Title: A Long Road Ahead 
 Summary: Pre-Ep for Season Seven Premiere based on early
 spoilers. It's Skinner's story. If I said any more, I'd have to shoot
 you.
 Rating: PG
 Category: Mytharc, MT, SkinnerAngst, ScullyAngst, AlbertAngst
 UST
 Disclaimer: Well, usually I do these things because you've left
 gapping holes to fill, Chris, but this time, it's in homage and
 anticipation. If the opener is as good as the spoilers, Season Seven
 will top the charts. Now, go write the movie <G> and I won't
 infringe on your copyright.
 No story is written without a bunch of help. My helpers were
 fantastic, feeding me praise like chocolate cookies and then pointing
 out my errors with equal enthusiasm. I love the four of you,
 Donna, Jenniferanne, Sally and of course, Susan!
 Note: Shipper that I am, this is NOT MSR. Nor is it Slash. It's
 written to be the beginning of season seven and any questions you
 have at the end were intended. Oh, and if Diana is notably absent,
 well, I never liked her to begin with. <VEG>


A Long Road Ahead 
 by Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com 

My phone rang at 11:21 pm. I wasn't asleep, not by a long shot,
 but the sound of the ringer in the stillness of my apartment
 shortened my life by about ten years. I grabbed it without thought. 

It was the hospital. I had been hoping it was the Bureau, I realized
 guiltily. I was actually hoping that I was being hauled into the
 office, possibly some serial case, or another sniper incident.
 Another school shooting. I kicked myself mentally, but I just
 couldn't take it any more. I couldn't take the lies, the deceit. I
 couldn't live with what I had done, with what I was continuing to
 do. 

The call was about Mulder. Not a big surprise. Although the
 doctor on the line did seem more appeased than when last we'd
 talked. Apparently, Mulder had calmed down after my departure.
 Probably because I wasn't in the building. Probably because he
 knew that Scully had left, not long after I did, according to the
 surveillance I had watching the doors. Probably because Diana was
 gone as well. 

Mulder. I had no idea if he could really read minds and ordinarily, I
 couldn't really give a shit if he could or not. But I didn't want him
 reading my mind right then. Not by a long shot. Not when he'd
 find out just how wrong he's always been about me. 

Mulder hasn't always trusted me completely, but I'd hoped he
 never suspected that I would willfully put him or Scully in danger.
 And if he had been reading my mind during the previous 48 hours,
 he was sure to know that was no longer the case. I had thrown him
 to the wolves. I stood by and let him fall on the spear that Diana
 Fowley so gracious planted in the ground. If it all played out the
 way it was planned, I would see him dead and buried before it was
 through. 

I was not a monster, I kept trying to remind myself! I never asked
 for the assignment, I never sat around and thought 'how can I kill
 Fox Mulder?' But the damnable little micro-machines in my blood
 stream and a one-armed sociopath were fairly convincing when
 teamed together. Krycek ordered me to jump, I asked how high. It
 was that simple. 

But I didn't want Mulder to know that, either. And so I beat a
 hasty retreat out of the hospital. I couldn't face him, and I didn't
 want him to know about my deal with Krycek, or the reasons why. 

The doctor had called to inform me that there'd been some
 developments since I'd left. The doctor thought it would be best,
 since Agent Mulder's next of kin was no longer answering her cell
 phone, for me to come down as quickly as possible. 

Mulder was asking for me. 

The drive to GUMC never seemed so short. I pulled my car into
 the lot and parked. It was almost deserted. I shivered, even though
 there was no wind, and made my way to the entrance. 

The doctor was waiting for me at the nurses's station. He took me
 into a small conference room off the family lounge. I felt
 uncomfortable, out of place. I remembered telling him that maybe
 he should wait until he could reach Agent Scully. He didn't think
 that was wise. 

I stared at the black and white film against the bluish bright
 background. I'm not a doctor, never even really liked biology, but
 I knew what I was looking at. A tumor. 

The doctor droned on, telling me that the tumor was located in the
 temporal lobe. That it was the cause of Mulder's severe symptoms,
 the violent episodes, the pain. That is was amazing that he could
 have lived so long without any symptoms before this time. The
 tumor was large. Almost inoperable. 

That caught my attention. Almost inoperable. Almost. In other
 words, there was a cause, a reason, a scientific explanation, if you
 will, for Mulder's bizarre behavior. Mulder wasn't crazy. He was
 sick. Very, very sick. 

But he could be cured. 

I latched on to that slim thread of hope and refused to let loose. I
 demanded to know about the surgery, what were the chances for a
 full recovery. The doctor shook his head and I felt my hope
 disintegrate like so many gossamer strands. 

Operable, yes. But what effect the operation would have on
 Mulder would be impossible to say. At best, he would be able to
 return to a relatively normal life. He would be able to live on his
 own, care for himself. The chance that he could be sent out into
 the field were non-existent, but the chance that he could perform
 desk work was fairly promising. 

I had to ask for the worst case scenario, even though I was pretty
 sure of the answer. At the worst, Mulder would be a vegetable.
 He would never regain consciousness, or if he did, he would have
 no recollection of his former life. There was the very real possibility
 that he would wake up to a roomful of strangers, even if it were
 just Scully, and myself in the room. 

I shivered again. 

The doctor told me that he'd already talked about the operation
 with Mulder, but that Mulder wasn't being 'reasonable'. I took
 that to mean that Mulder had given one of his usual 'kiss my ass'
 responses. Inwardly, I cheered him on. Rage, rage against the
 machine, Mulder. At least that way I knew he was still alive, still in
 there, fighting. The odds were never on Mulder's side, why should
 his current situation be any different? 

Then the doctor was asking me to speak with him about it. 

"Make him see reason. This tumor is virulent. It's progressing at
 an alarming rate. If it's to be successful, we should schedule the
 surgery for the first thing in the morning." 

I almost dropped my teeth. The operation was moving at light
 speed and I knew nothing about this doctor, who he might be
 working with, or for. I knew only that Diana Fowley had Mulder
 brought here when he became violent. I was still suspicious of the
 fact that Agent Fowley managed to be in Agent Mulder's apartment
 when Agent Scully was elsewhere, somewhere in New Mexico. I
 don't trust Agent Fowley farther than I can throw her and a ton of
 bricks. 

But the evidence on the wall stilled my suspicions, for the moment.
 I couldn't be positive, but I was fairly certain it was Mulder or a
 very close imposter. The tumor, they just couldn't 'paint' that in,
 could they? Damn, I needed Scully's expert opinion on this, and
 she was God knew where. I'd tried her cell phone all the way to
 the hospital with no avail. 

"I want to see him." I had to talk to Mulder, forget the episodes,
 forget the craziness or the humming in his head. Forget that he
 might have been able to read my mind and know exactly what I was
 thinking. Maybe, in a small way, I was hoping for that. Instant
 confession. I wondered if it came with instant absolution, too. 

The doctor nodded and told me to follow him down the hall. The
 room was locked, and the lock was electronic. I noticed the doctor
 had a card key that he slid through the lock and then keyed in a
 series of numbers. High tech security. All for a sick man. 

The door opened with a click and only I entered. The doctor stood
 in the doorway and informed me that I should call the nurse when I
 was finished with my visit. He reminded me that there were papers
 to be sign if the surgery was to take place in the morning. I nodded
 and turned to face Mulder. 

I needn't have worried. He was asleep. At least that's what I
 thought. He was still in the private padded room. I've never seen
 one of those places up close and personal. This one gave me the
 willies. His bed was little more than a mattress on a slab that came
 out of the wall. No chairs, no dresser. Nothing but the slab of a
 bed and the walls covered in a dull cream colored fabric. Industrial
 strength fabric. I noticed brown and dark red streaks running about
 seven feet off the ground and down to about four feet. I touched
 Mulder's hand and saw the scabs forming where he'd torn his nails
 scratching at the walls like a cat in heat. My stomach rolled. 

When I looked up at his face, he was looking back at me. Hazel
 eyes, I never noticed that before. He didn't even seem surprised
 that I was there. Just nodded and said 'sir' like he was passing me
 in the hall on a workday. 

Damn, I really wished they'd thought to bring a chair for me to sit
 on. 

"Agent Mulder," I replied. If he wanted to keep this formal, I saw
 no reason to do otherwise. It was comforting for me, almost. I
 found myself starting to relax. 

"How are you feeling?" 

He grinned. One of his shit eating grins that I've vowed time and
 again to wipe of his face with a good right hook. "Like I'm the first
 place project at the science fair," he said ruefully. He chuckled a
 little at his joke, then turned serious again. "Sir, I understand." 

