Title: Road Rage

Author: Goddess Michele

Date: August 2003-September 2004

Fandom: X-Files

Pairing: M/Sk

Spoilers: various and sundry from everywhere, mostly vague. Also helps if you've read the other two Vacation stories.

Rating: PG-13 to NC17 and everything in between...

Beta: I am my own worst beta!

Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.

Feedback: Yes, please! starshine24mc@yahoo.com

Archive: put it wherever you like, including atxf and SM, just leave my name on it.

Author's Note: I know it's late in the game, but I still think I've got a winner on my hands! For my clan, who keeps believing in me when I've forgotten how.

Chapter 13: Fast as I can

Summary: mmm, shmangst, my favorite flavor....

"I'm telling you, Walter, next time, I don't care who cums first, you're making the coffee! Bad enough for Scully to hear us, but do you realize that John Doggett is in our kitchen right now? If there was a list of people who I never want in the same house as me when I'm having an orgasm, he'd be at least--uh...Walter?"

He was ranting to an empty room.

"Walter? Walt?" He entertained the notion of looking under the bed just long enough to feel foolish, and then he got scared.

"Shit!" he set the coffee cups down on the dresser, looking around the room in a controlled panic; scanning in a method learned at too many crime scenes, he saw that the window was still closed, the curtains still drawn. The bedclothes were pushed back, but no signs of struggle aside from the one the two of them had participated willingly in. His clothes were strewn all over the floor, and Walter's clothes were--

--all the clothes on the floor were his.

He moved quickly to the window and pushed back the curtains.

Walter Skinner was standing at the edge of the woods in back of the house. The yard they had cleared back there wasn't huge, but he was still a fair distance away. His back was to the house, and his hands were shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. He didn't appear to be under duress; Mulder couldn't see anyone pointing guns, or palm pilots for that matter.

Still, it was odd.

Mulder realized that somewhere between him coming back from the kitchen and Scully coming out of the bathroom, there would have been time for Skinner to move through the house unnoticed.

It didn't take long for Mulder to pull on jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, retrieve the rapidly cooling cups of coffee from the dresser and slip his shoes on.

He had just a glimpse of Scully's back as she entered the kitchen, and then he was out the front door, down the steps and crunching along the gravel footpath that led to the back of the house.

Skinner hadn't moved.

Mulder didn't say anything, but he knew by the shift in Skinner's posture that the older man had heard him approach.

He stood a step behind and to one side of Skinner and held out one of the cups in mute offering.

Their fingers brushed as Skinner took the proffered mug.

"Thank you, Fox," he said quietly, then returned to his contemplation of the trees.

Mulder followed suit and wondered what his lover was seeing; what he was thinking.

They sipped their coffee in companionable silence for a while, and when Mulder's cup was empty, he set it on the ground and put an arm around his lover's waist.

"Do you remember that conversation we had once about pet names?" Skinner said finally, his voice low and sad.

Mulder smiled. "Pretty hard to forget, Walter." He tightened his grip on the other man.

"Not really," Skinner muttered. He turned to look at Mulder then, and anger and fear were warring in his eyes. "Apparently it's very easy to forget."

Suddenly his coffee cup was falling to the ground and his arms were around Mulder in a fierce embrace.

`This morning," his voice was low and muffled against the side of Mulder's neck, his breath warm and shiver inducing. "Before we--when we--this morning, I thought there was something I--I don't know, I couldn't remember, and it nagged at me."

Hey it's no big deal, Walter," Mulder replied, trying to soothe with words and stroking hands, even as his own fears rose to the surface.

"It is, though, Fox. I had half a memory of calling you something--something not Mulder--something that was--that meant something--and then it was gone." Skinner pulled back so they were face-to-face, shook his head sadly and swiped at his eyes. "So, I guess I came out here to see if I could remember."

"All that good mountain air, huh?" Mulder's light tone contrasted sharply with the way his hands found Skinner's and clutched greedily at them.

"Something like that," Skinner agreed with a wan smile.

"Did you know John Doggett is in our kitchen?" Mulder suddenly changed the subject and bent to retrieve their coffee cups. He pretended not to notice the extra few seconds it took for Skinner to process this bit of information, and when Skinner smiled, he smiled back.

"Doggett? That's terrific. Scully will be thrilled. But--" He had let Mulder take a hand and start leading them back to the house; now he stopped and gave his lover a sharp look. "Do you think he has something?"

"I think between my personal genius, and Scully's `homme du jour', you're going to be out-thinking me for a long time to come, Walter." Mulder's voice was firm and optimistic and Skinner couldn't resist pulling him close for a quick kiss before resuming their trek back through the yard.

An unexpected gust of wind played with Mulder's hair, and he shook his head, trying to get the errant forelock out of his eyes without relinquishing his hold on either Skinner or the coffee cups.

Skinner stopped them again, and raised his free hand to brush tenderly at the stray bangs. He ran his hand through the dark hair a second time, then cupped Mulder's chin and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. When he stepped forward again, Mulder held him back, saying "I know I'm going to regret this, but..."

Skinner gave him a quizzical look, which Mulder responded to with a smile and another kiss, this one full on the mouth and much harder. A second later, though, he had to pull back with a pained mewling sound as the cut on his swollen mouth reopened.

"Well," he said, shrugging off Skinner's worried look, "So much for my dramatic moment." Instead, he nuzzled his unhurt cheek against Skinner's and whispered, "Puppy."

Skinner gave him a confused frown, repeated the word stupidly, and then Mulder saw dawning recognition light up his eyes.

"Puppy? Puppy!" His grin was infectious, and Mulder couldn't resist it, even as he complained.

"I should have told you it was `Master', or `Super Stud' or--"

"Bad puppy!" Skinner exclaimed, laughing. He held Mulder tight and kissed the tip of his nose. An awkward attempt to spin them both around resulted in Mulder stumbling, Skinner tripping and both of them falling on the grass beside the path. Mulder grunted as the air was forced out of him.

"Uh! Jeez, nice moves, Twinkletoes!" he exclaimed.

Skinner just laughed at him and kissed him again, and Mulder discovered that his mouth wasn't so sore after all. He rolled Skinner onto his back and straddled his body.

"Okay, so the name was a give away--but you better remember the rules, Walter," he tried to look stern and smiled at the same time and it didn't work.

"Puppy." Skinner was still laughing, like a dam had burst and all his relief was flooding out of him.

Mulder felt the same sort of relief, but another part of him was already worrying about what Skinner might forget next.

"You're going to have some pretty interesting grass stains, puppy," Skinner told him as he attempted to roll out from under Mulder, "What do you suppose Doggett and Scully will think of that?"

"They'll think I got lucky," Mulder replied easily. Skinner opened his mouth to make some comment and Mulder quickly covered it with his hand.

"If you say `lucky puppy', Walter, I will have to hurt you." He could feel Skinner's smile under his fingertips, feel warm breath tickling his palm, and he wanted nothing more than to freeze time; to just be allowed to have this moment. Not to move forward from it, into something more perilous and unknown. He couldn't bear the thought of losing this--this moment, this feeling.

He wouldn't lose it.

He rolled off Skinner to lie next to him on the grass, and Skinner turned on his side and ran a hand over his chest and stomach.

"I am lucky," Mulder murmured.

"I'm lucky," Skinner corrected.

"Well sure, Walt, that's just a given. I mean, I am, after all, me!"

Then Mulder erupted in completely un-butch giggles and tried to roll away as Skinner dug his fingers into the man's ribs and began tickling him mercilessly. Mulder squirmed and got to his knees and Skinner tackled him and they wrestled through the tall grass, laughing and cursing and kissing and rolling.

---

"What kind of behavior is that for a coupla grown men?" Doggett shook his head as he watched Skinner and Mulder wrestling in the back yard.

Scully could hear the smile in his voice.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't love to be out there with them, John Doggett!" she replied, coming up behind him and putting her arms around his waist. Standing up on tiptoe, she was just able to peer over his shoulder and look out at her friends outside.

"That depends," said Doggett.

"On?" Her tone held a teasing lilt. Doggett turned in her arms and kissed the top of her head.

"On how involved you would be in the unofficial X-Files Wrestling Championship." He moved the kiss to her mouth and stroked his hands possessively over her waist and hips. "You can pin me any day, lady."

Scully laughed and kissed him back.

---

Chapter 14: Captain Wedderburn

Summary: Look, Scooby, a clue--our intrepid heroes finally catch a break...but will it be enough?

"Is there popcorn?" Mulder asked.

"No," said Doggett.

"Maybe," Scully said with a saucy grin. "But no butter."

"Uck!" Mulder stuck his tongue out at her.

