by J. Millingyon
varmstro@earthlink.net
August 1997
 

Written during the summer following Gethsemane. My own "What if.." for Mulder's apparent suicide. Also written before we knew Mrs. Mulder's first name was supposed to be Teena and before we were sure of the smoking man's real name.
 

==================

Walter Skinner knew the exact moment he started down the road to hell. He wasn't sure if he'd hit bottom yet, but every sign post along the way was etched into his soul.
 

Pouring another drink, he ignored the way his hands shook.
 

Successful at work, Assistant Director of the FBI, well-respected by those agents under his supervision, in favor with those above him. His father, if he were still alive, would have been proud. His mother, on the other hand, would have looked into his eyes, his heart.
 

"Oh, Walter," she would have said, "What have you done?"

==================
 

Green Meadows Convalescent Home
Alexandria, Virginia
 

Every morning started just like this. Milton, the old man in the bed next to him, woke first, coughing as if he was going to bring up a lung, then hoisted himself into a wheelchair and headed for the bathroom.

The room's other resident tried to gather enough strength to open his eyes. Mission accomplished. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think. If he allowed his thoughts to flow freely, his mind to really ponder his situation, black despair gripped him and threatened to pull his sanity down into a bottomless abyss. Blank existence instead of raging madness, was there really that much difference? Either way it blotted out his hopeless dreams. Dreams of what had happened, what might have been. Where the hell was the nurse with his meds?
 

"Okay, gentlemen, time to get ready for breakfast." The nurse's aide bustled into the room. She jerked the curtains aside, flooding the room with light, leaving the bedridden form blinking furiously. Ignoring Milton's half-serious protests about the lack of privacy, she raided the bathroom for a towel and warm, soapy washcloth.
 

"Rise and shine, Frank." The silent man stared straight ahead as she washed his face with a quick efficiency. She fished an electric razor out of the bedside table and shaved his stubbly chin. Rifling through the dresser next to the wall, she selected clean clothes for the day. She swept the blankets back in one smooth movement and proceeded to dress the limp form as if he were some overgrown doll.
 

"Hey, Frank." The old man gave him a nod as he wheeled past. Milton made a habit of looking his roommate square in the eye when he talked to him. The doctor might claim Frank's brains were totally scrambled, but Milton had seen the spark that flickered just below the surface. Especially before he got his morning meds. Whatever they gave the poor guy really put him under for the rest of the day. Probably for seizures or something, most of the younger guys here had head injuries, car wrecks more often that not.
 

When the aide breezed out of the room, Milton rolled over to Frank's side. "I swear, boy, a body ought not to be that cheerful in the morning. It can't be healthy."
 

One blink. Milton took that for a yes.
 

"Remember, how I told you that I didn't like the way they were keeping you drugged up?"
 

Blink.
 

"Well, my niece has got a friend. . .well, actually, he's family on my ex-wife's side. Only met the man once. But that's beside the point, which is, if you're still interested, I can have him look into this thing."
 

Eyes stayed firmly open, like a question. Unsure whether he could really go back. Like this. Unsure whether he could trust Milton or the old man's friend.
 

"What I mean to say is, he's not a lawyer or nothing like that. He's a cop or some such. It's just that I don't think the doctors are doing right by you here. What do you say, want me to call this guy and ask him to look into it?"
 

A pause. Then, slow and sure, a definite blink. Anything had to better than this living, lonely death.

================================
 

Washington, D. C.
 

The low roar of conversation filled the restaurant, as Walter Skinner paused in the doorway. He still wasn't sure why he was here, Georgeanne's call had come out of the blue. Of all of his ex-wife's relatives, he had only ever felt at ease with this particular cousin; but they hadn't talked in years. Had Sharon even told her about the divorce?
 

It didn't matter, he appreciated the break from work and from the tension that had ruled his life for months.
 

She saw Skinner first and stood up from the table, giving him a hesitant wave. She looked the same, perhaps a little thicker around the middle, but neither one of them were exactly young any more.
 

She remained standing until he joined her. She held out her hand and gave him a gentle, yet confident, handshake. "Walter, I'm so glad you came. I feel silly, really, having called you at all."
 

"No problem. It's good to get away from the office once in awhile." The waiter interrupted, taking their drink orders, before Skinner could continue. "On the phone you said you had a problem. Somehing I could help you with?"
 

"Do you remember Milton Davidson?" He shook his head, no. "There's no reason why you should. He's my aunt's ex-husband, you may have met him at our wedding. He's the black sheep of the family, in a way. Drank too much for years. That, on top of his diabetes, ...well, his health's been declining. Lost both legs to the diabetes and he's lived in a nursing home for several years."
 

The waiter brought their drinks and took their order for lunch. Skinner let Georgeanne continue, giving her time to spin the story out at her own speed.
 

"I'm probably the only one left who visits Uncle Milton, and I don't get out there as often as I should. A few months ago he got a new roommate, apparently brain-damaged in a car wreck, tragic story. He's the nephew of the hospital administrator, Dr. Paul Miller, but no one, not even his uncle, visits him. Not much point, seeing as he can't talk or communicate. Except with Milton. Milton's got the notion in his head that this man isn't really who they say he is, that he's being held against his will.
 

"Uncle Milton is convinced that this man told him to try and find out what's really going on." She fiddled with her drink for a moment. "It's ridiculous, really; thinking that his roommate is communicating with him at all. I saw the man when I was out there. He's a vegetable, doesn't even has the strength to swallow on his own, they feed him through a tube in his stomach."
 

She stopped, realizing that in her nervousness she was rambling. "Once he remembered you, that you worked for the FBI, Milton insisted that I have you look into this." She reached down and rummaged through her purse, pulling out a paperback book sealed in a plastic bag.
 

"This is all so melodramatic. Milton took this book, wiped it clean as he could and pressed the man's fingerprints onto it. He wants you to check and see if they really are the fingerprints of Frank Miller." She paused,
 

"I'll be honest with you, Walter. It's not that I really believe Milton's story, but I wouldn't have even bothered you if he hadn't been so insistent."
 

Skinner picked up the bag and turned it over in his hands.

Georgeanne reached across the table to take back the book. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's silly to expect you to waste government resources on Milton's fantasies."
 

"That's okay," Skinner set the book down on the table. "I can do this on my own time, no problem. It might not come to anything, though. Unless Frank Miller, or whoever this patient is, has ever been fingerprinted, there won't be any record to compare it to."
 

"Thanks. You don't know how much this means to me. Milton may be a bit eccentric, but I don't believe he's delusional. Honestly, I'm not sure what to think."
 

=======================================
 

Lifting the prints off of the book reminded Skinner of his early years in the Bureau. It wouldn't hurt him to brush on basic forensic techniques. One thing you could say for Milton, he did a really good job of collecting a set of prints.
 

After he scanned the fingerprints into the computer, he waited for the database to make a match. He was just taking a sip of coffee when the name and picture rolled across the screen. The coffee cup hit the desk and sloshed over his desk calendar.
 

That was impossible.
 

He sat there stunned for just a minute before he went to work. Pulling open his bottom desk drawer, he took out the evidence bag that had sat there for months, personal effects the DC police had given him. He shouldn't have kept it, but the victim's mother wouldn't take it. Besides, it served Skinner as a reminder, to be careful in the choices that he made.
 

He fumbled around in his briefcase for a pair of latex gloves. After he pulled them on, he withdrew the slim leather wallet from the bag and dusted it for prints. When he was done, he found that the impossible was irrefutable. The prints on the wallet matched the prints on the book that matched those on his computer screen.
 

Working as quickly as he could, Skinner deleted the search from the system and stashed the printed copy in his briefcase, making sure the book they were lifted from was still there. Placing the wallet back in the evidence bag, he added it to the stack. Then he began a search for information on Dr. Paul Miller.
 

Half an hour later he sat glaring at his computer. Pretty amazing how an unmarried man, whose only sibling died in childhood could have a nephew. He made a mental list of men in the Bureau who could be trusted. A short list.
 

========================================
 

The smell hit him as soon as he walked in the front door, that unpleasant combination of disinfectant on top of the stale, unmistakable odor of urine. Half a dozen grim-faced FBI agents and a pair of paramedics pushing a gurney followed close behind him as he made his way to the nurse's station. Protocol might call for him to serve the warrant to the adminstrator's office first, but Skinner was banking on the element of surprise. Secure the patient and his records first, then make the arrests.
 

The nurse at the desk rose in alarm as the group of dark-suited men and women invaded her workstation. The balding man in the front flashed his ID at her.
 

"Ms. Hoffman," Skinner read her name off her name tag. "I'm Assistant Director Walter Skinner of the FBI. I have a court order to take custody of the patient known to you as Frank Miller and to confiscate all medications and medical records pertaining to him. Where can we find Mr. Miller?"
 

In a panic the nurse tried to stop the agents who were going through the charts.
 

"Ms. Hoffman." Skinner grabbed her attention once again. "Where is Frank Miller?"
 

"Room 213." She pointed down the hall, but the jiggling of the locked med room door distracted her. "Look, you can't go in there. I need to call Dr. Miller. Wait."

Skinner blocked her hand as she tried to pick up the phone. "Don't call the office. We'll make sure that Dr. Miller knows exactly what's going on. Rosenthal, Bradley, go apprise the doctor of the situation. Ms. Hoffman, please unlock the medication room. I want this place turned upside down. You two," he motioned to the paramedics, "come
with me."
 

Skinner stopped in the doorway of 213. In the bed closest to the window a figure lay staring up at the ceiling. He didn't turn his head at the sound of someone entering the room. That didn't matter, Skinner recognized him immediately from the profile.
 

Milton Davidson wheeled down the hall and tried to enter his room, but found the doorway blocked by the gurney. "Hey, you two, let me in there."
 

The paramedics ignored him, they had their orders. It didn't stop Milton from trying to get in on the action. "Walter Skinner, isn't it? I told Georgeanne you'd come," he yelled out to Skinner.
 

Skinner didn't hear the old man, all his attention was focused on the bed. He walked over to the patient, making sure that he was in the man's line of sight. It really was him. Or what was left of him. He grasped the man's head in his hands, looking into his eyes, looking for signs of recognition.
 

"Agent Mulder, I've come to take you away from here."
 

Unable to speak, unable to move, tears rolled down Fox Mulder's cheeks.

As Skinner watched them load Mulder on the gurney, Bradley came back from the adminstrator's office. The agent stared as they prepared Mulder for transport. He was shocked. He knew they were gong to find the missing man
here, but he hadn't expected this. . .this wraith.
 

"That was awfully fast, Bradley."
 

The AD's voice snapped him out of his shock. "Sir, Dr. Miller wasn't in his office. We caught his secretary on the phone as we walked in. I think she may have tipped him off. I called the Alexandria PD to intercept him at his home. He'll probably be gone, but I'm heading over there with Rosenthal right now."
 

Skinner gave him a curt nod and started to answer but his cell phone rang. "Keep me informed." With a wave he dismissed the man and answered his phone.
 

"Skinner."
 

"Mr. Skinner, this is Margaret Scully. You left a message on my machine."
 

"Yes, Mrs. Scully, it's imperative that I get in touch with your daughter as soon as possible."
 

"What's this about? Dana left specific instructions that she did not want to hear from anyone at work. After the treatment. . ." She searched for the right words. "Mr. Skinner, while Dana has overcome her cancer, she has a lot of healing left to do. You gave her a six month leave of absence. She's not ready to come back to work yet."
 

Shit this was hard. Mulder's 'death' had devastated his partner. Her grief over his suicide loomed over her, blotting out what should have been her joy at conquering her own mortality. Unless. . .with a painful death staring her in the face, could she have made her own deal? He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. But she was the one who had
identified the body. And he knew a little bit about deals made out of desperation.
 

"Mr. Skinner?"
 

"Um. . .just give your daughter a message. Tell her that I need to speak with her. In person. This is something I can't discuss over the phone.'
 

"I'll relay the message." Her tone was cold, she clearly didn't want to be Skinner's go-between. "Good-bye, Mr. Skinner."
 

Skinner walked alongside as they wheeled Mulder out to the ambulance. It was an almost physical pain to watch him lying there, cut off from the world. He had never known anyone as alone as this man. Loneliness was something Walter Skinner could definitely relate to.
 

===========================================
 

When Elizabeth Mulder had begun her wait, the sunshine had streamed through the living room windows. She was chilled now in the growing shadows and still the phone hadn't rung.
 

Don't talk to anyone about your son. He had been quite specific on that . Not if you want him to live.
 

She pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and drew it around her. They hadn't called yet. She sat here in the dark and waited, afraid to move. What must Fox think of her? Could he think of her? They wouldn't let her go to him, but they'd showed her a picture, so pale, like an invalid, lying in that bed. Nothing permanent so far, he'd promised her, as long as she cooperated.
 

