiftly. "Otherwise, I've got work to do."
   "Can you think of anywhere they might have
gone?"  Scully asked, looking apologetic. The kid
looked like he was about to clam up again, so she
added quickly. "We don't have much time to find
them, Cadet. They're in some trouble, and we have
to find them before certain others do."
   James seemed to accept that, and thought for a
moment, brow furrowed and eyes closed. "Maybe...
Dad had talked about going hunting at a new spot
soon. A friend of his--Navy captain, I think--has a
farmhouse out in Virgina that's supposed to be a
good spot for deer.  He could have gone there... It's
pretty far back in the hills."
   "Do you remember this friend's name?"
   James thought a moment more. "... Bine. Captain
Bine, US Navy.  I really don't know any more than
that." He said it with finality, and Scully knew that
they wouldn't get anything more from him.

Somewhere in Virginia
Thursday
5:45 pm

After almost a week in the boonies, Walter Skinner
was getting distinctly stir-crazy. He'd also decided
that Mike Reynolds was one of the most
exasperating people he'd ever spent time with. No,
he thought critically, *he* was the most
exasperating person he'd ever spent time with.
   He rarely admitted fear--especially to himself--but
he was a little frightened by what he felt himself
becoming. It was eerie to see a chair floating inches
above the ground and know that he was the cause of
it. It was a little too X-Filey for him, and he'd been
telling Mulder the absolute truth when he said he
was afraid to look beyond that ambush in Vietnam.
He couldn't believe that these things were possible.
They just didn't mesh with the fine, ordered world
he'd created for himself when he returned from the
war.
   He looked at the overgrown woods around him,
wondering if today he might just be able to go for a
run. He hadn't worked out in two weeks now, and it
was driving him crazy. Not that his mind hadn't been
getting a workout. He'd been doing everything short
of lighting the house on fire in the last five days--and
he wasn't sure that he couldn't do that, too.
   He reigned in that thought immediately. It was one
of the many problems he was having these days. If
he wasn't careful, another stray thought--like the one
he'd had in the parking garage in Baltimore--could
kill someone else. He closed his eyes, trying not to
see the slumped figure in his FBI rental car. That
had been a federal agent--regardless of who the kid
actually worked for.
   He felt like he'd killed one of his own.
   Skinner sighed, heading down the path that ran
behind the navy man's farmhouse. He wasn't moving
very fast--nowhere near what he had once been
capable of--and still his head was throbbing. At least
he'd have the chance to be alone for a while. He'd
have a chance to think. Mike was off in a town not
*too* nearby, getting provisions, and he wasn't
likely to be back for a couple of hours at least.
   Skinner had no idea where this was going. Any
choice at this point was a bad one. If the syndicate
came after him, what then? Fight it out with them?
That was fine. He and Mike could certainly take care
of a lot of problems, but what then? There were
always more of them out there. He couldn't kill them
all.
   And if the syndicate offered him a deal? It was
likely to be a bad one--you use what you've got for
us, and we let you and all those you care about live.
Thanks, but no thanks. He'd never made a very good
puppet--at least not for long.
   So he could stay up here, holed up in the woods in
a crumbling old farmhouse. And Mike would be in
some serious trouble. He hadn't been exactly
secretive about his movements. Any number of the
people at the hospital that night would be able to
identify him. And that would put Jackie and the kids
at risk. That was how the syndicate
operated--threaten the women and children.
   And Mike's children... What would happen if the
syndicate got its hands on them? Another generation
of Brightstars to play with. He shook his aching
head. No, that would be too much.
   Maybe it was time to get Mike out of the picture.
Reynolds was only out here doing him a favour.
Maybe it was time he returned it. He was only about
a hour's walk from Martiston. He could be gone
before Mike got back.
   He reversed his tracks and headed back to the
house to get the few things he had with him. He
didn't know where he was going to go--certainly not
back to D.C. He'd think of something.
   And the only one who'd be put in danger would be
him.