That was all he said. Funny, instant absolution is a lot like instant
 sex. It meets the initial need, but afterwards, there's still an empty
 place. My guilt weighed even heavier on me after his words. 

"I need your help." 

I couldn't think about what he wanted at that moment. All I could
 think about was the tumor, eating away at his brain. I shook my
 head. I had to make him see reason. Where the hell was Scully,
 anyway? 

"Mulder, the doctor showed me the x rays. You have a tumor.
 You need to have an operation to have it removed." 

And that's as far as I got. Mulder's violence broke to the surface. 

"Fuck the tumor!" he shouted. "Fuck the fucking operation!
 Nobody is gonna cut on my brain, got it? Nobody!" 

I had to calm him down. I think he knew that, too. Just as quickly
 as it surfaced, his anger disappeared again. He licked his lips and
 closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them slowly. "Sir, even
 if there is a tumor, I can't let them operate. It's not _that_ kind of
 tumor." 

"Then what kind of tumor is it?" I asked, confused, and wondering
 if the restraints on the bed were strong enough to hold him. 

"It's the same kind of tumor as your heart condition, sir," he said
 flatly, staring me straight in the eyes. 

I could feel my heart thudding in my chest. Not since 'Nam have I
 felt like this. Trapped. No where to go. The over powering
 feeling that I should have my M-one, locked and loaded, sweeping
 the parameter of the room. 

"Mulder, how . . ." I couldn't allow myself to believe. It had to be
 the rantings of a diseased brain. 

He smiled at me sardonically. I got the impression that if he could
 have moved his hand, his index finger would have tapped his
 forehead. "I can _read_ their minds, sir. Diana told me everything
 I needed to know." He closed his eyes and I wondered if the pain
 that crossed his face was from the tumor or something more
 personal. "Everything I wanted to know, and then some," he
 sighed. 

"But the doctors here, surely you aren't saying . . ." 

"Sir, the doctors here are innocent. But even misguided doctors
 can be a danger. They see a tumor, they see an operable location,
 they get out the saws and chisels. But this tumor was
 manufactured, right in my own head. And it was 'turned on'. They
 don't need to remove it. The chances of cutting out too much are
 just too great." 

I could see exhaustion warring with desperation on his face. "Sir, it
 doesn't matter. I'm a dead man, it's as simple as that. All I can do
 right now is make my death count for something." He got a far
 away look to his eyes, and he sighed again. "Scully taught me that.
 That if we have to die senselessly, at least we should try to make it
 count for something. I owe her that much. Thank god she didn't
 have to see it through, but I'm afraid I don't have a magic chip
 waiting in my future." 

He turned those pleading eyes toward me once again. "Please, sir.
 What difference will it make? If I somehow survive the surgery,
 they'll make sure I don't wake up the same person. I really don't
 want to do a remake of 'Regarding Henry', sir. I think I'd rather
 just stop living, if it's all the same to you." 

It was very hard to face his gaze, but I forced my eyes up to meet
 his. There he was, pale, hair sticking out in a hundred different
 directions. He'd been sweating through the worst of his fits and if
 anybody had bothered to clean him off, it sure wasn't apparent.
 There were two inch webbed straps across his shoulders, his waist,
 his legs. Even his hands were strapped down, though I have no
 idea how they expected him to break the straps on his upper body.
 I did this. I might not have strapped him down, I might not have
 put the damned tumor in his brain, but God in heaven, this was as
 much my fault as it was anyone's. 

What did I intend to do about it, I suddenly wondered. My father
 brought me up to be a better man than the one I'd become. I could
 hear his voice echoing in my mind. "What the hell you gonna do
 about it, Skip?" 

"Make it right, Dad," I whispered and only when Mulder shot me a
 curious look did I realize I'd uttered the words aloud. "I suppose
 you have a plan?" 

***** 

We talked a little longer, and then I found myself negotiating the
 streets of Anacostia at 1:45 in the morning. Mulder had assured me
 that the residents of the dilapidated three flat would be awake. It
 was my first time visiting the 'Bat Cave' and I wasn't pleased to be
 making the pilgrimage unannounced. 

I swear, they had at least a dozen locks on the door. The short guy,
 Frohike, greeted me. I couldn't blame him the suspicious glare he
 held on me as I entered the apartment. 

"Mulder sent me," I told him plainly. 

"Yeah. And I got this bridge across the Potomac, you can have it
 for a song," came the sarcastic reply. 

"Look, Mulder told me to tell you that Esther sends her love," I
 replied, still wondering what the hell that little message translated
 to in English. But it seemed to set the little man at ease. 

"I'll wake up the others," he replied and disappeared down a
 hallway, leaving me to wonder what the hell I was getting myself
 into, for about the thousandth time that evening. 

I was amazed at their efficiency, once a plan of action was decided.
 In an hour's time, disguises were arranged, fake credentials,
 including picture IDs, were gathered, even a mode of transportation
 was provided. I'd seen a small glimpse of their handy work the last
 time Mulder had been hospitalized for head trauma, but to see them
 in action was a thing of beauty. Too bad most of it was on the long
 side of illegal. But I swallowed my objections, realizing that I was
 working within the laws of the land when I sentenced Mulder to
 death. The least I could do was break a law or two to help him
 finish his last request. 

We waited until just before seven, when shifts were changing. It
 was a simple matter to have Byers, by far the most 'scholarly' of
 the three, appear at the nurse's desk with all the right papers
 declaring him a member in good standing of the Virginia State
 Medical Society, with a spaciality in neurosurgery and working out
 of Johns Hopkins. Even if the poor nurse had bothered to check, I
 was certain she would find Dr. John Byers, MD listed there in the
 data base for the Virginia Dept. of Professional Regulation. 

Langly made a perfect ambulance attendant, but Frohike worried
 me. The hour we was with us, though, and no one objected to the
 orders, sighed by Dana Katherine Scully, as Mulder's next of kin,
 requesting his transfer to Johns Hopkins for the very delicate
 surgery to remove the tumor from his brain. 

Mulder was sleeping, or doing a damn fine imitation of it, while
 Byers, Langly and Frohike hoisted him on the gurney and threaded
 through the halls of GUMC. At least that's what they told me
 when they arrived out at the Emergency Room driveway. I had
 been cooling my heels behind the drivers seat, a baseball cap and
 dark glasses providing only minimal camouflage in case one of
 Mulder's doctors or worse yet, Diana Fowley and her crew, would
 show up. 

Just when I thought I'd die of adrenaline overload, we were on our
 way. We ditched the ambulance, and Mulder decided to let us all in
 on the fact he'd been playing possum. He thanked his three friends
 and then politely told them their services were no longer needed. 

They protested loudly, but he made it clear that their place was
 back at the apartment, where they could provide necessary 'back
 up' in the form of disguises and vital information. That seemed to
 settle them down, and we bid them goodbye. The sun was just
 peeking over the tops of nearby buildings when we got into the car
 Frohike had provided for our getaway. 

"Where to?" I asked. Just because Mulder had a plan didn't mean
 he'd let me in on it. I wondered how much of that was because he
 still couldn't trust me completely. I shoved that thought aside. 

"Scully's place. Drive around the block, take the alley down to the
 driveway. There's a door by the dumpsters. We'll be pretty sure of
 not being spotted that way." 

I couldn't help it, it struck me as odd. "You sneak into Scully's
 apartment a lot?" I asked, trying to keep my expression neutral. By
 the grin he gave me, I wasn't succeeding. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied and then turned to look
 out the window. He sighed deeply, and I couldn't tell if it was a
 sigh of relief or one of extreme pain. I couldn't think of anything to
 say to him, so I drove in silence. 

I kept my eye out for any possible surveillance. It had been a while
 since I'd felt the need to be so cautious, but Mulder seemed to be
 making a sweep of the area, as well. He nodded and we proceeded
 out of the car. 

He had her key on his ring, not that it surprised me. After all, I was
 well aware that she had his key on her ring, as well. I thought back
 to all the partners I'd had during my career and tried to remember
 one that I trusted enough to give a key to my apartment. But then,
 for quite a bit of that time, I'd been married, and you just don't
 share keys when you have a family. Still, it left me feeling just a
 little bereft. 

Mulder certainly seemed at home in the place. He headed straight
 for the kitchen, pulled out a glass orange juice jug and drank
 straight from the contents, almost draining it. "Wanna make some
 coffee?" he suggested. "I really need a shower." 

Not having a better idea at the time, I agreed. He pointed to the
 various cabinets where I would find the filters and the coffee can
 and then strolled down the hall toward the bathroom like he owned
 the place. I shook my head and went about the intricate task of
 deciphering Scully's elaborate coffee maker. 