"Mulder..." Skinner gave him a warning growl.

Mulder pouted briefly, and then pulled Skinner closer to himself. The two men were seated on the couch, and Mulder had his arm around Skinner, his fingers stroking absently over one big shoulder.

Scully looked comfortable and content in the rocking chair in the corner. She was wearing an old t-shirt of Skinner's, coupled with the slacks she had worn the day before, and one bare foot brushed the floor, making the rocker sway a bit, while the other foot was tucked neatly under her.

Doggett had promised to go back to Banff with her later today to retrieve her things from the hotel room there. Given the circumstances, Scully had thought the hotel to be a perfect `safe house' for Skinner while they figured out their next move. But Skinner had flat out refused. He was home now, and home was where he intended to stay. If `they' wanted him bad enough, they were going to have to come and get him. Scully had tried appealing to his common sense, suggesting that whomever was doing this might know exactly where he was now, and that an unknown location might be better for them; she had expected Mulder to back her up if for no other reason than Skinner's safety. But he had simply shook his head, hugged his lover and told her it was Skinner's call.

And then John had shown up, and now they were moving forward, whether she liked it or not.

As Doggett pushed a videotape into the player under the television, Scully took a moment to admire his slim figure; well-defined back muscles showing under his black t-shirt, and good legs clad in tight denim. He looked great dressed down, she thought, and she wished he'd do it more often.

Dragging her glance away from Doggett, she caught Mulder watching her with a knowing smile. She blushed, and the cat jumped into her lap, while Doggett settled at her feet, leaning on her legs while he fiddled with the tracking on the remote control.

"Is it dirty movies?" Mulder asked with a leer.

"Not hardly," replied Doggett, rolling his eyes, "although this might getcha excited." He pressed play on the remote, and started doing a voice over as the videotape unwound on the screen.

"So the guys said you thought the DOD might be hanging onto a few souvenirs for old time's sake, like they did with Scully--"as he spoke, he cupped her knee with one big hand and she gave him a grateful smile. "Between us, we figured out how to get a handsome fella like me in and out unnoticed." He grinned and paused the tape in the machine, freezing the image of himself reaching for a box on one of the shelves in the DOD storage facility. He then let the tape play out frame-by-frame, and continued:

"So, I found exactly what I thought we were lookin' for...at least, that's how it seemed."

The TV version of John Doggett tucked the box under his arm, grinned at the camera and left the room.

"You're a natural," Scully said with a smile.

"So you found that PDA?" Mulder exclaimed. "Then why are we sitting here watching home movies when we could be out back applying a liberal dose of sledgehammer to the thing?" He started to rise, and Skinner put a restraining hand on his arm.

Doggett paused the video again and also rose; Scully let him. He found his kit by the door and pulled a small rectangular-shaped package out of it. He tossed it to Mulder, who caught it easily and tore open the paper it was wrapped in like a five year old on Christmas morning.

"Wha-fuck?" He pressed a button on the device, and tinny though very cheery music poured out of the tiny speakers built into the thing.

"Gameboy?" Skinner gave Doggett a confused frown.

"Advance, in fact, according to Lord Manhammer. Top of the line."

"Walter," Mulder teased, "You never told me you were a video game geek." He tossed the Gameboy onto the coffee table none too gently.

"Shut it, Mulder," Skinner's voice was somehow too gruff--Mulder's teasing didn't seem to warrant such a rough response. Mulder looked wounded and Scully looked suspicious.

Skinner looked at Doggett.

Doggett re-crossed the room to stand next to Scully. He picked up the remote again, this time rewinding the tape, and resumed his narration.

"So there I am, all ready to savor victory, haul my lady back home from the wilds of Canada, and call it a day. Then it turns out, I got bupkus."

"Is that even a word?" Mulder asked smartly.

Doggett ignored him. "Anyway, point is, the fanboys and I were kind of at a loss then, as to--"

"So why are you here?" Skinner demanded in the same harsh tone he'd used with Mulder.

"I'm gettin' to that, sir," Doggett shot back, finding his own inner surly marine voice. "So Langly figures that while we're all trying to think what to do next, he'll hack back into the DOD mainframe, get me outta their data base, and then get me right offa their radar--he's got some program where he can loop video image over existing images, you know, make it look like no one had ever been there."

Mulder nodded his understanding, Skinner looked impatient. Doggett paused the tape that had been rewinding while he spoke. "And that's when he found this--seems he went too far back in their recordings or something. Dumb luck, really, but lucky for us."

The same storage area that Doggett had been taped in showed on the screen, this time empty.

"This was two weeks ago," Doggett told them.

"I don't see anything," Mulder complained as both he and Skinner leaned forward eagerly.

"Wait for it," said Doggett.

"What the hell?"

"Who is that?"

As they watched, a woman in a severe man-cut suit and skirt entered the warehouse. She had a large satchel hanging over one arm, and as she approached the same place Doggett had been, she opened the flap on the bag, and pulled something out of it.

Mulder wondered if he should go try and find his glasses. He couldn't see clearly what the item was, nor could he make out the woman's features.

As they watched, the woman stopped at the same shelf and pulled down the same box. A furtive glance around, and then she was pulling something out of the box and replacing it with the item in her hands.

She put everything back on the shelf as it was, and moved back to the door. Another suspicious look around the room, and then a quick glance directly at the security camera.

Doggett froze the picture.

This time he pulled a file folder out of his kit and handed it to Skinner.

"Old girlfriend?" he asked.

Skinner opened the file and stared down at the grainy, blown-up screen capture of the woman in the video.

He knew he should know her.

She looked teasingly familiar, and he glared at the picture, trying to bring up a name to go with the blonde hair and blue eyes.

Mulder squirmed beside him, trying to see over his shoulder. Even Scully was leaning forward now, also trying to get a glimpse of the picture.

The name stubbornly refused to come, even as he felt something throb in his forehead that made him feel vaguely sick and dizzy.

"Walter?" Mulder's voice sounded far away and--

"Sir?" Doggett's voice came from underwater.

Skinner jumped to his feet with an angry inarticulate growl, knocked the file folder to the floor and stomped out of the room.

The picture slid from the folder and fell to the floor; Mulder and Scully reached for it at the same time, but Mulder got there first. It took only seconds for him to look at the picture and realize exactly whom he was seeing.

"Oh, shit..."

"Who is she?" Doggett demanded, both pleased and frightened that both men seemed to recognize the woman.

"She looks so familiar," Scully murmured, staring hard at the picture in Mulder's hands.

"You met her once," Mulder told her. Scully frowned at him.

"Right before Walter and I went back to Oregon," he continued. Scully gave him a startled look as his words flung her unhappily back to the past, and she could hear her own voice from a life time ago, muttering, "I won't let you go alone."

"Dana?" She realized it was Doggett speaking. "Are you--?"

He was cut off by the sound of glass breaking in the kitchen.

"Damn," Mulder leapt to his feet and ran to the other room.

"I don't remember her name," Scully told Doggett, "but she was with Alex Krycek."

---

Mulder pushed open the kitchen door and had to duck as a coffee cup nearly took off his head.

"Walter, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

Skinner turned on him, all savage rage and fury.

"Who is she? Who the fuck is she?!"

"Walter, come on--" Mulder batted the next cup out of the air and it fell to the floor with a crash. He just had time to think `I loved that cup!' and then he was racing across the room, tackling his enraged lover and shoving him hard against the counter. His hands clamped around Skinner's wrists and it was like trying to hold onto a pair of boa constrictors, all muscle and evil intent. He had to lean all his weight forward until he and Skinner were chest to chest.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Skinner roared, struggling hugely.

"Calm down!" Mulder shouted back. "This isn't helping!"

"Tell me who she is!" Skinner pushed and Mulder pushed right back, glaring at his lover fiercely, even as a part of his heart was breaking at this unrecognizable mass of rage that Skinner had become. He intensified his grip on the other man and shook him once, hard, slamming his back against the counter.

"Are we done?" he yelled, remembering a time that seemed millennia ago, when Skinner had done this exact same thing to him. Then, of course, unsavory types had been spiking his water with LSD, and he'd been out of his head. He supposed it was the same for Skinner now, and he remembered Scully's warnings even as he yelled again. "Are we done?"

He expected Skinner to fight him. Some other part of him hoped Skinner would just give in, much as he had done in the past. What he hadn't expected, at all, was for Skinner to suddenly shudder in his grip almost like he was having a seizure, and then fall forward so Mulder quickly had to change his grip on the man from one of restraint to one of support. Skinner had transformed into some kind of Skinner-puppet, and the powers that be had just cut his strings.