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

To: XA
From: xangst@marina-pt.com (Dean Warner)
Subject: NF> Opening the Door 7/9
Cc: stories
Bcc:
X-Attachments:

***************
Opening the Door
by Dean Warner
(xangst@marina-pt.com)
and Tim Helbing
(thelbing@indiana.edu)

Part seven
 

7:15 pm

Scully fidgeted slightly as her partner drove through
the increasingly rural landscape, heading toward the
old farmhouse that belonged to Colonel Reynolds'
Navy buddy. There was something about all of this
that just didn't make sense. There were clues here
that she wasn't putting together...
   "Mulder," she asked thoughtfully. "What exactly
did the therapist at Baltimore Municipal say when
you asked her about Skinner?"
   "She said he had caused a lot of problems for the
therapists in general," Mulder replied, not at all sure
where she was going with this. "She said he scared
the hell out of all of them."
   Scully nodded. Skinner could be pretty
intimidating when he wanted to be. She couldn't
really see that that was something strange. "What
about Dr. Halford? Did she say anything similar?"
   "No... No, she seemed to think he was a model
patient."
   "But Colonel Reynolds was in the room when she
was convinced to release Skinner?"
   "Yes." Mulder suddenly looked over at her.
"Where are you going with this, Scully?"
   She shook her head. "I don't know... There's
something strange about all of this..." She looked up
suddenly. "Where were you when Skinner was
shot?"
   "About three agents below him on the
ladder--right behind Brophy."
   Scully froze. That didn't make sense... *Skinner*
said he'd been behind Brophy on that ladder...
   And it had been oh, so easy to see what he was
thinking...
   Mulder cursed, and made a sharp turn into a nearly
invisible turnoff. The car rattled slightly as it drove
over a heavily rutted dirt road.
   "Mulder," Scully asked quietly. "What if Reynolds
*wasn't* the one who convinced Halford to let
Skinner go? What if he wasn't the one who killed
Agent Gentry?"
   "Who else could have?" Mulder asked, far more
intent on his driving than on the meanderings of his
partner's thoughts.
   Scully's voice was barely a whisper. "Skinner."
   At that, Mulder slammed on the brakes, pulling the
car dangerously close to the ditch by the side of the
road. "What do you mean?"
   She spoke in small bursts, still trying to puzzle it
out herself. "The therapists were all having problems
with him, Mulder--long before Reynolds ever got
there... And he remembered so much of what
happened that night--but he remembered that it was
*him* behind Brophy on that ladder, not you..."
   Mulder cocked his head. "There are cases--in the
files--of people waking from comas, to find that they
suddenly have psychic powers," he mused.
"Something about the trauma to their brains... What
if the pressure that the bleeding caused in Skinner's
brain... opened a door of some kind?"
   Scully nodded, barely believing that *she* was the
one to come up with this kind of theory. "That's why
they're after him, Mulder. To get that power."
   Mulder just stared at her a moment, and pulled the
car back onto the road, putting on as much speed as
he could.

Somewhere in Virgina
7:50pm

Mike sighed with relief as the farmhouse appeared in
his headlights. He absolutely hated driving on gravel
paths in a regular car, and the fact that he was trying
to keep the location hidden didn't help matters.
   Walt was displaying good progress in control of
his powers. Maybe in another week he could turn
him loose.  That would certainly make Jackie happy.
He knew she supported his decsion to help Walt,
once she knew what had happened, but he still
missed her and knew the feeling was mutual.
   Who knows? he mused. Maybe, once he'd
convinced the syndicate that he was just too
dangerous to try to subvert, Walt would go and ask
that cute surgeon out for a date, and he could find
out what all the buzz was about, woman-wise. The
Lord knew he needed to get a life outside of the
bureau, and it'd be a good example for those two
troublesome agents of his.

