The Danville Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to 1013 Productions and I and will make no money from their use. Spoilers: Minor ones for Monday, SR-819, Fight the Future. Setting: Sixth Season. Many details and characters come from previous stories in this series. Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash. Title: Leap of Faith Author: Cadillac Red Summary: When Skinner is gravely injured investigating an attempt to set up Mulder, the younger agent wrestles with his guilt and terror that the AD won't survive. Leap of Faith Walter Skinner's Apartment Crystal City, Virginia Tuesday, April 12 Fox Mulder stretched and yawned, turning on his side on the long couch. He stretched again and opened his eyes, checking the clock on the bookshelf. It read 10:30 and he closed his eyes once more, and began to drift back to sleep. <10:30?> His eyes popped open and he sat up and looked around the Assistant Director's apartment for some sign of the other man. Mulder had been staying with him all week, serving a modified punishment tour, Skinner had said. But actually, it had turned out to be a pleasant week in which Mulder had a chance to get back into a solid routine and firmly back on track behaviorally. The nightly 'bedtime spanking,' was something he'd skip, if he was asked for a preference. And going to bed early, or 'at a reasonable hour' in the word's of his host, could go, too. But the fact was he did feel calmer and more in control as the end of the week approached so . . . he complied with the A.D.'s restrictions with less rebellion than anyone who knew him would believe. The night before they'd talked about it, he and Skinner, after the AD had delivered a dozen good, hard swats meant to do nothing more than remind the younger man who was in charge, and that he was still being punished for the bad judgment he'd displayed the week before. Mulder used to resent that nightly ritual and, while he'd never say he liked it, in his innermost thoughts he'd come to admit he liked what it represented. That Skinner set clear, unmovable boundaries and firmly pulled him back in when he crossed them. That the older man would always hold Mulder to the high standards he and his family lived by, and by doing so, wrapped him into the warm cocoon of their love. And that, no matter what he did, the Assistant Director would be there for him. Mulder believed that with all his heart and more, he counted on it as he'd relied on nothing before. "What's this spanking for, Mulder?" Skinner had asked him, issuing one stinging slap to his upturned butt. Mulder had been hanging, bare bottom exposed, over the other man's legs, his face buried in the comforter on his bed. "I-- for nothing, sir!" he'd replied, only to receive another hard swat across the exact place where he sat. "I mean, for nothing new!" "Unacceptable, Mulder," Skinner had answered, giving him yet another whack. "I can wait all night. (SMACK!) What's this spanking for?" "For-- for not telling you last week, when Doug and Mike-- Owww!" "Wrong, kid. (SMACK!) You've already been punished for that one," Skinner said firmly. "You might say this one (SMACK!) is for reinforcement, though." "Okay! It's for reinforcement! Ouccchhh! I get it, sir!" "But what else, Mulder?" "I don't know! I, um, oucchhh!" he sobbed, knowing what the other man wanted to hear but finding himself reluctant to offer it. "Owwww!" That was enough to make him relent. "To remind me! To remind me I'm still being punished, sir!" he blurted out as the AD gave him two final smacks, then pulled his pajama bottoms up over his punished rear end. Skinner moved him off his legs gently and onto his own knees, before pulling him into a hug. He rubbed slow circles on his back as Mulder's sobs gentled into sporadic hitches. "It's okay, son," he said quietly. "I don't know what that was about, but I'm sure you do. And I expect you to tell me." Mulder shook his head but Skinner was not having it. He gave the younger man a squeeze, then reached over and pulled the comforter back, making a space for Mulder to slide into the bed. Then he pulled the blanket back up as Mulder began to flip onto his stomach. "No, not yet," Skinner said firmly. "We talk first." Mulder rolled onto his back again and closed his eyes, trying to block more tears from coming. "I'm gonna stay until you tell me, Mulder. And I'll be real tough to live with in the morning, if I have to sit here all night." He reached out and pushed the matted hair back from the younger man's forehead and saw his eyes blink open suddenly. "That's better. Now what the hell was that? You've been doing so well. I was gonna release you from your punishment tour tomorrow--" Mulder's eyes flashed and he looked at the wall on the other side of the room as the AD spoke. Skinner wasn't sure what it meant, but he knew he'd touched a nerve. "You were so much calmer, kid. And in control. I've been proud of you the last couple of days. . . ." Now a look of guilt darkened the younger man's hazel eyes and he dropped them to hide the tears that reappeared as if on cue. He bit his lower lip, trying to hold back a sob. "What if. . . what if I'm not ready to go home yet?" Skinner couldn't hold back a laugh that rose in his throat. "Mulder, you don't have to go if you don't want to. You can stay here even if you're not being punished, you know! You have, many times." "But not lately," the younger man answered, finally making direct eye contact. "Lately, I only stay here when you're punishing me." Skinner thought about it for a few seconds, his brow furrowed as he recalled the past weeks. "Well. . . you've mostly been on a punishment tour for quite a while, kid. But if I had my druthers, I'd really rather have you here just because you want to be here. So how 'bout giving us a chance to get back to that, huh?" "Really?" Mulder's heart felt unexpectedly light, given the spanking he'd just received. "You really don't mind my just staying over sometimes? Just for company?" Skinner sighed, then gave the young man a half-smile. "Mulder, I wouldn't mind if you stayed permanently. But you've always said you need your own space. And I respect that. But this is your home, too. And that means you can be here whenever you need to be, for whatever reason you choose. That's why I gave you your own key." Mulder nodded, feeling a weight of worry disappear off of his shoulders. "I just wanted to be sure you still felt that way, sir." "Well, I do. And you don't want to experience the spanking you'll get if you ever doubt me again, Mulder, so let's not revisit this issue," Skinner said, rising and pulling the comforter up under the younger man's chin. He gave the younger man a fond smile, one that communicated the fact that he was kidding. Somewhat. "Good night, kid!" Mulder had drifted off to sleep with a sense of peace and security that he'd rarely experienced before in his life. But now he was worried, and the affectionate conversation of the night before seemed lightyears from