She hated herself. Now she knew what Bill must have gone through. Use the daughter to manipulate the father, the son to coerce the mother. As a family, the Mulders were a farce.
 

She jumped when the phone finally rang. "Hello."
 

"Mrs. Mulder, this Assistant Director Walter Skinner, with the FBI."
 

"Yes, we met at the...." She couldn't bring herself to say it. The funeral. Whose ashes had she scattered in his name?
 

Skinner mistook her silence for grief and was unsure how to breach it. Elizabeth Mulder saved him the trouble.
 

"What can I do for you, Mr. Skinner?"
 

"Mrs. Mulder, there has been a horrible mistake. Recently we discovered that the man we believed to be your son, the man found dead in his apartment, was not Fox."
 

"What are you saying?"
 

"Your son is alive. We found him in a Virginia convalescent home. He's being transferred to Georgetown University Medical Center.'
 

"I don't believe you."
 

"Mrs. Mulder, let me assure you that there is no mistake." At least not this time. "Fox Mulder is alive."
 

"Leave me alone, Mr. Skinner."

He stood there at the door of the nursing home staring at the silent phone in his hand. She'd hung up. How could she hang up?
 

"Mr. Skinner, we're ready to go here."
 

Glancing at the still figure on the gurney, a chill went down his spine. How much had Mulder overheard? He made a quick decision, tossing his keys to the agent nearest him. "Follow us in my car. I'm going to ride in the ambulance."

======================
 

There was an undercurrent of excitement and confusion in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. The whispers faded whenever they saw Skinner coming, but he still caught enough of it, Spooky Mulder back from the dead. The tone of the conversations shifted from awe and fear to skepticism. Some actually believed that Mulder had faked his own death to get out of trouble, but no one could name exactly what that trouble might have been. Skinner did notice that Bradley and Rosenthal and the other agents who'd gone with him stayed out of that line of speculation. No one who had seen Mulder at that nursing home could possibly believe he was there by choice.
 

It was almost time for the his meeting with Mulder's doctor when Kimberly let him know he had a visitor.
 

"Tell him to come back, I'm on my way out." As he hung up the phone, Dana Scully forced her way into his office.

The fact that she had chosen to come in didn't surprise him, she had a finely honed sense of duty. The fact that she came dressed casually, in a sweater and slacks, underscored her defiance at being asked to come at all. She radiated cold fury at his intrusion on her private life.
 

"Sir, you told my mother that you needed to speak with me urgently."
 

"Yes, Agent Scully, sit down." He plunged right in. "Agent Scully, I've asked you here today to go over your report on Agent Mulder's death."
 

That chipped the ice a little, but she composed herself quickly before replying. "I have nothing to add to that report."
 

"According to the police report you barely glanced at the body. I've just reviewed the crime scene photos. The position of the body was poor and between the wound and the blood that obscured his features, how certain are you that the man found in that apartment was, in fact, Fox Mulder?"
 

There was no hiding her distress now. "Those were the clothes he had been wearing earlier in the evening. The hair was..." Her voice broke. "Why are you asking me this now? The autopsy confirmed my identification."
 

"It's recently come to my attention that neither the pathologist who performed the autopsy, nor the diener who assisted him, can be located. They have both apparently vanished. The body, as you know, was cremated. There is no way to verify the autopsy report. I ask you again, how did you know that the dead man was your partner?"
 

She jerked out of the chair as if to leave, but simply stood there, her shoulders shaking in repressed grief. When she finally continued her voice was soft, barely audible.
 

"I was just so afraid. Afraid of not being able to work any longer. Afraid that if I continued to work, my weakness would put Mulder's life at risk." She turned toward face him. "I was afraid to die without knowing the reasons why and Michael Kritschgau gave me those reasons. But Mulder kept pushing, you know how he was. So I told him. I told him that it was all his fault. That they were killing me so he would believe.
 

"I'd always wondered if there was any limit to his capacity to draw down the guilt of the world on his shoulders and keep on going. I pushed until I found his limit. I wanted him to live for the both of us. I thought...I believed that if I left him with the answers, if I found the truth he was searched so hard for, that it might ease, somewhat, the pain of losing me."
 

"But now he's dead and you're alive."
 

"Why are you asking me about this?" Her face was a protrait of agony.
 

"Agent Scully, yesterday evening I accompanied a team of FBI agents who rescued a man housed in a Virginia convalescent home under the name Frank Miller. This man has been drugged and held against his will for the past five months. This man is Fox Mulder."
 

"No." She collapsed in to the chair beside her. "No." It was all she could manage.
 

She looked pale and sick, as if in the space of the past minute Mulder's return to life had drawn her back down to the brink of death. Skinner was convinced of her innocence. They were all pawns in a game he was determined to figure out. When he continued his voice was gentle.
 

"Scully, I was just on my way to the hospital to check on his condition. Why don't you come with me?"
 

====================

When he awoke it felt like he was in a coffin. In this tiny space the ceiling was only inches from his nose. He still couldn't move, couldn't talk, he couldn't get out. Help! I'm alive in here! In the onrush of panic he felt his heart begin to race.
 

"It's all right, Mr. Mulder, you're having a scan done. Just lie still, we're almost done." The technician droned on, her exact words less important than the fact that she knew his name. She knew who he really was. He was in the hospital. Now he remembered, Skinner had found him.
 

"Unnh." He surprised himself. He could talk. Not very eloquent, but his first word in months.
 

His initial joy at making himself heard dwindled as they wheeled him back to his room. The ceiling whisked by, images tickled at his peripheral vision, just out of range. He would give anything to be able to turn his head and look.
 

=====================
 

Playing hostess to this man was the most reprehensible thing Elizabeth had ever done. How had she ever thought him attractive? Once she had found his open expression of emotion refreshing, so unlike her husband. At first Bill's aloof nature had seemed enigmatic, like a mystery for her to solve.
 

Eventually she discovered that the only real mystery was how a man could turn so completely away from his wife and children. So she had turned to this man, a colleague who openly admired her, at least when they were alone. Now as he casually brushed his hand along her cheek she steeled herself not to shudder.
 

"There can be no more delays. What you've given us is incomplete. You helped Bill compile the data, either find the rest of the records or detail what you remember of the information." He lit another cigarette, taking a long and casual drag from it. "Whatever happened to your enthusiasm? Before Fox was born you were the Project's greatest proponent."
 

"Before Fox was born, I had no idea what the goal of the Project really was."
 

"You knew enough. You knew that mankind stood on the threshold of a new day, and you wholeheartedly committed yourself to that plan."
 

Her response was cut off by the ringing of the phone. One glance at her visitor reminded her to be careful.
 

"Hello."
 

"Mrs. Mulder."
 

Oh God, not Walter Skinner. Not now. "Mr. Skinner, I told you not to call me again." She slammed the receiver down, hard.

Skinner jerked the phone back from his ear. Something was definitely not right with that woman, something other than grief. Scully sat still and silent beside him. She hadn't uttered a word since they'd left the office. He kept expecting her to ask some questions, to at least inquire about Mulder's condition. But to inquire about his health, she would have to
first believe that he was really alive.
 

Agent Bradley waited for them at the entrance to the hospital. He nodded to Scully, but directed his comments to Skinner.
 

"Sir, Dr. Yoder left a message that he would be delayed about thirty more minutes, something about the running a few more confirmatory tests on whatever it was they giving Mulder in the home. He also said to remind you that he needs to get in contact with Mulder's next of kin, to okay some treatment decisions."
 

"Agent Scully, I need your help with this."
 

"Sir?"
 

"In lieu of his mother, you are still listed as Mulder's emergency contact." He didn't give her time to protest. "Bradley, tell Dr. Yoder we'll meet him in Agent's Mulder's room whenever he's ready. Scully, come with me."
 

She didn't protest. The whole experience was surreal. This couldn't be happening. Mulder was dead. She had seen the body. She had identified the body. But if he wasn't dead... All these months and she hadn't even tried to look for him. She couldn't bring herself to consider her betrayal.
 

They came to a halt just outside a doorway flanked by two agents she vaguely knew. Both men stepped aside at their approach. Scully followed Skinner into the room, drawn along in his wake with no momentum of her own. The room was quiet except for the gentle rhythm of the pump which fed the steady flow of nutrients into the figure on the bed.

His eyes were open.
 

Skinner left Scully standing in the doorway and walked straight to the bed, addressing him as he approached.
 

"Mulder, I've brought someone to see you." He reached over and turned
 

Mulder's head in Scully's direction.
 

Mulder's eyes grew wide in recognition. Forgetting for the moment that he couldn't talk, he tried to call out to her, to say her name. All that came out was a low moan.
 

Scully backed against the wall, shaking her head from side to side. Bolting out of the room she fled down the hall in a panic.
 

Skinner was left standing there, unsure what to do next, uncertain which of them needed him the most. Mulder's eyes, more expressive today, clearly echoed distress over his partner's reaction. Skinner took that as a cue.
 

"Look, I don't know what you remember about the day you 'died.' Hell, I can't even imagine what you've been through for the past five months. But the day you disappeared, Scully identified a body in your apartment. Your body. For the past five months she's been certain that you were dead."
 

Mulder's brow furrowed slightly in... concern? Surprise? Doubt? Skinner watched as the man turned his head almost imperceptibly toward the door.
 

"Fine. I'll go after her. and make sure she's all right. When I get back, Dr. Yoder wants to go over your test results and medical records. Are you up to that?." How had Milton said he communicated with Mulder? "Give me a blink if that's okay."
 

Blink. Mulder's face definitely reflected worry now, and some stronger emotion. Anger perhaps.
 

Skinner found Scully in the waiting room, her head bowed down and held between her hands.
 

"Agent Scully."
 

She looked up, her face ravaged by grief and guilt. "What have I done?"
 

"Nothing. You haven't done anything, Agent Scully, but believe a carefully crafted plot. A plot aimed specifically at destroying your trust in Mulder and the X-Files at a time in your life when you were afraid and vulnerable. They manipulated you and told you what you wanted to believe. They gave you a rational, a scientific explanation for the X-Files."
 

She started to reply, but he cut her off. "Before you say anything, just here me out. Michael Kritschgau, the Department of Defense employee who convinced you of Mulder's manipulation, disappeared at the same time that you went into the hospital for treatment. They played upon your weakness to shut down the X-Files once and for all.
 

"But there's something else at work here. Why go to all the trouble to stage an apparent suicide and then hold the 'victim' in storage? It doesn't add up. Something's going on, Scully, and Fox Mulder is the key. The rest of us are just being pulled along behind him."
 

He glanced at his watch. "Dr. Yoder should be here in ten minutes and we can begin to sort this all out. But right now there's a man in there who's worried about you. Make your peace with Agent Mulder."
 

At the sound of someone entering the room, Mulder tried to turn his head toward the door. Beyond his line of sight, Scully stood there, her eyes red-rimmed. She watched him for a minute, taking in his emaciated form. Silently she walked over to the bed and reached out a hand to touch his face. It was warm and solid. Real. He was real.
 

He moved his head to the side slightly, trapping her hand between his cheek and the pillow. Now that he had a good view of her, he looked her over, searching for signs of her own illness. Hazel eyes asked the question.
 

She understood. "I'm fine, Mulder. A combination of computer-assisted laser surgery and gene-therapy. The cancer's gone."
 

His relief was obvious and immediate.
 

"But what happened to you? Oh Mulder, I believed you were dead. I thought I drove you to..."
 

He moaned trying to tell her that it wasn't her fault.
 

"What have they done to you?" Her voice dropped to a whisper.
 

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to let her know how grateful he was that she here, alive and healthy. For the first time in months, he wanted to live.
 

======================
 

Linus Yoder took the time to go over a few details in his patient's chart one more time before he began. As he looked up, he caught a glimpse of Fox Mulder's eyes, dark and intense, as if they were drilling into his soul for answers. Unfortunately the answers he had to give only raised more questions.
 

"Yesterday evening, when we admitted Mr. Mulder into this hospital, he was completely unable to communicate. Voluntary muscle response was almost completely absent. Because of his inability to swallow, a gastrostomy had been performed. That's a feeding tube surgically implanted in the abdomen," he added at AD Skinner's questioning glance. "The medical records that accompanied Agent Mulder, under the name of Frank Miller, indicated that the patient had suffered a debilitating head injury ten months before his admission. Extensive testing done by Dr. Harriman, the consulting neurologist, revealed no signs or symptoms to corroborate that diagnosis. The only medication he was receiving was phenobarbital, supposedly to control seizures brought on the head trauma. The FBI labs verified that the medication seized at the nursing home was, indeed, phenobarb. The serum phenobarb levels in the toxicology screen confirmed that the patient had been regularly receiving this drug. In the absence of any apparent head injury, i t is my belief that this medication was being used to keep Agent Mulder sedated. That does not, however, explain his paralysis.
 