Parking the car in front of the house, he walked over
to the passenger side and took out the grocery bags.
He remembered the temptations he'd felt early on,
the temptation to use what the Brightstar project
had given him for everything. "No need to unload
the groceries, just think them into the house!" The
temptation had been hard to resist for him, but he
was a very young man then--with not nearly so
much at risk as Skinner currently had. His old friend
seemed more afraid of what he could do than
dazzled by it.
   It was something Walt was going to have to get
over, and soon, or he'd probably end up as the
syndicate's latest guinea pig.
   Walking onto the porch, Mike set the grocries
down on a bench and opened the door.  He was half
tempted to imitate Ricky Ricardo, but he knew Walt
had gotten fed up with his jokes.  They were his way
of relieving his own stress and tension, but he
realised he had overdone it lately.
   So he settled for a more normal entrance. "Yo
Walt! C'mere and help me with these grocries."
   Nothing.
   Odd... It wasn't that late, but the house was unlit
and silent. Walt had said something about trying to
go for a run today--Mike knew that the physical
inactivity was killing him, but Skinner was hardly in
any shape for his normal daily workout..
   That thought suddenly started him worrying. Was
Walt okay? He'd pulled him out of that hospital
awfully quickly. What if the doctor hadn't gotten all
the bleeders? Morbidity got the worst of him, and a
number of very unpleasant ideas started rolling
around in his brain. Forgetting the groceries, he
searched the farmhouse, noticing, with a growing
sense of dread, that Walt's gear was gone.  Going
into the kitchen, he saw a note on the table.

Mike:

It's time I let you get back home. I won't endanger
your family any longer.
   Give my love to Jackie and the kids.
   Thanks for the help, buddy.

-Walt.

"God *damn* him!" He swore violently, balling the
note up and tossing it angrily at the wastebasket.  He
wasn't finished training him yet! Which, he thought
soberly, was probably why Walt had bolted in the
first place. Fewer heads on the proverbial chopping
block.
   He headed for his car, trying to rack his brains,
trying to figure out where Walt would have gone.
Not back to D.C., certainly. Going into the lion's
den at this point would show a stupidity he knew
Walt wasn't capable of.
   Where then? Someplace the syndicate would never
think of looking for him... Someplace *no one*
would think of... A place as far away from the
trouble as he could get...
   <Damnit.> Mike remembered their brief discussion
the day before, and Walt's comments about Jack
Mayfield, about how he hadn't seemed the type to
hide away from the world like that.
   Hiding away was exactly what Walt wanted to do
right now. What better place than a little log cabin in
the hills?

He'd grabbed what gear he thought he'd need, and
was headed out to his car, when he heard another
vehicle headed up the steep gravel road. Mike
cursed as he saw the dark sedan pull up beside his
own car, and watched Fox Mulder emerge from the
driver's side. Things just could not get any worse.
   He ammended that, as Dana Scully pulled herself
out of the passenger's side. *Now* things couldn't
get any worse.
   "Where's AD Skinner, Colonel Reynolds?" Mulder
asked, looking ready for a fight. If he wasn't careful,
Mike was going to give him just that.
   "I have absolutely no idea," Mike replied tightly.
   "What do you mean?" Scully demanded, hobbling
up angrily on her crutches to look him right in the
eye.
   "He's gone," Mike stated tersely. "And I don't
have any time to talk to you two about it."
   Mulder stood in his way as he headed to his own
sedan, and Mike had to bite back the urge to hit him.
"You knew Cancerman was after Skinner, didn't
you, Colonel Reynolds? That's why you
disappeared."
   Mike almost laughed at the agent's statement of
the obvious, but he didn't have time to be annoyed
with these two. He had to get to Walt before the
syndicate did. They'd bring in heavy firepower for
this one, and if Mike were them, he'd know just who
to call.
   "I don't have time for this, Agent Mulder," Mike
rumbled quietly. "Get the hell out of my way, or I'll
move you myself."
   Mulder stepped back slightly, giving Reynolds
enough room to move by him. "You know where
he's going, don't you, Colonel?" he called after him.
   Mike ignored him, wondering what he was going
to do to slow them down. He didn't think any
physical force was going to be necessary--not when
he saw the piece of junk metal so close to their car.
Powered only by his too-angry mind, it flew swiftly
toward the right front tire, giving off a loud bang as
it connected, just as Mike started up his own car.
   He drove off without another look back, leaving
Mulder and Scully with a flat tire and a couple of
angry glares.