here. "Sir?" he called out, as he rose and began to look around the apartment. "Are you here?" Skinner had not told him he would be late. In fact, he'd said he would be home a little early this evening, and that they'd hit the gym if Mulder made it early, too. Mulder had arrived at just past 6 p.m. and waited about an hour before helping himself to some dinner. He reasoned that the AD must have been delayed at the office, so he fixed himself a sandwich and watched some television. He must have drifted off around 9 o'clock. These early bedtimes were actually beginning to become habit, he mused as he completed a quick search of the apartment. Even though he knew it was unlike the other man to have come in and let him go on sleeping, on the couch. Or let him stay up this late while he was still being punished. He picked up the phone and dialed the Assistant Director's office, but no one answered and the call rolled into voice-mail. He left a short, evasive message, then dialed the FBI's main number and asked for the SAC on duty. Reaching Agent Randall, he asked her to check the to see if AD Skinner was still in the building. Then he held until she got the information. "He left just before 5 o'clock," she said. "Signed out for the day. Did you try him at home?" "N-no, I'll do that," Mulder replied, startled by the information. It was not like Skinner to leave the office that early. And where would he have gone and not even thought to call Mulder and say he'd be late. Feeling a little miffed that he'd been forgotten, Mulder hung up and dialed the A.D.'s cell phone. He let it ring until he got the message saying 'the cellular customer you are trying to reach is not answering or is out of the area," then he slammed the portable phone down and started to pace. This was completely out of character for Skinner. The guy was as predictable as a calendar. He was always where he was supposed to be, always on time, always prepared. It amazed Mulder and confounded him, at the same time. Somehow his own life was always the complete opposite. Except when he stayed with Skinner, then the other man's patterns and routines seemed to provide a grounding force for the unpredictable younger man. "So where are you, sir?" he wondered out loud. He took another look at the clock and saw the minute hand inching toward 11 o'clock. He knew if he waited much longer, it would be too late to call the Assistant Director's assistant. Grabbing the phone again, he picked up Skinner's address book from the desk and looked up her number. "Kim? It's Agent Mulder," he began as soon as she answered. "I'm sorry to disturb you at home—" " It's okay. Is something wrong?" she responded anxiously. "No, I don't think so. It's just that . . . I've been trying to reach AD Skinner all night and he isn't answering. He's not home and he's not answering his cell phone. And the ASAC on Duty told me he left early today so—" "Yes, he had an appointment. Something that came up suddenly. Assistant Director Cassidy asked to see him at four o'clock. With a couple of her staff. When they left, she stayed behind. After she left, he made a phone call, then he must have remembered this appointment and he went home. I thought it was strange. He never forgets anything. . . " "He didn't have anything personal on his calendar for tonight?" Mulder pressed her. "A dinner engagement or appointment?" "No, Agent Mulder. He had a note about going to the gym, that's all. Maybe that's where he is. . . . But he usually answers his cell phone when he's there," she added, signaling her lack of faith in that idea. And Mulder was just as skeptical. He knew Skinner had been planning to go to the gym, and it was just like the man to actually put that on his calendar. But it was unlike him to forget Mulder was supposed to go with him and just as unusual for him not to be answering his cell phone. He thanked Kim and hung up. It was now almost 11 o'clock. He considered his next step carefully. If Skinner was testing him, he thought he should probably just go to bed. But this didn't feel like a test. It felt like trouble. His stomach was queasy and his head was beginning to pound. ************************************************************************ Office of AD Skinner Earlier that afternoon Kim ushered Assistant Director Jana Cassidy and two of her agents into Skinner's office. They had requested this meeting with him "ASAP" and he'd cleared the end of his day, knowing that Jana was anything but an hysteric. If she was it was urgent, he made time. They sat at the conference table and Skinner waited, wondering what this was about. Agent van der Wood spoke first. "We've gotten a tip that one of our agents is on the take, sir," he began, pulling a file out of his portfolio. "He's apparently been taking money from an unknown party for well over a year now, to the tune of more than $1 million." Skinner was visibly shocked. "One of my agents?" he asked. "Who?" Van der Wood cleared his throat. "Special Agent Mulder," he responded quickly. "Mulder?" Skinner croaked, looking at Cassidy quickly, then back at Van der Wood. "Not possible." Van der Wood was clearly startled by the vehemence of the A.D.'s first response. "Well, sir," he stammered, "we have a great deal of evidence." Skinner took a deep breath and made a Herculean effort to restrain himself. "I'm sorry, Agent," he said. "I would like to see your evidence. It's just that, I know Agent Mulder very well and, frankly, you could probably convince me I'm taking bribes before I'd believe he is." He caught Cassidy giving him an exasperated look and instinctively pulled back on his reaction. They'd been partnered years before, when Skinner was not long out of the Academy and, despite the years and the fact he'd been an AD nearly five years longer than Cassidy, she could still get him to straighten up with a look. "Please, go on, Agent van der Wood." They spent the next ten minutes presenting their evidence. Mulder's bank accounts had been scoured, all of them. They were all at the Craddock Bank down the street. All except one at the Hamilton Bank of Virginia. And that account held nearly $1.2 million. All the deposits had been made over the last eighteen months, none less than $200,000, and none more than $300,000. The last deposit had been made in January. "That deposit was made the day you were mysteriously poisoned, sir," the other agent with Cassidy and Van der Wood finally spoke. "You think Mulder set me up?" he nearly choked on the words as they came out of his mouth. "Well, sir, it's very coincidental timing, wouldn't you say?" Agent Petersen replied. "And another $300,000 was deposited last summer, just when that building was blown up in Dallas. The one Agent Mulder—" "Yes, yes, I know the incident," he said in irritation. He picked up the bank records and took a look at the other accounts. Mulder's paychecks went in and out and he spent all of that money in very normal ways. A large check a month was probably rent, another was likely a car