"What put us on the right track was the feeding tube. The only other substance he received on a regular basis was a specially formulated nutritional solution. We had that analyzed and found something really strange. An anomalous substance was being pumped into the gastrostomy tube. Definitely not an FDA-approved vitamin supplement. It appears to be a synthetic neuromuscular blocking agent, similar to those derived from curare, but able to somehow it selectively targeted the voluntary muscles and didn't interfere with the diaphragm or inhibit breathing."
 

"If this is a curarifrom muscle relaxant, the symptoms should dissipate rather rapidly. When was his last dose?" Scully asked. Back in the familiar territory of medicine, Skinner noticed that Scully seemed more in control of her emotions.
 

"That solution was discontinued before they transported him to the hospital, about eighteen hours ago. There's been some improvement in his condition, but keep in mind that this whole incident has several unique factors." That was an understatement, the entire situation was bizarre and unsettling. "This drug is unlike any others in it's class, we have no way of knowing exactly what it's half-life is or how long it will take to leave his system completely. Similar medications are always given by injection, not ingested. And they're only used for brief periods of time, usually to immobilize a patient during surgery. There's no way to tell what the residual affects of long-term use may be."
 

"But there's also nothing to indicate that he won't make a full recovery."
 

Skinner was trying hard to make sense of the situation. Surely they wouldn't have taken the time and effort to keep Mulder safely tucked away, without certain assurances for his ultimate well-being.
 

"We're going to proceed with his care plan, with the goal of a full recovery. But it wouldn't be honest of me not to cover the possible negative outcomes. He was getting an awful lot of this stuff, apparently for months. There could be residual muscle weakness, lingering paralysis. I'm just guessing here. To tell you the truth, I don't know what to expect."
 

"What about physical therapy?" Mulder's frailty worried Scully. "It's going to take an extensive program to rebuild his strength."
 

"Yes, it will, and we'll start on that on a limited basis as soon as he is able. We've already begun tapering off his phenobarbital, immediate cessation of barbiturates would cause severe withdrawal symptoms, something that he's not physically prepared to deal with at this time. If I can get your permission, I'd like to schedule a surgical consult in the next few days to see about removing the gastrostomy tube as soon as he's able to swallow, hopefully within the next couple of days."
 

The conference continued around him while Mulder raged. Talk to me, damn it. I'm right here in front of you. He groaned in frustration, trying to insert himself in the conversation. Scully just patted his hand, trying to reassure him, and turned back to what Dr. Yoder was saying.
 

===========================

She put the pen down and looked over what she had written. After her 'miraculous' recovery from the stroke, Elizabeth found herself recalling details of events that she thought long forgotten. That particular aspect of her healing she had kept to herself. She'd hoped that she could convince them that she no longer remembered her work. But now that Fox's life depended on her memory, she dredged every detail no matter how insignificant it seemed. Of course they'd given her no idea which aspect of the project was being revived.

Sometimes secrecy became a disease, a cancer eating away at those who maintained it. The lack of trust in the consortium eroded the bonds that had held co-conspirators together. That was no longer her problem. All that mattered was freeing her son from the threats they held over him. Four days since Walter Skinner had last tried to reason with her, a full week since Fox had been rescued from his prison. All that was left for her to write out was the aborted Russian project, something Bill had described to her as a wild goose chase. Maybe now her son could really be free from their threat.

=====================

Skinner watched as the thin man hobbled slowly across the room, first pushing the walker out in front of him and then dragging each foot after it. All the while the physical therapist hovered by his side keeping up a steady barrage of encouragement.
 

"That's great, Mr. Mulder. Better than yesterday. Only five feet more. You can do it."
 

She might as well have saved her breath. Her patient drew all the motivation he needed from within. During the past two weeks his relief at being rescued had turned to frustration with the continued weakness of his body and rage at the men who had put him here. Not that he expressed that much in words. He'd been strangely quiet, almost as if he had gotten out of the habit of speaking. As stingy as Mulder had become with his words, his moods and emotions were telegraphed more than ever on his face.
 

He hadn't been much help to the team investigating his disappearance, his written statement brief and lacking in details. He remembered being alone at home, watching television. The next thing he remembered was waking up in a nursing home completely unable to move. It was a cold document, devoid of emotion. There was no mention of his distress over the progress of Scully's disease. Not a hint of her rejection of everything he believed in. Facts without cause, acts without motive. Mulder was barely able to cope with all that had happened, his mind wouldn't let him explore the _why_ just yet.
 

Skinner kept expecting him to ask about the source of Scully's cure, but he was glad the topic hadn't come up. The truth was, he wasn't sure if Scully had stumbled across the innovative treatment on her own or if it had been conveniently placed at her disposal. Was it payment for Skinner's clandestine chores or a trade-off for Mulder? Skinner didn't know for sure, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.
 

Mulder reached the end of the session and sat down heavily in the wheelchair. He looked up at Skinner, acknowledging his presence for the first time.
 

"Sir."
 

"Agent Mulder." He turned to the orderly waiting to pick up his patient. "I'll take him back to his room."
 

They passed through the hallways, each man lost in his own thoughts. Two agents trailed behind them, shadowy reminders that Mulder might still be in danger. When they reached his room, Mulder waved off any assistance and slowly levered himself out of the chair and onto the edge of the bed. His every movement was slow and exact, no motion wasted. Everything he did was steeped in purpose and Skinner was afraid that purpose was revenge. Which brought him to one of the reasons he was there.
 

"Agent Mulder, there has been a new development in your case. Last night Paul Miller's car was found at the bottom of a ravine in West Virginia. Apparently it crashed and burned two weeks ago. The remains inside have been positively identified as those of Dr. Miller.
 

Mulder threw him a look, as if to say 'What else did you expect.' Skinner continued.
 

"The investigation is still ongoing. I have to ask, do you have any idea what they wanted? Were you interrogated? Did they give you any indication--"
 

"No." Mulder's anger bubbled to the surface, but he still couldn't talk about it. He stretched out on the bed, turning his back on more questions. "If you don't mind, I'm tired."

"There's one other thing. I understand they're releasing you in a few days. Where did you plan to go?"
 

Mulder closed his eyes, too exhausted to deal with one more problem. Someone else now lived in apartment 42 and he had no where to go. His mother didn't answer her phone and she hadn't returned his messages. Whenever Scully came to see him, the meeting was tense, there was so much left unsaid between the two of them. She had a chance for a new life now, a safer one free of the X-Files. He couldn't answer Skinner's question because he honestly had no idea what he was going to do.
 

"I thought that might be a problem so I've already arranged a safe house for you."

Mulder protested more out of habit than conviction. "Is that absolutely necessary?"
 

"Whoever's behind this," he gestured at the wheelchair, "can't be too happy to have their plans interrupted."
 

"Is that your professional assessment or is there something you're not telling me?" He knew about Skinner's bargain for Scully's recovery, but how far would his boss have gone? Would he have traded one partner for the other?
 

"I don't _know_anything. Whether you believe it or not, I've been manipulated in this situation the same as you and Scully. But I'm through playing their games." Games in which the other man held all the cards and kept Skinner in the dark. That was over. All deals were off now. "It stops here. If they want you they'll have to come through me."
 

"Fine." Resigned but still distrustful, he had no where else to go.
 

============
 

Unknown location
New York
 

Sometimes he wished that he had never started smoking. But the act of lighting up gave him a sense of ritual, a focus of concentration that allowed him the chance to collect his thoughts and maintain control. And control was all-important. They had called him to New York on the spur of the moment, hoping, perhaps, to catch him at a vulnerable time. He ignored their scrutiny, he had nothing to hide. The consortium's main goal, retrieval of data on the early days of the Russian project, had been a success. Now that Elizabeth had given him all that she knew, Skinner's rescue of her son didn't matter.
 

"You lost Agent Mulder." That fat prick never stated anything that wasn't obvious.
 

"On the contrary, " He took a long slow drag on the cigarette and stared until the other man looked away, "I know exactly where he is."
 

"As do we." The English member of the group deserved watching. Of them all, he was smooth and dangerous. "We no longer need to hold the son in order to gain his mother's cooperation. Her memories about the Russian project have been remarkably stimulated. There are, in fact, several details in her report that will help us in rebuilding the black cancer program."
 

The smoker started to relax, but the Englishman wasn't through yet. "It might surprise you to find that we've uncovered a new source of information in that regard. Information that sheds new light on Fox Mulder's potential benefit to the program." He turned to his valet, "Tell him to come in now."
 

Who could he be talking about? Mulder had run into dead ends in his investigation of the black cancer. The Russian agent had been one step ahead of them all, destroying the evidence before Mulder could find it or the consortium hide it. The man had murdered all the test subjects, destroying the oily 'worms' that had inhabited them. Their source for more of the creatures had dried up. He hid his surprise as the young man entered the room.
 

"I believe you already know Alex Krycek. He was one of yours for a while, wasn't he?"
 

Krycek sauntered into the room, acting the part of an equal to those present, not at all what one might expect from a fugitive from justice. Or from a man who had recently suffered such a debilitating injury. The rumors about the prosthetic limb were true.
 

"Mr. Krycek." He casually flicked the ash from his cigarette. "My condolences on the loss of your arm."
 

A brief cloud passed over Krycek's face, but was just as quickly hidden. So, the boy was still touchy on that issue.
 

"Mr. Krycek has provided us with information on the nature of the Russian anti-serum from the Tunguska research project. He's also given us the name of an accessible subject, a carrier from whom we can extract samples of the organism. Someone who has already survived the initial stages of the process. It seems the Russians were able to accommodate Mr. Mulder into their program after all."
 

That was a surprise. "Surely you're not depending on the word of this man. A man utterly lacking in honor."
 

Krycek bristled at his words, but his patron waved him off. "I'm not totally without resources of my own. Mr. Mulder recently underwent extensive medical testing. Tests that confirm the presence of the black cancer." He smiled broadly.
 

"And Agent Scully didn't find anything suspicious in those results?"
 

"She never saw them. The results were switched before she or the attending physician got a look at them. With the addition of the Russian research data and formulas and a living test subject, we are ready to begin the program once again. When you return to Washington we want you to retrieve Agent Mulder. And this time, see to it personally."
 

=========================
 

Skinner sat in his car debating whether to confront Mulder's mother tonight or wait until morning. He'd already been there for half an hour, trying to decide what to say to the woman. Her denial of her son's existence was incomprehensible.
 

He couldn't help but compare Margaret Scully and Elizabeth Mulder. Scully's grief over Mulder's death had nearly torn her apart and the physical ordeal of her cancer treatment had been grueling. Through it all her mother had been her anchor, the link to life that kept her grounded and sane. Now her partner faced the aftermath of physical and mental pain almost more than he could bear. If anyone ever needed a link to sanity now, it was Scully's partner, a man almost totally without friends or family. In that moment he made his decision and got out of the car.
 

When Elizabeth Mulder answered the door she showed no surprise at seeing Walter Skinner standing there. Instead, she appeared irritated or, maybe afraid, an attitude at odds with her cheerful greeting.
 

"Mr. Skinner, what an unexpected pleasure."
 

"Is it?"
 

"We haven't had a chance to talk since Fox's memorial service. It was so nice to see his friends and colleagues there, I'm sure that's what he would have wanted." She rattled on like a confused and lonely mother, but her face was sane and serious. "Why don't you come into the kitchen, I was just about to make some tea."
 

He followed her through the house, watching curiously as the she picked up a notepad and pen along the way.
 

<I'm so very glad you came.> She wrote hastily. <How is Fox?>
 

So, she did believe he was alive. "Mrs. Mulder, I've been worried about you." There was nothing in that sentence that anyone listening in wouldn't already know. On paper he wrote, <He's weak, but getting better. He should be released soon. He desperately wants to see you.>
 

<And I need to see him.>
 

Elizabeth made a pretense of putting the kettle on. The china cups clinked together as she took them down from the cupboard, small sounds that masked the scrawl of pen on paper as Skinner wrote, <How can I help?>
 

<If I can get out of the house tomorrow or the next day, is there some way can I safely contact you?>
 

Her guest had to pause and think for a minute. If the Mulder house was bugged, there was a chance that he was being monitored, as well. He had an idea and wrote, <Call this number, it's my lawyer's home. Tell her you're my Aunt Mary. I can leave a message for you there.>

Elizabeth gave his hand a squeeze. <Because of me, my son may still be in grave danger.>
 

<You?> Skinner questioned.
 