8:30 pm

Scully hobbled around the house as Mulder saw to
the flat tire. It looked neater than a house should
that had been inhabited by two men for a week. She
supposed it was the military man in them both.
   The one mess was, predictably enough, in the
kitchen. Reynolds had apparently let his temper get
out of hand after Skinner had left, and the shards of
a coffee mug were scattered accross the table and
floor. She picked up a crumpled piece of paper from
the floor beside the garabage bin, and smoothed it
out. It was a letter to Reynolds from Skinner,
thanking him for his help, and intimating that that
help had endangered Reynolds' family.
   That was probably the only reason Skinner had
taken off, Scully mused. He'd never put another
man's family in danger if he could help it.
   There was another crumpled piece of paper in the
bin itself, and she pulled it out, hoping to find some
clue as to where Skinner might have disappeared to.
It was blank.
   She stared at it for a moment, thinking. Why
crumple a blank piece of paper? What possible good
could a blank piece of...
   She looked over at the pad of paper sitting beside
the phone, and limped over to grab the pencil that
sat next to it. She was sure this old trick wouldn't
work. The paper was badly crumpled, and she'd
probably get no indentations from the page that had
been above it on the pad.
   To her surprise, she began to make out, faintly, a
few words on the paper as she ran the pencil over it
lightly.
   "Taking up drawing?" Mulder asked as he walked
in.
   "It looks like Skinner wrote down where he was
going," Scully replied, ignoring the ribbing. "He
threw away the sheet that was underneath the one he
took, but I managed to get something."
   Mulder picked up the paper, staring at it for a
moment. "'Leadmore, Kentucky'... Does that say
Malta Hill?"
   Scully shrugged. "I'm not sure. But if we get to
Leadmore fast enough, maybe we can find out."

10 miles west of Leadmore, KY
8:47 am
Friday

He was glad the rental car had made it up that last
steep hill, and Skinner looked enviously at the shiny
red four-by-four that stood before the cabin. He
definitely could have used it.
   He looked up at the structure before him,
wondering suddenly if Mike had ever seen the place.
   Probably not. Even at first glance, it could hardly
be called a "little, homemade cabin."
   Built like a high-class ski lodge, the cabin sported
all the modern amenities. Solar panels graced the
south slope of the roof, and another bank of them
stood to the side of the house. A greenhouse was
built onto that side as well, and there was a second,
smaller structure, that Skinner would just bet held a
solar-powered electric pump, for the well that this
cabin would obviously have.
   This seemed a little more like the Jack Mayfield
he'd known in Vietnam. An incredibly bright,
resourceful man, Mayfield had apparently decided
that he could do a lot better than just survive in this
wooded nowhere, though Skinner had to wonder
where he'd gotten the money for the place.
   Pulling his sedan up alongside the shiny truck, he
got out slowly, stretching his aching limbs. His head
ached, too--and seemed to be getting worse.
   The man who came to the door of the cabin
looked as if he hadn't aged a day in the twenty-some
years since Skinner had seen him last. Tall and
skinny, with an unruly shock of brown hair, Jack
Mayfield still looked all of twelve.
   Skinner recognised him immediately. Jack, on the
other hand, probably couldn't tell him from any other
bald old marine.
   "Jack?" he called, not moving from his place by
the car. "It's--"
   "Walter Skinner," Jack replied easily, stepping out
from the screen door. "What are you doing here,
Walt?" His tight smile didn't match the "friendly"
tone of his voice.
   Skinner smiled a little warily. "Just came to visit an
old friend."
   Jack approached him, and Skinner could feel that
something was very, very wrong. "I don't think the
Assistant Director of the FBI just comes by to visit
old friends."
   Skinner looked at the man carefully. He had a
tenseness to him, a paranoid glint in his eye. The AD
decided to deal straight with him--while he still had
the chance.
   "I need to ask your help..."