Twenty minutes later, he returned, looking more pale. He'd
 changed into a gray tee shirt and jeans, which I could only assume
 were in Scully's bedroom. That gave me a moment's concern until
 I noticed the black bag he was holding in his hand. 

"I need your help. I'm lousy at this stuff. Good thing I'm not
 diabetic." 

I had no idea what he was talking about until he pulled out a plastic
 encased syringe and a small bottle of clear fluid. My stomach
 decided to take the opportunity to try and leap out of my mouth. 

"Mulder, what the hell is that? What are you doing?" 

He looked down at the syringe and bottle and then back up at me.
 "It's Demoral. She got the prescription when the cancer was
 getting bad. The date's still good." He chewed on his lip a
 moment, then stared out the window. 

"Is the pain that bad?" I asked quietly. I really didn't expect him to
 answer and he didn't disappoint me. "Mulder, if you expect me to
 help you on this, you have to be up front with me. After all, you're
 the one who can read minds. Not me." 

That got his attention and he almost smiled at me. He regarded the
 medicine again, finding it easier to say the words when our eyes
 weren't meeting. "It's bad. And it will get worse. I've been on
 Demoral before. It helps, I know it does. Also, I know how I react
 when I'm on it. And as a painkiller, it beats the shit out of street
 grade heroin," he said with a half hearted attempt at a chuckle. He
 waited, and I think he might have been holding his breath. 

Silently, I took the bottle from his hands. "How much?" I asked,
 after I'd unwrapped the syringe. He took the bottle and the syringe
 with shaking hands, filling the syringe and then releasing a small
 stream before handing it back. "See that marking? All the syringes
 have those marking on them. I get this much," he nodded to the
 syringe. "Four times a day. We need to time them, not closer than
 six hours apart. And I don't get one early, no matter how bad it
 gets, understand?" he asked firmly. I don't know if he was
 instructing me or himself at that point. 

"Where?" I asked. The grin on his face was priceless. 

"In the living room," he replied and walked into the next room. He
 leaned over the arm of the sofa, pulling the jeans down a few inches
 to uncover his left hip. "I don't suppose you were a medic in
 Vietnam." 

I dug around in the black bag and found an antiseptic wipe. I
 swiped the square of skin and then aimed, jabbing the needle in with
 probably more force than was necessary. Mulder jerked, but kept
 silent. I depressed the plunger and hoped I hadn't hit a nerve. 

"Sorry. Infantryman." 

When I was finished, I swiped the area with a clean wipe and he
 pulled the jeans gingerly up to his waist. "Maybe we can get you
 some oranges to practice on," he said dryly. 

Mulder wandered through the apartment, packing some items into a
 bag. "You might want to grab a bite to eat. I think Scully has a jar
 of peanut butter stashed up there somewhere," he waved toward
 the cabinets. "She's been on this yoghurt kick lately. But you
 never know what's there." 

I pulled open the bread keeper and found a loaf of eight grain
 bread. Why can't women be happy with the plain old white stuff?
 But the peanut butter was there and after some foraging, I found an
 almost empty jar of strawberry preserves in the refrigerator. I made
 up four sandwiches, two a piece and even found some foil to wrap
 them. When I turned around, Mulder was standing by the door. 

"Picnic ready?" he asked, a slow grin on his face. I shoved the two
 sandwiches at him. 

He shook his head. "Nah, you take 'em." 

"Mulder," I protested. "You have to eat." 

His eyes narrowed, and I was pretty sure his hackles were raised,
 but then suddenly he looked away. "I'm not that hungry." 

"Mulder," I started, but he put up his hand. 

"The orange juice wasn't nearly as good coming up as it was going
 down," he growled. "I'm not looking forward to peanut butter
 making a return trip." 

"You were sick?" I asked, and realize just how stupid that question
 was. 

"It's the tumor, sir. Get used to it. I'm afraid the yucky stuff is just
 gonna keep comin'. If you want to bail out, now would be a good
 time," he said, again refusing to meet my gaze. 

I glanced around the kitchen, my eyes lighting on the smallest damn
 garbage can I'd ever seen. Scully must take her garbage out every
 hour. But I grabbed it and was thankful it was empty and relatively
 clean. "Keep this up front," I told him and headed out the door. 

We got in the car, and Mulder leaned against the passenger side
 window. His face was even more pale than it had been and it was
 starting to worry me. He looked over at me and gave me a weak
 smile. 

"Relax, sir. It's the shank of the evening, as my Grandmother used
 to say. I'm just feeling the effects of the Demoral. I think I might
 need to take a nap." 

"Take a nap, then, Mulder. But first, where the hell am I supposed
 to go?" 

He cracked another grin. "Keep forgetting. This 'gift' is one way
 and non-returnable." He looked out the front windshield. "New
 Mexico. Near Farmington." Then he leaned the seat back and
 within minutes, he was sound asleep. 

He slept for almost five hours. I had stopped for gas, eaten two the
 sandwiches, gone through at least five radio stations trying to find
 one that could contend with the Blue Ridge Mountains, and was
 beginning to get tired. It had been a long night, and I hadn't slept
 at all. 

Mulder jerked awake and immediately started throwing up into the
 garbage can. There wasn't much left of the orange juice, and
 anything else that came up must have been bile from the sour look
 on his face. All I had in the car was a can of Diet Pepsi I'd picked
 up at the gas station. The look Mulder gave it made it plain that he
 was leaving it for me. He dropped his head back to the seat and
 groaned. 

"This is shit," he declared tiredly. Then, he pulled his eyes up to
 seek mine. "If you're that tired, you should pull over, get some
 sleep." 

"I'm fine," I told him. 

"Karnak knows, sir. Pull over," he said flatly. 

I wanted to argue the point, but couldn't see the use. I found an
 exit with a gas station, a Cracker Barrel and a Days Inn. In the
 shade of the back of the Cracker Barrel, I laid the seat back and fell
 immediately asleep. But it seemed like just a minute and Mulder
 was shaking my arm. 

His face was a mask of pain. He was sweating and panting and his
 eyes were red. His lip was bleeding and I wondered if he'd hit it,
 then realized he'd bit it, probably fighting the pain. 

"I'm really sorry, sir," he whispered. "I just . . . I really need . . ."
 He motioned toward the black bag, sitting in the back seat. 

"No, Mulder, I'm sorry," I hastened to tell him while glancing at
 my watch. I'd been asleep for almost three hours, which meant his
 pain killer was two hours overdue. "Why did you let me sleep that
 long?" 

He leaned heavily against the seat, his eyes clenched tightly. "You
 needed it," he rasped. 

I grabbed the bag and found the bottle I'd used earlier. Another
 syringe was in the bag, I counted 11 more. That meant we had
 three days before we ran out of syringes. Judging from the level of
 the bottle as I pulled out another dose, we had just about that much
 medicine, too. But then, hopefully by that time, Mulder would have
 made his discovery, uncovered his proof, and I could have him in a
 hospital where he could be cared for. At least that was the lie I'd
 fabricated for myself while he was sleeping earlier. 

I didn't do as good a job this time, and he cried out in pain. Maybe
 he was just a little weaker after all the vomiting. I felt guilty as hell
 as I tossed the used syringe in the little orange container with the
 biohazard symbols on it. 

"You're doing fine," he told me. "I'm just a weenie when it comes
 to needles." 

It wasn't that funny, but my exhaustion, coupled with the tension,
 was ready to snap and I ended up laughing my ass off there in the
 parking lot to the Cracker Barrel. 

"You . . . you chase mutant worms . . . headhunters . . . vampires,
 hell, Mulder, what nightmare haven't you arrested, and you're
 afraid of needles?" I demanded. "Then why the hell do you keep
 putting yourself in situations where you know you're going to be
 on the receiving end of a doctor's attention?" 

"Bad planning," he offered, and a small laugh escaped him while I
 almost fell out the door. 

I finally got control of myself, feeling like an idiot, but Mulder just
 shook his head. "Sometimes, you just gotta let loose, sir. I tell that
 to Scully all the time." He looked like he was about to say more,
 but closed his mouth and stared out the window. 

***** 

I pulled around to the gas station and went inside. Mulder followed
 slowly, and I noticed, he was swaying a little. I reached out to
 steady him but he shook his head violently. "Not yet. I can still
 make it on my own," he said sternly and I moved away. Still, I kept
 an eye on him. 

He headed back toward the bathrooms and I checked out the drink
 and food cases. I found a sandwich that didn't make me turn up my
 nose, grabbed a couple of bottles of soda and then had an
 inspiration. I found the aisle I needed, thanked heaven above for
 convenience stores and went up to the counter to make my
 purchases. 

I started to get worried about Mulder when he appeared. His shirt
 collar was damp, he'd scrubbed his face, from the looks of it. He
 had a wet piece of paper towel in his hands, and pressed it to the
 back of his neck. His stomach was still bothering him, I realized. 

