Title:   Fox the Fugitive III: Lessons Learned

Author:  Karoshi12@Ameritech.net

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

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

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

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

Warnings:  	Beware of novice fan fiction writers!

Summary:    3rd Installment Fox the Fugitive 
		series.

		Mulder takes on the role of a high 
		school teacher in a low-income area.
		Will the "Lessons Learned" be enough
		to finally bring Mulder home?
			 
Rating:  	R (mostly language)

Title:   	Lessons Learned (FF III) 


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

WALTER SKINNER'S OFFICE:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ATKINS SCHOOL - ROOM 308
MAYWOOD, IL:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SCULLY'S APARTMENT: GEORGETOWN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You wouldn't," Frohike answered fearfully.

"Where is he," Alex asked coldly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ATKINS SCHOOL - ROOM 308
MAYWOOD, IL:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10TH AVENUE: MAYWOOD HOUSING COMPLEX:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn, he even slit the baby!"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you knew Chante?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CIRCLING ABOVE O'HARE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

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

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

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

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

SCULLY'S APARTMENT: GEORGETOWN

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

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

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

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

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

ATKINS SCHOOL: PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Unlock my accounts NOW," the voice snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder, your promise," Skinner reminded.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DETROIT METRO AIRPORT, MI:

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

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

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

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

RONALD REAGAN AIRPORT:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ATKINS SCHOOL-TEACHER'S LOUNGE:

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

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

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

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

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

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

ATKINS SCHOOL-ROOM 308:

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

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

"Morning, how are you all feeling today?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And the baby," added Rolando painfully.

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

Mr. Waters was----was crying!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What happened," she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully interrupted, "what about his accounts 
sir?"

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

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

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

"You what?" Scully asked clearly shocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mulder raised his eyebrows suggestively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

ATKINS SCHOOL - FRONT ENTRANCE:

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

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

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

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

He'd been so angry at the situation, he'd 
actually considered killing the old couple and 
taking their car.  But then the old man had 
offered him a cigarette while his wife showed 
him pictures of their grandchildren.  Shit, if 
he didn't know better he'd say he was going 
soft.

His attention returned to Mulder,
watching as the man climbed into the back seat 
behind Skinner.  He imagined the feel of 
Mulder's throat under his hand, he would slowly 
press down on his windpipe while watching the 
panic build in his eyes.  "Soft," chuckled 
Alex, "no Alex you are not going soft."  He 
started his car and followed from a safe 
distance.

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

LAKE SHORE DRIVE - CHICAGO:

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

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

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

"Thanks," he mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MARRIOTT SUITES, DOWNTOWN CHICAGO:

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

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

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

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

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

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

She grinned, "sure, fine, whatever." 

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

She grabbed her bag and headed for the other 
bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then don't behave like one."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder," both Scully and Skinner responded 
shocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MICHIGAN AVENUE, CHICAGO:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alex replied immediately, "you."

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

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

"She did not," Mulder denied haughtily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MARRIOTT HOTEL ROOM:

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

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

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

"I could eat," answered Scully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder!" she shouted.

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

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

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

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

"Where?" Skinner asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nor should he have to," reminded Skinner.

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

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

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

Skinner smiled and nodded his agreement.

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

"Yes, Dana," he answered kindly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Help him, Mr. Waters," she pleaded pushing the 
small bundle into his arms.  Her message 
delivered she faded into the dark corner.  He 
looked down to find Michael.  Sweet, full-
cheeked little Michael lay sleeping in his 
arms.  Mulder instinctively began to rock him 
and crooned a soft lullaby as his eyes searched 
again for Chante.  Why had she left Michael 
with him?  He moved with the child towards the 
window intending nothing more than to share the 
evening sky with the sweet-smelling young boy.  
As he moved into the moonlight he noticed the 
stain growing steadily on the child's bunting.  
Cradling him in his left arm, he pulled back 
the blanket.  He held the wounded child to his 
chest as he screamed his horror...

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

Mulder awoke with a start and literally threw 
himself off the bed.  He stood, heart pounding 
and struggled to regain his composure.  Jesus, 
he thought, another nightmare to add to my 
collection. He began to pace the room replaying 
the nightmare over and over.  Without thought 
he moved to the window to examine the moonlight, 
his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.  I 
can't handle many more of these, he thought.   
Earlier he had dreamed of those black creatures 
and now this.  He didn't care if he ever closed 
his eyes again.

He had failed Chante and Michael, two more 
innocents lost in the night. He turned and 
scanned the dark, empty room afraid he might 
find her standing in the corner.  I need to get 
out of here.  I need to run. He pulled on some 
sweat pants and a T-shirt, his only intention 
to get out fast.   It was too dark in here, he 
hated the dark. He needed to be moving and, for 
reasons he could not comprehend, moving away.  

Skinner yawned widely as he reentered the room.  
Showered, dressed in pajama bottoms only, he 
stopped short.  Mulder, sitting on the edge of 
his bed, was tying his running shoes.  Skinner 
surged forward in disbelief, the man had been 
sound asleep ten minutes ago!

Mulder felt Skinner's restraining hand on his 
shoulder as he attempted to rise.  Without 
looking up he attempted to rise again, pushing 
harder against the barrier.  Skinner stepped in 
front of him and placed both his hands firmly 
on his shoulders successfully stopping him from 
standing.  Mulder still refused to look up.  
Instead he feigned a forward move, then pulled 
back causing Skinner to loosen his grip 
momentarily.  It was all Mulder needed.  
They now stood face to face.