********

To: XA
From: xangst@marina-pt.com (Dean Warner)
Subject: NF> Opening the Door 8/9
Cc: stories
Bcc:
X-Attachments:

********
Opening the Door
by Dean Warner
(xangst@marina-pt.com)
and Tim Helbing
(thelbing@indiana.edu)

Part eight

Mayfield Residence

"You don't honestly expect me to believe that, do
you, Skinner?" Jack Mayfield looked about ready to
kill him, and Skinner wondered what had happened
to him after he'd left Saigon to turn him so cold.
   Of course... he'd wondered that about himself for
years.
   "Jack," he replied carefully. "It's the truth. I can't
believe it myself, but... It's the truth."
   Jack leaned back slightly, thinking aloud. "So,
what you're telling me is that you, the Assistant
Director of the FBI, are being hunted by your own
government?" He smiled disbelievingly. "And you're
what? Psychic, to boot?" He snorted suddenly.
"Walt, I've heard some tall tales in my time, but
this...?"
   "Look, Jack, what the hell do I have to do to
prove this to you?" Skinner finally asked,
exasperated both by Jack's derision, and his own
disbelief at the situation he found himself in. "Blow
your house down?"
   Jack smiled coldly. "That'd be a start. But I
worked too long to save the money to buy this place
to let you do it." He looked at his fellow vet
seriously. "Okay. Let's say I believe you. What the
hell am I supposed to do about it?"
   Skinner sighed angrily. "I just need someplace
where they'll never think to look for a while, Jack,"
he entreated. "They'd never even know I knew you."
   Jack stared at him for a moment, with a paranoia
that made Skinner's flesh crawl. Finally, Jack seemed
to soften slightly--though not in a way that was at all
trusting. "I'll show you around."

Honolulu, HI
12:35 pm EST

"They've found him then?" asked Paul Stevens, one
of the Brightstars Kang had recruited into his
organization--and thus into the syndicate.
   Kang nodded and cupped his hand around his
mouth as he lit a cigarette before responding. "That's
right. Apparently they found out where Good ol'
Reynolds hid him, but Skinner had already ditched
him.  Skinner rented a car a few hours ago, and his
two prodigal agents are apparently hot on his trail.
They're headed towards eastern Kentucky, the only
thing connected to Skinner out there is an old
military buddy of his--and the syndicate got that
information by pure chance."
   Stevens paced a bit. He was never one to sit still
for long. "So when do we leave?"
   "*You* and a disposal team will be leaving within
the hour. Your objective is Matta Hill, Kentucky.
The disposal team leader is a sensitive--not as good
as we are, of course--but good.  He will put himself
at your command. Your orders are to nab Skinner, if
possible--kill him, if not.  Everyone you find with
him is dead, whether he agrees to go or not."
   "Right." Stevens smiled grimly. "One way or
another, Walter Skinner ceases to be a threat
tomorrow."

En route to Leadmore, KY
9:35 am

Mike Reynolds tried to keep calm. It wouldn't do
Walt any good if he stepped out of his car and spent
the next twenty minutes ragging on the guy. But that
was exactly what he wanted to do. Of all the stupid
moves Mike had seen in his years, this one took the
cake.
   Walt should have known to stay put. Regardless
of what the syndicate might threaten, they'd learned
too well that taking his famiy would cause a lot
more problems than it solved. They'd never risk it.
   But Walt hadn't known that, he reasoned with
himself. He'd only been trying to protect Jackie and
the kids.
   Unfortunately, that chivalry of his was likely to get
him killed in fairly short order.

Leadmore, KY
10:55 am

"Okay," Scully stated, slipping awkwardly back into
the car. "The place is called Matta Hill, not Malta,
and it's about ten miles west of here. Seems that
there's only a few militia men living up there."
   Mulder shook his head. "Why would Skinner go
there?"
   "I don't know, Mulder," she replied seriously, as
he pulled out of the gas station and headed west.
"But we'd better find him soon. Before *they* do."