I motioned him ahead of me and we got back in the car. Once
 seated, I handed him half of my purchases. 

He looked at my with a raised eyebrow that I know came from
 seven years of working with Dana Scully. "Ginger ale and saltines,
 sir?" he asked. "I'm not pregnant," he added, then a look of
 complete surprise crossed his face, followed by a deep sorrow. 

"Sir, I had no idea. I'm sorry, really." He was obviously distressed
 at the thoughts he'd picked up from my mind. 

It angered me for a moment. "Mulder, can't you just turn it off?" I
 demanded. 

He was more than contrite. If he'd had a sword, I had no doubt he
 would have committed sepaku right in front of me. "I wish I could,
 sir. I'm trying, really." 

That brought me back to reality and my anger flew out the window.
 I knew he didn't want to read other people's minds. Mulder is
 usually the most paranoid person on the face of the earth. I was
 certain that reading other people's private thoughts was painful
 enough, without the physical agony he was going through. 

I was quiet for a while, but the thoughts kept haunting me. I guess
 it I got feeling that at least I had some control over what Mulder
 knew if I said the thoughts out loud. Before I knew it, I was
 talking again. 

"I had just put together the crib when she lost the first one," I told
 him. I remember the day, the time, I even remember the shirt I was
 wearing while I put up the damn crib. The instructions were in
 German and Japanese and we laughed till the tears were streaming
 down our faces. I was tightening the last screw in the rail when she
 had the first twinge. 

"I wanted to toss out the crib before I brought her home from the
 hospital, but Sharon wouldn't let me. She kept saying that next
 time, it would work." 

"But it didn't," Mulder said, and I shot him a sidelong glance. I
 hadn't even thought that far ahead from that first time. "I'm just
 guessing, sir. I haven't gotten precognitive." 

I could only nod. "We lost four, before we finally gave up." 

Mulder only nodded, saying nothing. We drove in silence for a
 while, I kept wondering what he was thinking. Was he blaming me,
 as I had blamed myself. That damned doctor who sat in that plush
 office and told us that I'd probably been exposed to Agent Orange
 and didn't even know it. How dare he . . . 

"When Scully lost Emily, I didn't know what to do. I mean, she
 wasn't my child. Hell, she was just Scully's child biologically.
 She'd never carried her, never even seen her before that week. But
 Scully was so attached so quickly. She was so devastated when
 Emily was dying and she wouldn't let me do anything. How could
 I help her when she wouldn't even talk to me about it?" 

"Sharon never wanted to talk about it, either. Just said it wasn't
 meant to be. But I would see her eyes, every time we'd pass a
 couple with kids. Baby carriages were the worst." 

"Oh, yeah. I dread cases that involve kids. That case last winter,
 the mothers having the babies removed while they slept. I almost
 lost it when we found those tiny bodies in the graves. I still don't
 know how Scully managed that. But she wouldn't leave. I wanted
 her to, but if I'd suggested it, she would have shot me again." 

We both allowed ourselves a little chuckle at that one. 

"When I'm gone, I'm hoping Scully will start dating. Find a nice
 guy, settle down. She could still adopt. She's young enough." 

I overcame the urge to slam on the brakes, which was a good thing
 since I was going 73 miles an hour. I had to be satisfied with
 simply glaring at the man sitting next to me. How anyone so
 damned smart could be so damned dumb . . . 

"Mulder, after seven years, do you honestly think Scully wants that
 kind of life?" 

He refused to meet my glare. He kept staring out the windshield.
 "It's the life she deserves. Not running all over the damned planet.
 Not pulling my sorry ass out of the fire. She deserves a little
 happiness." 

"Look, I'm not expert on the subject, but from what I know of
 Scully, she isn't _unhappy_ with her life now," I told him. 

He turned a look on me that screamed impatience. "Are you nuts?"
 he demanded. "Do you honestly think she's happy? I mean, we're
 constantly on the run, she's been violated in every possible way, she
 was almost killed, hell, I've lost count how many times, and I'm the
 biggest pain in the ass in the world . . ." He laughed, but there
 wasn't anything funny. "And they call _me_ crazy!" 

"Mulder, she's had every opportunity to walk out if she wanted to.
 Do you think so little of her that you think she'd stay if she really
 didn't want to?" 

"She'll be better off without me. She just doesn't see that yet." 

I was angry again, and this time, I wasn't afraid to show it. "You
 sanctimonious son of a bitch," I yelled at him. "Who are you to
 decide what's best for her?" I shut up before I said more and
 turned my attention to the road. 

Or so I thought. "You can just put that idea right out of your
 head," he said threateningly. 

I knew it was senseless, but I played dumb. "I don't know what
 you're talking about," I told him. 

He glared at me, this time. "Please. Don't insult me." 

"Mulder," I tried to explain, but he cut me off. 

"NO! No, damn it! No more deals with the devil! Don't you see?
 If I can find the evidence I know is there, it doesn't matter if I die.
 It will mean something. And not only that, I'm important to their
 little project," he sneered. "If we find the evidence, even if I die,
 we still win. And they lose. Twice." 

I turned to stare at him so long I almost drove the car into the
 median. "What are you talking about?" 

He met my eyes defiantly. "They need me. It's the only reason I'm
 still alive. And now they need Scully, too, because they know if
 they kill her, I'll kill myself. But you see, if I die, it ends. They
 never bargained on me seeing it through. They never considered
 that Scully might not be here to make the deal, that you might not
 make the deal. Diana let me see that. They are counting on one of
 us making the deal to save me. But if we don't deal, their plan fails.
 And we win." 

"You're committing suicide, just to foil their plan?" I couldn't
 believe what he was saying. It was beyond my wildest imagination.
 It was also incredibly stupid. 

"Actually, since I had nothing to do with this tumor, I'd have to
 classify this as murder, sir. But it's a pretty moot point once I'm
 dead. At least as far as I'm concerned." 

"That's not funny, Mulder! I can't let you do this!" 

He put his hand on the door handle. We were traveling down an
 interstate, cars zipping past us. I looked down at the speedometer
 and realized I was doing 77 miles per hour. "If you even think of
 making a deal, I'll know," he told me, his words slow and very
 determined. "And I'll put an end to this before you can even slow
 down the car." 

I looked over at him. I've never seen the man look so deadly
 serious. He would do it. He would open the car door and jump
 out. He'd have been dead the minute he hit the pavement. 

I had to get control. I had to talk him off this ledge. But first, I
 had to clear my mind of all thoughts of saving his sorcery ass. It
 wasn't that hard. At that moment, killing him myself looked
 damned good. But it still took a few minutes of silence, me
 keeping the car steady and my speed with traffic, Mulder with a
 death grip on that damnable handle. 

I think we both blinked at the same time. But I spoke first. 

"All right. All right, already. No deals. No last ditch efforts to
 save your life." It was easy to say the words, but I knew that he
 could read my thoughts. I had to mean them. I forced myself to
 mean them. I was sentencing him to death. 

He leaned against the car seat again, his hand falling limp, like a
 dish rag, into his lap. Our little confrontation had taken a lot out of
 him. "At the next gas stop, I need to get writing paper. And some
 envelopes." 

I almost made a smart remark, like who was he gonna write to, see
 if he could still get a spot on Jeopardy, but I kept my mouth shut.
 It had the same effect, he flashed me a grin. 

"I'd have walked away with two cameros if I could just get on the
 show," he said with a smile that made him look ten years younger.
 Then he promptly fell asleep. 

We stopped for gas about an hour later. He was still asleep, so I
 got a pad of writing paper, the kind with lines on it that's not really
 a full sheet, and a box of small envelopes. I thought about picking
 up some stamps from one of the machines, but I realized he
 probably wouldn't be mailing any of them. I'd probably get to
 deliver the damned things in person. It was not a project I was
 looking forward to doing. 

When I got back to the car, more ginger ale and some coffee and a
 bear claw for me, he was thrashing around in his sleep. After a
 moment, I figured out it wasn't normal thrashing. He was having a
 seizure. 

I've seen seizures before, and compared to those, this one was
 pretty mild. He didn't lose control of bodily functions, or he was
 too dehydrated for that to be a problem. I held him with my hand
 tucked under his jaw so he couldn't bite his tongue or swallow it.
 It was over pretty quick. I was just glad I'd come out in time. 

When he came out of it, he was groggy as hell. His speech was
 slurred and raspy. It took him two times to get me to understand
 that the word he was trying for was 'shot'. The sh just didn't want
 to come off his tongue. I told him I'd get out the black bag. But
 before I did, I checked my watch. It had only been five hours and
 15 minutes since the last shot. 