"What's happening here, Mulder, where are you 
going?"

Mulder refused to meet his eyes, instead he 
gazed stonily over Skinner's shoulder.  "Talk 
to me, Mulder, tell me what's going on right 
now. Where are you?" he demanded desperately.

"I have to go," he whispered.

"You have to stay," Skinner countered.

"I just need to run," Mulder explained as he 
attempted to move around the larger man.

"You need to stay in one place."

Mulder looked at Skinner in stunned surprise. 
"No," he insisted, "no, I need to go."

Skinner eyed Mulder warily, unsure how to 
handle this situation.  He suspected Mulder was 
caught up in the aftermath of a nightmare.  
He pushed a now weakly resisting Mulder back 
down to a sitting position on the edge of 
the bed.  He placed himself directly across 
from him.  He recognized that this might be 
his only opportunity to reach out to this man. 

How to begin?  As far as Skinner was concerned, 
Scully walked around Mulder on tiptoes, never 
pushing too hard.  Skinner, however, felt the 
only way Mulder would heal would be to 
acknowledge and talk about his experiences, the 
things that made Mulder who he was.  This 
approach would only work if he were willing to 
listen, something he was determined to do.

He thought of all the times Mulder had come to 
him to discuss a case resolution.  In truth he 
had only listened up to a point, tuning out 
when the wilder theories came into play.  Maybe 
if he had listened, he and Mulder might have 
become friends.  He might have been able to 
avoid the break that eventually tore the three 
of them apart.

And why hadn't he listened?  After all Mulder 
was an Oxford-graduate, a psychologist and one 
of, if not the most gifted profilers in the 
FBI.  Anyone else with those credentials would 
have received his full attention.  Unfortunately, 
the path Mulder had chosen had earned him 
scorn and ridicule, instead of admiration and 
respect.  Mulder's peers and Skinner himself 
rarely heard the man out without censure.  
Tonight this would change.

"Mulder, where do you need to go?" Skinner 
asked gently.

Mulder let his head fall limply into his hands 
effectively hiding his face.  Shaking his head, 
he rasped, "I'm so tired."

Skinner refused to accept this, "I know 
you're tired Mulder, that's why you should stay 
here and sleep.  Why do you have to go Mulder," 
he repeated.

Mulder peeked out from behind his hands.  
"Scully," he asked fearfully, "is she here?"

Skinner nodded, "she's in the next room 
sleeping Mulder.  She's fine."

Mulder looked Skinner over carefully, "and, and 
you're okay sir?"

Skinner was lost, "we're both okay Mulder, why 
wouldn't we be?'

Mulder nodded his head in relief before 
returning his face to his hands.  

Skinner reached over and shook Mulder roughly.  
"Mulder, why wouldn't we be okay?"

"Have you ever noticed that anyone I care
about either disappears or dies?" He
continued, not allowing Skinner to answer, 
"Samantha left me.   Scully was taken 
and now Chante." He shook his head sadly.  
"God, just let me go," he cried.  With that 
he leapt to his feet and ran for the door, 
desperate to be away.

Skinner followed and blocked his exit.  He 
pressed his back to the door.  He saw Mulder 
eye the sitting room door and wondered if he 
could block that in time.  Why was Mulder 
behaving so irrationally?  Sure enough Mulder 
began inching towards the other door.  Skinner 
held up his hands in apparent surrender and 
stepped slowly towards him.  

"Mulder, stop," he ordered, "Are you really 
willing to risk missing this girl's funeral 
tomorrow for a run?"

Mulder stopped, clearly confused by Skinner's 
remark, "I won't miss it, sir.  I just want to 
go out for a while."

"And if Krycek is waiting?"

He walked over to his bag and pulled out his 
gun.  Tucking it into his ankle holster, he 
answered, "I'll be ready."  With that said he 
began backing towards the door.

Skinner slowly lowered himself to the mattress.  
Perched on the edge he asked, "is my presence 
so offensive to you Mulder that you're willing 
to risk your life to avoid it?"  

Mulder stopped short, he'd never intended to 
hurt Skinner.  "Sir...Walter, that's not at all 
what I . . ." he attempted to lamely explain.  
He walked back into the room, suddenly angry, 
"don't do this!" 

Skinner remained sitting, "do what Mulder?  Why 
are you so angry with me?"

Mulder moved further into the room, "I have every 
right to be angry with you.  You have attempted 
to control me from day one and this last stunt 
with my funds..." he left the statement 
unfinished.  Standing over Skinner now, "you 
don't have any right to make me feel guilty 
because I need some air, I need to breathe."

"And you can't breathe when I'm here?" Skinner 
asked simply.

"No, sir," Mulder responded as he began to pace.  
"I...I just don't feel...everything is just so 
close in here and I don't want you..." he 
stopped suddenly.

"Don't want me to what, Fox," he urged gently.

Mulder turned to the still sitting Skinner and 
revealed, "I don't want you to see me like 
this."

Skinner stood then and stepped towards the 
younger man, "what's wrong with you like this?"

He looked over Skinner's shoulder not ready to 
meet the man head on.  Appalled at what he had 
just revealed, he explained, "I'm not in 
control, sir," another pause, "I'm weak."

Skinner sidestepped to the left forcing Mulder 
to look at him.  "Fox, when you were younger," 
he began.  Mulder's eyes filled with fear.  
Skinner would not be distracted, "when you were 
a child and you were feeling sad or not in 
control, what did you do?"