"Walter, what--" The sudden shift caught Mulder completely off guard, and despite quick reflexes, he stumbled backwards as all of Skinner's weight fell on him. He heard one broken sob tumble out of his lover and then crumpled under him and they fell to the floor together. Mulder gathered just enough wits about him to twist his legs so that he landed squarely on his ass with Skinner in his lap. The older man's arms were around his neck, face buried in his shoulder, and he suddenly weighed about a thousand pounds.

Another shuddery, weeping sound, and Mulder didn't care if his legs broke under the weight. He returned the embrace, feeling his own eyes watering at the completely unnatural sound of Walter Skinner bawling like a five year old whose puppy had just died. He ignored the ache of a bruised tailbone, the crackle of knees too old for playing on the floor, and his need to recapture some of the air that had been knocked out of him at impact, and instead took up a slow rocking motion, stroking Skinner's broad back in what he hoped was some kind of soothing manner.

He started to whisper some sort of inane nonsense about how everything was going to be all right, about how it was okay, fine, nothing wrong, a-okay, and all you need is love, and then stopped before more than a couple of syllables could slip past his lips. That wasn't going to solve anything, fix anything, make anything right.

As usual, it was the truth he turned to. The truth that his whole life was spent seeking was always where he ended up. It might have been amusingly ironic, had there been anything amusing about the situation at all.

The truth was, he loved Walter Skinner with all his heart. And the truth was, someone was trying to kill Walter Skinner, and kill him in a horrible and painful way.

"It's Marita," he whispered to his crying lover. "Marita Covarrubias. She was an informant of sorts. A spy of sorts. A bitch of big sorts." He could hear the sobs tapering off slowly as his words penetrated the fog Skinner's pain had put him in. "And she was Alex Krycek's lover."

Skinner lifted his head from Mulder's shoulder and stared at him, glasses askew, eyes wide and red, cheeks tear streaked. Even at his lowest, Mulder had never seen him look this way--so young, so scared, so...defeated. It shook him more than he wanted to admit. More than he could admit. He knew no matter what happened next, he was going to have to be strong enough for the both of them.

"She must have either seen what happened, or found out somehow. About you...and me...and Alex." Gently, he straightened Skinner's glasses. "And now I guess she's got her revenge on."

"Fuck me..." Skinner put his head back down, and although no fresh weeping sounds came from him, no words did either. Mulder took up his rocking and stroking again, and when Scully timidly poked her head through the doorway, he shook his head at her and willed her away silently.

They stayed there a long time.

---

Chapter 15: Feel it Turn

Summary: serious issues...before things get serious.

Mulder exchanged a few last minute instructions with Scully at the door; he to her on taking her time, and trying not to worry; she to him on calling her if anything changed and what he could do to help Skinner in the meantime.

Doggett promised they'd be back as soon as they could, and then Mulder watched them get into Doggett's rental truck. He continued to stand in the doorway gazing outside until the truck had ground the last of the gravel in the yard and was nothing more than a muted engine roar in the trees. Then he turned and walked back into the house.

Skinner walked into the living room from the direction of the bathroom, holding his glasses in one hand and mopping water from his face with a small towel.

Mulder approached him with a tentative smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an asshole," Skinner grumbled. He tossed the towel in the direction of the bathroom and gave Mulder a stern but troubled glance. "We have to talk."

"Actually, we have to clean up the kitchen. Scully didn't mention the potential for coffee stains during all of this," Mulder replied smartly.

Skinner's frown deepened. "I'll clean it up. It's my mess," he said roughly.

Now Mulder frowned. "Our kitchen. Our mess."

Skinner didn't argue, just reached out as Mulder came closer to him, put an arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the couch. Mulder followed docile enough, but the frown remained.

Once they were both sitting, Skinner didn't say anything. Instead, he silently looked down at his hands, then up and out the front window. For another couple of minutes his gaze tracked the cat as he strolled across the living room and flopped down in a sunbeam.

Mulder took one of Skinner's hands. Instead of pressing the other man for words, or speaking himself, he performed complicated nonsense code with his fingers, clutching digits, tracing patterns on a damp palm, pressing a wrist to feel the pulse under his fingertips.

"If we can't resolve this, Fox--" Skinner began, his voice soft and thoughtful.

"We will," Mulder shot back without hesitation.

"If we don't," Skinner repeated pointedly. "Then we need to talk about what's going to happen."

"I guess." But he didn't sound happy about it, and he looked even less pleased at the prospect than his voice suggested.

"Scully tells me that they had considered some pretty extreme measures last time," said Skinner. As he spoke, he pulled his hand from Mulder's and sat back on the couch, crossing his arms in a move more defensive than aggressive.

"They were trying to keep you alive in the only way they knew how."

"I don't want that," Skinner replied flatly. Mulder opened his mouth to protest and Skinner shushed him with a light brush of his fingers over his lips.

"Seriously, Fox. I'm not saying I want to die, or that I'm giving up here. God, no! But if I'm not who I am--" he glanced towards the kitchen briefly, home of the latest nanocyte-induced-mind-fuck. "Or if the alternative is--" Again, he cut off his words and indicated his arms and legs with a shrug. "I don't think I could--"

"I know." Mulder's voice dropped so low that Skinner had to strain to hear him. "And I understand, believe me, I do. But..."

There was no argument for it, and Mulder knew it, just as he knew that despite his resolve to remain strong in this situation, just that thought, the vision of Walter Skinner so physically or mentally incapacitated, for the rest of their lives...

He didn't know if he could be that strong. Or maybe he could, but not alone. As always, it was a case of give a little, get a little with them, each man finding strength not only in himself, but in the other, and being able to then give it back when the other needed it.

Without hesitating, he squirmed under Skinner's arms until the older man relented and took him into a warm embrace. Both men sighed noisily, and the cat looked up from his sunbeam momentarily, then dismissed them with a contemptuous tail flick and went back to sleep.

Both men shared a sad smile and then Skinner said, "Cremation."

"What?"

"If it happens. If I die--" Skinner felt Mulder shiver in his arms and he ran a soothing hand over his back, stroking tense muscles. "I want to be cremated."

"I really don't want to talk about this," Mulder replied, burying his face in the warm folds of the flannel shirt Skinner was wearing.

"I know."

"We're going to find Marita, and you're going to be fine," he insisted, his voice muffled.

"I know," Skinner repeated, hugging him tighter and dropping a kiss on his hair.

Silence then, not uncomfortable, but definitely unhappy. Skinner kept his hands moving softly over Mulder's back and shoulders, and Mulder played with the buttons on Skinner's shirt.

Mulder sighed, and then asked quietly, "Did you want me to find a columbarium, or just keep you on the mantle where the cat can tip you over?"

It took a moment for Skinner to realize that Mulder had picked up the conversation where they had left off. He thought about the question for a minute, and then relaxed his grip on the other man.

Mulder looked up at him at the loss of contact.

"Let's go for a ride," Skinner said, with something almost entirely unlike a smile on his face.

"Okay." But Mulder seemed reluctant to move from his controlled sprawl across Skinner's chest. He smoothed his hands over the fabric of Skinner's shirt several times, and then finally sat up with another sigh.

"Two questions," he said.

"Yes, I'm fine, and yes--"Skinner punctuated the sentence with a kiss, "I love you."

"Well, that's great, Walter, but that isn't what I was going to ask."

Skinner's eyes held a teasing glint, and Mulder tried to reconcile this side of his lover, all sly humor and sarcasm, with the anger-ball that he had faced off against in the kitchen. He wondered if it was possible to kill someone more than once, and his hands clenched into fists as he imagined briefly but clearly a certain blonde haired, blue-eyed neck he'd like to snap...twice...

"Two questions, hm?" Skinner was closer to a smile now, and Mulder felt himself relax in response. "Um...42 and black lace panties?"

"Closer, but no." Mulder tried to return the half grin; to find his optimistic center in light of Skinner's attempt at humor. At first it wouldn't come. He kissed Skinner instead of speaking, pressing their mouths together for a lingering moment, and that seemed to help.

Just before the kiss could turn into something more distracting, and even while a part of him insisted that he let himself be distracted, Mulder pulled away and stood on only slightly shaky legs, holding his hand out to Skinner.

"Two questions," he repeated, pulling his lover to his feet. "One: Should I call Scully and tell her where we're going?"

"No, that's okay," Skinner shook his head in reply, "Let's give her some quality time with John. I'm sure we'll be back before them anyway." His hand was warm in Mulder's, his grip firm.

"Okay; definitely a visual I didn't need, but all right."

Skinner nuzzled Mulder's hair as he spoke, "Mmm, and what's your other question?"