<It's a long story and Fox should be the first to hear it.>
 

After tea they adjourned to the living room. While Elizabeth recounted tales of Mulder's childhood, the fire in the fireplace flared up as she tossed in tiny scraps of paper.
 

===================
 

The dark sedan cleared the forested countryside and started up the narrow driveway, headed toward the house perched on the hill. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully sat in the back seat, each one lost in thought, maintaining a silence that had started as soon as the car left the hospital. Not the comfortable silence of good friends, but a brooding thing, thick and uncertain.
 

More than two weeks past his rescue and Mulder felt himself growing physically stronger everyday, but his emotional weakness scared him. He was afraid to be around anyone, afraid that his veneer of anger would crack and they would see the wreck he'd become. He snuck a glance at his partner. She stared out of her window, seemingly oblivious to his existence. He wanted to tell her how grateful he was that she'd come. He wanted to tell her how much he needed her support. He wanted to know if she still trusted him at all, or if she only visited him out of guilt or pity. What hurt him more that his own indecision was the realization that he had no idea what she was thinking.
 

He let the driver help him with the chair, but as soon as he climbed in, Scully stepped up to push him. He looked up at her, but the smile she gave him was strained.
 

Two agents met them at the door, Bradley and Williams. Neither Mulder or Scully knew them well, but their boss had hand-picked them for this detail. The tour of the house was swift. Skinner had chosen well, wide hallways to accommodate the wheelchair, handrails in the bathrooms so Mulder could take care of business unaided, and a swimming pool so he could continue working out. After the tour, Williams went outside to inspect on the grounds and Bradley vanished into the kitchen to fix lunch.
 

Scully walked over to the living room window, drawing back the curtains and gazing at the garden without really seeing it. Mulder sat and watched her. They still hadn't talked about the night before his disappearance. Even if Kritschgau had lied to them both, she had every right to blame him for her cancer. It amazed him that she wanted to see him at all, the strain was so obvious. He had to let her off the hook.
 

"Scully." She spun around, startled at the sound of his voice. "Um...I just wanted to thank you for riding out here. You didn't have to." Well, that was certainly a lame beginning. She stood there, her face drawn and unhappy, waiting for him to continue. Shit. Might was well get his over with. "I wanted to tell you that I'd understand. If you want to move on."
 

"Mulder, what are you talking about?'
 

"Scully, I know you've always had doubts about what I do, about what I believe. Hell, I don't even know what to believe anymore. But what I'm trying to say is that, I'm sorry for all that's happened and I'll understand if you need to move away from the X-Files." Away from me.
 

Her face softened. "No. Is that what you think? That I blame you?"
 

"Don't you? How can you deny the cancer, Melissa's death? All I've ever brought you is pain and I just can't put you through that anymore."
 

"I did blame you, for a while. I blamed you for leaving me when I needed you, for taking the easy way out. But that's a lie. A bigger lie than the one they tried to make us believe. You aren't responsible for my cancer, you're not responsible for our abductions. Mulder, you're not the one to blame. These things happened to us. To both of us. I was afraid you
couldn't forgive me."
 

"Forgive you?" He rolled his chair to her side and took her hand.
 

"For leaving you. For losing my faith in you."

Pressing her hand to his face his voice broke as he said, "Your faith is one of the few things I can count on in the world."

===========================
 

In the morning he lay awake in his bed for several minutes enjoying the unique sensation of privacy. No one was going to barge in and take his vital signs or give him a shot or bring him a tray of semi-edible food. He lay there trying to decide whether or not to get up, but a feeling of lethargy settled over him, leaving him content to lie there for a while longer.
 

He didn't realize he had drifted back off, until he heard the light rap on his door. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he rolled over as Bradley stuck his head in the door.
 

"Hey, Mulder, you've got a visitor."
 

"What?"
 

Bradley disappeared to be replaced by Skinner's bald head. "Are you up?"
 

"Give me a minute." He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. Grabbing the robe from the end of the bed, he pulled it on and shouted, "Come in," as he moved from the bed to the wheelchair.
 

"Fox?" His mother stepped into the room, hesitant. She looked afraid at the sight of him.
 

"Mom?" He started to get up, but she rushed over to threw her arms around him and gave him a quick hug.
 

"Mom, I was afraid something had happened to you. Are you all right?"
 

"I'm fine Fox." She sank onto the bed next to him.
 

"Where were you? I tried to call, but I kept getting the machine--"
 

She leaned over the arm of his chair and wrapped her arms around his thin frame, pulling him close to her. "I should have called." She drew back and locked her eyes with his, her gaze maternal and fierce. "I love you, Fox. Never doubt it."
 

The dam of his emotions, held in for too many days, finally broke and he started crying in great gasps. Rubbing her hand over his back as he sobbed into her shoulder she kept repeating, "It's okay. I'm here now. It's going to be fine."
 

Neither one of them really believed that . But for now, it was enough.

==========

Mulder couldn't take his eyes off of his mother all through breakfast. For the past two weeks he'd been so worried about her, knowing something had to be wrong, if she wouldn't even come to see him in the hospital. But now she was here.
 

After they finished eating the Mulders went outside. He was supposed to walk a little at least twice a day. He grumbled about using the walker and his mother didn't argue. She wrapped her arm around his waist and let him lean on her. They didn't get far before his muscles started trembling with the effort.
 

"Mom, that's got to be enough for this morning." Mulder leaned back against a tree.
 

"Can you make it back to the chair?"
 

He shook his head. While she went back for the chair he willed himself to stay erect. This was more than embarrassing, he felt like he was letting her down. Ever since his parents had separated he'd tried to be strong for her, to be there when she needed him. Depression sank over him like a familiar friend. Not a single member of his family had been able to depend on him. They had snatched Samantha right out from under him. His father never got a chance to make his peace. Instead Mulder had sat, sick and weak, in another room while Krycek gunned him down. All his mother needed was for him to be strong, to give her someone to lean on. Such a simple task and he couldn't even do that.
 

The chair rattled as he sank down into it. Lost in his gloomy thoughts as they went back through the patio and into the living room, she startled him as she jerked the chair to a stop and set the brakes. Kneeling down next to him she looked him square in the face.
 

"Fox, we really need to talk. There are things I need to tell you. Things about the past."
 

"No, Mom, no. Forget about what I said." He remembered their last confrontation when he questioned her fidelity to his father. "I don't care about that now." He tried to lean forward and embrace her but she pulled away.
 

"Stop it, Fox. Just listen to me. I'm not the person you think I am. There is so much that your father and I kept hidden from you."
 

Before he could reply the sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the house. He instinctively reached for a gun he hadn't carried for months. Elizabeth threw herself over the wheelchair trying to protect her child. At the same Mulder was trying to push her to the floor shouting, "No, Mom. Get down."
 

Armed men dressed in black uniforms swarmed into the room. Pulling mother and son apart, they forced her to the floor holding a gun to her head.
 

"Shut up and sit still or we'll blow her head off." One of the goons rested his pistol on Mulder's forehead. He sat there helpless and fuming as they clicked handcuffs around each of his wrists, securing him to the chair. He hissed as he saw the man who strode into the room.
 

"Krycek."
 

"Well, well, well. Aren't you going to introduce me to your mother? This is the second time I've had the chance to attend a Mulder family reunion. Let's hope this one doesn't turn out like the last."
 

"I'll kill you, Krycek. I swear I'll kill you." He tugged helplessly at the handcuffs. The guards ignored him, he wasn't going anywhere.
 

"What's the matter, Mulder. Didn't Mommy get around to revealing her all of her deep, dark secrets? Tell you what, why don't I fill you in?"
 

"That's enough." A new voice demanded obedience.
 

"Oh, great. I should have known you'd be here." Mulder spat at the cigarette smoking man as walked by. The guard nearest him smacked him hard.
 

"Don't." Elizabeth cried out. "You said you'd leave him alone if I cooperated."
 

"What are you talking about?" Mulder knew his mother had known this man, but what could he want from her after all these years?
 

"So, you didn't tell him about the dirty work you did before you got married." Krycek gloated at Mulder's confusion. "Why don't you tell him how you helped choose who would participate in the Mother and Child program. I bet he doesn't even know how special he really is."
 

"I said, that's enough." It was bad enough to be saddled with a psychopath like Alex Krycek in the first place. He would not tolerate an open challenge to his authority in front of his men. Or in front of Elizabeth. He dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it out with his shoe.
 

"Please, John. Let Fox go."
 

"John? Is that his name? Mom, tell me what's going on." One of the armed men pulled his mother roughly to her feet. Mulder struggled against the handcuffs, his confusion only feeding his building rage. "Dammit, leave her alone. Take your fucking hands off of her."
 

"Gag him." Producing a leather gag, the guards efficiently silenced their prisoner. 'John' turned his attention from Elizabeth's stony glare to Mulder's fiery one. "I shouldn't be surprised you don't remember my name. Your mother begged us to have certain things suppressed. We all thought it best. Although the job wasn't good enough. I understand that psychologist in Rhode Island found a way to stimulate certain memories. It doesn't matter. The current techniques are much more sophisticated, but I doubt that will be necessary. I don't know how much of your mind will be left when they're done with you this time."
 

"NO," his mother screamed as they led her off into a waiting car. Krycek grinned and smacked Mulder playfully in the head as he went out to pull the van up to the door.
 

=======================
 

He stopped for breakfast on the way back to D.C. In a upbeat mood by the time he left the diner, Skinner called the office to let them know he would be a little late and took a slower, more scenic route. For once things were going his way. The look on Mulder's face when he saw his mother standing there was worth any inconvenience in setting up the meeting. It occurred to him that if things went well, she might want to stay for a few extra days. That was easy enough for him to arrange.
 

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the safe house. After ten rings he felt the bile rise in his throat. He pressed 'end' and tried again. Shit. Shit. Shit. He slammed on his brakes and swung the car around sharply, narrowly missing a Virginia Highway Department tractor that was mowing the grass along the shoulder of the road. His mind was racing, but he couldn't remember the number of the closest field office. He had to call his office, relay the information to Kimberly and have her put the call through for him. More delays when every second meant life or death.
 

How had they found the safe house? After his visit with Elizabeth Mulder he had changed locations, not trusting the prior arrangements to be secure. They must have been followed. He should have been more careful, the lives of four good people were all in jeopardy because he got sloppy.
 

Get a grip on yourself, Walt. He slapped down the panic that hovered at the edges of his mind. All that mattered now was action, quick and decisive. When the dust settled he could start assigning blame.
 

He reached the house minutes behind the State Police. Besides the bureau fleet car, four patrol cars lined the driveway, the officers advancing cautiously towards the house.
 

A grim faced sergeant approached his car. Skinner already had his badge out. "I'm Assistant Director Walter Skinner."
 

"Sir, I'm Sergeant Gaines. Looks like we've got a situation here. You the one that called this in?"
 

Skinner nodded. "I've got two agents on duty there, another agent recuperating from a serious abduction and assault and a civilian visitor. I left here less than two hours ago and everything was secure. I tried to phone them about twenty minutes ago and got no response."
 

"Well, sir, there's one body visible on the front steps. Hasn't moved, we're assuming he's dead. There's been no movement in the house, but we're still going to proceed like this is a potential hostage crisis. Take it slow."
 

Skinner ground his teeth together in frustration but he couldn't blame the man. If it were his agents advancing on a touchy situation he'd be cautious, too. But this time his people were on the inside and he was afraid it was already too late.
 

When the FBI agents from the field office arrived he held them back. The State Police had everything under control and sending in men they didn't know would add confusion. He could only stand and watch as they entered the building.
 

Gaines' radio crackled. "Sir, all clear here. We've got the body on the porch and one in the kitchen. No one else is here."
 

Skinner's heart sank as he heard the descriptions of the dead men. Williams and Bradley. Dead because of his carelessness.
 

"Sergeant Gaines, I want to thank you for your quick response. We'll take it from here."
 

He briefed the local agents on the situation and turned the investigation over to them. Not that he expected them to find very much. Professionals of this caliber rarely left any evidence behind. Now he braced himself to make a call that he really dreaded making. How was he going to tell Scully that he had lost her partner?
 

==================
 

By the time they reached their destination Mulder was furious. Krycek had insisted on riding in the van with him and had pummeled him with a steady stream of verbal abuse. Nasty little remarks about his mother's questionable ethics. It would have been easy just to chalk it all up as lies made up to get back at him for what had happened in Siberia. But he'd seen the look on his mother's face when the cancerman came in the room. She was holding something back. All these years he had tried to protect her and she was just as dirty as the rest of them.
 