Mulder could not move, he stood frozen in 
place.  "I don't know what you mean," he 
answered hesitantly.

"Yes, you do." 

Mulder tried to explain, "sir, my mother was 
devastated by the loss of Samantha.  She didn't 
choose to lose a child and after that, well she 
just never recovered.  She suffers from severe 
depression you know," he defended.  

"And your father?"

Mulder's eyes wandered to the window, 
"he...well he...he wanted someone stronger than 
me.  He became angry when I tried to talk about 
Samantha and he..." Mulder didn't continue.

Skinner reached out and placed a supporting 
hand on Mulder's arm, "he what Mulder, tell me, 
please."

Mulder appeared to regain his control, he took 
a deep breath and straightened.  Skinner's hand 
stayed firm on his arm.  "He drank sir, he was 
an alcoholic.  It's a sickness you know," he 
informed.  "When I asked about Samantha or 
talked of finding her he drank, and when he 
drank..." again an incomplete statement.  "It 
was my fault, I shouldn't have reminded him of 
Samantha."  Mulder shrugged off Skinner's arm 
and turned his back.  "I just wanted to find 
her," he finished quietly.

"I know you wanted to find her," repeated 
Skinner thinking of all the times he had become 
angry with Mulder over his continuing search 
for Samantha.  "But Mulder, I need to know.  
When he drank, did he take his anger out on 
you?"

Mulder felt his stomach tighten painfully, he 
closed his eyes and nodded.  They both stood 
silent, full minutes passed until Skinner 
finally asked, "and when he did these things 
to you, who did you turn to, where did you go?"

Mulder moved towards his bed suddenly very 
tired.  He sat on the edge of the bed and 
flipped off his shoes.  

"Where did you go Mulder?" Skinner repeated.

He lay down on his side, back towards Skinner.  
Skinner strained to hear his answer, "sometimes 
I would think about somewhere else, any place 
that wasn't there."  He shuddered as though 
from the cold and curled into himself before 
continuing, "and sometimes I would just go away 
for a while, just walk away."

Skinner sat carefully on the edge of the bed, 
"and when you would walk away, how long would 
you be gone?"

"Not long, sometimes an hour or two, sometimes 
a few days.  It never really mattered, most of 
the time no one even noticed I was gone," he 
finished, his voice filled with pain.  

Skinner finally understood.  "Mulder, earlier 
today you accused Scully and I of behaving like 
your parents." 

There was no reply from Mulder, his back 
remained to Skinner.  Skinner leaned over and 
pulled on Mulder's shoulder, forcing him to 
lie on his back.  Mulder's eyes scanned the 
ceiling unable to meet Skinner's.  "Mulder," 
he asked seriously, "what's the difference 
between your father and me?"

This question received Mulder's full attention, 
he stared at Skinner in complete confusion.  

"Shall I tell you?" 

Mulder nodded hesitantly.

"I notice when you're gone."

Mulder's eyes filled with understanding.

"I care that you're not with us, Scully and I, 
and I would do everything I could to find you 
so you would not have to be alone."  Mulder 
stared at him in awe, he had no idea Skinner 
looked at him in this way.  "I know you're not 
used to this type of treatment and I think 
that's why you get so defensive with me.  
Truthfully Mulder, I care, plain and simple.   
I, we," he corrected, "want you around even 
when you don't want to be.  And Mulder..." this 
time Skinner hesitated.

"Sir," Mulder prodded.

"Mulder," Skinner continued apologetically, 
"I'm sorry."

Mulder sat up quickly, "sorry about what, sir?"

"Well, number one, I'm sorry I pressed charges 
when you first left.  Quite simply, I was just 
worried.  Number two, I'm sorry I froze your 
account, I was pissed at you for getting one up 
on me in Kalamazoo."

Mulder's mouth lifted slightly in amusement, 
"it's okay sir.  You unfroze what I needed when 
I asked. But," he warned, "I want the rest of 
my accounts released."

Skinner agreed.  "And third Mulder, I'm sorry 
for every time you came into my office to talk 
about a case or maybe about some new 
information on Samantha and I didn't listen.  
Whether I agreed or not I should have respected 
the information because you provided it.  When 
the time comes that you're ready to return, I 
promise you things will be different."

"How so?" Mulder asked curiously.

"I'll listen," he promised, "and I'll try not 
to get angry when you use alternative methods 
to solve cases.  Also, I'll do more to support 
the validity of your department to my peers and 
your own."

Mulder fell back against his pillow before 
asking, "who's the psychologist here sir?"  

Skinner laughed and moved over to his own bed 
for the night.  "I don't know about you, Mulder 
but I've had enough self discovery for one 
night."  He stretched out fully still careful 
to keep Mulder in sight.

Mulder chuckled, "thank goodness you don't 
charge by the hour because with my accounts 
still tied up I couldn't afford to pay you."   
Reaching for the remote, he asked, "would 
you mind if I watched TV in here for a while?  
Or," he offered, "I can go in the other room."  

"Mulder aren't you tired?" Skinner asked 
amazed.

"Yes sir, it's just I sleep better with the 
TV," he replied. Skinner suspected he liked the 
comforting light thrown off the screen.  "It 
won't bother me, Mulder, I'm so tired I won't 
hear it anyway."  Skinner closed his eyes 
secure in the fact that he had done everything 
he could to ensure Mulder would stay for the 
night.  Content in the knowledge that 
whatever happened next, he and Mulder 
understood each other far more now than they 
had a few short hours ago.