payment, yet another looked like insurance. He paid off credit cards each month as well, but not out of proportion to his income. Or no more out of proportion than the average American. Cash came out of ATM's regularly, usually $200 at a time. The balance on his checking account floated dangerously near zero regularly and recently he'd gone into his overdraft protection to the tune of $3,000. That was for the water damage to his and a neighbor's apartments, the Assistant Director knew. There was a small savings account and he'd drawn that down significantly in the past six months, leaving himself just a few thousand dollars in savings. This was the picture Skinner would have expected. He knew Mulder had received a few unpaid weeks of suspension during his tenure with AD Kersh and he had suspected they'd hurt more than the younger agent let him see. "Well, if you're finished, Agents, I'd like to ask a couple of questions. Why would a man with a million dollars in the bank live like Agent Mulder?" he asked, indicating the account activity on the Craddock bank accounts. "And why would anyone as smart as Mulder, or any FBI agent, leave this kind of money in an account here, when all those untraceable, Swiss bank accounts are just there for the asking?" They both looked at him but neither replied. Finally, Skinner turned to Cassidy. "The only thing this package is missing is a big, pretty bow on top," he said succinctly. Cassidy glanced at her two agents. "Thank you," she said. "I'd like to speak to Assistant Director Skinner now." She watched them leave. "Jana, you can't believe—" "I know what you're going to say," she cut him off. "And I agree with you. This is much too pat. But I wanted you to see it. Because the evidence is pretty compelling. And very complete. The signature on the Hamilton bank accounts is authentic, according to our experts. The bank officer there picked Mulder's photo out of about a dozen different ones we showed him. And this evidence came down to us through a high level source within the government." "But Mulder has been targeted before, Jana. More than once. This is just another attempt to discredit him. And get him out of the Bureau," Skinner finished. He was not certain of many things in life, but Mulder's honesty was one he'd bet his life on. "I wanted you to see the evidence," Cassidy replied. "Walter, I promise you we'll do nothing with this right now. I'm not convinced that this is anything other than a set-up. We've been told that someone will contact us with more information. Let's see what that turns out to be." Skinner nodded. He picked up the report of the Hamilton Bank activity that was still lying on the table and handed it to Cassidy. Something was niggling at the back of his brain, some connection to the Hamilton Bank of Virginia. Lawson was a former neighbor of the Assistant Director's, when he and his wife had lived in McLean, Virginia. Before the separation, and before Sharon was killed. He and Hal had played golf occasionally and, although they hadn't kept in touch, he felt certain he could call the other man and ask for his assistance. He showed Jana out and immediately went to the phone to call Lawson. He reached him at home and explained why he needed to meet with the bank officer who'd identified Mulder. Lawson was surprised by the call, but offered to get the man and arrange an appointment tomorrow. "I'd like it to be tonight," Skinner said. "It's important, Hal." Skinner gave Lawson his cell number and headed down to his car. Within ten minutes, he'd received a return call from Lawson, saying that his officer, Martin Guitierrez would be waiting for him at their branch in Falls Church. Skinner headed right out there, but a long-standing habit of being over-prepared made him make another call. Reaching the ASAC on Duty, he asked her for a current home address for Martin Guitierrez. His instincts proved more right than he'd hoped. No one was at the bank and Skinner didn't bother to wait. He got back in the car and raced to the home address he'd been given in Tyson's Corner. No one appeared to be there when he first pulled up, but a closer inspection showed some movement in the back of the house. Skinner removed his weapon and unlocked the safety. Coming around the corner, he saw someone he suspected was Martin Guitierrez throwing a suitcase in the trunk of his car. "Federal Agent! Put your hands in the air!" he yelled. "I'm not doin' nothing," the man exclaimed, putting his hands up and looking like he was going to pass out. "I'm not doin' nothing!" It flashed in Skinner's mind immediately that this man did not sound like a bank officer but— "Unhh!" he groaned as something blunt hit his midsection from the left. He spun around and saw a tire iron come at him. It struck his right shoulder and knocked his gun from his hand. Then searing pain erupted as the weapon was raised again, this time making contact with his skull just as the lights went out. He collapsed, unconscious, in a pool of his own blood while Martin Guitierrez and his roommate made their escape. ************************************************************************ Walter Skinner's Apartment Crystal City, Virginia 11:15 p.m. Mulder had grown frantic with worry in the past half hour. He'd called Skinner's phone a dozen more times with the same result. No answer. Finally, he decided to risk the wrath of two A.D.'s and made another call to the Bureau, this time asking to be connected to Assistant Director Cassidy at home. "Ma'am? This is Special Agent Mulder," he said when a groggy voice answered. 'I'm sorry to be calling you at this hour." "Don't apologize, Agent Mulder," she answered quickly. "Not if you've got a good reason." Her voice indicated he'd better have a good reason. "I-I think it's good, ma'am," he replied, thinking that all contact with her made him extremely nervous. "I was supposed to speak to AD Skinner this evening, by phone. It was something important and he insisted we speak tonight," he lied, trying to come up with a plausible reason why he'd be so concerned about Skinner not being reachable. "We were supposed to talk at 7 o'clock. But he wasn't home when I called. And he's still not home. And not reachable at his cell phone either. I called his assistant and she told me you were his last appointment, before he left suddenly for the day. I thought maybe you'd have a clue where he might have gone. . ." Cassidy didn't respond at first, trying to decide what the right response would be. "It's just that, he's not someone who forgets appointments or phone calls, ma'am," he continued. "And . . . well, I'm worried something is wrong." Cassidy considered the situation another few seconds. She knew Skinner for many years and he was not a man who forgot things, or didn't keep appointments. "I think you may be right to be worried," she answered. Then she began to fill him in on the meeting she and her agents had had with Skinner that afternoon. When she'd finished, Mulder was seething with anger, but