God, he didn't know if he could take any more. Maybe his whole life had been a lie. Not in the sense that Kritschgau had tried to make him believe, but he had always depended on his mother. Not to lean on for support, but simply to be her, a constant in his shaky universe. He knew her strengths and weaknesses, that was territory clearly mapped out in his mind. Laying in that nursing home with his whole world in tatters, when it looked like Scully had turned her back on him, Skinner had traded him away like a bad used car, he had been sure of one thing and that was his mother.
 

He sat there, gagged and cuffed and he could only glare at the back of the bastard's head because Krycek sat in front of him, taunting him with the importance of his mother's work for the Project.
 

"You know what's really great?" Krycek was having too much fun to know when to stop. "It's a scream that you didn't even know that you were Mommy's little guinea pig. You think your intelligence and memory were the result of luck? It was breeding, Mulder, selective breeding and some really speical prenatal and baby shots."
 

Krycek turned around, leaning in close, trying to get a good look at Mulder's face. Mulder went ballistic, slamming his head forward trying to strike out the only way he could. Enraged, Krycek punched him square in the face. Mulder crumpled bonelessly in the chair.
 

When he came to, the van had stopped. He tried to open his eyes, but his whole face felt like it would explode. He settled for keeping his eyes closed and trying to sort out the voices around him.
 

"Krycek, can't you do anything right? All you had to do was deliver him undamaged. It looks like you broke his nose."
 

That would explain it, Mulder thought to himself. It hurt enough to be broken. The lower half of his face felt wet. He touched his tongue tentatively to his lips. Yeah, that was blood, all right. Someone dabbed gently at his face, trying to clean him up and get a look at the damage.
 

"Oh, Fox." At the sound of his mother's voice he wrenched head to the side, trying to avoid her touch. Big mistake, he thought, just as he blacked out again.
 

When he came to this time, his face still throbbed, but the ache had dulled into something manageable. He drew a deep breath and opened his eyes. He was lying down. He tried to turn his head to get a look around only to discover that it was restrained by a strap around his forehead. He checked out his arms and legs and found them similarly immobile. This looked bad.
 

"You're awake." The smoking man. No, Mulder, corrected himself. The man's name was John. At least, according to his mother.
 

A man in a lab coat came into view and Mulder was shocked to see Dr. Harriman, the neurologist Yoder had consulted.
 

"Sorry about this, Mr. Mulder. It would have been a little less strain on you, had you remained unconscious. But the results will be the same in the end. You've been hosting some rather unusual organisms for about a year now and it's time to get them out of there." He noticed a look of panic on his patient's face. "Won't hurt a bit, really. We just need to stop your heart for a minute to trick the little buggers into thinking that you're dead. We'll scoop them up, plop them in a special nutrient solution and see if we can't get them to multiply for us. Oh, don't worry, we'll jump start you again. Wouldn't do to kill off the test subject. A little shot of anti-serum, a squirt of black cancer and you're back in business."
 

Before Mulder could react, before he could say anything to object, Harriman unloaded a syringe into the IV in the back of his hand. He was gone before he could hear his mother's wail blend in with the heart monitor behind him.
 

===========

Skinner pulled into an empty parking place in front of Scully's apartment building, turned the key off in the ignition and ran through, in his mind, what he was going to say. He could have called her into the office for this or broken the news to her over the phone, but he wanted to do this privately and in person. After the grilling he'd put her through a couple of weeks earlier, he owed her that much.
 

On the way to her door he pulled out his phone and checked in with the agents on Mulder's case. There were no new leads. He hadn't expected any, but he had hoped.
 

She answered the door quickly, laughing with someone over the phone. On seeing her boss standing grim-faced at her door Dana Scully's look of contentment faded to one that was guarded, giving away nothing.
 

"Mom, I've got to go. I'll call you back." She hung up and turned her attention to her visitor. "Sir, this isn't a social call?"
 

"No, Agent Scully, may I come in?"
 

She stepped aside, allowing him to enter and closed the door after him. Wordlessly she sat on the couch. Skinner took a seat on the chair opposite her. Her face was tight now, totally closed off.
 

"I'm going to get straight to the point. There's no easy way to tell you this. This morning, sometime between nine and ten o'clock, unknown assailants stormed Mulder's safe house. Agents Bradley and Williams were killed at the scene. Mulder and his mother are missing and believed to have been kidnapped or taken hostage."

"His mother?" Scully sat absolutely still. This was too much for her to take in all at once.
 

"I finally persuaded Elizabeth Mulder to come down and see her son. I drove her up there this morning. I thought we'd taken every precaution to keep the location of the safe house secret. There have been no demands from their abductors so far and we...." He broke off his briefing. There was no point in giving her more information until she had processed the basic information - Mulder was gone again. He moved over to the couch, wanting to reach out to her somehow and help, but unsure what to do.
 

"Scully, look, we're doing everything we can. We'll get him back."
 

She snapped her head around to face him. "And will that be before or after they kill him this time," she spat out. "How did they find him? What the hell kind of security was that, that they could just... "
 

She stood abruptly and hurried out of the room, leaving Skinner sitting there in her living room feeling awkward and ashamed. Minutes passed and he almost made up his mind to knock on her bedroom door to see if she was all right when she finally emerged. Her eyes were still bright, but she had traded her jeans and sweater for a suit.
 

"I'm coming back to work. Today. Right now."
 

"Do you really think this is the right time?"
 

"With all due respect, sir, try and stop me." She looked him straight in the eye and he held her gaze, gauging her determination.
 

"I can't allow you to work on this investigation, you're too closely involved." She bristled and almost interrupted, but he continued, "I am going to depend on you to help me. Unofficially, of course."
 

Without another word she grabbed her briefcase and headed for the door, Skinner trailing behind her.
 

===================
 

Elizabeth wet the washcloth one more time and scrubbed his face while he slept taking extra care of his swollen nose and bruised eyes. Every trace of oily residue was long since gone, but after she'd finally dropped off in an exhausted doze, the dreams came. Dreams so real, of skin rippling unnaturally, of black worms squirming on pale skin, that they jarred her into consciousness, shaking with dread. She brushed his hair gently back from his forehead. Fox's skin glowed pink and shiny, like the skin of an innocent child. But this child had never been innocent. As she scoured away at the imaginary dirt, she felt the filth that stained her own soul, a permanent stain she could never wash away.
 

She sat down on his cot, cradling his head on her lap, and watched the rise and fall of his chest, felt the gentle breeze of each breath against the back of her hand.
 

========================
 

The forensics team came up empty-handed at the safe house, except for three sets of tire tracks, two vans and a large sedan. There had been so many footprints, all trampling each out, that there was no way to estimate exactly how many had been involved. Whoever they were, they had been professionals leaving no other trace of themselves or their victims. Except for one thing, tracks from Mulder's wheelchair led up the one of the vans and then disappeared.
 

Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to relieve a monster headache. The agents he had working on the case were the best, but that wasn't good enough for him. He and Scully had reviewed every report, every crime scene photo, and still come up with nothing. The assassins were either very good or very lucky, neither Williams or Bradley had gotten off a shot.
 

Leaning his head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes and tried to tune it all out for a minute. He needed rest, but he would have to settle for the coffee he'd sent Scully to find. A light rap at the door cut short his attempt to unwind.

"Agent Scully, come on in."
 

Seconds passed with no response. Skinner eased his gun out of the holster and slowly approached the door. Standing just to one side of it he paused, listening. He was beginning to think it was only his overactive imagination when he heard footsteps. He crouched down low and threw the door open shouting, "Freeze!"
 

Scully lay on the floor with her gun drawn and aimed straight at him, coffee and sandwiches tossed to the side.
 

"What's going on?" She asked as she picked herself up off the floor.
 

"I thought I heard something. Did you see anyone in the hallway?"
 

"No, sir." She bent down to retrieve the cups and soggy food when she saw a fat brown envelope lying next to the door. "But they left you a present."
 

He took the envelope and opened it. A videotape. As he pulled the tape out a piece of paper fell onto the floor. Picking it up, he looked it over.
 

The only thing on it was an address in Virginia and a message - 'Tomorrow night at eight o'clock.'
 

Without a word Skinner went back into his office and popped the tape in his VCR. Both of them sat back and watched in stunned confusion as the camera panned across a large dark warehouse containing rows of bed frames. On each one a man, naked from the waist up, lay securely restrained by chicken wire pulled tight across his body. In the background a Russian voice was barely audible.
 

"Scully, how much did Mulder tell you about his Siberian vacation?"
 

"Obviously not enough. Wait, back it up. That man, there." The camera paused briefly on a man in the middle of the room. A man who's nose, even squashed by his restraint, gave him a distinctive profile. "Let's take it down and get someone to enhance this image."
 

"In a minute. I want to run through the whole thing first. What's that white patch on his arm?"
 

"It looks like a bandage, the kind that's placed over an injection site."
 

The narrator's voice ended only to be replaced by the screams of the victims as, one after another, a black liquid sprayed down onto their faces. The cameraman picked this moment to focus in on Mulder. They didn't need to have the picture enhanced to identify him now. Nor did they need digital enhancement to see as the black liquid began to organize itself into worm-like shapes and crawl across Mulder's face finding entry in his nose, his ears, his mouth, any orifice it could seep into.
 

"Oh, my God." Scully sat there stunned as the worms tunneled under his skin and slid across the whites of his eyes like a black oily film.
 

Skinner seethed. No one, absolutely no one, could inflict this abomination of one of his agents and get away with it.
 

==========
 

Mulder woke in a panic. Jerking upright from the hands that held him down he stared wildly around the room trying to understand where he was. A small square room, his cot and one other against the opposite wall, a sink and toilet in the corner. A cell, then.
 

"Fox." His mother's voice behind him was tentative, unsure of her welcome.
 

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, away from her, putting as much distance as he could between them. He was trapped in a cell with his mother, the latest liar in a life-long stream of liars. There was no one he could trust, nothing he could believe in. Except...
 

Scully. There was always Scully. Even when he could no longer believe in himself, his faith in his partner had been renewed.
 

"Fox, we have to talk. I have to explain."
 

He ignored her, refused to even look at her, afraid that his anger might dissolve. "Get off my bed. What time is it?"
 

"Eight o'clock. It's morning again, you've been asleep since yesterday afternoon." Since they killed you and brought you back to life. He swung his feet to the floor and stood slowly, bracing his arm against the wall. He still felt weak and maybe a little nauseous, but there was something different this morning. It wasn't exactly lightheadedness, more like something was missing, like a burden had been lifted.
 

"It's gone isn't it? The black cancer."
 

"Yes."
 

For a year he'd lived with that constant presence, like an inescapable doom. He had no intention of harboring that alien parasite again. But in the immediate future, he desperately needed to relieve his bladder, ashamed he had to do so in front of his mother.
 

"Mom, turn around, I need to..."
 

She turned toward the wall and kept her eyes averted until she heard the splashing stop and the toilet flush. She gave him that amount of dignity, but kept at him in a single-minded effort to confess.
 

"You've got to understand about my work"
 

"What do I need to understand? That you willingly helped subject women and children to inhuman testing? That you experimented on your own children as if they were animals?"
 

She slapped him, knocking him off his shaky legs. He landed with a thump on the floor, his face throbbing with renewed pain.
 

"Did Dad teach you how to do that, too?"
 

"Stop it, Fox and listen to me. If you ever loved me, then hear me out."
 

He sat there on the floor, glaring at her, but he did shut up.
 

"This is hard. You have no idea how many times I wanted to tell you about this, but I didn't know if you could understand or forgive..." She took a deep shuddering sigh, and began again, "How can I expect you to forgive me when I can't forgive myself. I was young and naive, fresh out of college when I was recruited to work on the program. They said it was an innovative treatment regimen to make American children brighter, the best in the world. This was the height of the cold war and the fear of the Communist domination tainted everything. It sounded like my patriotic duty to help. Patriotic duty. It sounds like such a cliche now. We had so much faith in
science and such a profound trust that the government had our best interests at heart."
 

She laughed, a short, humorless sound. "I met your father there. He was so brooding and mysterious. In the beginning I don't think he had any better idea than I did, how far our superiors were willing to go to breed a master race. When we did find out, after you were born, I had the option of bowing out, retreating to the role of wife and mother. I think Bill resented that. He felt trapped and bitter and he hated what they forced him to do."
 

Mulder's face softened. This wasn't the confession of a monster. This was his mother. He scooted closer to her and took her hand in his. She was the only person in the world he allowed himself to touch and to be touched by his freely. Blinking back her tears, Elizabeth continued.
 

"My job was mostly clerical anyway. I kept track of the names of the women who were chosen to participate. I never met them, never knew how their children turned out. It wasn't until I was halfway through my own pregnancy, after the series of injections was already completed, that I got hold of the records. Oh, Fox, I was so afraid. Most of those babies, and some of the mothers had died. Bill tried to reassure me. He said that the formula was improved, that we were safe. But the fear was in his eyes, too."
 