Mulder channel surfed as he replayed Skinner's 
words in his head.  If what Skinner said were 
true that would explain his love/hate 
relationship with the man.  He had somehow 
projected the ambivalent feelings he had felt 
towards his father onto Walter Skinner.  
Skinner, for his part, had always played the 
role perfectly, responding to him in ways 
similar to his own father, without the violence 
of course.  Although there had been a few 
occasions, the last one occurring as a result 
of the Oak Brook incident, where Skinner had 
physically restrained him. Strange that Mulder 
had not been able to read the signs earlier.  
He was a professional.   He should not have 
allowed his strong feelings for his father to 
transfer to Skinner.  Hell, that wasn't fair to 
Skinner.  And what else had Skinner said, 
Mulder searched for the words.  Oh yes, "I 
notice when you're gone."  Truth told he had 
not even considered that Skinner and Scully 
would seriously search for him.  Oh, he figured 
inquiries would be made but not the all out 
search that resulted and certainly not flying 
in here to protect him from Krycek.  After all 
he'd been gone for a while now, why would they 
still want to be involved?

Because they are not your parents Mulder, the 
voice in his head informed.  They are your 
friends.  Even if they don't know what it is 
you need from them as friends, they are still 
trying, still worried about you. He was just 
not used to anyone showing this type of 
concern.  In VCS they had been forced to track 
him down several times when he became lost in a 
case but only because they needed him to work.  
Phoebe never thought twice if he disappeared 
for a day or two, although she seemed to miss 
the sex.  And his parents, well they really 
didn't notice.  He remembered returning after 
being gone a few days, 14 years old, dirty and 
hungry.  They didn't even blink.  They never 
knew he was gone. Scully and Skinner noticed 
his absence.  They not only noticed it, they 
worked to find him and bring him home. 

His lids grew heavy but he continued to fight 
sleep.  What would tomorrow bring?  They would 
expect an answer from him, was he ready to go 
home?  Was he ready to reclaim his previous 
life of constant scrutiny, conspiracies and 
serial killers?  Could he deal with the new set 
of stories that had undoubtedly been 
circulating since his departure? They must be 
having a field day.  I can just imagine the 
stories now.  He smothered his laughter with 
his pillow, he didn't think they'd believe it 
if he told them he went on vacation to search 
for Elvis and be a teacher.  Okay so the Elvis 
thing wouldn't be a tough sell but none of them 
would believe him stable enough to teach 
children.  They would definitely not believe that 
one.  Skinner would back him on it though...

Skinner, he'd revealed things about himself to 
Skinner that he never would have imagined.  It 
was obvious by the man's reaction that he 
wasn't surprised by the abuse Mulder had 
suffered.  The man had proven himself to be 
much more perceptive than Mulder would have 
ever given him credit for.  Not only had Mulder 
opened up to him but Skinner had revealed his 
own feelings in return.  Mulder deeply 
regretted all of the earlier distrust he'd felt 
toward him.  Skinner hadn't deserved it.  He 
had always been there for both him and Scully.

It was difficult not to see the closeness that 
had developed between Scully and Skinner.  They 
were obviously very comfortable with each other 
and, Mulder suspected, if the situation were 
different, she and Skinner might actually be a 
couple.  After all they were both practical, 
conservative people who wanted similar things 
out of life.  Except for their relationship 
with him, their lives would be perfectly 
normal.  They would go to work, socialize with 
friends and family and maybe, though Mulder 
winced at the thought, maybe start a family of 
their own.  Okay so Scully couldn't have 
children but he suspected she and Skinner would 
have no trouble convincing an adoption agency 
of their stability as parents.  If he chose to 
return to Washington would this eliminate any 
possibility of such a relationship between 
them?  Mulder's selfish side was tempted to 
call the airlines now and book a flight.  

Tossing his head back he scrunched his eyes 
closed in deep concentration.  No, Mulder
could not do that to either of them.  They 
were both good people and Skinner would 
make a better partner for her.  He would just 
be in the way.  His presence would stop her 
from ever having a normal life.

He punched his pillow angry at the direction 
his thoughts had taken.  Okay so he felt 
something for Scully, something above and 
beyond their partnership, their friendship.  
But was it love, the kind of love one feels 
for a spouse?  Perhaps co-dependent would be 
a better description of their relationship.  
Regardless, if Mulder allowed it to become 
romantic, he would be condemning her to a 
life of danger and uncertainty.  She didn't 
deserve that.  He pushed himself into a 
sitting position against the uncomfortable 
metal headboard.  His fingers linked behind 
his neck and, knees bent, he leaned forward 
unable to find any spot on his body that did 
not protest.  Glancing over at Skinner, he 
saw the man was sound asleep.  Too bad, he'd 
hoped his ex-boss might be open to discussing 
his feelings for Scully.  

Sleep forgotten, he reached into the night 
stand drawer and pulled out some hotel 
stationary.  Christ Mulder, you're sitting here 
worried about Scully and Skinner's social life 
when less than 48 hours ago a young girl and 
her baby were viciously murdered.  Where are 
your priorities?  Propping the paper on the 
bible, he began to write his letter to Chante.  
She was who he should be thinking of now.

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

NEXT MORNING 7:00AM:

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

Skinner woke slowly to the incredible smell of 
fresh-brewed coffee.  Bleary eyed he searched 
for the clock realizing when he found it, he'd 
only managed about five hours of actual sleep.  
He reached for his glasses then scanned the 
room for signs of Mulder.  Finding none, he 
feared he might have had a change of heart and 
gone running. It was only when he heard the 
shower that he relaxed.