that paled next to his concern about what had happened to the Assistant Director. His mind turned over all the details he'd gotten so far, from the few sources of information he'd tapped into. "Kim said he made a phone call after you left his office," he said suddenly. "I have to find out who he called!" "Yes, you do that. I'm heading to my office now, Agent Mulder," she replied. "I'll cover what I can from there. Keep in touch with me." Mulder got the ASAC on Duty back on the phone and they traced Skinner's phone call. She also remembered he'd asked for an address in Virginia. Pulling up her log, she read the name and address to Mulder. He raced down to his car and started driving in the direction of the address, and called the phone number Skinner had dialed before leaving his office. Reaching Harold Lawson on the phone, he explained who he was and asked if he'd spoken to the AD earlier in the evening. "Yes, yes, I did," Lawson said, annoyed to be woken up at midnight. "He wanted to meet with one of my people tonight. They were supposed to meet at our branch in Falls Church." "Is your employee's name Martin Guitierrez, sir?" Mulder asked. "Yes, that's it. They were supposed to meet in Falls Church." Mulder thanked him and hung up. His gut told him the AD had gone to the Tyson's Corner address. Praying he was right, he flew through Falls Church and kept going north. Something told him time was of the essence. The Guitierrez home was a small, non-descript tract house in the diciest part of town. It was dark and deserted when Mulder pulled up. There was no sign of the Assistant Director's car and he began to suspect he'd made the wrong choice. But he pulled his weapon out and began a search anyway. No one answered the front door and he decided to circle the house to see if there was an entry that was open before he broke down a door. Coming around the back of the house, he saw a large, dark object on the cement slab behind the house. His heart nearly stopped when he saw who it was. "Sir!" he cried racing up to the fallen man. Skinner had lost a lot of blood and Mulder put two fingers to his neck to see if there was a pulse A fleeting thought that God never answered his prayers ran through his head but he shoved it aside, feeling a faint pulse. He flipped his phone open and called 911, giving them his location and telling him there was a federal agent down at that address. Then he broke in the back door of the Guitierrez house and came back with clean towels and began putting pressure on the other man's head wound, to try to stop, or at least slow, the copious bleeding. "Please, sir," he found himself whispering. "Please don't die. Please don't leave me. I'm not . . . ready yet." He bit his lip and fought the tears that were dangerously close to coming as he heard the screaming wail of sirens approach. "Hurry, hurry," he begged them as if they could hear him. ************************************************************************ Good Samaritan Medical Center Fairview, Virginia 3 a.m. Special Agent Dana Scully stepped quickly out of the elevator and nearly ran down the corridor to the surgical waiting area. She'd made too many middle of the night visits to hospitals in her time. Usually they were for Mulder. This time it was Skinner. Either way, she wanted to be anywhere but where she was. Mulder was sitting alone in the waiting area, his head in his hands. She stopped momentarily, afraid of what he was going to say. In his earlier call, he'd said Skinner was resuscitated en route to the hospital, that his heart had given out. And that they were rushing him into surgery. Given the bare facts she knew already, it was highly possible he wouldn't survive. "Mulder," she said quietly, holding her breath. He looked up and she could see tears pooled in his eyes. He stood and approached her and she was startled by his taking her immediately into his arms. "Thanks for coming so fast," he whispered. "They still have him in surgery. It's been over an hour--" "That's not that long, Mulder," she said gently. "Let me see what I can find out." She squeezed him reassuringly and went to look for some information. When she returned, she was even less confident than before. The charge nurse in the surgical wing was unwilling to give her much information but seemed to be preparing her for the worst. She returned to the waiting area and sat down next to Mulder. "Not much news yet," she said. "But given his condition going in, the longer it takes, the better it might be." That was as close to optimism as the nurse had gotten. "If he survives the surgery, it will be a miracle," was how she'd put it. Mulder nodded. "I called Joe as soon as we got here. He was going to go over and talk to the Skinners in person. I couldn't deliver this news on the phone--" He stopped when his cell phone bleated. "Mulder." "Joe! How are your folks doing?" He listened for a few seconds, then responded again. "Still in surgery. They say it's a . . . hopeful sign that he's doing okay so far." Scully read his body language and tone of voice and was surprised that he'd processed the reality so quickly under the circumstances. She watched him listen for a little longer, then give the exact address of the hospital and directions about how to get there. Joe and his parents were on their way, apparently. And Andy was getting the first flight out of Chicago. Jean was out of town, but they were trying to contact her. Clearly the Skinner family understood the gravity of the situation as well. Mulder disconnected and stared at his phone. "This was about me, Scully," he whispered. "AD Cassidy said he was investigating some information that came into the Bureau about me being on the take. . . " His voice trailed off and broke and Scully put her arms around him and let him regain his composure at his own pace. When he did, he gave her the rest of the meager information and she tried to reassure him that he had no reason to feel guilty. But Scully she knew in her heart her words were falling on deaf ears. They failed to make any impression on Mulder, or his propensity for feeling responsible for everything that happened to the people he loved. And she knew he loved the Assistant Director. Mulder had finally found a home in the Skinner family and in the past two years he'd grown calmer and more stable as a result. Scully prayed Skinner would survive for many reasons, not the least of which was her terror about what would happen if Mulder lost the guidance and security the AD provided. The doctor in her knew that hope was probably in vain. ********************************************************************* Good Samaritan Medical Center 5:45 a.m. Mulder and Scully had greeted the Skinners when they came in, and apprised them of the situation. Which was that they had no further news, their son was still in surgery. Rachel had given Mulder a hug that nearly squeezed the breath out of him and Walter, Sr. and Joe had not been far behind. The young agent wished with all