En route to Leadmore, KY
11:05 am

The van sped down the gravel road. They were only
minutes away from their objective.  Stevens fidgeted
with his black outfit, fingering the cut of the
garment, while mentally preparing himself for the
fight ahead.  It had been a long time since he'd gone
at it with another sensetive, and he looked forward
to the exercise.
   He looked over at the team leader, seated in the
driver's seat.
   "Remember, if Reynolds is there, leave him to me.
Your task is to negate Skinner's abilities."
   "Sure, no problem," the team leader replied--a
little too eagerly. "I don't want to try to go head to
head with the Colonel, anyway."

Mayfield Residence
11:09 am

Mike launched himself out of the car immediately, as
he pulled to a stop beside the sedan and the pickup.
Walter Skinner and Jack Mayfield were just coming
out of the cabin.
   "Walt!" Mike yelled. "Just what the *Hell* did you
think you were doing?"
   "This isn't your fight, Mike," Walt returned
quietly. "Just go home to Jackie and the kids--"
   "And say what!" Mike wanted to know. "'Yeah,
Jackie, I'm home... Oh, Walt? Well, he wanted to
face the firing squad on his own, so I left him in
Leadmore!'" He tried to get his temper under
control--now was not the time to lose it. "This was a
stupid move, Walt. If they send one of the
Brightstars after you..."
   Jack Mayfield, who'd been sitting on the sidelines
until now, suddenly broke in. "What the hell's a
Brightstar?" He looked at Walt again, all the
suspicion that had been allayed in the past hour
suddenly springing back into his eyes. "Damnit,
Walt. What have you gotten me into?"
   Skinner would have answered, but Mulder and
Scully chose that moment to drive up the long gravel
road before the house. Skinner cursed quietly.
   Mayfield disappeared into his cabin, coming out
quickly with an automatic rifle, the instinct for
danger that he'd honed in the jungles of Southeast
Asia kicking in despite him. He raised the gun,
training it on the newly arrived car.
   "Jack," Skinner said wearily. "Put it down. They're
the least of our worries now."
   Mike looked down at Mulder and Scully, who
were just approaching on foot. "Damnit! If they
could find you, Walt, so can the syndicate."
   Walt nodded, his head throbbing more and more
as each new person arrived. "Jack," he asked quietly.
"How many guns have you got here? I think we'll
probably need them all."
   "I got plenty," Jack replied coldly. "But I'm not
about to arm the FBI, or the army, either." His
paranoid glare took in the whole entourage.
   Skinner just looked at him, his anger rising.
Paranoia was a useful thing--but only up to a certain
point. "Look, if you want to die here, that's fine," he
stated, cold as ice. "But I'll be damned if I am. Now,
give us what you have."
   "I'm afraid it's too late for that, Mr. Skinner." All
eyes turned to the nearby treeline, as a man,
unknown to all but Reynolds, emerged.
   Reynolds was furious all over again. He'd let
himself get out of control. He would never have
missed Stevens' presence if he'd controlled his
temper with Walt and his agents. "Paul Stevens," he
gritted angrily. "Still Kang's obedient lapdog I see.
How much is he paying you for this little massacre?"
   "Enough," Stevens replied contemptously. He
surveyed the group, lingering on the Assistant
Director. "So, that's Walter Skinner?" He shrugged
dispassionately. "He doesn't look like much."
   Skinner glared at the man, letting himself slowly
get just slightly out of control. The power he'd been
so afraid of before was going to be the only weapon
he had now. But as he felt it build, the pain in his
head was suddenly blinding, and it was enough
effort to simply keep his feet.
   Steven's felt the shift in Skinner's mind, and smiled
coolly. This was going to be easier than he'd hoped.
   At Steven's reaction, Jack Mayfield's paranoia
suddenly got the best o