He eased out of bed and quickly pulled on some 
sweats.  He couldn't let Scully find him in his 
pajamas.  She did, after all, still report to 
him. He stepped into the small sitting room and 
discovered a tray containing coffee, bagels and 
cream cheese. Scully, you are an angel, he thought 
as he reached for a cup.

Scully entered the room fully dressed for the 
day, "good morning sir," 

Skinner turned and immediately noted her 
attire, "looks like I'm the last one up this 
morning."

"Tough night?" she asked worriedly.

Skinner nodded, "yeah, tough night but," he bit 
into a plain bagel, "a productive night."

Scully arched her eyebrow in inquiry.  "Later 
Scully," Skinner promised, "I'm going to grab a 
shower."  As he turned Mulder entered the room.  
Both Skinner and Scully stared open mouthed.  
The man looked like a page out of GQ Magazine.  
His dark suit hung perfectly, impossible 
considering it was purchased off the rack.  His 
hair was slicked back neatly and face freshly 
shaven, only the small, pinched lines around 
his eyes betrayed any anxiety at the day he 
faced.  That problem was solved as he pulled 
out his Ray Bans and slid them on.  The room 
was bright but not that bright.  Mulder was 
closing off again, hiding his emotions.  Walking 
over to the tray, he ignored the bagels and 
poured himself a cup of coffee.  "I need to 
stop at the florist on the way out and pick 
up an order," he informed.

"Sure Mulder," Skinner replied, "let me get a 
shower and change and we'll get going."

Mulder's voice stopped him.  "Sir," turning 
towards Scully, "Scully, you don't need to 
attend the service with me.  I'll be fine."

Scully answered carefully, "no Mulder, we don't 
have to, but, "she stated sincerely, "we'd like 
to be there with you, if you'll allow it?"  She 
looked to Skinner for confirmation.  Skinner 
nodded his agreement but waited for Mulder's 
response.

Mulder took a slow sip from his coffee before 
answering quietly, "if you like."  

That said, Skinner rushed off to shower and 
dress.  Scully turned and blessed Mulder with 
her brightest smile.  He couldn't help but 
wonder what it would be like to wake up to her 
smile every morning.  Perhaps he subconsciously 
put himself in dangerous situations when he was 
with her just so he could wake up in a hospital 
bed and see that smile.  He choked as he gulped 
down too much coffee, reaching Mulder, you are 
really reaching with that one.  

He glanced back towards his room.  He was going 
to have to stop thinking like this.  As much as 
it pained him he was convinced Skinner would be 
a better choice for Scully.  He was strong and 
he would care for her.  With Mulder she would 
always be pulling his ass out of a mess and 
the day would come when even she would not 
succeed in doing so.  That failure would 
haunt her for life.  He simply would not 
allow it.

He flipped on the morning news and pretended to 
watch.  The path he had chosen would not allow 
him a long life, this was the one thing he was 
sure of.  His current travels were like a 
school recess, a chance to go out and play 
for a while.  Eventually, he would be called 
back to class.  He knew he could not avoid 
who he was or the part he played in the larger 
game.  He just wished someone would send him 
the instructions because, if he were honest, 
his improvisational skills were waning.  When 
he reentered the game would his game piece 
include a FBI badge or would he move forward 
as a solo?  Regardless, he sensed old age was 
not in his future.  At least he now knew where 
Samantha was, this knowledge allowed him some 
sense of peace. 

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

The service at St. Frances was beautiful.  The 
church was filled with Chante's favorite 
flowers, white roses.  The local choir soothed 
them in their grief and Mulder, upon the last 
minute request of Chante's mother, had agreed 
to speak.  At first he'd hesitated, he was not 
prepared for such a task.  But in the end he 
knew he could not refuse the request of a woman 
who had lost not only a daughter, but her only 
grandchild as well.

He stood behind the pulpit, tall and straight.  
He spoke of Chante's commitment to continuing 
her education and her hopes to help others by 
taking on the role of a teacher, an educator.  
He spoke of her love and respect for her mother.  
He shared with them all his impressions of an 
intelligent young woman who cared deeply for 
all around her, most especially her beloved 
son Michael.  And in the end he spoke of his 
own deep pain in knowing he would never again 
experience the joy of watching her learn, 
watching her become an adult.  He did not talk 
about heaven or the afterlife, he left that to 
the professionals.  Instead he said good bye to 
the young girl and her son who, in a very short 
time, had touched his heart.

Scully and Skinner had looked on in wonder at 
the man they knew as Fox Mulder.  His 
casual grace and obvious compassion as he spoke 
allowed them to see a side of him never before 
shown.  Here he was strong, confidant and a leader.  
Within fifteen minutes he had provided Chante's 
family and friends with the strength they needed 
to face tomorrow.  Scully leaned towards Skinner 
and asked, "who is this man?"  Skinner rested 
his hand on hers and smiled sadly, "I think 
this is who he's always been.  I think we couldn't 
see beyond his differences."  She nodded feeling 
very ashamed that she had seemingly judged Mulder 
on his surface persona.  She thought she knew 
this man well, thought she understood his pain 
and what had caused it but the last few days had 
only proven how little of him she did know.  

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

WILLOW HILLS CEMETERY; MAYWOOD, IL:

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

Mulder and his students stood solemnly at 
Chante's graveside.  Her casket would soon be 
lowered into the ground and it was time to say 
good-bye.  "Did any of you write Chante?"