his heart that he could say something optimistic but all he could manage was the usual platitudes about what a strong man Skinner was and what his will to live could do. His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. At just past 6 a.m., the surgeon appeared and asked to speak to the family. Mulder and Scully hung back, until Joe noticed their reluctance and insisted they come along. Dr. Goldman was succinct. "We've done all we can do, given his current condition," he said gravely. "We had to resuscitate him on the table . . . and he's on full life support. That's not to say there's no hope, now, folks. But I would be wrong if I didn't tell you he's got a long way to go. Still, he is a healthy, relatively young man in excellent physical condition. The truth is, most people who came in in that condition wouldn't have made it through the surgery. Or held on as long as he apparently did before being found. That says a lot for his spirit, and his will to live. The next 24 to 48 hours will be crucial." Scully asked some questions and elicited a little more information. "At this point, he's not responsive, Dr. Scully, but that's not unusual, given the extent of the brain injury. He's got a broken shoulder and his right arm is fractured in two places as well but we're not concerned with those injuries right now. We need to see is what happens in the next day or two. If he makes it through the next 48 hours, I'll be in a better position to give you a prognosis about long-term issues." He'd flitted over the question of whether, if Skinner survived, he'd ever fully recover from this devastating an injury. Mulder thought he might be sick and contemplated making a run for the men's room. But he knew his legs wouldn't hold, if he tried to stand, so he just sat there, concentrating on not embarrassing himself. Rachel and Walter, Sr. asked when they could see him and were told he'd be moved to intensive care in about an hour. Joe looked at his watch and suggested that he and Mulder could go for coffee. "Or we could all go to the cafeteria. Maybe get some breakfast." No one was hungry so he tapped Mulder on the shoulder and got a dazed look in response. "Come on, kid," he said quietly. "Give me a hand." Mulder swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat. Joe sounded eerily like his older brother, right down to the inflection on the word 'kid.' He rose and managed to match Joe's gait, expecting to collapse with every step. But somehow they made it to the lobby, and Joe pointed at the exit. "I saw a Dunkin' Donuts on the way in," he said. "I guarantee their coffee's better than anything they've got here. . . . And you look like you could use some air." Mulder was surprised. He'd thought he was covering his distress pretty well. He eyed Joe guiltily, thinking that this was all the other man needed. "It's okay, Mulder," Joe said, responding to his unspoken answer. "We all deal with this kind of thing differently. And you were the one who found him. . . . I know how hard that must have been." Mulder nodded. Without thinking, he began to tell Joe the whole story, letting it pour out of him as they walked down the ramp that wound down from the hospital and across the street. They stocked up on coffee in all its varieties and began the hike back to the medical center. Mulder didn't stop talking until they hit the front entrance. Then he came to a full halt in mid-step and seemed unable to go any further. "What if he doesn't make it, Joe?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. "He'll make it," Joe said firmly. "He's a helluva lot stronger than just about anybody I know, Mulder. If anybody can make it, it's Walter." A cab pulled up behind them and Andy Skinner, the youngest brother jumped out. He threw a bill through the front window to the driver and didn't wait for change. "How is he?" he asked them anxiously. Mulder knew he had to have taken the first flight out of O'Hare this morning to be here now. "He's out of surgery," Joe told him, handing him one of the bags he was carrying and giving Andy a long, powerful hug. "He's in critical condition, though. They're moving him to the ICU now." Andy turned to Mulder and gave him the kind of hug Joe had just delivered to Andy. "Thank God you found him when you did," he said and Mulder found himself tearing up yet again. He had faced a lot of tragedy in his life, but never with the support and deep love the Skinner family shared with him and each other. It didn't make this situation any easier, but it helped in a way he couldn't yet fully appreciate. ********************************************************************** Intensive Care Unit Good Samaritan Medical Center Thursday afternoon Rachel and Walter Skinner sat by their son's bedside, speaking to him. The entire family had kept up the vigil, one pair spelling another as the hours passed into a day, and continued on. Joe and Jean, Andy and Mulder, Rachel and Walter, Sr. They worked in shifts but no one had seen even a single indication that the unconscious man heard their endless chatter. Dr. Goldman and the medical team came and went on a regular basis, checking vital signs and probing for some response. But the AD was in a deep coma and the longer it went on, the worse the prognosis became. Mulder watched them through the glass window and found himself growing more apprehensive as his shift approached. He didn't know if he could bring himself to go in there again. Seeing this man he'd come to think of as a surrogate father, or beloved older brother, in this condition, tore at his heart and soul. He'd always thought of the other man as a pillar of strength, a 'beacon in the night'-- He watched the doctor come in and ask the Skinners to step outside. He'd turned to adjust something on the monitor and, before the older couple was even out of the room, something got Dr. Goldman's full attention. He hit the call button and barked for assistance as Mulder watched, panic-stricken. Joe came from out of nowhere and ushered his parents out of the room as a crash cart was rolled in past them. They all watched, paralyzed with terror, as the medical team went through the motions of reviving Skinner one more time. The heart monitor screamed insistently as they worked and Mulder found himself backing away, not wanting to witness it, if this was the end. He stepped blindly down the hall and kept going. He spotted an exit sign and entered the stairwell, breaking into a run as he descended to the first floor. He burst out the door into another corridor and began to run, dodging carts and hospital personnel and afternoon visitors, looking for an exit to the outside. He had to get out of the building but every turn seemed to take him down another endless corridor. Coming to a stop suddenly, he sobbed in frustration. When he looked up, there was a man, about his own age, standing in a doorway in front of him. He held the door open with one hand, and reached out with his other arm. "Come in and sit a while, son," he