Mulder arched his neck under Skinner's mouth, enjoyed the brief intimacy a moment longer, and then turned a lecherous smile on the other man.

"Should I bring the lube?"

The question shocked laughter out of Skinner and he was almost able to forget the episode in the kitchen. If it weren't for the residual headache, it would be like it never happened.

"Ah, puppy," he sighed, "you always know how to make me smile."

"I wish I'd known sooner. Maybe I would have gotten a few less of those nasty office lectures back in the day."

"I thought you said my office lectures were sexy."

"I think it was more the Hugo Boss suits than the `what kind of idiot loses four cell phones in one week?' pep talks that I found sexy."

As they spoke, they moved easily together towards the door, finding shoes and keys; Skinner clipped a sheathed hunting knife to his belt and Mulder slipped a gun into his ankle holster. They exchanged an unacknowledged grim look, and then continued their conversation.

"I never called you an idiot," Skinner protested. Then, softer, "Did I?"

"Well, maybe not `idiot' per se, but there were "I" words involved, I remember that much: Irresponsible, Irritating, Ingenious..."

"Ingenious?" Skinner raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Maybe it was ignoramus--either way, it wasn't exactly a love sonnet."

Skinner laughed again as they stepped outside, and Mulder heard him murmur, "Can you imagine..."

They locked the cabin door; at first, Skinner thought they should leave it open for Dana and John, in case they got back first. Mulder vetoed that with the argument that the military, government, or even the chipmunks might make off into the night with his big screen TV, and that was simply unacceptable.

"Scully and Doggett can wait for us. And then we can see about getting Scully a key," Mulder added, "I like it when she visits." He paused, then added "Although I think I'd like it better if it could just be her, and not the aliens, military and psychotic assassin's psychotic ex-girlfriends she seems to bring with her every time."

"Ah, me too," Skinner replied, laughing softly and then leading Mulder to their truck with a warm arm around his shoulders.

---

Chapter 16: Lukey

Summary: In good times and bad times, we always have a place we call our own...and it's about to get very bad indeed...

"Y'know, Walt, someday I'd like to come up here just for the hell of it, and not because one of us is having a crisis," Mulder groused good naturedly as he and Skinner climbed the well used steps up to Bow Falls.

"And," he added, "These stairs are killing me. When are they going to put in an elevator?" He was a step or two behind Skinner and sped up just a little so that they reached the top at the same time.

They both paused, breathing deeply, but not nearly as winded as Mulder had implied. Skinner turned to Mulder with a grin.

"Elevator? I think you could use a few more steps--" he poked his lover in the belly, startling a squeak out of him, "You're getting soft."

"Soft?" Mulder scoffed, taking Skinner in his arms and deliberately grinding his hips into the other man's, "I'll show you who's getting soft, buddy."

Skinner chuckled at Mulder's antics and kissed him softly on the mouth. Then, disengaging himself from the embrace, he walked towards the sound of rushing water, and the large flat rock there that he had developed a certain possessive fondness for. Mulder followed along silently, content for one brief moment to enjoy the view of Walter Skinner's backside. A crooked smile creased his lips, and he made a silent vow to whatever higher power might be watching over him, that he would do whatever it took to see that no harm came to this man who was such a vital part of his life.

By unspoken agreement, they stopped together on the near side of the rock, both of them glancing down the face of it, over names painted on or carved into the granite. Declarations of love, graduation or just simple existence jumbled over each other, dug deep into the stone, or painted colorfully on its surface. Twin smiles bloomed on their faces as they both caught sight of the initials they had carved there together. The letters got a sunny dose of grin, and then they turned their smiles on each other.

"Sap," Mulder teased.

"I think that's the pot calling the kettle romantic, Puppy," Skinner shot back. Then he stepped past the side of the rock and found an even place to climb up onto the flat shelf-like top of the thing and easily hoisted himself up onto it. He took up his preferred position at the tip of the rock, letting his legs dangle over the spray and fog coming up from the waterfall that could be clearly seen splashing and eroding its way down the side of the mountain. A few moments later, Mulder joined him.

"Well, the good news is I feel slightly less crappy than the last time I was here," Mulder said brightly, brushing a hand over Skinner's thigh. "But again I ask the question; can we please come up here some time when I don't have to take one on the chin the night before?"

"This is where I want to be," Skinner replied.

"What?"

Skinner put his hand over Mulder's, found it cool to the touch and only then realized how late in the day it was getting to be.

"No columbarium. No cat box. No mixing me in with the fish food." He squeezed Mulder's hand tightly. "This place has seen me at my best and at my worst. I've come here at the lowest points in my life, and the highest, with a few of the drunkest in-between, I think."

That earned him a warm Mulder-smile and a quick kiss on the ear.

"Most important, though, is that this is my place with you." He turned from looking out at the view to face his lover. "And it always will be." He looked down at their clasped hands, raised them to his mouth, and brushed his lips over Mulder's knuckles.

When he looked up from their hands, he caught Mulder swiping at his eyes.

"Hey, none of that, Puppy," he admonished gently. "This is just in case, you know?" He waiting until Mulder nodded, then continued, "Chances are I'll be able to make my way up those stairs under my own steam the next time we come up here. And the time after that, and so on."

"Plan on it," Mulder replied. He shivered as a strong breeze gusted up from the falls. A quick look around had him realizing that the dappled sunlight pushing through the trees around them was growing dimmer. He knew it was getting late in the day, but surely not so late--

"Storm's coming, I think," said Skinner as more cool wind ruffled his clothes, Mulder's hair. "Let's get back." He got to his feet, and then held a hand out to Mulder. "We should be able to beat John and Dana back if we hurry."

"Sounds like a plan. And then we can work out our next move." Mulder held Skinner's hand a second longer, and they both listened to far away thunder rumbling ominously.

"I'm thinking we should bring the Gunmen back into this," Mulder suddenly switched topics as they worked their way back down the side of the boulder to the ground, "If Marita's here, she didn't just teleport -this is Canada, not the USS Enterprise. Maybe the guys can track her movements, find out where she might have crossed the border, or where she might have set up base."

"Good idea," Skinner agreed.

"Really?" Mulder gave him a skeptical look, which earned him a grin as Skinner kissed the cynical frown away.

"I know you think I don't like them, but I do. They've helped us--you--out more times than I care to count, and I--Ow!"

Skinner's eyes widened and his hand came up to paw at the back of his neck like he was swatting a bug.

"What is it?" Mulder asked. "Bee sting? `Cos you gotta know, I have a bad history with those."

Skinner staggered and opened his mouth but no sound came out.

"Walter?" More worried now, Mulder spun the larger man around and discovered a small red dart sticking out of the back of his neck. He quickly brushed Skinner's own hand away and plucked the thing out of him; blood spurted from the hole it left and then Skinner's knees buckled.

"What the hell--?" Mulder crouched down and slipped an arm around Skinner to support him, even as his other hand scrabbled at his pant cuff for a moment and came up full of gun.

"Fox...?" Skinner groaned out the word, and then his eyes glazed over and he was suddenly much heavier as his body went lax and he threatened to slither right out of Mulder's grip.

"Walter? Walter!" Mulder put his head to Skinner's chest, heard a slow but strong heartbeat, which didn't soothe him half as much as it should have, and then he lowered him gently to the ground, barely holding rein on his panic. He stood up and some sound, growling and feral like his namesake, slipped from him.

"Where are you?" he demanded, standing protectively over his lover's prone form. He waved the gun frantically at the trees and rocks and cried out again.

"Where the fuck are you!?" His anguished scream echoed back at him, along with the rustling of startled birds and the sound of something chipmunkish scuttling through fallen leaves in the underbrush.

"This isn't over, you bitch! I'm going to find you!"

When no answer was immediately forthcoming, Mulder gave up his threats and turned to aid his fallen lover instead. Again he held panic back by sheer force of will, and ignored the twinge of something pulling badly in his back as he put all his weight under Skinner and tried to lift him to his feet. Muttering didn't seem to give him any added strength, but he did it anyway.

"Come on, Walt, come on, big guy, we've got to get out of here. Little help here, hon, okay? Let's go, now, just to the car, and we'll get you home; you're going to be okay, we're going to get you home now--"

Until the twin of the tranquilizer dart that had taken down Walter Skinner caught him high on his shoulder. His grip on Skinner faltered and they fell to the ground together, Mulder crying out in pain, Skinner oblivious. He grabbed frantically at the dart and only succeeded in breaking it in half, and then his gun was tumbling from a grip suddenly gone numb, and he saw Skinner's glasses fall to the ground at the same time. Somewhere behind him he heard more rustling forest noises, but the storm that had been threatening seemed to be building faster now, the darkness of clouds and thunder rushing into his vision and blurring it until all that was left was the sight of Skinner lying next to him, dark black veins rising in his forehead. He screamed again and the darkness swallowed him up.