Forty five minutes. That wasn't that much. But he'd been adamant
 back at Scully's apartment. I wasn't to give him the stuff too early,
 no matter how much he begged. I felt like a heel, but I put the bag
 back in the back seat. 

"Sorry, Mulder. You still have another forty-five minutes before I
 can give you another shot. Just hang on till then. The minute time
 is up, I'll pull off and stab you again, I promise." 

I thought he would protest, but he just gave me a resigned look and
 leaned back against the seat. He rubbed his eyes once or twice. I
 couldn't tell if it was the headache or something else. I almost
 pulled over, but he dug around and found the sack from the
 convenience store. 

"You got the paper. Thanks," he told me and opened the tablet.
 He found one of the two pens and then stared out the window. In a
 moment, he'd begun writing. 

The scratching was almost a relief. It sounded so normal. The
 noise a pen makes as it flows across the paper. An every day
 sound. He would stop occasionally, look out the windshield.
 Gather his thoughts and then write them down. I wondered what in
 the world he was writing. 

Then, it hit me. My God, how could I have been so stupid. He was
 writing his will, or something close to it. All agents are expected to
 have a will, so that families aren't left hanging at a moment of grief.
 Usually, they're pretty general, dealing with pensions and life
 insurance policies. Most agents take care of the more personal
 matters on their own. 

Mulder was taking care of his affairs. I saw him fill two pages with
 tight, blocky letters. He signed it with a flourish and then carefully
 tore off the pages, folded them in thirds and tucked them into one
 of the envelopes. He did another letter, shorter, but it must have
 been harder to write because he stopped more frequently and had to
 take several deep breaths before he could start writing again. After
 a while, that letter was placed in an envelope and sealed, the name
 neatly printed on the outside. 

The third letter was even shorter, but went quickly. For some
 reason only known to Mulder, he was grinning broadly throughout
 the writing process, as if it were some tremendously funny joke. As
 he started the last line, he grew serious, and almost seemed to
 choke up a bit. It followed the previous two into an envelop and
 was set aside. 

He'd finished those three letters in a matter of 30 minutes. I
 figured 15 minutes, either way, wasn't 'too early' and looked for an
 exit. We were in Tennessee already, and an exit wasn't readily
 available, so by the time we did pull off, his forty-five minute wait
 was over. 

This time, the injection went much easier. Either I was getting
 better or Mulder was getting used to being punctured, but he didn't
 let out a peep. I had pulled into another gas station, but because of
 the hour, which was close to dinner time, the place was pretty busy. 

"Wanta come in, see if there's something you can eat? You've
 managed to keep the ginger ale down," I offered. 

He was eyeing the people passing outside our car with severe
 apprehension. "Nah, that's all right. I'm fine." He looked up at
 me and grinned like bobcat. "Relatively speaking, of course." 

I shook my head and started to get out, but remembered how I'd
 found him the last time. He noticed my hesitancy. 

"Really, sir. Go ahead. I'll be all right. Even if not, there's not
 much you can do about it," he said sadly. 

It was starting to get on my nerves. Here I was, risking not only
 my career, but my life, and the damned man insisted on acting like
 we were on a Bureau case. It was time to put my foot down. 

"Mulder, if you expect me to drive you all through the night to
 New Mexico, will you do me a favor and drop the 'sir' shit? It's
 getting long in the tooth," I growled, hoping I didn't sound too
 offended, even though I felt that way. 

He forced a smile, almost embarrassed, from the looks of it. "So
 what _do_ you want me to call you, s-s-Skinner?" he glossed over
 his mistake. 

I couldn't help but grin at him. "Skinner works. Walt works. Hell,
 my family always called me Skipper or Skip, so that would work,
 too." 

"The old 'you can call me Jay' bit, huh . . . Skip?" he asked, a
 mischievous smirk on his face. 

"Don't wear it out," I shot back, but somehow, the joking made me
 feel a little better. 

***** 

I scoured the aisles, looking for something he could eat. I found a
 little cup of noodles, the kind my assistant eats when she's busy and
 stays in for lunch. I figured it wouldn't hurt. There was a
 microwave, so I heated it up. This time, I got a two liter bottle of
 ginger ale and a sports bottle with a Budwiser ad on the side. I got
 a sandwich and chips for me, and the largest coffee they sold. We
 still had over half the journey and the night was fast upon us. 

When I got out to the car, juggling all my items, Mulder had a
 strange expression on his face. He had the tablet on his knees, the
 pen was in his mouth and he was rubbing his right hand with his
 left. He almost didn't notice I was there, and that worried me more
 than his expression. 

"I got you some soup, and some more pop. What's the matter?"
 There seemed little reason to beat around the bush. 

He kept staring at his hand, like it wasn't his own. "My hand is
 numb," he said flatly. 

"Your whole arm or just the hand?" I don't know why that even
 mattered, but some part of me was trying very hard to trivialities his
 problem. If his hand had just fallen asleep, from being cramped
 from writing or being held in one position, that was something I
 could handle. If this was another manifestation of the tumor . . . 

"My forearm. All the way up to the elbow. It started in my fingers
 and moved up." 

Suddenly, another thought struck me. "You said your right arm?
 Not your left?" 

Mulder smirked for a split second. "I'm not lucky enough to have a
 heart attack, Skip." He grew more serious, more concerned. "I
 think the tumor is pressing on my brain." He dropped his eyes to
 the half finished page. "Damn. I need to finish this." While I still
 can, I knew he was thinking. 

I sat there for a moment trying to decide. As his supervisor, I had a
 working relationship with this man. As a friend, I had a more
 tenuous relationship. We shared some very comment elements.
 We admired one another. I thought we trusted one another, until I
 betrayed that trust. But my next words surprised even me. 

"Can I help you finish it? You dictate, I write?" 

He chewed on his lip and wouldn't meet my eyes. "It's to Scully,"
 he said simply. 

"I promise to immediately forget anything I hear," I told him. It
 was pretty lame, but he seemed to appreciate the effort. He offered
 me the tablet and pen with his left hand. 

I glanced down at the page. He hadn't gotten very far. "Dear
 Scully" but he'd scratched that out. 

"Maybe it would be easier if I just talked," he said quietly. He
 focused out the window, staring at the Smoky Mountains,
 shimmering in the last rays of the sunset. He took a deep breath
 and blew it out slowly. When he started, he was almost whispering,
 it was hard to hear him. 

"Scully. I love you. But I should tell you that Skinner just popped
 my ass full of De moral, so I guess you can get by with thinking I'm
 drugged again." He smiled to himself at his own joke. I was glad I
 was a fast writer, I just hoped it would turn out legible. 

"This isn't my handwriting, as Skip will explain. I just wanted to
 get some stuff down, in case I . . ." He stumbled and chewed on his
 lip. After a minute, he took another breath and started again. "In
 case I'm not able to speak when you get back." 

"This isn't a will. I made Byers the executor of my 'estate' as it is,
 so you're off the hook. This is just to clear up a few things. I'm
 leaving my Mom all of my Dad's money and the two houses, but
 I'd really appreciate it if you could find the time to check on her
 now and again. I know you two haven't always met under the best
 circumstances, but Scully, I can't tell you the number of times she's
 told me I'm an idiot for not asking you to marry me. She likes you
 a lot. She says you keep me sane. She's right." 

"I'm leaving the trust from my Mulder grandparents to the
 Gunman, but a condition is that you are now a member of their
 'board of directors'. Don't let Frohike use the money to open an
 adult video store, even if he does it in my honor, OK? I don't think
 they'll have that many meetings, but you might be prepared to be
 absent as much as possible, just in case." 

"The money from my Mom's parents, Grands and Grams Harris,
 I'm leaving to you. You aren't quite a millionaire, Scully, but let it
 sit a couple of years and you will be. You always wondered where
 I got the money for my suits, well, now it's yours. Now, for the
 conditions." 

"I want you to go be a doctor, Scully. I mean it. Quit the FBI, quit
 the conspiracy shit and the lies and betrayal. Find a nice guy, settle
 down. End of story. No. Beginning. Beginning of story. I want
 to look up from under all that dirt and see that you're having a
 good life, Scully. For me, do that for me." 

I had to stop, I got something in my eye. He waited for me. He
 reached over and took the pad. "I can handle the rest." 

I know I should have shielded my eyes. I know I should have
 looked out the window, stared out at the mountains, slowly being
 blanketed with night. 

I didn't. 

It was agonizing to watch him hold the pen in his left hand and
 slowly scrawl across the page. 

"I love you, Scully. Forever and always. That much, you have to
 believe. M." 