One by the one they pulled out their letters.  
At that moment he couldn't have been prouder.  
Smiling his encouragement, he held out the 
satin bag he'd purchased and they each 
dropped their letters into the bag.  They drew 
closer together drawing strength from each 
other.  When the last letter was placed in the 
bag, Mulder reached into his own pocket and 
pulled out two envelopes.  He struggled for 
control as he placed first one, then the other 
in the bag.  

"Mr. Henry," Maria asked, "why did you write 
two letters?"

Scully stepped in closer, curious to hear the 
answer.  Mulder closed his eyes momentarily and 
took a deep shaky breath.  "One is for Chante," 
he explained.

"And the other," asked Rolando.

"And the other is for my sister," he stated 
simply.

His students exchanged confused glances.  
Scully stepped in and placed a supporting hand 
on his elbow. He turned towards her, eyes 
filled with tears.  "I thought maybe Chante 
wouldn't mind giving it to her for me," he 
explained.  

Scully reached out and pulled him down 
into a hug.  He leaned on her for only 
a moment, then straightened and attached 
the bag to a large bouquet of white roses.  
He turned, found Skinner, and gestured 
for him to join them.  Skinner, understanding 
the honor, stepped to Mulder's left. 

They surrounded Chante's casket.  He placed the 
flowers with the attached bag on top of the 
box.  "Good bye Chante, good bye Michael" he 
stated simply, "we'll miss you."  He placed 
a soft kiss on his fingertips and gently 
touched the satin bag.  His students followed 
his example sending their own good byes with 
each pass.  

Mulder turned from the graveside completely 
spent.  Jackson called, "Mr. Henry, will you 
come back and visit?"

Mulder turned and looked into the faces of 
these children, no these adults.  He would not 
lie. "If I'm able, I'll be back," he promised.  
"After all," he added in his best teacher's 
voice, "I'll want to see the kind of adults you 
will choose to be."

"Is there anywhere we can write you?" pleaded 
Maria.

Mulder looked at her helplessly.  A strong 
voice from the back informed, "you can reach 
Mr. Waters through my office.  I'll see he gets 
your letters," offered Skinner.  He handed 
Jackson his business card, "will you share the 
address with the others?"

Jackson examined the card closely, clearly 
impressed by the FBI logo.  "Sure," he 
promised. 

In a group he met them and in a group they left 
him.  The students moved away in silence 
leaving Mulder, Skinner and Scully alone.  
Mulder turned and walked slowly away from the 
grave moving deeper into the cemetery.  He 
stopped, leaned heavily on a large elm tree and 
considered his next move.  His eyes scanned the 
horizon stopping as they spotted the observer. 
On top of the rise stood a single figure and 
Mulder instinctively recognized the monster.  
He turned quickly and searched the area behind 
Skinner and Scully and found two other men 
standing guard. 

Skinner had also spotted Cancer Man on the 
hill.  Scully had finished her scan of the area 
and found, except back towards the parking lot, 
still heavily populated with mourners, they 
appeared to be surrounded.  She grabbed 
Mulder's arm and pulled him towards the car, 
"let's go Mulder, let's get out of here."  
Skinner positioned himself behind Mulder and 
they walked quickly towards the lot.  He 
glanced back and confirmed that all but one of 
the surrounding figures seemed to be staying in 
place.  No sign of a chase was a positive, he 
thought nervously.  He'd be damned if he'd let 
that black-lunged S.O.B get his hands on 
Mulder.

They were within a few feet of their rental car 
when he appeared.  He stood calm, effectively 
blocking the driver's door as he puffed on his 
cigarette.  He nodded a greeting towards Scully 
and Skinner but addressed only Mulder, "Mr. 
Mulder, how good to see you again."

Mulder stepped forward, and quietly, so 
as not to disturb Chante's family issued an
order, "get out of our way!" He would have 
physically pushed the bastard but didn't 
want to cause a scene.

Cancer Man was only slightly insulted as he 
responded, "tsk, tsk Mulder, is that how you 
treat someone who's only trying to help you?"

Mulder ignored his words, "don't make me repeat 
myself," he warned.  

He continued to puff casually on his cigarette.  
"Don't worry Mulder, I'm not here to take you 
back."  He looked over at Scully and Skinner 
with an amused expression, "I'll leave that 
heavy handed approach to your...friends."

"Then what the hell do you want?" Mulder 
demanded.

CSM straightened and moved closer to Mulder.  
Skinner and Scully stepped forward protectively.  
"Honestly SON," putting emphasis on the label, 
"I was simply concerned for your well being."

Mulder froze in horror, "don't you dare call me 
that!"

"Now, Fox," he began mildly...

"Mr. Waters, Mr. Waters," called Mrs. Taylor.  
Mulder forced the tension from his face and 
turned to greet her.  

"Mrs. Taylor," he answered taking her hand 
gently in his own, "how can I help you?"

Mrs. Taylor had aged several years over the 
last three days.  The loss suffered was more 
than one person should have to deal with.  
She shook her head in denial, "no, no Mr. 
Waters, I just wanted to thank you for 
taking care of all this."  

Mulder looked uncomfortable.  Skinner and 
Scully were just plain confused.  CSM watched 
Mulder proudly.  

Head down, Mulder stammered, "it was nothing 
Mrs. Taylor.  I really wanted to do it."

"You're a good man, Mr. Waters.  I would have 
never been able to have my babies so close if 
not for the money you provided.  Thank you 
again from all of us."  She pulled him into a 
hug and kissed him wetly on his cheek leaving 
behind a red smudge where her lips had been.  
She then blew her nose loudly and left to join 
the others.