said, with a brogue that called up images of the green fields of Ireland. "You look troubled." Mulder recognized the man's clerical collar and glanced quickly at the sign above the door. "Chapel," it read in gold letters. He immediately shook his head and backed away. "No! No, sir, I can't," he said, trying to sound calm and collected. "But thank you--" "It can't hurt to sit a while and talk, can it, son? Come, I've been waiting for you." His voice was calm, and very soothing and Mulder found himself walking into the room, despite his resolve not to go. He paused at the door, looking around anxiously. It was a spare room, with light wood interior and stained-glass windows. There were a few wood pews and an altar but the place was very simple and unadorned. Except for the most exquisite arrangement of yellow roses. Their scent filled the air and a shaft of sunlight from the stained glass window behind the altar backlit them as they sat there. Mulder found himself staring at them as the priest led him down the aisle and guided him into a front pew. "Yellow flowers are the symbol of friendship, you know," the priest said quietly. "And you are worried about a friend, aren't you?" Mulder turned his head in shock. How could this man know that? Then he remembered the Skinners had come down to the chapel to pray the night before. They must have told him about their son and . . . . It was a stretch, to think this man recognized him from whatever they had told him, but stranger things had happened. "Yes," he said looking back to the altar. "I'm . . . . I'm afraid he's going to die." His voice cracked over the last word and he couldn't stop the warm tears that began to flow freely as he admitted what he now believed. "He's very important to you, isn't he, son?" Mulder nodded. "He's my boss but . . . more than that, . . . he's my best friend. I'm not very close to my family. I really never have been. But he made me part of his family and . . . and he cares what happens to me. I know this probably sounds stupid, but he cares enough to keep me from doing dangerous things, or taking unnecessary chances. I've learned so much from him . . . but I know I still have a lot to learn! If he dies. . . ." He found he couldn't continue and simply hung his head as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Do you think he believes you've learned it all yet?" the priest asked him quietly. "Does he think you're ready to be on your own?" Mulder snorted his response to that question, then immediately knew that might appear rude. "No," he said, exhaling forcefully. "I'm certain he doesn't think I'm finished, Father." "And he's not the kind of man who leaves unfinished business, is he?" Mulder turned and stared at the priest. "No. No, he's not. But sometimes . . . fate doesn't pay much attention to what we want." "Perhaps, if you prayed--" Mulder couldn't help the response that rose in his chest and burst forth, almost without thought. "God doesn't answer my prayers," he said bitterly. "Or more accurately, his answer is always 'no.'" He shook his head, upset at himself for having thrown that up at the priest. The man was only trying to help. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend you--" "I'm not offended, son," the man said, leaning back with a smile. "My name's Declan, by the way. Declan Morgan. And I've seen men through crises of faith before. You could hardly find a way to offend me, Fox." Mulder had no answer to that and he was growing weary of a conversation he didn't want to be having in the first place. "Well, I better go," he said quickly, coming to an upright position. "I have to go . . . be with my friend." "Come back any time, Fox," the priest said softly. "I'll be here when you need me." Mulder left thinking his greatest hope now was that he never needed the priest, ever. That Skinner would recover completely and be back on Mulder's case, just like he had been for the last two years. The young FBI agent found himself irrationally trying to find a way to turn back the hands of time, to the day before, to find a way to keep Skinner from going to that house to see Guitierrez. His mind played the game of 'what if' until he was numb with wishing, and hoping and . . . praying it would all turn out to be a nightmare. But the next days extended the nightmare as Skinner remained in dire condition, floating, barely tethered to the edge of life. He was unresponsive and the doctors seemed to grow less optimistic with each passing shift. Operating on very little sleep and virtually no food, Mulder was a visible wreck, so much so that Joe had asked him to go home two nights later. He'd insisted Scully drive the younger man to his apartment. Mulder went over his protests then found himself lying awake with anxiety and fear, unable to close his eyes to sleep anyway. He'd taken a cab back to Crystal City and finally crashed, weary and tearful, into his own bed in Skinner's spare bedroom. And there, he'd finally slept for a few hours until the morning light woke him to a heavy heart and a sense of dread. He'd returned to the hospital this morning, hoping against hope that there would have been a change in the A.D.'s condition. Now it was afternoon and the family had just finished a conference with the doctors. They'd been given nothing on which to place an ounce of hope. At this point, the physicians were hedging their bets, Mulder thought angrily. And when they'd returned to the ICU, the AD had hit yet another medical crisis. Mulder had excused himself, unwilling and unable to face what he knew must be coming next. Somehow he found himself sitting in the Chapel once again, staring at the altar, where the sunlight coming through the stained glass window was playing brilliant colors across the basket of yellow roses there. He was lost in his own thoughts when he realized Father Morgan had come in and was sitting beside him again. "You are frightened, son," the priest said quietly, startling him. "Let me help." Mulder looked down at his hands and shook his head, swallowing down the tears that rose in his throat. "There's nothing you can do." "I can pray with you," Declan replied quietly. "I told you the other day, that never works for me," Mulder answered, this time with no anger, only resignation. Fresh tears sprang to his eyes as he sat there and suddenly someone called him from the back of the chapel. "Mulder," Joe said, whispering, but loud enough to be heard. Mulder turned around quickly, his heart racing. "What? What happened?" His anxiety invested his words with emotion and fear illuminated his features. Joe approached him and took a position at the end of the pew. "I thought you might be here," he said simply. "He's okay, for now. At least he made it through the latest crisis. A few minutes ago, he was practically gone, then 'bang!' His heart starts going again, and his vital signs pick up. I thought you'd want to know." He laid a hand on Mulder's shoulder and the younger man felt himself tearing up, with relief