---

Chapter 17: I'm a Rover

Summary: Uh oh, things don't look good for our heroes...oh, and John and Dana got them some...

Mulder groaned as he slowly came awake, wondering muzzily why the bed felt so hard and if the taste of dirt in his mouth was just bad dream residue. With an effort he rolled onto his side and felt something in his stomach turn over like hot tapioca when he moved. Gagging and coughing, he tried to open his eyes.

`I'm blind!' his mind screamed, and a moment later common sense exclaimed, `It's dark, stupid!' And then, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realized he could see a little.

At first he wondered if he had somehow been transported back in time, and he glanced around frantically, trying to see Scully or a giant one celled monster intent on drugging and eating him.

Instead he saw Walter Skinner lying on his back just a few feet away.

"Walter?" Mulder pushed himself to his knees, endured another bout of nausea and crawled over to his lover. He took a minute or none to assess Skinner's condition, and then shook him hard. "Walter!"

Skinner made some fuzzy sound deep in his throat, muttered something else that sounded like `wabbit', then opened his eyes. He blinked owlishly at Mulder, and then sat up so suddenly that the other man stumbled and fell back on his ass with a startled grunt.

Another wave of sickness crashed on the shores inside Mulder's stomach, and he gagged and turned his head, spitting up something acidic.

"Mulder? Mulder!" Skinner was on his knees in a flash, clutching Mulder in his arms in less time than that. "What the hell is going on?"

"Shhh..." Mulder ran his hands over Skinner's head and down the sides of his face, trying to soothe away the confusion that was bordering on full-fledged panic. When he saw that he had Skinner's attention, he said, "I think we're in it now, Walter. Someone shot you--shot us--"

"I don't remember--" Skinner interjected.

"That's okay; I know. Main thing now is to get out of here--wherever here is." Carefully he pulled away from Skinner and rose to his feet. Closed his eyes against a wave of vertigo and noticed again the thick, earthy smell of the space they were in.

"We're underground," said Skinner and Mulder knew he was right He opened his eyes and watched Skinner climb to his feet just as shakily as he had done himself a moment ago. They gazed solemnly through the darkness at one another.

"My glasses..." Skinner sighed.

"Least of our problems, big guy," Mulder replied, giving Skinner' shoulder what he hoped was a comforting pat and a squeeze. Then he looked past him to where the dim light in the room was originating.

An opening; a window, maybe; now boarded up but weak daylight was pushing valiantly between the slats, making it possible for Mulder to see dust motes dancing in the air.

He approached the window tentatively, hands held out in front of him. When they encountered solid wall, he pressed hard on the boards, and they gave slightly with an angry squeal of aged wood and rusty nails.

"That's a good sign," he muttered. He pushed again, harder this time, and more dust tickled his nose as the wood gave another groan of protest.

Suddenly Skinner was beside him, elbowing him aside, and before he could do more than make a startled yelp, a shaft of light and rain burst into the room as Skinner put his fist through the center board.

"Well, that worked," Mulder said. The sarcastic lilt to his voice disappeared as Skinner pulled his hand back and the brighter light revealed dripping blood.

"Oh, Walter, your hand..."

The fist stayed resolutely clenched, and so did Skinner's jaw as he brushed off Mulder's concern.

"It's fine. Let's see if there's--"

"A door!" they exclaimed in unison.

Now they could see that the floor and walls were dirt. More old boards squared off each wall and supported the ceiling, which was also just dirt, with what looked like a tree root system working its way in and out of the dirt, helping to support the structure naturally. On the same wall as the window there was a door. But as both men rushed over to it at the same time, and then came to a frowning halt in front of it, it became clear that Skinner's fists weren't going to be much use here.

The wood was solid, thick, and as was apparent when Skinner gave it an experimental shove, barred from the outside. Another hard shove by Mulder only succeeded in jarring his shoulder painfully and dropping dirt from the ceiling into his hair and onto his face. He sneezed twice in quick succession, and then grinned ruefully.

"The window it is, then," he said.

Together they pulled away the rotten boards and broken glass, muttering dark curses under their breath when they cut their hands, but not stopping until the space was clear.

"Ladies first?" Skinner cupped his hands together to give Mulder a boost through the window.

"Funny guy," Mulder gripped the window frame, stepped into the stirrup that Skinner's hands had formed, and hoisted himself halfway through the window.

Rain was falling steadily, cold and wet, and must have been doing so for sometime. As Mulder clawed at the ground in front of the window, his hands slipped through wet grass and mud.

He felt Skinner's hands on his ass, helping him through, and he couldn't help grinning.

And then he was through and scrambling to his feet. He turned back to the window and realized they'd been locked in some sort of dugout. The land sloped in front of it so that the window was at ground level and so was the door. Looking past the dugout, he saw trees, and then more trees, looking very much like every other part of the forest. And yet, there was something familiar here. Not the location, but something someone had said once. Something about it being safe, or...

Before he could follow the thought through to fruition, Skinner's arms and head emerging from the window distracted him. His hands were clutching the grass greedily, trying to get purchase on the rain-slick ground to pull himself the rest of the way through.

Mulder grabbed for Skinner, almost lost his grip on hands wet with blood and rain, then caught him again higher up, finding purchase on less slippery wrists. He gave a terrific yank, and Skinner shot out of the window like a cork from a bottle, crashing into Mulder and they both tumbled to the ground. Rain continued to fall, and sudden sheet lighting illuminated the scene with an accompanying crash of thunder.

Skinner blinked rain out of his eyes and pushed himself off of Mulder. He got to his feet and held a wet hand out to his lover. When Mulder was standing, they hugged briefly, silently acknowledging that they were both whole and still alive, and then Mulder disengaged himself from the embrace and peered into the rain and gloom.

"Do you know where we are?" he asked.

Skinner frowned, looking back over the dugout. Squinting didn't help. "I think I might..." he said, turning the frown upwards, catching rain on his face and unable to see stars at all. "I think we're--"

"In a world of hurt, Mr. Skinner."

"What--?"

Both men turned to see Marita Covarrubias standing in front of them, a clear rain slicker protecting her black sweater and pants, with a matching clear hood thrown over her blonde hair. She was holding Mulder's gun in her right hand--the rain couldn't slick up the grip her leather-gloved hand had on it. But more frightening to Mulder than the gun was the small metal case she had clutched in the other hand.

"Oh, shit..."

---

Doggett banged on the door to the cabin again while Scully peered into the living room window.

"That's odd," she murmured.

"Damned peculiar," Doggett agreed. One more knock, this one hard enough to make his knuckles smart, and then a lecherous smile replaced his frown.

"Maybe they're doing more `wrestling'."

Scully tried to frown at his clowning, but a brief memory of their own unplanned afternoon wrestling match made her smile instead.

"I don't think it would occur to Mulder to lock the door," she said, still trying to see any sign of life inside the cabin.

"I'll check around back. Maybe they just went for walk or somethin'" said Doggett.

"The truck!" Scully exclaimed suddenly. "Where is it?"

Doggett looked over at his own truck as if expecting Skinner's SUV to suddenly materialize next to it. Then he shook his head and silently berated himself for his own sloppy observation skills. He should have noticed that right off, and he said so.

"I think we were both distracted," said Scully. "Maybe they just went for a drive. Mulder told me there's a place around here that they visited once--gondolas and mountain goats and all kinds of stereotypical rugged majesty."

"Still," Doggett replied. "Do you really think they'd be playing tourist in the rain? And now? When Skinner's--you know--"

"I know, but..."

Doggett saw a familiar worried frown cross Scully's face; he thought of that thin lipped expression as her `Mulder face' and there were days when he thought he could cheerfully strangle the man who put that look on her face far too often.

"I'll still check around back. Here," he said, handing her his keys. "There's a skeleton on there somewhere that might get the door open."

Scully took the key ring and started sorting through them, while Doggett moved around to the side of the cabin, not sneaking exactly, but not announcing his presence either. For no good reason, his nerves were starting to hum; it was a feeling he knew well from dozens of stakeouts. Something in his mind warning his body that there were villains afoot, and if he wasn't careful he was going to get an ass kicking like no other.

He didn't like the feeling, but couldn't seem to control it.

He had just made it around the side of the building, and was staring through the rain out at the field behind the cabin and the forest just beyond that when he heard a gun shot.

"What the hell--?" He froze, balanced on the balls of his feet, all his senses straining through the rain and the gloom to try and figure out where the shot had come from.