He turned his head, but not before I saw the tear streaking down his
 face. I was wiping at that pesky speck in my own eye as I took the
 tablet from his limp fingers and cautiously tore off the page. I
 folded it with the reverence it deserved, and enclosed it in the
 envelop, sealing it shut. 

In a heartbeat, we were on the road again. 

"She won't, you know," I said quietly, after we'd gone about thirty
 miles. "Quit, that is." 

"That's your job. Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid," he
 said with a sigh and rubbed at his eyes with his left hand. I almost
 asked if the right was still numb, but it seemed like a dumb
 question. 

But then, his request of me finally sunk into my thick skull and it
 struck me as damned funny. "You honestly think I can keep her in
 line? What? You're leaving me a magic wand or something?" 

That got a chuckle out of him. "I thought about getting a whip and
 chair once, but then I knew I could never fall asleep," he snorted. 

"Look, she loves you and she shot you. There's no way in hell I
 can keep her from killing me where I stand if I get in her way," I
 told him casually. His head whipped around and he stared at me. 

It suddenly occurred to me. He didn't know. That was impossible,
 the whole world could see it. But he really didn't know. "Mulder,
 just how long have you had this tumor," I blustered out before I
 gave it any real thought. 

He shook his head. "No, it's not like that. Scully cares about me, I
 know that. I'd have to be an idiot to not know that she's a caring
 person. But I'm a stray cat to her. A mutt found digging in a
 dumpster that you take in and feed for a night. She doesn't love
 me," he said evenly. 

He was starting to get me angry. How could the man be so blind?
 "Well, what do you call it when the 'stray cat' doesn't show up for
 it's daily bowl of milk, and the woman almost loses her job because
 she goes crazy trying to find it?" 

He gave me a totally exasperated look and continued to shake his
 head. "She's my partner. Watching my back is in her job
 description. She takes her work very seriously," he said through his
 clenched jaw. 

I wanted to smack him, right there in the car. Haul off and give him
 a good right hook, right to that stubborn jaw. "Oh, especially when
 you run off, on your own time, without authorization, to find a
 missing luxury liner in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle," I
 snapped. I was too wound up to stop myself. It just kept pouring
 out of my mouth. 

"Did you know that in his 'official report'," I sneered, "Agent
 Spender accused Agent Scully of threatening to 'kill him' if he
 didn't do as she requested?" 

That got a laugh out of him, which only fueled my anger. 

"She impersonated Agent Fowley, too," I said just to see his
 reaction. I wasn't disappointed. He looked dumbfounded. 

"Did you know that it took me four hours and turning in a hell of a
 lot of favors with the Director's office to keep her from being
 suspended, without pay, because she left work without notice to
 anyone and was reportedly seen, quote, hauling ass in the parking
 garage and jumping into a beat up Volkswagen Bus, which then
 peeled out into morning traffic on Pennsylvania Avenue, end
 quote," I said. At his cocked eyebrow, I relented. "That was an
 eyewitness report taken by one of our security guards. The bus
 almost ran down a woman and her 15 year old son, visiting the
 nation's Capitol." 

He was finding way too much humor in the situation. I had to bring
 it back to the topic under discussion. "Mulder, she was a woman
 possessed that morning. And I couldn't do much to help her.
 Turning her away was the hardest thing I've ever done, to that
 point," I added, for my own clarification. "But when I was able to
 find the information she needed, through unofficial channels, and I
 told her in the elevator where she could begin her search . . ." I
 stopped. I couldn't help thinking I was about to put my foot square
 in the jaws of a bear trap, but I had to make the lout see reason. 

"She kissed me." 

There, it was done. I'd said it. Let the chips fall where they may. 

He blinked. His face lost all expression and he just blinked at me. I
 wondered if it could possibly be some sort of seizure, like petit mal
 or something. 

"Mulder?" I prompted. 

"You're lying," he said calmly, and then turned to look out the
 window into the night. The stars were out, but I would bet my last
 dollar that wasn't what he was seeing. His right fist was clenching
 and unclenching, and with his face turned, I could see the muscles
 of his jaw tight and strained in the light of the dashboard. 

"To what purpose?" I demanded. "To make you jealous? She
 wasn't kissing me, you damned fool, she was kissing me because
 I'd just helped her save you!" 

"She didn't kiss you. You imagined it." He took in a lot of air,
 breathing slowly through his nostrils. He was mad, madder than I
 think I've seen him and I've seen Mulder mad plenty of times. I
 had really struck a nerve. But I didn't think it was the right one. 

"All right, Agent Mulder. You decide. I entered the elevator, the
 woman was standing there looking absolutely desolate. I handed
 her a slip of paper with the exact coordinates of the last sighting of
 your little boat that you'd rented that morning. Her eyes lit up like
 the sky over the Washington Monument on the Fourth of July and
 before I knew what was happening, she'd grabbed my ears, pulled
 me down and kissed me square on the lips. Then the doors opened
 and she ran out. I still have the handkerchief with the lipstick stain
 on it, if you'd care to have it analyzed," I added. It was silly, but I
 still couldn't bring myself to wash the damned thing. 

"She's never kissed me," he whispered. "Well, except once, sort of
 but that was a disaster." 

"So?" I countered. "Sharon and I kissed each other every morning
 and every night for the last two years before she asked for the
 divorce. It meant nothing. At least nothing like the 'almost kisses'
 we gave each other when we first met." 

"She kissed you," he said, and I knew he wasn't referring to Sharon. 

"No, Mulder. She kissed you. But she's afraid to do it in person." 

He closed his eyes. "Afraid of what would happen to her if we got
 involved," he said with a deep, soul-wrenching sigh. 

"No," I shook my head. For a psychologist, it was good thing he
 decided on a career in the government. He couldn't see past his
 nose on this one. "No, I think she's afraid _of_ herself, not for
 herself. She's afraid of losing herself, or something. But whatever
 it is, you two were absolute idiots for not figuring it out and doing
 something about it." 

"Well, it's too late now," he said, trying to close off the discussion. 

"She won't let it end with your death. You're really the dumbest
 jack ass I've ever met if you think she's just going to dump your
 body in a hole in the ground and walk away. Regardless of what
 you write to her in a 'last kiss letter'." 

He turned his head, his jaw was stiffer, if that was possible. His
 molars had to been creaking under the pressure. 

"She's going to try and avenge you, you know that. And she'll
 likely end up dead while doing it." 

I'd pushed too hard. I didn't see it coming. I didn't expect it
 because I'd never been able to break the man before, I thought he
 was invincible. 

He broke down into sobs. 

I wanted to stop the car, but on the interstate, there wasn't any
 place to pull off. Besides, he didn't want my interference at that
 point. I'd done enough damage, I could see that. And nothing I
 could say would end his pain. Because in that moment, Fox Mulder
 learned the truth. Maybe not the truth he thought he'd been
 searching all his life. Not the truth about his sister, not the truth of
 a world wide conspiracy that even I still couldn't fathom. No, he
 learned the truth of his own folly. How he was about to waste not
 just his life, but another life he held more dear than his own. What
 was worse, there was nothing to be done about it. The die was
 cast. 

He cried himself to sleep, hugging his right arm tightly against his
 chest. For several miles, I had to keep wiping my eyes. Exhaustion
 was making them blurry. 

***** 

We didn't talk much after that. I found one country radio station
 after another. I made more 'pit stops'. He would accompany me
 into the stores only when they were deserted. I could tell he was
 wearing down. Just outside of the New Mexico border, we
 stopped for gas and when he got out of the car, he collapsed to the
 ground in pain. It was no longer located just in his head, but
 seemed to afflict other parts of his body randomly. 

I got him back in his seat and his eyes searched mine. He was
 terrified. Terrified that he might not make it long enough to finish
 the quest. Even though it was early, almost two hours before the
 next dose was due, I gave him a shot. He didn't object, seemed to
 take it stoically. I pumped the gas, paid for it and jumped back into
 the car. When I got back on the road, I ignored the posted speed
 limit. Mulder slept so hard, I was afraid he'd died in his sleep. I
 would reach over every once in a while and check the pulse at his
 neck, just to make sure I wasn't alone. 

I used to be able to stay awake for days at a time. At the age of 18,
 I would walk the jungles of Southeast Asia, patrolling, for 20 hours
 out of 24. I would eat and drink the other 4, but sleep was never
 even a consideration. Not with the VC hiding in the trees, just
 around the next bush, everywhere around us. 

But by the time we got to the western side of New Mexico,
 approaching Farmington, I felt like one of the walking dead. I'd
 convinced myself that we were dead, all alone in the desert, two
 wraiths who hadn't figured out that the end of the world had come
 and everyone else had gone off planet. We were all that was left of
 humanity. 