Scully reached into her bag and pulled out a 
Kleenex.  Mulder appeared to have forgotten 
their presence.  She reached up and dabbed at 
the lipstick.  Another moment passed before she 
felt his stare, his eyes filled with 
embarrassment. 

"Mulder, that was such a nice thing to do for 
Chante and Michael," she soothed.

Skinner reached over and squeezed Mulder's 
shoulder, "good man Mulder.  It was a beautiful 
service."  

"Yes Fox, that was an extremely gracious 
gesture," added CSM.   Mulder attacked.  He 
leapt towards the man, fists swinging.  The 
older man raised his hand to defend himself 
just a moment too late.  A fist connected 
solidly with the man's jaw causing his 
cigarette to fly and him to fall back against 
the hood of the car.  Mulder grabbed him by the 
collar and pulled it tightly wanting nothing 
more than to choke the life from this man.  "I 
AM NOT YOUR SON YOU BASTARD!" he shouted.  

As much as he would like to, Skinner could not 
let this continue.  He pulled Mulder off CSM 
and shoved him into the car.  Scully jumped 
into the passenger seat leaving Skinner the 
role of driver.  Skinner turned towards CSM and 
warned, "don't try to stop us or you'll find 
yourself under these wheels." He jumped into 
the car, threw it into gear and sped away.

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

Scully was frightened for Mulder.  He sat bent 
at the waist, his arms wrapped tightly around 
his middle.  He stared with glazed eyes out the 
car window rocking ever so slightly.  She 
reached over the seat and placed a soothing 
hand on his cheek.  "Mulder," she comforted, 
"he was lying.   He only said those things to 
upset you."  He curled more tightly into a ball 
and buried his face into his arms, actually 
biting down on his coat sleeve in an attempt to 
suppress his anguish.  

"Scully," asked Skinner worriedly, "is he going 
to be okay?"  He was driving fast weaving in 
and out of traffic, taking last minute turns 
and using every technique he knew to lose any 
tails.  

Scully studied the seemingly shattered Mulder 
worriedly. Without further thought she climbed 
over the seat and into the backseat.  Pulling 
the shaking man into her arms she pleaded, 
"come on Mulder, come back to me."

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

NAVY PIER, CHICAGO:

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

Somewhere between Maywood and downtown Chicago, 
Mulder calmed.  He tried to pull away from 
Scully but she would have none of it.  She 
sensed he would not be with her much longer 
and she needed to feel him, to hold him.  

Skinner pulled into the parking garage at Navy 
Pier and wove his way to the top deck.  This 
time of the day he hoped he would find it 
empty.  He pulled the car into one of many 
empty spaces and turned off the engine.  He 
turned to find her clutching Mulder tightly,
unwilling to let him go.  Realizing the 
car had stopped, Mulder began gently 
disengaging himself from her grasp.

Skinner climbed out of the car and opened the 
back door.  Mulder wearily climbed out and 
walked to the edge of the lot.  He took in the 
view from the top deck examining with interest 
the Ferris wheel.  He eyed Skinner wryly and 
quipped, "I think I've had enough thrill rides 
for today."

"Funny Mulder," returned Skinner.  The Mulder 
of this morning had disappeared.  In his place 
stood a man in a rumpled suit with puffy 
eyes and exhausted lines etched into his face. 
The man appeared extremely vulnerable and 
Skinner felt as though all his efforts had been 
for nothing.  With a few simple words that 
bastard had managed to send Mulder spinning.  

"Mulder," Skinner asked, "do you know what you 
want to do next?"  The younger man met 
Skinner's gaze appreciatively.  He had not 
expected this from him.  He assumed he and 
Scully would again force the issue of his 
returning to Washington.

He looked from Scully to Skinner before 
answering, voice tinged with regret, "I'm 
sorry, I know you want me to go with you 
but.... I...I can't go back yet.  I'm not 
ready."

Scully reached out and took his hand, "yet 
Mulder.  Does that mean you'll eventually come 
back?"

He rubbed his brow attempting to erase the pain 
that seemed to call Mulder's head home.  
"Scully, I thought I could do it, I thought I 
was ready.  But you saw how I reacted to HIM.  
I can't come back until I can be sure NO ONE 
ever again has that type of power over me."  

Skinner was disappointed but not surprised.  
"Mulder, you're exhausted both physically and 
emotionally.  Chante, Michael and," he 
hesitated, "and Samantha, it's a lot for any 
man to deal with."

Mulder did not respond.  Scully gripped his 
hand tighter.  Skinner continued his attempt to 
stall for more time.  He did not want to let 
Mulder go in this state.  "Maybe it would be 
best if we just drive a bit further, get a 
hotel and at least get some sleep before you 
leave again?"

Mulder released Scully's hand and reached for 
his backpack.  He brushed his fingers through 
his hair and smoothed his suit carefully.  With 
the suit and backpack combo, he could almost 
pass for a downtown executive.  He hitched the 
straps over his shoulders and turned towards 
Skinner, hand outstretched.  Skinner sighed, he 
wanted nothing more than to toss Mulder in the 
trunk and drive.  The thought of him out here 
on his own was too much of a worry.  Ignoring 
his instincts, he gripped Mulder's hand firmly 
and said, "if you need anything, Mulder, please 
just call.  I'll be there if you need me."  

"Thank you, Walter," replied Mulder sincerely.  
"Thank you for not throwing me in the trunk."  