A second sound, loud as the first, and he looked out again towards the trees, then turned back when he heard Scully running towards him from behind.

"John!" she exclaimed. "What is it?"

"Well, it's not chipmunks, that's for damned sure. I'm going out there." He pulled the gun he had no business wearing out of its holster and thanked whatever spirits had possessed him to strap it on when they'd left Banff.

"I'm coming with you."

"No way, Dana, it's too--"

"Don't even, John Doggett." Another shot interrupted her, and a shout that could have been anyone. "I'm going to get the phone and my kit, and I'll be right behind you." Before Doggett could argue, she gave him a firm shove. "Go!" and then ran off in the other direction, back towards the front yard and the truck.

"Damn," he muttered, and started towards the trees, jogging at first, then speeding up at the sound of still more gunshots.

---

Chapter 18: General Taylor

Summary: No pain, no gain....

"What is this all about, Marita?" Mulder asked, his tone soft, almost thoughtful. As he spoke, he moved fractionally closer to Skinner. "This isn't going to change anything. You know it, and I know it. This is no answer. Why--"

The flat crack of the gunshot made him jump as the bullet kicked up mud in front of him. It wasn't a miss; it was a very deliberate warning.

"That's far enough, Mister Mulder." Her voice was even and cold but Mulder could hear the anger bubbling close to the surface of her words, threatening to crack the icy faade.

"Listen, Miss Covarrubias," Skinner said, "I think I know--"

"Shut up!" Marita screamed out the words, making both men flinch. "You think you know? You know nothing! Killer! Murderer!" She did something with her left hand and Skinner clutched his head with a pained yelp.

"Walter!" Mulder stepped forward again and another shot rang out; this time Mulder was sure he felt the bullet nearly part his hair.

"Mister Skinner is not the only one here that can shoot someone between the eyes," she warned. "And while it might be amusing to have him watch you die instead of the other way around, that would defeat the purpose of this little exercise."

"You're insane!" Mulder spat out, eyes blazing with the fury he was barely containing, and he knew that Marita wasn't the only one approaching a total breakdown here.

"Fox," Skinner hissed under his breath, massaging his throbbing temples and praying that his lover wouldn't do something rash.

"Insane? That's rich, coming from a man who stood idle while another man was executed right before his eyes." Marita moved closer to them, still brandishing both her weapons. "Tell me, Mister Mulder, did you enjoy being jury and judge to your lover's executioner?" Then, harsher: "Did you get off on it?"

"What?"

"Let's find out, shall we?" A smile devoid of any warmth crossed her face, and Skinner yelled and clutched at his left arm. Though rain and encroaching darkness were conspiring to steal his vision, Mulder couldn't miss the sudden gout of blood that shot from Skinner's arm and then seeped through his fingers as he clapped a hand over the wound.

"No!" Mulder started towards Skinner again.

"Fox, no!" Skinner groaned, and "Stop!" Marita yelled.

Mulder froze in mid-step, torn more by Skinner's concern than Marita's threat.

"How is it, Mister Mulder?" Marita sneered. "Any familiar feelings?"

"Krycek was rabid," Mulder snarled back at her. "He had to be put down and you know it."

"Who are you to decide that?" Marita demanded. Her focus never left Mulder, while his own gaze kept moving frantically between enemy and lover. "Who gave you the right?"

Suddenly she shook her head. "No. No! No more talking!" She moved closer still and the gun was clearer and steady and very aimed at Mulder's head.

"Fox," Skinner's jaw was clenched so tight the words could barely slip out. "Get out of here. I'll cover you."

"The hell!" Mulder retorted indignantly, stunned at the very notion of abandoning Skinner, and feeling the additional horror of knowing that for just one moment he wanted nothing more than to run and keep right on running.

"No one's going anywhere," Marita told them. "You never gave my Alex a chance; what makes you think you'll get anything more from me?" She paused a moment, a blank look creeping into her face, as though she had forgotten where she was; it didn't last.

"Now, where were we?" she said. "Ah, yes. Watching. And how watching made you feel, Mister Mulder. Remembering now? First was the shot to the arm, disabling an already disabled man. Making him vulnerable--"

"Vulnerable, my ass!" Mulder shouted. Skinner could see his lover growing more and more frantic, and he shuffled forward a step, still holding his arm and trying to ignore the pain there. It felt as if a troop of fire ants was marching from his temples through his body and tearing their way out through his bicep. He took another cautious step and Marita made an angry hissing noise and her hand moved again.

Skinner forgot all about the pain in his arm as fresh agony erupted in his leg, just above the knee, and he fell to the ground with a hoarse shout.

"No! Damn you!" Mulder couldn't stop this time; he ignored Marita and all threats of imminent death and fell to the ground beside Skinner. Lightning flashed and Mulder didn't notice the melodramatic coincidence of it as the sudden illumination made the blood stand out stark and black and wet; too much blood. Mulder pulled Skinner into his arms.

Marita approached them, grinning that not-happy-at-all grin. She circled them warily, but Skinner was too far into the pain to notice her and Mulder was too terrified for his lover to pay any heed.

"Now, this is cozy," she fairly purred out the words. "I don't seem to recall you getting all hugs and kisses with my Alex while the life poured out of him."

"Walter? Walter! Can you hear me?" Mulder had no response for her; nothing registered beyond the limp groaning weight of his lover. "Come on, Walter, please..."

"I begged too, you know, " Marita was talking more to herself than to Mulder. "I saw it all, you see. Was going to meet him; we were finally going to be out of it. Be gone, away from you, your drama, your mad, doomed quest. So I was there when Alex--when he--when..." Rain mingled with the tears falling from her eyes.

Without warning, she lashed out with her foot, leaving a muddy, bloody, size-seven heel mark above Mulder's left eye as she kicked him in the head, knocking him onto his back.

His dying lover tumbled out of his arms.

"Time to end this," Marita spat out the words and kicked Mulder again as he groggily crawled towards Skinner.

"Fox..." Skinner tried to move as well, with no success. The circuits in his brain seemed to have all been instantaneously rewired, and nothing was responding the way it should. "Fox..." His legs wouldn't move, his arms felt like anvils had been tied to them, and his vision was blurred and red. "Fox, no..."

"Famous last words, killer!" Marita pressed a button on the palm pilot and aimed it at the back of Skinner's head.

"Walter?"

Their eyes met, and suddenly Mulder was covered in blood and some black viscous fluid that burned his eyes and he screamed and Skinner fell face first into the mud.

"Freeze!" John Doggett yelled, brandishing a pistol and finding the kill zone on Marita's chest with deadly precision.

"You're too late!" Marita exclaimed triumphantly. "It's too late for the killer, and too late for his accomplice!" She put her gun to Mulder's head.

Scully heard the heavy bark of gunfire and saw Mulder fall over as she rushed up to where Doggett was standing. She screamed and sprinted towards him, medical kit banging her hip as she ran.

"Scully?" Weak voice from Mulder as he lay on his back looking up at the dark sky. Rain fell in his eyes and he didn't notice. Scully quickly knelt beside him, her eyes scanning the length of his body, from legs crumpled awkwardly under him to arms askew in the wet grass. There was blood spray on his shirt and pants, and more blood formed a mask on his face. But the only wound she could see was the deep cut, almost a puncture that creased his brow. It was a scalp wound, and bleeding badly, but in an instant Scully could see that it wasn't life threatening.

"I'm here, Mulder." Even as she was tugging on Mulder's arm to help him sit up, she looked around and took in the entire scene. Skinner lay just a few feet away, face down, so still that Scully feared the worst. And just to the side of him, Marita Covarrubias sat on the ground, both weapons still in her hands, but her focus was on the gaping hole in both rain slicker and sweater, and the bright red blood that was pumping through that ragged tear in her body. The gun and the palm pilot fell to the ground as she put her hands over her chest. It was a futile gesture, and she seemed to recognize that. Her head came up, and there was blood on her chin. Her eyes locked with Scully's, and she whispered, "Alex..." then fell over on her side.

Doggett approached the bloody tableau, re-holstering his gun, and already regretting the accuracy of his shot even while part of him rejoiced in that same deadly targeting ability. He ignored the compliment from that dark part of him and knew that Marita was finished. She wasn't going to be threatening his friends anymore, and he felt content that he had done right. Then he saw Skinner's unmoving body.

"Skinner?" He rushed towards the man at the same time that Mulder was reacting to his realization that he was alive, and Skinner was--was--

"NO!" He shoved Scully aside and she went down on her ass with a yelp as her feet slid out from under her. Crab-like, half blind and crying he scrabbled across the grass on hands and knees, reaching Skinner just as Doggett was running to the same location. The collision was inevitable, and Doggett flailed his arms wildly as he tripped over Mulder. Only something akin to a quick possession by the ghost of some dearly departed tightrope walker kept Doggett on his feet, though he lurched badly, slipped, caught himself, and stumbled backwards, nearly falling on top of the woman he had just killed.