She leaned down, resting her cheek on the top of his head. "You were so perfect, so bright. I loved you so much from the start. And your father loved you, too. They held that love against him. He never said, but I think they threatened him, that if he ever left, they would take you. When the anger got the best of him, when he took it out on you, it ate away at his soul. In the end, he hated himself more that anyone else possibly could."
 

She sat in silence for a few minutes, stroking his hair as if he were five again. In this rare comfort he could almost forget the pain and the danger. Forget the horrors she'd participated in. She wrenched him out of that comfort when she moved to the end of her tale.
 

"I know you hate John. Maybe you should, he can be an evil man. But he gave me love at a time when there was so little love in my life. You once asked me who your father was. It was Bill Mulder. But...don't hate me for this, Fox, but John might be Samantha's father. I think your father suspected."
 

"I remember." She stared at him, not quite believing what he had said.
 

"Mom, that day I came and questioned you, I think parts of that memory started coming back. I thought it was only Sam's abduction that I had blotted out, but other memories came back to me that night."
 

She was pale then, and scared. Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Don't ever say that again. Fox, if they ever suspected that the blocks on your memory are slipping, you would never be safe. There were some things you were never supposed to see, and when you did see them, you were never supposed to remember."
 

She shook her head. "I always wondered, with your memory, if the techniques would work, anyway."
 

"It's okay. Only Scully really knows what was happening that weekend, and I never told her exactly what the memories were."
 

They sat there for a few minutes, comfortable with the silence. Mulder tried to get up, but his cramped legs failed him. A taunting voice broke in on their reverie.
 

"Not feeling up to par today?" The door clanged open and Krycek pushed a wheelchair into the room. "Come on, the doctors want to check you out."
 

Two large guards stood threateningly close to his mother while Krycek once again handcuffed Mulder to the wheelchair.
 

I'll kill him, Mulder thought, if it's the last thing I do.
 

==============

Breakfast came after Fox left. Elizabeth wasn't very hungry, but at least someone was thoughtful enough to send her tea instead of coffee. Probably John. He knew her well enough to know how much she needed a hot cup of tea in the morning. She couldn't totally regret those mornings of discovery.
 

Once they had loved each other tenderly. Foolishly. She sat staring at the wall, remembering hopes long since dead, when the sound of the door startled her. She jumped to her feet to stare straight into the face of her reminiscences.
 

"Leave us alone." He waved the guard off, not even bothering to lock the door. She wouldn't leave without her son. When they were alone he closed the distance between them, grasped her head firmly in his hands and kissed her as if twenty-five years had never gone by.
 

She pulled away and slapped him. His only response was a slow smile.
 

"Don't you ever touch me again." Her fury was almost palpable, filling the space between them.
 

"I always thought you liked to be touched. Wasn't that Bill's biggest drawback? That he never realized how much a woman like you needs to be touched?"
 

"Bastard." She moved as far away from him as the tiny cell would allow, turning her back towards him.
 

But it wasn't enough to stop him from approaching her once more. He pushed her down into a sitting position on the bed pinning her arms behind her. Leaning close he whispered, "They can hear us if we talk too loud." He nuzzled her neck. Understanding dawned on her. Wriggling against his embrace she put up a token resistance.
 

"Tonight after supper. You'll know when. Take him and get out, " he breathed into her ear. He ran his hands across her breasts, cupping them, feeling their weight once more after all this time.
 

It took every ounce of her self control to not react to his words. She remained wooden under his caresses, playing the part of the outraged victim. But she found hope to be an irresistible stimulus.
 

"One might think you would show a little gratitude. We rid your son of a rather nasty condition yesterday." That much he said out loud. As he buried his face in her hair he whispered, "If I could undo the pain you've suffered, I would. I never wanted to hurt you or your children."
 

It might have been his words. It might have been his touch. It might have been that simple fact that it had been so long. Her body tingled in an old familiar response. She was so tired of being alone and afraid.
 

"Tonight," he whispered. "I'll get you both out tonight."
 

======================
 

Pale light seeped over the horizon, marking the end of another night and reminding Skinner of the all the sleep he'd missed. He and Scully sat in his car in the parking lot of an all-night supermarket waiting for some of Mulder's crazy friends. The address needed to be checked out, but he hadn't dared use the Bureau's resources. Scully swore that these guys were trustworthy, after a fashion, and that they had amazing access to information. He suspected that some of that access was clandestine and illegal. It seemed like a good idea not to ask.
 

Scully snored lightly in the seat beside him, not at all helpful in keeping him keep alert. He found his eyes drifting shut but jerked them open when someone tapped on the passenger-side window. He reached over and gently shook the sleeping agent.
 

"Um...yeah, I'm awake." She blinked furiously in the growing light of dawn, trying to see who was there. She rolled down the window. "Byers."
 

"Agent Scully. Sir." This guy looked surprisingly normal, almost conservative, in his suit and trench coat. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed. He looked more like some college professor than a paranoid conspiracy freak.
 

"Do you have the information?" Skinner moved to take control over the meeting.
 

"This is all we could find on the address." He passed a large manila envelope through the window. "There are no building plans on record for construction at that location. Local utilities, electricity, water, telephone and gas, provide no service to that address. Neither does the U.S. Postal Service.
 

"So it's a vacant lot." Skinner's heart sunk, another dead end.
 

"Not exactly." Byers took back the envelope and drew out several aerial photos. "I can't tell you where I got these, but this building is definitely not a figment of anyone's imagination. It's believed to have housed a number of illicit government experiments since the early 1960's."
 

"What kind of experiments?" Scully blanched but her voice didn't falter.
 

"We're not exactly sure." Byers either didn't know or wouldn't say.
 

Skinner watched Scully's face. Even now, free from the cancer, those missing months continued to haunt her. She hid it well, but he knew her. Knew when she stiffened a little too much, pursed her mouth in a certain way. Maybe Mulder's five month captivity would be easier for him to deal with. At least he could remember what had happened to him. But then again, maybe remembering wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Glancing over the aerial photos Skinner was impressed. The clarity and sharp detail of the buildings and surrounding terrain offered several escape options other than the single road in and out. If he could get a vehicle rugged enough for the job. He could hardly requisition an FBI four-wheel drive.
 

Byers glanced at his watch. Skinner knew that man was nervous and decided to cut him loose. "Is there anything else?"
 

"We wanted to know if you needed suitable transportation. The best departure route might be a little unconventional."
 

"What exactly are you offering?"
 

"We've recently gained access to a Hummer in prime condition. Not be the most inconspicuous vehicle on the highway, but should the situation require off-road travel..."
 

We. The man was inviting himself and his friends along for the adventure. But that might not be so bad. If Mulder or his mother was incapacitated, he and Scully would be hard put to give them medical assistance, put up an effective defense, and haul ass out of there by themselves. And Skinner didn't know who he could trust in the Bureau anymore. If they had to have back-up, it might as well come from men Mulder trusted. At least they would give a damn if Mulder lived or died.
 

"Fine. But let's get this clear from the beginning, this is how we're going to do it..."
 

The meeting lasted about half an hour longer while the trio made their plans. Skinner found Byers intelligent, cautious, and, most surprising of all, respectful. Maybe they could pull this off after all. It all depended on their friend on the inside, whoever he might be.
 

He finally sent Scully home, since she was still officially on leave of absence. She protested, but finally acquiesced. At least one of them might as well be well rested for the evenings festivities and there wasn't much more they could do until they met at five.
 

After going back to his own apartment Skinner showered, changed clothes, and headed to the office. He couldn't get out of his morning appointments, but maybe he could get Kimberly to rearrange his afternoon enough to let him get in a long lunch. Sometime, somehow, he needed a nap if he was going to at his best tonight. Any way he looked at it, it was shaping up to be a long, long day.
 

===================
 

Mulder sat on the edge of the examination table, his left hand cuffed to the rail, waiting for whatever torment they wanted to inflict on him next. The day's activities had left him nauseous and physically drained. After they had drawn more vials of blood than he cared to remember, his morning had been devoted to x-rays, scans and other tests of his general physical condition.
 

In the afternoon they assaulted him with a battery of psychological and mental acuity tests. After it was all over, Mulder had the uncomfortable feeling that they were trying to establish a baseline for comparing how he performed now to his performance after they reinfested him with the black cancer. That thought chilled him to the bone. It was never going to happen.
 

He had to get out of there.
 

For months, even before they had drugged him into quadraplegia, the black cancer had drained him of energy, slowed his thoughts, made him feel physically sluggish. And he was dreadfully afraid that it only got worse after each exposure. What would be left of Fox Mulder when they were done with him? That was a question he didn't plan on sticking around to answer.
 

The handcuff irritated his wrist. It was so unnecessary. Did they honestly believe that he would run off and leave his mother in their custody? During the endless tests and procedures he had mulled over her confession, trying to compare what she'd told him with what he remembered. He believed her. Or at least, he believed she told him the truth as she allowed herself to remember it.
 

Dr. Harriman's cheerful voice echoed through the hallways. There was a truly despicable human being. All the charm of Marcus Welby with the ethics of Dr. Mengele.
 

"Mr. Mulder, now that we're finished for the day a nurse will be right in to help you get dressed and take you back."
 

"She better hurry, traffic back to D.C. is going to be hell this time of day." Harriman's hearty laugh almost made him regret the wisecrack, the doctor was in the mood to chat and levity only encouraged him
 

"You know, you've been a wonderful host for the black cancer. We've harvested quite a large number of viable specimens. With the new information from Mr. Krycek, I think we'll be able to keep them alive. We've got them in the lab across the hall, as a matter of fact. But then, you'll be more than familiar with that lab by the time our project is done."
 

Mulder ignored the man hoping he would just go away. But the doctor seemed to take Mulder's sullen silence for rapt interest and kept on lecturing.
 

"The Russians have only just begun propagating them in a secondary host prior to reintroduction. Saves wear and tear on the primary hosts. The trick is to find the right kind of secondary host. Something physiologically similar enough to house the same organisms that feel at home in humans. Really, this is a most exciting project."
 

Enjoy it now, Dr. Chuckles, Mulder thought to himself. I won't be around here much longer. Where the hell was that nurse? Almost on cue he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and the squeaky wheels of the damn chair.

Supper waited for him when they took him back to the cell. He ignored it, his stomach was too unsteady to think about eating. By the looks of his mother's tray, she hadn't found it appetizing either. But then, she never did eat much when she was nervous and they way she fidgeted and kept glancing at the door, she was definitely worried about something. But Mulder had had enough of maternal confessions, he didn't want to know what was wrong. He couldn't take any more surprises tonight.
 

Stretching out on his cot, he closed his eyes, pretending that she wasn't there. That she wasn't staring at him, aching to talk. No more talking tonight. All he wanted to do was rest. On the verge of emotional overload, he needed to turn it all off for a while before it overwhelmed him.
 

=====================
 

"Fox. Fox." Someone was calling his name, dragging him out of sleep. His mom. More urgently, this time, she shook him. "Come on, Fox. We've got to go."
 

"What are you talking about?"
 

"Get in the chair, Mr. Mulder. I'm going to take you and your mother out of here."
 

Had he slept so soundly that he hadn't heard this man come in?
 

"Mom, what's going on?"
 

"Just get up. This man works for John. He's going to get us out of here. It's time to go. Now."
 

Mulder looked wildly around the room. The overhead lights were out, only the dim emergency lights still worked. He struggled to shake of the last remnants of sleep and make sense of the situation. Cancerman's goon stood by the door, peering impatiently down the hall. Mulder didn't trust this man, but the open cell door beckoned. Standing on wobbly legs, he got up and shambled over to the wheel chair. As soon as he sat down the man clicked the handcuffs on his wrists.
 

"No! What's going on here?" He turned from the brute of a guard to his mother, looking for complicity or betrayal in her face, finding neither. She looked outraged.
 

"What did you do that for? He said we could leave. You said you would help us." she pleaded with him.
 

"That's in case we meet anyone in the hallway. There are strict orders to keep him under restraint whenever he's out of the room." He looked at Mulder with disdain. "Not that he's any great threat. My boss wants you both out of here as soon as possible."
 

"Then take off these damn cuffs and I'll go." Mulder jerked his arms against the handcuffs in useless defiance.
 

"Just shut up and sit there," the man hissed. "You." He gestured to Elizabeth, tossing her scrubs and a lab coat. "Put these on. Not many of the guards have seen your face. You'll pass as a nurse."
 

She scooped the garments off the floor where they'd landed and moved to the back of the cell to change. Fox kept his eyes averted, embarrassed once again at having to share such intimate quarters with his mother.
 