and gratitude. "I was just talking to--" Mulder began, turning to his left to introduce Father Morgan. But no one was there. Somehow in the past minute, the priest must have slipped out without Mulder being aware of it. He turned back. "Thanks for finding me, Joe." "No problem, Mulder," Joe said, easing into a spot in the pew behind Mulder. "I wanted a minute alone with you anyway." He pulled something out of his shirt pocket and unfolded it. It looked like a letter. "I told you that Walter sent me this a couple of months ago. I don't know what got him thinking about his own mortality all of a sudden. . . ." Mulder knew. He'd been there when the poison that Skinner had been injected with began to kill him. That experience had changed Skinner, made him contemplate an eventuality he probably had not properly planned for. Now Mulder felt a chill run over him as he realized this might be the situation for which the AD had prepared. Joe was holding the letter, staring at it and Mulder was afraid to ask what it said. They both sat there silently for a half a minute, then Joe began to speak softly. "He wants me to make sure you don't . . . drift away from the family, Mulder. There's a lot of other stuff here, too, but it isn't important now. Not unless. . . " He couldn't bring himself to utter the words either, Mulder realized. "But not letting you separate yourself from us, that seems to apply right now, kid. Don't think just because Walter's lying in a hospital bed, you get a free pass! I'm a little younger and don't tell Walter I said it, but I'm in better physical condition. I'll track you down and kick your butt, Mulder, if you even try to get away!" Joe gave him a sad, half-smile. "And if I don't scare you, there's my Dad. . . " Mulder felt a laugh bubble up from his belly and explode in a release of tension. "Now that scares me, Joe. Believe me!" "Yeah, he has that effect on me, too," Joe said, rising. "I don't want to interfere with you having a little time for thinking, or praying. But don't leave this hospital without talking to one of us, deal?" Mulder nodded, and realized that, for no good reason, he was feeling a little better. "Andy and Jean took the shift after Mom and Dad. So it's you and me, kid, and we're up next. I'll meet you upstairs in twenty minutes, okay?" He patted the back of Mulder's head in a way that was disturbingly familiar. Mulder nodded again and turned back to the altar as Joe exited the chapel. He leaned on the back of the pew before him and then fell slowly forward onto his knees. "Well, maybe a little praying won't hurt," he breathed to himself. "No, it never hurts," Father Morgan said. He'd suddenly appeared next to Mulder again. "What are you, part cat?" Mulder asked, putting his hand to his chest as he sat back on the bench. "You could give someone heart failure, coming and going like that!" "My apologies, son," the priest said simply. "I had to step out, to be with someone else for a moment. But I'm back now. And if you wish to pray, I'll be pleased to pray with you." Mulder sat back, embarrassed at being caught this way. He was not religious, and had not been raised to be. In fact, he didn't really know any prayers. "You don't have to be sayin' any specific prayers," Father Morgan told him. "You just talk to Him." "I've tried talking to Him before," Mulder found himself replying. "And I told you, He never lets me have what I want. I . . . don't even like to let Him know what I'm hoping for. That way, I've probably got a 50/50 shot. Better than my odds with your God, Father. And that's statistically supportable, by the way." "Have ye never had a prayer answered, Fox?" Mulder's thoughts suddenly turned to Scully, to the moment when her cancer had gone into remission. He'd thought that was a lost cause and though he'd continued to urge her to try whatever treatment was at hand, he'd actually all but given up hope until . . . . The priest sat back and folded his arms over his chest. "You are a tough one, aren't you? Do ye give Walter such a hard time generally?" Mulder thought it odd that this stranger was talking about the AD like he knew him. He may have spoken to Skinner's parents last night but that only gets you so far, he thought. But there was something about the man that made it impossible to ignore him. "Well, actually, I guess he'd say I give him a harder time, generally," Mulder admitted. "And sometimes I do. Sometimes I just have to 'test' him, to see whether he's really . . . gonna be there for me. No matter what. That's what he says, but I haven't had any experience with that before so . . . ." The lump returned to his throat at the thought that he might never have it again. "So you keep pushing him, to see when he'll just up and leave, is that it?" Father Morgan smiled. "But your friend is not a man who is easily pushed. And he is not a quitter. You can be certain of that. He's not likely to leave behind any unfinished business, son." Mulder stood, not willing to listen any further to someone who didn't know Skinner speak about him as though he did. "I appreciate everything you've said," he told the priest quickly. "I have to go be with my friend and his family now. I think that would be a better use of my time." He nodded his head quickly, then left just as fast. He and Joe took the next shift, and Mulder was stunned to hear the A.D.'s condition had actually improved a little. The young agent was still self-conscious about talking to someone who didn't respond though. Although, there were times when the usually quiet Skinner gave him little in the way of encouragement, he generally nodded or grunted when Mulder went off on some tangent. This was different. But Joe sensed his discomfort and moved Mulder onto a conversation about basketball. He watched the younger man warm to his subject and Joe made it his job to include his brother in the two-way dialogue. Soon Mulder was also addressing him as though he were an active participant. And as they were bemoaning the Wizards' dismal chances to make the playoffs, both Joe and Mulder saw the other man's eye's flutter. Joe ran to the door to call for assistance and Mulder pulled his chair closer to the bed, and took the other man's hand in his own. "If you can hear me, sir," he said, quietly insistent, "if you can hear me, please squeeze my hand. Please. . . . " Nothing happened and he began to think he and Joe had been fooled by some involuntary response on the part of the patient. "Please, God," he whispered, "I didn't mean what I said before. I want to believe, I really do. Please just let him be okay. I'm not ready to be alone again--" He felt a light pressure on his hand and looked up into the open eyes of the Assistant Director. Skinner looked at him briefly, then closed his eyes again as the doctor on duty came running in. Mulder was asked to wait outside with the rest of the family and he left with renewed hope. The eyes that had greeted him had been familiar and aware. That was more than they had reason to hope