His foot came down on the palm pilot so hard the casing cracked and the wires shot out tiny angry sparks at the sudden introduction of rain and mud to their environment.

"Mulder! Mulder, let me help you."

Mulder wasn't hearing Scully. He had gathered Skinner up in his arms, and was trying to wipe away the blood and the mud from his lover's face. His sobbing took on a keening, broken note as he cried out Skinner's name again and again, and pressed kisses to the man's brow, getting no response but blood on his lips. When Scully approached him, he turned on her with a snarl and clutched Skinner's body tighter, great sobs wracking his body, stealing the words from him until all that was left was "nononononononononono..."

"Hello? Hello, can you hear me?" Scully had backed away and was yelling into her cell phone, trying desperately to get aid to them.

Doggett looked at the death around him and kicked the remains of the palm pilot viciously, scattering the pieces into the tall grass. "Shit..."

---

Chapter 19: Goin Up

Summary: Thank you all for your patience. And now, the end is near, and so we face, the final curtain....

Mulder jogged up the path behind the cabin, put on a sudden burst of speed around the building and took the porch steps two at a time.

Breathing hard, he stopped and put his hands on his knees, feeling the pull in his abdominal muscles as he stretched up and down, letting his hands slide down his bare legs to touch his ankles, then back up to the cuff of his ragged shorts. He did that a couple of times, then straightened out and stretched his back and arms, wincing at the crackle and pop of his spine readjusting to the lack of motion. A couple of deep knee bends and arm stretches later, he turned and walked easily into the house, doing a mental coin toss between coffee and a shower.

Scully solved his dilemma, meeting him as he was kicking off his running shoes. She smiled kindly at him, then made a face and flicked a finger at the sweat-soaked collar of his t-shirt.

"You stink," she told him.

He almost smiled back.

"I know." He looked down at the luggage by the door as if noticing it for the first time, although it had been there when he'd left the house for his morning run over an hour ago.

"I can still drive you into the city," he said.

"Shower," Scully told him. "Then breakfast."

"You cooked?" he teased. "Dear Diary; once again Agent Scully has made my heart flutter, this time with promises of eggs over easy."

"Shut up," she said with a laugh.

Mulder moved towards the bathroom, pausing at the door to deliver a parting shot. "That Doggett is getting you trained good." He closed the door on her protests, still wearing that half-smile.

---

After he'd managed to use up all the hot water, something Skinner would have groused about all day, he joined Scully in the kitchen, accepting a cup of coffee from her with a nod of gratitude.

The cat tried its best to trip him on his way from the doorway to the table, and he had to dance clumsily to keep from squashing its head. He ignored both Sundae's hiss and Scully's laugh and sat down at the table. Sipping coffee, he burned his mouth and noticed that Scully had given him the large red mug with the pewter "W" on the side, but he didn't have time to wonder about it as she set a plate down in front of him. He gave the bagel a skeptical look, and then picked it up with a sigh.

"If this is light cream cheese on here, Scully, I'm going to have to throw you in the Falls, you know that, right?"

"It's chokecherry, made local," she replied. "Guaranteed to be completely bad for you."

"Doggett is picking you up at the airport, right?"

"He'll be there," she confirmed, then gave his damp hair a ruffle that made him feel foolish. "You sound like my mother." She reached for his bagel, paused in the process of breaking off a piece for herself to give him a thoughtful look.

"Did you want me to stay, Mulder?"

She thought he was going to say `yes'; the look in his eyes suggested he would.

"No," he said, "You went way above and beyond here...and in case I didn't mention it, it's been totally appreciated...thank you, Dana."

She laughed at that.

"You're welcome...Fox."

He gave her a sour look that she ignored. Still smiling, voice serious, she said, "You know I will."

"And I also know that man of yours is probably already at the gate, looking at his watch and cursing my name. Not to mention mom and the uber-Scully." He touched her hand briefly. "You need to get back."

As if on cue, her cell phone rang, and she stood up from the table to answer it, scooping it up off the counter before Mulder could comment on the `Inspector Gadget' ring tone she'd downloaded.

Mulder pushed bagel bits around his plate, drank his coffee and listened to her end of the conversation, knowing it was Langly just from the exasperation he could hear underlying her words. When she put on a more tolerant tone, he knew that Byers had come on the line, and was probably giving her the flight information she needed without the `I'm a hacker-god' commentary. He thought briefly that he might have to do some hacking of his own, see if he could find a good conspiracy collectibles site and do a little gift giving for his friends, for they had also been a big help to them--to him, during all this, and he didn't think he could convey that with just a first name, the way he and Scully seemed to be able to.

"Those guys," Scully said, shutting off the phone and coming back to his side. "are still the most paranoid people I've ever met." Somehow, it didn't seem like such an insult now as it had the first time she'd said it. "But despite that, they've got everything arranged, and if the online movie is "Love, Actually", I owe Frohike a bottle of scotch."

Mulder stood and put the coffee cup in the sink. "When's the flight?"

Scully glanced at her watch. "If I leave now, I can have the truck back to the rental company and still make the feeder plane to Edmonton. From there, it's just a quick layover in Minneapolis, then home." The way she said it made Mulder feel a little guilty for keeping her with him as long as he had. After...after everything, Doggett had gone back to the apartment in Georgetown, taken up daddy duties like a pro, and between him and Scully's mom, he'd only felt bad about keeping his best friend hostage on some mountain top about a thousand times a day. But he knew that she never would have left, even if he'd found some old inappropriate behavior and tried to drive her away. So the raging guilt had abated, and now, when it was finally time for her to go, he realized again what they'd all done for him.

"Don't, Mulder," she broke into his thoughts. "I was right where I needed to be. I know it. You know it. We all know it. Don't borrow guilt."

"You going to be starting up a psychic hotline, Scully?"

"Sure," she laughed, letting him lead the way from the kitchen to the front door. "Right after I give up my lucrative career as a spokes-model for Feria."

"I knew it!"

At the door, she pulled him into an unexpected hug. He patted her awkwardly for a moment, then eased into the comfort of her embrace, and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. It was several moments before she let him go, and turned to slip into her shoes.

"We're good?" she asked, not looking at him.

"We're good," he confirmed.

He found his own boots, carried her suitcases out to the truck, hugged her again, made her promise to phone as soon as she could, and then ignored her tears the way she ignored his.

He watched the truck drive away for a very long time.

---

He tried reading, but his last trip to the city for books had been a lifetime ago, and he decided he had chosen badly. He tried eating, but cooking for one beyond soup and sandwiches was too much effort today, and he decided to have sunflower seeds instead. He finished the pot of coffee and put on another one with hands that shook from the first ten cups.

He tried booting up the computer but couldn't even concentrate enough to beat level seven on Trogdor. There was nothing but spam in his email box, and when he discovered some spywarin' bastard had installed a Bonzai Buddy on his hard drive while he wasn't looking, he shut down the computer in complete disgust.

Finally, he overfed the cat, checked the time on the microwave, compared it to the clock in the living room, and stomped outside, not bothering to tie his boots, and then cursing colorfully when he nearly tripped over the laces.

Catching himself on the porch, he checked the door locks, checked his gun, and then considered the steps a moment before shrugging and continuing out into the yard. If God wanted him so bad that He would stoop to tripping him on the stairs, he decided, then He could have him.

God let him live instead, and he was warming up the truck a minute later, the ignition roaring loud enough to scare birds out of the trees around the house.

The rough nature of the trail he was driving along (it was too far degraded to be properly called a road anymore) kept him from speeding (he knew he'd gotten lucky with the shoelaces, among other things lately, and he wasn't about to push that luck).

Radio reception was sketchy at best this high up, and what did filter through tended towards big-haired fundamentalists and sports commentary, but never the good kind of either, so after a burst of static and a dire prediction about the Flames chances this year, Mulder pushed a cd into the player. Skinner had installed the system into the truck at Mulder's insistence, and they had both enjoyed burning discs off of the computer and surprising each other with their taste in music.

This was one of Skinner's discs, Mulder realized. While he enjoyed the traditional flavor of the Easter Canadian bands, he had to admit he wasn't the fan that Skinner was, and it made him wonder if Skinner hadn't maybe been a fisherman in a past life.

"As opposed to an old Jewish woman," he muttered aloud.