"You're welcome, Mulder," he gripped his hand 
a bit harder than necessary before releasing it.  

Mulder turned to Scully who stood, back to him, 
staring out over Lake Michigan.  He stepped up 
behind her and pulled her into his chest.  
She continued to stare at the water silently.  
She would not cry, she would not lose control.  
"Scully," he whispered into her ear, "I'll 
contact you this time, I promise."

"You better," she threatened.

"Well, if I forget, and I won't," he assured, 
"you could always track me down by the chip in 
the frame."

She turned unable to stop her smile.  She 
swatted his arm lightly and took some 
pleasure in his injured look and the phony arm 
rubbing.  "Ouch, Scully, that hurt!"

"You knew!  How did you know?" she accused.

"Scully, I know the kind of agent you are.  No 
way were you going to let me go that easy," he 
teased. 

"And yet you expect me to let you go again?" 
she asked, her voice filled with pain. "Let me 
come with you Mulder," she pleaded.

He leaned his forehead down to hers gazing 
deeply into her eyes.  "I'm not good for anyone 
right now Scully, especially you.  You deserve 
something more than trailing after a middle-
aged man having an identity crisis."

"Middle aged, Mulder?" Scully queried, 
eyebrow arched.

"Do the math, Scully."  He stepped away leaving 
only their fingers touching.

"Seriously, Scully, you deserve some stability 
in your life."  His eyes strayed to Skinner 
then returned to hers, "that's something I 
can't give you."   

Scully pulled her hand away, where was he going 
with this?

"Mulder, what makes you think I need 
stability?" she asked coldly.

Mulder's eyes closed. Shit, what had he said 
that pissed her off?  He'd never intended to 
upset her.  He opened his eyes, he needed to 
try again. "Scully you deserve a normal life.  
I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"Too late," she snapped eyes cold as ice.  She 
turned and walked back to the car.  

Skinner had not been able to hear the 
conversation but, based on the body language, 
it had not gone well.  He saw that Mulder was 
barely hanging on to his emotions, clearly 
upset by the direction his talk with Scully 
had gone.  Something had either been said 
or left unsaid between those two.

Mulder turned to leave.  He nodded his good-bye 
to Skinner and sent one last pleading look 
Scully's way.  Completely ignored, he turned 
and entered the stairwell.  Scully never 
turned, she would not watch him walk away 
from her again.

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

YELLOW CAB; DOWNTOWN CHICAGO:

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

Mulder climbed into the cab, carefully avoiding 
the half-eaten hamburger resting on the floor.  

"Where to?" asked the driver.

"Union Station."

The driver pulled out into downtown traffic.  
Mulder stared out the window, his thoughts 
still full of Scully.  He hadn't meant to hurt 
her but, in the end, he'd been unable to avoid 
it.  Just additional proof that he was no good 
for her. She deserved more.

The car radio played softly and Mulder found 
himself strangely drawn to the Savage Garden 
tune.

But on the telephone line I am anyone
I am anything I want to be
I could be a super model or Norman Mailer

	He grinned, super model indeed.  Not with 
	this nose.

And you wouldn't know the difference
On the telephone line, I am any height
I am any age I want to be
I could be a caped crusader, or space invader

	Space invader!  Was someone trying to 
	tell him something with this song?  He 
	chuckled, paranoid even for you Mulder.	

And you wouldn't know the difference
Or would you?

	Would you know the difference Scully?  

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

MINNEAPOLIS, MN; TWO WEEKS LATER:

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

The man who sat before him appeared to be 
around 30-31 contradicting his ID, which stated 
37.  Clean shaven, hair a little long in back 
and dressed casually, he seemed to fit the type 
needed.  Hazel eyes returned his gaze steadily.  
Mr. Karnosk cleared his throat and continued 
with the interview.

"So Marty, have you ever done this type of work 
before?"

The man chewed his rather ample lower lip 
nervously before revealing, "well I've never 
been on this end of the phone before."

"Straight, Gay or Bi?" asked the interviewer.

Marty appeared to be waiting for another option.
 
The interviewer asked again, "Straight, Gay or Bi, 
what would be your call preference?"

Understanding dawned, "oh, well I think I'd 
like to begin with straight.  If that goes 
well, who knows," he shrugged nonchalantly.

The other man was surprised, "you're saying you 
might eventually be open to other types of 
calls?"  Usually his applicants expressed no 
preference or were very specific.  

Marty nodded, "I'm pretty open minded.  I'd 
just like to stick with something familiar to 
start."  He looked over the other man's 
shoulder thoughtfully before adding, "no pain 
though, I'm not into sex and pain."

The interviewer leaned forward, "your voice is 
educated, did you go to school in the area?"

"No, I just watch a lot of TV," he deadpanned.

"Well Marty, I'd like you to listen in on some 
of our calls. If you're still interested, we 
can start training tomorrow," he offered his 
hand.

"I'm hired?" he grinned accepting the other 
man's grip.

"Yes, Marty.  In fact, if we can just train you 
to put a little more inflection in your voice, 
I think you'll be one of our most popular 
operators.  Your voice is very distinctive," 
the other man complimented.

Marty hesitated, what did he mean inflection?  
Was he insinuating his voice was dull? Deciding 
to take the statement as it was intended, he 
responded, "well thank you, Mr. Karnosk.  I'll 
do my best to get up to speed quickly," he 
promised as he followed him into the office of 
EROTIC FANTASIES, the country's most popular 
900 service.