for a few minutes earlier. *********************************************************************** Good Samaritan Medical Center Sunday evening Mulder opened the door to the A.D.'s hospital room and stuck his head in. The room was filled with other Skinners as well and the younger agent had waited until visiting hours were almost over, to give them all time to be with him. Skinner had had surgery to set his broken shoulder and arm early Saturday morning and tonight was the first time he'd looked halfway alert and open to seeing many people. Walter Sr. saw Mulder at the door and called him in. "We were wondering where you were, son," he said affectionately, greeting Mulder with a warm hug. "You know how I feel about crowds, sir," Mulder responded. "I only like 'em when hot dogs are served." "Well, that's definitely not what they served here tonight, Mulder," Skinner interjected from his bed. "As soon as I'm able, I'm going to open an investigation into whatever that meat was." "Sounds like an X-file, sir," Mulder said with a smile. It was good to hear the other man sounds so strong, and so like himself. The doctors said it was a miracle he recovered memory and cognitive function as fast, and as completely, as he had. "Well, I think it's time this shift ended," Joe said, waving his arms to gather the clan and get them moving. Everyone kissed the AD good-bye and promised to be back in the morning. Joe was the last to leave and Skinner gave him a tired, grateful smile. "I appreciate it, Joe. I love you all, but I'd like a little peace and quiet now." "I have a built-in barometer for your patience level, Walter," Joe said. He turned to Mulder. "Came in pretty handy when we were growing up." "Can I get one implanted while I'm here?" Mulder replied with a grin. He pulled a chair up next to the hospital bed and sat down as soon as Joe departed. "You look a lot better than you did yesterday." "I was out of it after the surgery, Mulder. I don't even remember seeing you yesterday!" "Well, I didn't stay long. You're well over your quota for visitors. The hospital's being amazingly lenient." "Scully was here earlier, too. She said you found Guitierrez and his accomplice. Thanks, Mulder." The Assistant Director shifted in the bed, trying to get a comfortable position. His right arm was strapped to his chest. "You wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for me--" "Stop that, Mulder!" Skinner told him forcefully. "You had nothing to do with the fact someone was trying to set you up! I'm not letting you take on one shred of guilt over this." "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you," the younger man answered quickly. Skinner closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. "No, I'm sorry, kid," he said sincerely. "I didn't even thank you for saving my life yet. And here I am yelling at you--" "No, you're right to yell at me," Mulder replied quickly. "Father Morgan even said I push you, just to see when you'll give up on me. And I do that, I know I do!" Skinner laughed at Mulder's sudden leap of logic and congruity. "Father Morgan? You've been talking to a priest, Mulder?" He suddenly remembered hearing the younger man praying, in a way, when he first woke up. This was decidedly out of character for the very agnostic Fox Mulder. Mulder smiled a little sheepishly. "Well, I stopped in at the chapel, to think one day. And I met him. Declan Morgan's his name--" "Declan Morgan?" Skinner nearly jumped out of the bed at the sound of the name. "You met a priest named Declan Morgan?" Mulder was surprised by the vehemence of his response. "Yes, sir. He's the chaplain here. Do you know him?" Skinner let his head fall back onto the pillow and looked introspective. "No. I don't know the chaplain here. It's just that I knew a priest in 'Nam with the same name." "Could be the same guy, I guess," Mulder said. "No, couldn't be the same guy, Mulder. My Declan Morgan was killed when a helo he caught a ride on was shot down over Khe San. He was with me through the days after I was wounded, and he stayed with me as long as I was still in-country. He was on his way back to the front line after seeing me off to Tokyo when it happened. He talked me through the first couple of days, when I was close to giving up. Telling me I wasn't a quitter, that I still had 'unfinished business' to attend to . . . . He had this comforting Irish accent--" Mulder was jarred by the A.D.'s recollection. This sounded suspiciously like the same Declan Morgan to him. "How old was he, sir?" he asked, trying not to appear too curious. "How old? I don't know, late thirties, maybe. It's funny you should meet someone with the same name. I had a . . . flashback while I was in the coma. I guess it was a flashback. I'm not sure where I was, but I could hear Declan talking to me. Telling me it wasn't time yet. That I still have 'unfinished business.' There's more to be learned, something like that," he said, yawning. "It's all kind of fuzzy." Mulder was struck by the coincidence of the other man's flashback and his own conversation with Father Morgan. He waited while whatever medication they were giving him kicked in, then quietly left the hospital room and headed for the first floor. The Chapel door was open and he stepped inside and walked to the front, near the altar. Something was different here but he couldn't put his finger on it. He was thinking, when someone startled him from behind. It was a priest, a man in his late sixties, Mulder guessed. "Can I help you, son?" the priest asked. Mulder's ear picked up the unmistakable cadence of a Louisiana native. "N-no, Father," he answered quickly. "Unless you know where to find Father Morgan." "Who?" "Father Declan Morgan. He was here when I came in earlier this week. I think he's the chaplain," Mulder explained patiently. "Well, I don't know him. And I've been the chaplain here for the past 20 years! So unless they replaced me suddenly, I don't know who you mean. He must have been visiting here." Mulder was perplexed. The man he'd seen had never said he was with the hospital, but he certainly appeared to be at home here. And he approached Mulder as though it were his job. "What happened to the flowers?" he asked, realizing that's what was different. The gigantic basket of yellow roses had been removed. "Well, flowers got very expensive. We cut the flower budget and put the money into other things about ten years ago. Although I miss them myself, sometimes." The priest sighed and gave the young man a tired smile. "Well, it's been a long day, son. If you're okay, I think I'll head on home." Mulder watched him leave, then he turned back toward the spare, barren altar. A sense of wonder overwhelmed him, and something else as well. Gratitude. And kinship. He and Skinner had shared an experience that the other man might not even recognize or accept. But Mulder knew. And moreover, there was a distinct scent of roses in the air. Yellow ones. He bowed his head and whispered, "thank you." END PART 1