Mulder was having dreams, I could tell. Sometimes he would laugh
 in his sleep, other times I'd catch tears streaming down his face. I
 heard him breath Scully's name a hundred times if I heard it once.
 Sometimes fearfully, sometimes reverently. More often than not,
 pleading, reaching out for her. When I would hear his voice take
 on that sound of a small child, I cursed her for not being there with
 him. For running off to God knew where and leaving this vigil to
 me. I cursed her loud and long and then I would stop and curse my
 self. I'm a selfish bastard, and all I wanted at that moment was to
 wake up from the nightmare and find myself in my own bed,
 tangled in my own sheets. But I would blink, and the road would
 still be before me, the rocks and the moonlight on either side. 

Exactly thirty-seven hours from the start of our journey, we pulled
 up before a weather-beaten one story bungalow in the middle of
 a line of like-wise dejected houses. Albert Holsteen was standing
 on the top step of the stairs, waiting. 

I think someone helped us out of the car. The next thing I knew,
 there was sunlight streaming around a pulled down shade. I was
 covered with a Navajo blanket and the smell of coffee was strong.
 The pressure in my bladder was stronger though, and I stumbled off
 the sofa which had been my bed and searched for life or a
 bathroom, which ever presented itself first. 

"Down the hall. At the end to the left." It was Albert, looking no
 different than he had three years before, standing in my office with a
 triumphant look on his face. I nodded and went about my business,
 then returned to find a cup of coffee waiting for me in the kitchen. 

"Yetahay, FBI," he said with a smile and pushed the sugar bowl
 closer to me. 

"I never thought I'd find you," I told him plainly. 

"The Wise Ones led you," he answered simply, then returned to the
 stove. "How do you like your eggs?" 

I had to laugh, it was just too damn normal. I was sitting in the
 kitchen of a Native American man who had been a code talker in
 the war, while he casually mentioned 'ghosts' of his ancestors and
 made me eggs over easy. It was too much after the ride I'd just
 had. The thought hit me like a brick. 

"Mulder! Where is he?" 

Albert scooped the eggs up onto a plate and placed them before
 me. "He and Eric were up at dawn. They went out to the quarry,
 where the train car is. He took a shovel. That's all I know." He
 sat down across from me. 

I ignored the eggs and started to stand, but he pushed me back
 down into the chair. For an old man, he had an iron grip. 

"This is for the Fox to do, you have served him well. Now, we
 must wait." 

"He's sick. He has a brain tumor. He's been in great pain, he has
 seizures and his arms and legs go numb. He needs to be in a
 hospital!" I told him. 

Albert shook his head, eyes closed. "Great strength can often come
 when we need it most. He is pushed by his need to find what he
 seeks. When it is found, his strength will leave. That is when he'll
 need to be taken to the hospital." 

"What? No Indian Shaman this time?" I growled. I was angry he'd
 left, I was angry he refused to eat and rest and I was just plain tired
 of the whole mess. I hated myself for taking it out on Albert. 

He didn't seem offended. "His sickness is not of this world. No
 one can save him except those who did this to him. But she won't
 see it that way. She'll want him to go to one of the hospitals, she'll
 try to save him." He looked at me for a moment. I could almost
 see the gears turning in his brain. 

"She will come soon. She's already looking for him." 

"I'm sure she'll find him. She always seems to," I replied dryly.
 "Where did he go again? I'd like to go out there, in case he needs
 help." 

Albert eyed me up and down. "It is not your path. Eric will make
 sure he comes back safely. But for now, you must wait." 

That irked me to no end, but I couldn't think of any way to talk the
 old man into telling me how to find Mulder. 

I discovered that there is absolutely nothing on daytime television
 when you can't tune on CNN. Albert sat and watched a couple of
 the talk shows, laughing himself through Rosie and then quickly
 replacing Jerry Springer with 'The Price is Right'. I was slowly
 going out of my mind with worry. 

At the point where I was figuring out a way to climb out the
 window, the phone rang. 

It was one of those times when I didn't need to answer it, I knew
 who was on the other end. Albert knew it too, and looked at me,
 as if expecting me to answer his phone. Nope, nada, no way in hell. 

The old man slowly picked up the receiver and didn't say a word.
 He grunted once and then handed the phone to me. Coward. 

"I said, I want to know where Mulder is _immediately_ or I'm
 sending out the State Troopers _and_ calling the Bureau of Indian
 Affairs!" 

I had to hold the phone out a bit to keep my eardrum from taking a
 beating. 

"Agent Scully, this is Assistant Director Skinner," I said calmly,
 when I could get a word in edgewise. 

"Sir." She pulled up short. I could almost see her putting on the
 stops. "Sir, what in the hell are you doing out there? And where is
 Mulder? I thought the Gunmen . . ." 

"They were working with me," I told her, deciding to put all the
 cards on the table. Less chance of gunfire, especially since she was
 a couple thousand miles away. 

"_You_ broke Mulder out of Georgetown? Why, sir?" 

"Because he asked me to," I replied. 

"Sir, do you really think that's wise? I mean, he was having these
 episodes." Her feathers were ruffled, all right, but she was at least
 starting to calm down a little. 

I had a decision to make. Tell her about the tumor, when she was
 hours away and could do nothing about it, or wait until she arrived
 and let it be on my head. I did what I thought was the honorable
 thing. I decided to wait. "Scully, he needed to do something. As
 soon as he's done, he'll go wherever you want. I'm sure of it." 

"I'm coming out. It will take me the better part of the afternoon,
 but I'll be there before dinner. Please, sir, sit on him. Don't let him
 take off again until I get there." 

"Affirmative, Agent Scully. Just hurry." 

We ate lunch, and sat. Albert told me stories of working as a code
 talker. How some of the Naval higher ups were never easy with the
 use of Navajo, because they couldn't read it themselves. There
 were a handful who secretly thought Albert and those like him were
 working with the Japanese, and watched over every move the
 Native Americans made, even when they were on leave. I wasn't
 surprised. The military tends to be a paranoid, bigoted bunch. I
 knew that, I'd lived through it. 

By midafternoon, my worry got the best of me. I started out the
 door. I was a damned decent FBI field agent in my day, and a
 damned good AD. If I couldn't find one sick agent in the middle of
 a damn rock quarry, . . . I was gonna know why! 

Albert stepped in front of me and shook his head. "He's fine. If he
 wasn't, Eric would have returned with him. Give him the time he
 needs. He doesn't have much time left." 

I think it was at that moment that it finally all sunk in. I had been
 saying the words all along, but the implications hadn't made it to
 my mind, or my heart. Fox Mulder, someone I had come to
 admire, someone I trusted with my very life, someone I had secretly
 helped as much as I could throughout his career and who had
 helped me many times, was going to die. And die soon, most likely
 in the next few days. 

The overpowering need to fight or flee took hold of me. It wasn't
 a rage, so much as a fear. I had to stop this charade, in anyway I
 could. I just didn't know what to do. 

"Where is he?" 

We both looked up, Albert and I, startled by the other voice in the
 room. Scully hadn't even bothered to knock, she'd just walked in.
 It took me by surprise so much that I had to do a double take to
 make sure it was Scully. 

She looked exhausted. She was wearing a wrinkled-beyond-hope
 of saving tan suit. It wasn't her style, it hung to her ankles and
 made her look almost elfin. A wrinkled elf. In spite of everything,
 I smiled. 

"I said, where is he?" she demanded. OK, an wrinkled elf with a
 temper. I remembered, she was probably smart enough to take her
 gun with her wherever she went. Not a good idea to piss her off
 too much. 

"He and Eric went to the quarry," I told her. 

"By themselves?" she shouted. "Sir, why didn't you go with
 them?" 

Albert intervened on my behalf. "Your partner didn't want him to
 go. He left him here to sleep. He took Eric, in case he needed
 help." 

"I'm going out to find him," she told us both and spun on her heels
 to head out the door again. Albert caught her arm and held firm. 

"They are on their way back. You're needed here, now." 

"Maybe I better call an ambulance," I said out loud. I had to
 something, the waiting and not knowing were going to kill me. 

Albert shook his head. "It will take them too long to get here. We
 can use your car. It will be faster." 

"We need to be faster?" I asked. I wondered how he knew so
 much, was he feeling all these things, having visions? Mulder
 would know. Mulder would want to know. 

Albert had been considering my question, turning it over in his head
 from the look on his face. Or maybe just seeking the answer there.
 "Faster would be best. He doesn't have much time." 

The surprised look on Scully's face reminded me that she was still
 somewhat out of the loop. I sucked in as much air as I could and
 met her questioning eyes. 

"Two nights ago, I got a call from the hospital. Once Mulder had
 finally calmed down, when the drugs took effect, they were able to
 do some of the diagnostic tests." 