"Okay. Let's go."
 

The guard led the way, with the Mulders close behind him. Their steps echoed in the empty halls.
 

=========
 

As it turned out, Skinner's band of liberators made their approach from the cover of the woods, not willing to risk being spotted on the road. The long-haired blond, Langley, had driven the Hummer to the rendezvous point and seemed reluctant to give up the wheel when the time came to leave. That suited Skinner just fine, he wanted a chance to study these men. The lives of Fox and Elizabeth Mulder depended on the five rescuers' ability to act as a team.
 

Byers continued to present a polite facade, but he made no effort to rein in any disagreements he had with the plans as Skinner laid them out. Langley left the logistical ideas to the rest of them, but he had impressive insight into the technical setup of the compound. How he'd gotten detailed information about such a super-secret installation was best left unexplained. It was hard for Skinner to turn a blind eye to such blatantly illegal activities.
 

Frohike kept silent for most of the trip out. Unfailingly courteous to Agent Scully, it wasn't hard to see the little man's affection for Mulder's partner. But his demeanor said a lot about his affection for Mulder as well. The other two acted almost as if they were embarking on an adventure, but Frohike was serious, almost grim. Of the three Lone Gunmen, Skinner would wager that Frohike felt Mulder's loss the most.
 

They parked the truck at 7:30 in a secluded patch of woods not far from the site. None of the conspirators had argued when Skinner proposed that they do a little reconnaissance. Frohike and Skinner, Scully and Byers formed two teams, each group working its way around the compound. Langly stayed behind with the truck.
 

Skinner watched the other man work his way silently through the woods as if each snapped twig, each misplaced footstep meant death. He moved more like a cautious infantryman than an outdoorsman. Hunters didn't maintain that kind of wariness, their lives didn't depend on it. Moving in next to him, Skinner whispered into Frohike's ear, "Where did you do your time in-country?"
 

Frohike flashed him a grim smile in response.
 

No matter what their differences, Vietnam served as the glue for their generation of American men. It didn't matter that one of them was now a high ranking official in the FBI and the other a paranoid conspiracy freak with aspirations toward journalism, the brotherhood of combat, of survival under fire, could not be denied.
 

Making their way through the underbrush, they worked as a team covering their territory quickly and efficiently. They were about halfway around the perimeter, almost ready to turn back, when Frohike held up his hand and pointed toward the rear of the building. A large delivery truck was backing up, getting ready to turn around, but there was something wrong. It was going too fast. Barely audible, they heard the driver swearing that his brakes were out just before the vehicle slammed into a small storage building next to the generator.
 

"That must be the diversion. Let's get..." Before he could finish the sentence the night air was rocked by an explosion.

The storage shed was gone along with the delivery truck. Frantic guards milled around, unsure of what to do. Workers from inside the complex ran out brandishing fire extinguishers but the storage building was a complete loss. Something from inside the small structure exploded sending fiery shrapnel in the direction of the generator. A last ditch effort was made to save the power source, but another explosion forced them all back and away from the building.
 

Skinner turned and ran back toward their truck without waiting to to see if Frohike was behind him.
 

==============================

Their escort took Mulder and his mother to a side door not far from their cell. He swiped a keycard into the slot, punched a sequence of numbers into the keypad and pushed the door open.
 

"Go on, take him out of here." He held the door open for her so she could get the wheelchair out without struggling with the door. As soon as they were outside he turned to go.
 

"Wait a minute. Unlock these handcuffs." Mulder turned in the chair trying to grab the man's attention.
 

His mother clutched the guard's sleeve before he could get away. "Where are we supposed to go?"
 

The man paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Just follow the path down the side of the building and across the grounds to the main road. Someone will be waiting there for you. They should be able to find a key that will fit those cuffs. Eventually." He walked off without looking back.

"Goddamit, get back here." Mulder yelled at the man's retreating form but he ignored them, disappearing inside.

Elizabeth stood there for moment, as if she was afraid to move. Mulder wanted to reach out to reassure her. He
jerked at the restraints and the clanking sound of metal-on-metal brought her out of her stupor.
 

"Mom, he's right. We can't stay here and I can't push this thing myself."
 

She reached down and kissed him on the top of his head. She turned to pull the door closed behind her.
 

"No, leave it open. We need a way back in there."
 

"What are you talking about?"
 

"Someone has to destroy the black cancer. Mom, as long as they have it they'll use it." And as long as they could use it, he would never be safe.
 

She nodded in acknowledgement and started down the path. Now that they were outside, Mulder could hear the uproar coming from behind the building. He wondered what the smoking man had done to give them this chance to escape. It didn't matter, really, as long as the commotion lasted long enough to let them get away.
 

The path led around the side of the building and towards the front drive. Elizabeth had to strain on the downhill slope to keep the wheelchair from getting away from her. Just as the path curved to meet the driveway, the sound of a truck engine erupted out of a small copse of trees and the military vehicle roared out onto the road. She panicked and tried to turn the chair around, but Mulder had caught a glimpse of Langly's blond hair in the moonlight.
 

"No, it's okay. They're here to rescue us. Those are friends of mine."
 

Elizabeth stopped and looked at the driver of the the Humvee. With his long stringy hair the man certainly wasn't military. Relieved, she pushed the wheelchair toward the oncoming vehicle, but as she crossed from the dirt path to the road, she slipped on the gravel, falling to her knees, and lost her grip on the wheelchair. Mulder's chair lurched forward, gaining speed rapidly as it plummeted down the slope directly in the path of the truck.
 

He closed his eyes as the Hummer came to a skidding stop just in front of him. The chair streaked past, almost making its way free of the looming vehicle, but his back wheel clipped the bumper, tipping the chair over and sending him sliding into the gravel, scraping the skin on his face and left arm. As the dust settled he coughed and lifted his head up, trying to relieve some of the stinging pain on his cheek when Scully's face suddenly came into view.
 

"Oh, god. Mulder." She brushed her hand gently over his face. Whether she was trying to assess the damage or convince herself that he was really there, it didn't matter. If she was here with the Gunmen she could help him destroy the black cancer.
 

"Get me up, Scully. We've got to go back."
 

"What are you talking about. We have to get you out of here."
 

"No. The black cancer. It's in the lab. We have to destroy it." He was surprised to see Skinner kneeling down beside him. "Sir, you've got to go in there with her."
 

"We're not doing anything until we get the two of you safely in the truck." He pulled the chair upright with Scully's assistance. All the while Mulder was protesting.
 

"No. Listen to me. Get these handcuffs off and listen to me." Mulder felt his panic beginning to rise and took a deep breath to calm himself. "In Siberia they infected me with the black cancer--"
 

"We know." Scully cut him off as she pushed the chair to the truck. "Our informant gave us a videotape. But Skinner's right. We need to get you and your mother safe first, then we can talk about this."
 

At the mention of his mother, Mulder whipped his head around trying to find her. She stood by the truck, her hand pressed up against her mouth with a look of horror on her face. For a moment, she'd believed her clumsiness had killed him.
 

"It's okay, Mom. I'm fine." Mulder tried to reassure her.
 

Frohike and Byers helped Skinner hoist Mulder and his chair into the Hummer while Scully rummaged through her pockets for her handcuff key.
 

"We need to get out of here. Someone's bound to notice us any time now." Langly turned the key in the ignition.
 

"No." Mulder pulled hard against the handcuffs, trying to get free. He had to make them understand.
 

"Agent Mulder." Skinner pushed him down in the chair, restraining him.
 

"We're going to pull into the cover of the woods and I'll give you one chance to try and convince me why we shouldn't leave immediately." He watched Scully fumbling with the handcuffs. "How's it coming?"
 

"My key doesn't fit." Her hands shook in frustration. "Sir, what about your key?"
 

"Standard bureau issue, like yours. We're going to have to wait to get these off. Get this thing off the road and into cover, now."
 

"God damn it. We can't wait. We have to get rid of the black cancer tonight, while they're still distracted. Before they have a chance to move it."
 

"Mulder, we saw the tape of Tunguska. Why didn't you tell me what happened?" Scully squatted next to him, trying to reason with him and settle him down a little.
 

"That doesn't matter right now. The organisms they have in there are the last ones in the country. If we get rid of them here, tonight, we can stop the research before they get it started again." He was desperate to make her understand how urgent this was.
 

"But what about you? You're infected, too."
 

"No, he isn't. Not anymore." Elizabeth Mulder spoke for the first time. "I watched when they rid him of it. They... they gave him an injection to stop his heart. The black cancer leaves the body when it dies. Then they defibrillated him." She closed her eyes but continued to speak, almost in a whisper. "Bill said it was all theoretical, that they know didn't know what the stuff in Russia really was." Her voice trailed off leaving Skinner and Scully confused. How did Elizabeth Mulder know about the black cancer?
 

Mulder finally quit struggling, so Skinner relaxed his grip. "So what you're saying is that at this facility they have the nation's only remaining stockpile of what could be a potent biological weapon." Mulder nodded, not trusting his voice to remain calm. "Can you describe the exact location of the lab?"
 

Mulder drew a deep breath and replied, "It's right across the hall from the medical testing area."
 

"That's not far from the doorway we came out of." Elizabeth had regained her composure."I can draw you a map of the hallway."
 

"Good. Agent Scully, you'll come with me."
 

She leaned in close to her boss and kept her voice low. "Sir, I haven't had a chance to fully assess the extent of Mulder's injuries. If what his mother says is true, he may be in need of immediate medical attention."
 

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here. I'm fine, Scully." She stared openly at his bruised face, his bloody arm and chaffed wrists, but he ignored her. "There's no one else who can do it except you and Skinner. I'll be fine until you get back."
 

"He's right, Scully. Mrs. Mulder, if you could draw that layout for us..."
 

While Skinner found something for her to write with, Frohike poked his head up from the front of the truck where he had been rummaging around in his backpack.
 

"I got it," he exclaimed, holding up a small, black zippered case. Scully reluctantly switched places with him, after Frohike had selected the tools he needed from the lock-pick kit. "You never know when these things might come in handy."
 

"Frohike, I never knew you were such a Boy Scout." Mulder's relief was almost overwhelming. "I don't even want to know where you learned how to do that."
 

Skinner opened the door of the truck, Elizabeth's hastily-drawn map in his hand. "Okay, let's go."
 

Scully reached back to lay her hand on Mulder's shoulder. "I'll be right back."
 

"Don't take any chances. If it looks too risky, get out of there." He couldn't live with himself if anything happened to her while she took care of his business.
 

"Agent Scully." Skinner wanted to get the mission over with.
 

She gave her partner's shoulder a gentle squeeze and left without a word. Mulder, finally free of both handcuffs, moved from the wheelchair to the back seat.
 

"Do you have some water? And maybe a towel or a washcloth?" His mother's voice sounded tired.
 

"Sure." Langley got out and went around to the back of the Hummer. Producing several bottles of water and a roll of paper towels he asked, "Here, will this do?"
 

"Thank you." She tore off several paper towels and dampened them with water from one of the bottles. She started to wash her son's face, but he grabbed her wrist and stopped her.
 

"Don't. I'm not an invalid." He knew she only wanted to help, but he was sick and tired of being at the mercy of others and depending on someone else to take care of him. He took the wet paper towel from her and gingerly wiped at the dirt and blood on his face and arms, wincing as he dislodged tiny fragments of gravel embedded in his skin. He watched his mother as he worked.
 

He'd hurt her. Her guilt shrouded her, cutting her off from the world. All those years, even though he had loved her fiercely, there had been times when she seemed weak or indifferent to him. Now he found out that it was only thinly disguised guilt, as if any warmth she might show him would break down the wall of secrecy she'd built to protect her only remaining child. But she couldn't protect her son by hiding the truth from him. He bore her secrets in his flesh and in his mind. The past she so desperately wanted to deny had shaped his body and soul.
 

But she had always acted out of love. He could see that now. All she'd ever wanted was what every mother wanted; for her children to be the best they could be, strong and smart and happy. So she'd bought into the lies and when they were revealed to her for the horrors that they were, she'd tried to protect him from the consequences.
 

He handed her the roll of towels and the water. "Did I miss anything on my face?"
 

She tore off another towel, dampened it, and washed some drying blood from his hairline.
 

Mulder reached out and touched her face. She stopped and looked into his eyes. He drew her close to his chest into a crushing hug.
 

===========
 

In the lab the commotion outside could barely be heard. The power was still out, but that didn't matter. John knew right where he was going. Setting the box he carried down on the counter, he unpacked the tiny vials nestled carefully inside. He opened the incubator door and pulled out all the glass specimen containers. Prying the lid off of the first one, he immediatelyemptied one of his vials into it. The potent acid killed the black cancer immediately with no risk of infection to him.
 