He slowed the truck at the turn off to Bow Falls without realizing it; a three second internal debate took him a hundred feet past the parking lot entrance and he had to back up to pull the truck in.

Parking between a beat up and ancient Citroen and a typical soccer mom Ford Explorer, he sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel until the song ended, then abruptly shut off the ignition and exited the vehicle.

The steps up to the Falls seemed less steep today, although he knew it had nothing to do with the stairs themselves and everything to do with the crazy exercise regimen he had been putting himself through these past few weeks. Filling countless hours with running, lifting and even swimming when he could get to the gym. He was probably in the best shape he'd been in since Oxford, he thought. Maybe even better than that.

Voices froze him at the top of the steps.

A couple were sitting on the rock; `my rock--our rock--the rock' his mind whispered; holding hands and looking out at the Falls. In front of Mulder, a woman held a camera while a tall, curly haired man herded two small curly haired children into her viewfinder. The children smiled, and one of the boys on the rock said something that made the other boy turn and kiss him, then throw an arm around his shoulders.

Mulder turned abruptly and ran back down the stairs.

Back in the truck he found a different disc with the same Celtic feel, took a couple of minutes to let his breathing return to something approaching normal, and then pulled out of the parking lot with enough zeal to spray gravel all over the other cars.

Twenty minutes later he was easing down highway sixteen and into downtown Banff. As usual, he had to marvel at the town--small city, really--that for all its growth still held to a main street with slant parking and a movie theater called the Bijou.

On the south end of the city, he bought a drive-thru A and W root beer milkshake-- Skinner had teased him unmercifully about them, but he was hopelessly addicted--and finished it in the hospital parking lot, watching the S.T.A.R.S. helicopters taking off and landing.

He checked his wrist for the time and wondered if the habit would die before he bought a new watch, then climbed out of the truck

At the front desk, the receptionist greeted him with warm familiarity.

"Fox, I swear we can set our watches by you."

He gave her a wan smile. "Hi, Mikayla."

"Did Dana get away okay?"

"Yeah." Mulder saw that she wanted to make more idle chit-chat with him, and while he appreciated all the staff here--God knew he had put their patience to the test often enough--he still felt suspicious too; so as she opened her mouth to say something else, he gently interrupted her with "Can I go up?"

She gave him a warm understanding look. "Of course. I think Dr. Powley is up there, and Dr. Kaye, too."

"Thanks," he tried another smile for her, but found the hospital environment left him in short supply, as usual. So he settled for just waving as he turned and walked towards the bank of elevators at the end of the corridor.

---

For several minutes, Mulder simply stood in the doorway of the large physical-therapy room, surprised that the thudding of his heart wasn't echoing off the walls loud enough to bring several nurses running.

Skinner was completely absorbed in the arm curls he was doing and failed to notice Mulder watching him, leaving the other man completely free to enjoy the show.

He was straddling a workout bench, and even at this distance, Mulder could see that one leg was still showing less muscle than the other, the loose cotton sweat pants Skinner was wearing seemed to cling more to one thigh, one calf. If he had been wearing shorts, Mulder knew he'd be able to see the difference even more clearly, not to mention the odd scar, and he was dimly glad that he didn't have to.

The arm had healed quicker, strengthened faster, didn't show the same damage as the leg did, and it showed in the amount of work Skinner was doing with it. The weight bar moved up and down as he curled his arm with smooth, rapid repetition, and although his white t-shirt was soaked and sticking to his chest and his face and scalp were turning red from the exertion, there was no hesitation in the movement.

Mulder thought he could watch this all day.

Instead he got to watch for about two minutes more, and then Skinner dropped the weight with a crash and a sigh and reached behind him for a towel. Mulder waited until he had mopped his face and neck, and was reaching for the water bottle on the floor beside him, and then he stepped into the room, saying, "Dynamic tension must be hard work, Walter."

They grinned hugely at one another from opposite ends of the room.

When Mulder started moving again, Skinner tried to rise from his seat, sat back abruptly with a grimace and reached for the metal cane on the floor next to the water bottle. Mulder sped up and was at Skinner's side before he could stand, crouching beside him and taking the cane from his hand.

"Don't get up on my account, big guy--you know I don't stand on ceremony."

"Apparently neither do I," Skinner replied, but his tone was less dejected than usual, and Mulder picked up on it immediately.

"Something I should know?" he asked.

Skinner responded by running a hand through Mulder's hair, murmuring, "Spooky," and then pulling him up by his shoulders to sit straddling the bench opposite him. Mulder let himself be guided, more thrilled than he let on to be manhandled in true Skinner fashion, when only weeks ago he had still been expecting to be scattering ashes over Bow Falls.

Marita's final blow should have completely destroyed Skinner. The program she had been running through the palm pilot was set to mimic the gunshots that had killed Alex Krycek so long ago, and the nanocytes were poised to take most of his brain out.

Instead, and quite by accident, just when they should have been finishing the job, John Doggett had done his little `boot-heel' reprogramming, and what had started out as painful death had turned into something coma-like and healing, while the nanocytes in Skinner's system went about with their new agenda, knitting torn tissue, rebuilding cells on the most basic level, reversing the damage they had done.

It hadn't happened overnight, and the muscle damage in Skinner's arm and leg was still mending. But that didn't matter to Mulder. The only vision of Skinner his heart allowed him to replay was the one of him opening his eyes in his hospital bed after two weeks full of tears, no answers, planning for funerals and Scully standing between him and total gun-to-the-head despair. He'd looked around, found Mulder staring stupidly at him, and said "Puppy. Where are my glasses? You look like Hell."

It was the most eloquent "I love you" Mulder could recall ever hearing.

"Dr. Kaye was here earlier," Skinner brought him back to the moment, still stroking his hair with one hand. Mulder pushed into his touch, let himself be petted, and did a little exploring of his own, letting his hand and gaze wander over the bad arm, wondering if the small black X that was apparently the nanocyte version of a bandage was going to be a permanent thing.

"I'm sorry I missed her," he replied, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the X.

"No you're not. She head locked you out of this room that first day so fast I don't think your feet touched the floor."

Mulder remembered seeing Skinner struggling with the exercises the physical therapist had demanded of him, and he still resented the way she had overreacted to his very calm, very rational inquiries about whether or not the stress might not be a little much just then.

Skinner grinned as if he could read Mulder's mind. "You've got that wet cat look on your face, Puppy. You know she was right."

Mulder refused to agree, and chose to kiss Skinner instead. On the lips, softly, on the cheek, nuzzling a moment, and then, putting a hand on either side of Skinner's head, he pressed his mouth to the X in the middle of his forehead.

Skinner wanted to be distracted. Wanted to kiss Mulder back. A part of him that he thought might have gone the way of the dinosaur a few weeks back spoke up now, as it had been doing the last few days, suggesting the best distraction would be to bend his lover over the bench and have his wild way with him.

Mulder frowned when Skinner laughed out loud.

"What is it, Walter? You're looking very smug."

"Yesterday's agenda was pretty much standard. Therapy, nap, food--or what passes for food around here--more therapy, crappy Canadian television with you---"

"I thought you said you liked `Corner Gas'" Mulder protested. Skinner just smiled.

"Annoying tests and then sleep." He turned his head in Mulder's hands and kissed the palm suddenly presented to his mouth, then took the hands in his own and squeezed, almost painfully.

"However today's agenda has a bit of variety." He paused for dramatic effect, loving Mulder's scowl as much as he loved the man's smiles. "Today we've had therapy, nap, lunch and more therapy..."

"Walter..." Mulder tried out his own brand of AD surly growl. It didn't work.

"And now, just to switch things up, we have shower, pack, paperwork, forty five minute drive, and then--" he leaned in close, his lips on Mulder's ear. "Hours of fucking you right through the mattress."

Mulder jerked back like he'd been dealt an electric jolt.

"Wha--what?" The smile that bloomed on his face was nearly megawatt in intensity, lending credibility to the electrocution theory.

"Kaye gave me my walking papers. Says there's nothing I can do here that I can't do on an outpatient basis. Dr. Powley gave up on trying to explain me weeks ago. So, Puppy, whaddya say we get the hell outta Dodge?"

"Oh, shit," He didn't plan on tears anymore, they just happened. For a moment a look of alarm crossed Skinner's face at Mulder's outburst, but then he realized that he was seeing the damp evidence of his own feelings and he simply pulled the younger man into a strong, healthy embrace and pretended the blurring of his own vision was just because he wasn't wearing his glasses.

Although it wasn't on Skinner's agenda, the emotional storm took some time to pass. But when it did, Mulder stood with a dazed grin, picked up Skinner's cane and held out his hand.

"Come on, big guy.... let's dance..."

THE END
 

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