One by one, he eradicated the menace. He had double-crossed his co-conspirators before, but always to satisfy his own aims. For decades his every move had been carefully planned and executed, but just this once he was acting on an impulse. Or maybe he was acting on the one great desire of his life. His mouth twisted in an awkward smile. Who would have thought that his one weakness would be love. What a sentimental old fool he'd become.
 

One more to go. He held the last vial of acid ready to pour when the beam of a flashlight cut across the room, illuminating his betrayal.
 

"What do you think you're doing?" Harriman screamed in outrage. "Don't touch that container."
 

Harriman and Krycek came into the room. Krycek trained his gun on the traitor and smiled.
 

"Won't your colleagues be surprised."
 

"Go ahead, Mr. Krycek. Shoot. But are you sure you want to kill me before I empty the acid into the container?" His voice was steady, but his hands were slick with sweat. "You can't be certain that I won't knock the black cancer over as I fall. That would leave you in the same room with the organisms, free and hungry. How fast do you think they move? Fast enough to reach you before you can get out the door?"
 

"Wait a minute," The doctor looked nervous, either afraid of losing his specimens of afraid of infection. Maybe both.
 

"Go ahead and destroy them." Skinner's voice startled them all. The two agents stood in the doorway. Skinner aimed his gun at Krycek, while Scully kept hers on Harriman.
 

John wasted no time, quickly pulling the lid off of the last container and dumping the acid into it.
 

"No." Outraged, Harriman lunged toward him.
 

Three guns rang out at once. Three men fell, John knocking the glass jar off the table as he collapsed on the floor.
 

Skinner cautiously moved toward his the cigarette smoker, sprawled among the broken specimen containers. Visions of Mulder's face swarming with the black cancer came to mind, but he pushed it back. The black oily worms lay inert on the floor, the organisms were really dead. Kneeling beside the man he found his breathing shallow and labored. The old man seized Skinner's shirt and drew him close.
 

"Get out of here. They'll be coming," he wheezed. He closed his eyes, then snapped them open. "Tell Mulder he'll be safe now. Tell...tell Elizabeth I loved her." His eyes lost their focus, as the he gasped one last time.

Skinner rocked back on his heels. What was that about?
 

"Sir, Krycek is dead, but this man's still alive." Scully squatted next to the injured man, attempting to staunch the flow of blood.
 

"Leave him, Agent Scully. Our job's done."
 

"But, sir, he's a witness to what happened here."
 

"I said, leave him. Even if we got him back, do you really think he would make it to trial? It looks like all the specimens have been destroyed, now let's get out of here."
 

Skinner turned and fled, trusting her to follow. His sense of urgency must have been contagious. By the sound of Scully's footsteps, she was running flat out behind him.
 

As soon as they were out of the room, Harriman crawled to the desk and jerked the phone down by the cord. He dialed the security chief, hoping he could remain conscious long enough to warn them of the intruders.
 

==============
 

On a very basic level the revelations of his mother were both reassuring and frightening. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't felt different. A lifetime of loneliness had taught Mulder to seek refuge in his own thoughts. Now he knew his thoughts had been tampered with since childhood. The very way in which his brain processed information might have been altered. His isolation from classmates and friends and colleagues was justified, or at least explained, by the experiments. Were there other survivors, children whose lives had been irretrievably altered by the consortium? Is this why he'd survived the retrovirus and the black cancer? That train of thought threatened to overwhelm him, he shut it out and pushed his thoughts in one direction. In survival there was hope.

He'd beat them once again. Scully was alive. His mother was alive. And as long as he was alive, he would pursue the truth. He could redeem his mother for the things she had done. The sound of the door opening startled him.
 

"Time to move. Better buckle up." Frohike climbed into the rear of the tuck. Langly and Byers settled into the front. "What's going on? That was awfully quick."

Not quick enough, Mulder thought to himself.
 

"Quick or not, they're out of there. Byers just spotted Scully and Skinner heading out of the side door." Frohike called up to him. The truck roared up the road to meet the agents as they made their get-away. They had almost reached them when a cluster of guards spilled out of the side entrance in hot pursuit. Langly floored the truck and swung it around, trying to put it between the Agents and their pursuers. The sound of gunfire pinged off the roof of the Hummer. Formerly used by the Military Police, the Kevlar roof protected the occupants. Skinner had almost reached to side door when more guards poured out of the front of the building.
 

"I'm closest. I'll get the door." Elizabeth unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over to let them in. As she threw the door open, Skinner and Scully piled in, landing on the floor of the truck between the front and back seats.
 

As his mother reached to pull the door shut, Mulder heard the crack of a bullet followed by a sickening thump as his mother's body was thrown back against his. One round had found its way through the open door. He didn't
feel the sting as the bullet passed through her and into him. All he could do was stare in horror at the sight of blood matting her gray hair.
 

======
 

Mulder sat with his arms wrapped protectively around his mother, whispering in her ear. He didn't know what he was saying. He didn't know what he was feeling. A sharp biting pain tried to assert itself, but he banished it. At that moment his whole world narrowed to one reality; his mother was there and she loved him and no one could take that away. Voices tried to intrude on this private space, but he refused to believe in them. Voices sounded in his mind...
 

...his father bleeding on the bathroom floor, croaking out, "Forgive me."
 

...Samantha pleading with him, "Help me, Fox."
 

But he refused to listen to those voices. The weight of his mother as she rested against his chest, that was real. He stroked her hair and crooned in her ear. Hands pulled at him trying to separate them. Nonononono. Someone pleaded with him, begged him to let go. His whisper grew to a moan and then a scream, a scream loud enough to drown out the words.
 

=======================
 

Scully's elbow and then her knee gouged into Skinner's back as she scrambled off of the floor.
 

"Oh, my god. Mulder, I need to look at your mother. She's hurt. Mulder. Let go. Let me look at her." Scully pleaded with her partner as she tried to pry the injured woman out of his grasp, but Mulder gave no indication that he even knew who she was. His hands were red from caressing his mother's blood-soaked head.
 

Skinner pushed himself off of the floor to help. The sight chilled him. The small hole in the front of Elizabeth's head hardly bled at all, but from the amount of blood that saturated her hair and clothes, the exit wound in the back must have been really large. A hopeless injury, but Scully was trying desperately to save this woman's life.
 

From the rear of the truck Frohike leaned over the seat and pinned Mulder's shoulders down while Skinner and Scully freed Elizabeth from his grasp. Frohike helped Scully lay her patient to the rear of the truck where she had room to work.
 

As soon as he felt them drag his mother away Mulder rose off of the back seat, screaming. Skinner practically had to sit on him to keep him down. Mulder's screams faded into moans as he rocked back and forth, feeling lost and abandoned. Skinner drew the younger man close to him, offering him what clumsy comfort that he could and keeping him out of Scully's way. As he held him, Skinner began to wonder about the amount of blood that covered Mulder's clothes.
 

Head wounds bleed profusely, but this looked like too much to have come from his mother. As gently as he could, he checked the agent for injuries. Pulling up Mulder's shirt he found the wound to his side.
 

"Langly, do you know where you're going." The blond was driving like a madman.
 

"Nearest hospital's about five miles away."
 

Keeping one arm around Mulder, Skinner drew out his cell phone to call in the emergency. He identified himself and told them to expect two gun shot victims.
 

"Two?" Scully looked up.
 

"In his side. Looks like the round passed through her and into him." Scully looked stricken, torn between helping her partner or his mother. "I'm applying pressure to slow down the bleeding," Skinner reassured her.

Even though her partner was injured, Scully couldn't pause in working on her patient. Every second was crucial, if she was going to save this woman.
 

Mulder's moans faded into silence. Skinner turned the injured man's face toward him, afraid that he had lapsed into unconsciousness, but Mulder's eyes were open.
 

"Agent Mulder, we're almost there." Mulder didn't respond, but stared straight ahead, unfocused, traumatized by one tragedy too many.
 

From the back of the truck Scully's voice barked out orders to Frohike as he tried to help. Skinner found himself momentarily disoriented. The unmistakable oily scent of the military vehicle, the smell of blood, the cries of the wounded, and the sharp tang of fear pulled him back. If he let himself drift, he could almost believe that he was back in Vietnam, evacuating injured comrades from the combat zone. He could almost here ghostly voices calling out, 'Medic. We need a medic over here.' But this wasn't Vietnam, it was Virginia and these weren't soldiers brought down by enemy fire, but American citizens, shot down by agents of their own government. Skinner wanted to vent his anger. He wanted revenge. But here and now he needed to take charge and shove the frustration down. That was story of his life, push away the emotions and buckle down to the task at hand. Maybe now that his chief opponent was dead, maybe there could be peace for awhile, at least for himself. He wondered if Fox Mulder would ever be at peace again.
 

====
 

The bitter waiting room coffee sat uneasily on Skinner's stomach. Frohike, Byers, and Langly took off as soon as they unloaded their passengers and Skinner couldn't blame them. He and Scully might be able to placate the local law enforcement with their credentials, but Mulder's friends would have faced some difficult questions.

Half an hour after their arrival, the doctor treating Elizabeth Mulder pronounced her dead. Now they waited for news on Mulder's condition. He glanced at Scully. She sat on the vinyl couch, he head tilted back and her eyes closed. He doubted if she was sleeping.

A doctor emerged from the treatment area, scanning the name on the chart in front of him. "I'm Dr. Mecklin. Are you the FBI agents that brought in Fox Mulder.?" Both Skinner and Scully nodded and introduced themselves.
 

"The bullet entered his chest, cracked a rib, was deflected and passed out his side. He's going to be in considerable pain, but the injury isn't too serious. It looks like his nose is broken. We've cleaned up the abrasions on his face and arm and I've started him on antibiotics as a precaution. Those injuries were all minor, but stand a pretty good chance of infection." He eyed them suspiciously before he continued. "Both his wrists are cut, from handcuffs by the look of them, and there are a number of bruises...Was this man a suspect in your custody?"
 

Skinner eyes met Scully's and he gave her a nod, permission to respond.
 

"No, he's my partner. This is a rather complicated situation. Agent Mulder and his mother were...kidnapped a short time ago. In their escape tonight, they were shot."
 

"His mother. That would be the second gunshot patient they brought in. Dr. Reynolds took her in Trauma Room 3."
 

"That's right"
 

"Do you want me to check on her progress for you?"
 

"No, that's okay." Mecklin seemed surprised at her answer. "She's dead, massive head trauma." Scully explained.
 

"I see." That explained a lot. "Mr. Mulder's condition is stable and we're moving him up to his room now. To tell you the truth, I'm a little worried about his mental status. Right now he's conscious but non-responsive. Was he present when his mother was shot?"
 

"They were sitting next to each other. We believe the bullet passed through Mrs. Mulder and into him."
 

Mecklin scribbled a note in the chart before he continued. "What I want to do is keep him sedated for a day or two, give him time to gain some ground on his physical recovery so he'll have a bit more strength to deal with the his mother's death."
 

"It's a little more complicated than that. You need to get his recent medical records. This is the third time Mulder's been held against his will in a little over a year. This is also the third time he's had a close family member disappear or die violently while he was helpless to prevent it."
 

She related to Dr. Mecklin the bizarre tale of Fox Mulder's life. Skinner stayed in the background, churning over the events of the past few months.He felt freer now the Cancerman was dead. But he also ached for Mulder. The agent's life had been hell on earth, and from the amount of guilt his mother carried, the tragedy had started early. He vowed to himself that whatever it took, he would help Mulder through this. The truth was, he needed the man more than ever. Now that his long-time nemesis was dead, he wasn't even sure what the face of the enemy looked like any more. They could run circles around him and without
 

Mulder's knack for sticking his nose into their business he didn't even have an idea of where to start looking.
 

===========
 

The next afternoon Skinner found Scully right where he had left her, sitting in a chair in Mulder's room. At least she'd found time to go home and shower. She looked up as he came in.
 

"How's he doing?"
 

"Physically, he's doing okay,"
 

"And mentally?"

"We don't know yet. Mecklin's going to hold off on sedation right now and wait and see how he does when he wakes up. What about you? Did you find anything?" She sounded more polite that hopeful.
 

"About what you'd expect. By the time I got a judge to issue a warrant and assembled the team to serve it, they had the place pretty well sanitized. No sign of activity of any kind, illegal or otherwise." He lowered his voice but the outrage seethed in every word. "How did he keep at it for all those years? Every time the two of you ever came close to the truth, they jerked it all out from under him."
 

Skinner and Scully silently watched the sleeping man for a while, each one of them lost in private thought.
 

"Agent Scully, how much do you know about Mulder's mother?"
 

"What do you mean?"
 

"When the smoking man lay dyi