"What tests? And why wasn't I consulted?" she interrupted. I
 could see the heat coming out of her eyes. But I could also see the
 fear. 

"Scully, you weren't answering your phone. I wasn't privy to
 where you were, remember?" I didn't want to sound sarcastic, but
 damn it, she'd left. Maybe it had been because he asked her to, but
 she was no where to be found when he needed her. It was time she
 faced that fact. 

"I remember," she said evenly. "I remember that I was the only one
 he could trust to do what needed to be done," she volleyed back,
 and I took the hit, right in the gut. She was right, of course.
 Mulder had no reason to trust me to get him out of the hospital and
 drive him across the country. Except I was the only one left. Not
 exactly bell ringing praise, by any standard. 

"The tests, sir. What about the tests?" 

"I don't know what it was. It looked like an x-ray, but I could see
 soft tissue." 

"It was a PET or a CT scan. Color?" I shook my head and she
 nodded. "CT then. So, what did it show?" She was playing the
 skeptic, not believing what I was about to say before it was even
 out of my mouth. My God, how had Mulder put up with that shit
 all those years? 

"A tumor, Scully. There was a mass in the brain. Toward the
 middle, sort of in the front. Big. Big enough to cause major
 problems." 

She was shaking her head again. "That's ridiculous, sir. If he had a
 tumor, there'd be symptoms. He'd be experiencing painful
 headaches, he'd have seizures, numbness in his extremities . . ." 

"You forgot the mood swings and the vomiting," I said evenly.
 The muscles in my neck felt tighter than the strings on a cheap
 guitar. I could see what affect my words had on her. She crumbled
 before my eyes. 

"That's . . . it's not . . . it would take too long for a tumor of that
 size . . ." 

"Scully. Mulder didn't just 'grow a tumor'. It was _grown_ in
 him. By the same men who have accomplished other medical
 miracles that we've both been witnesses to." 

Tears were filling her eyes and she turned away to wipe at them
 angrily. "Then why in the hell did you let him go out into the desert
 with a kid?" she demanded with fury. 

"Because it was where he needed to go," Albert interjected. I'd
 almost forgotten that the old man was still in the room. He looked
 to us both and then walked to the door, opening it. "They're
 back," he announced. 

***** 

A beat up red Ford pickup, kicking up dust in the late afternoon
 sunlight, tore down the road and skidded to a stop in front of the
 house. Eric was out of the door in a flash, running to the passenger
 side. "We need help! Hurry!" 

Scully beat me by a good five seconds. She had the door open and
 was leaning in the cab of the truck, checking Mulder over. He
 seemed confused, from what I could see through the windshield. I
 overheard a little of the conversation. 

"What did you find?" he asked her, but he wasn't looking at her.
 His gaze was steady, but just past her ear, like he was watching her
 back. 

"I found something big, Mulder. But what the hell were you
 thinking? We have to get you to the hospital." 

He shook his head. "Don't bother, Scully. Save the tax payers
 some money," he said and closed his eyes with a sigh. 

"Mulder! Mulder, wake up!" She slapped him hard across the
 cheek and he pulled his eyelids apart. He still wasn't looking at her. 

"They're right, you know, Scully. Your other senses do try to
 compensate. You smell really weird right now. Is that . . . dried
 kelp?" 

Scully turned to Eric, determined to get a straight answer. "What's
 he talking about?" 

Eric shrugged, then dropped his eyes to the rock he was toeing with
 his sneakers. "When we got out there, right as we were going
 down into the quarry, he tripped. When I got him upright, he
 couldn't see anymore." 

"He couldn't see?" she repeated. It dawned on me before it
 dawned on her. I stepped forward, getting between them, and
 waved my hand less than ten inches from his face. Mulder didn't
 even blink. 

"He's blind, Scully," I said softly. It was stupid, but I almost didn't
 want him to hear me. 

"As a bat," Mulder agreed. He reached out and grabbed at the air
 for a moment, before her hand came up to grasp his. "Just take me
 home, Scully. I don't want to die in a hospital. Just take me
 home." 

"You aren't going to die, Mulder," she declared through clenched
 teeth. "Not if I have anything to say about it." She looked over to
 the car we'd come in. "Is there gas in that thing?" 

I nodded, knowing what she was thinking, but knowing also that it
 was futile. "Yeah, I filled up about 20 miles from here." 

"Where's the nearest hospital?" she asked Albert. The old man was
 coming down the steps of the house, motioning the boy back inside. 

"I'll show you. I think it would be best if you drove," he said to me
 and I nodded. Scully would be needed in the back with Mulder. I
 wondered whether it was my desire that she cure him, somehow, or
 maybe just that the two of them cleared up some unfinished
 business between them. Either way, I was glad to be out of the
 way. 

Albert guided Eric and I as we carried Mulder from the pickup to
 the car. Scully was already on the phone to the hospital, giving
 them Mulder's condition, giving our estimated arrival and
 demanding that they page the best neurosurgeon they had. I would
 have grinned if it hadn't all seemed to unreal. Throw a crisis in her
 way and Scully wasn't the emotional wreck she'd been just
 moments before. The woman had guts, I had to give her that. 

I couldn't tell you what roads we took, couldn't even tell you the
 name of the hospital. The city just sort of rose up out of the desert,
 and I'm not even certain that we were still in New Mexico. I think
 we were probably in Nevada. I wasn't paying much attention to
 road signs. Or speed limits, for that matter. I was listening to
 Albert, and the quiet murmuring coming from the back seat. When
 I would glance in the rearview mirror, to check for troopers, I
 would see her, sitting with his head cradled in her lap. He was
 whispering to her, soft sounds that didn't reach the two of us in the
 front seat. At one point, I was pretty sure he was telling her not to
 cry. 

I pulled in to the Emergency Room area, having paced and then
 passed an ambulance with lights and siren blaring. I know the
 driver shot me a middle finger salute, but I could not have cared
 less. Albert got out and called for a stretcher, the nurses came on
 the double and everything was frantic, getting Mulder into the ER. 

And then, it all stopped. The double doors swung slightly for a
 minute or two and I felt like I'd just been hit by a ton of bricks. 

Albert must have sensed something, because he took my arm and
 led me to a waiting area. A television was on, without volume. I
 recognize Alex Trebek and the familiar game show set. Albert
 forced me into a chair and in a minute there was a cup of coffee in
 my hand. 

"Where's Scully?" I asked, when I realized it was just the two of
 us. 

"She went back to the room with him. I think she'll talk to the
 doctors." 

I chuckled at Albert's inherent sense of understatement. Scully,
 'talking' to the doctors. Like Patton, 'talking' to his troops during
 the Battle of the Bulge. I laughed so hard, I had tears streaming
 down my face. Before I knew it, they were sobs. 

I was really glad we were alone in the waiting room. I wish Albert
 hadn't been there, but in a way, I was glad he was there, too. I
 didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be breaking down, crying
 like a baby, that was for certain. But I also didn't want to be in that
 position to begin with, either. 

I thought helping Mulder would ease the guilt. I thought, maybe,
 and I knew this was foolish, that going on the 'quest' would
 somehow make the tumor go away. That once we reached the end
 of the journey, something miraculous would happen, and Mulder
 would be cured. I wanted all the bad to go away. 

I remembered the feeling all too well. I felt that way every day in
 the jungle. Just to make it all go away, that was my prayer at night.
 But then I would wake up, and the air would be thick with the
 smells of rotting wood and rotting bodies, heavy, sickening sweet
 flowers and the smell of burnt napalm. I shook all over, and tried
 to break out of the nightmare of that flashback, but I knew I'd only
 wake up into another nightmare, just as bad. 

Albert said nothing to me. When I cried through my handkerchief,
 he handed me his, a big bright red square of calico, not unlike the
 ones my grandfather used to carry on the farm. It was enough to
 make me remember who I was, who I came from. To find the
 strength in myself to face what was happening with my head up, not
 bowed, like a coward. 

About an hour later, Scully joined us. Albert got her a cup of
 coffee and she sat, staring at it, as if it might hold some secret, or
 reveal some mystery to her. She looked up at me, her eyes wet
 with tears. 

"He's refusing surgery." She said it flatly, as I've heard Mulder
 talk, but only when the situation was most dire. 

"He told me he didn't want surgery," I said, knowing that was fairly
 lame, under the circumstances. 

"Why?" One word, barely leaving her lips before the tears were
 streaming down her cheeks. Why? Why was he so willing to leave
 her? Why wasn't he fighting for his life as hard as he'd fought for
 hers? Why was he so willing to throw what they shared away? 

I knew she'd have as hard a time, hell, harder, understanding his
 motivations. But I felt, since he'd entrusted me with those
 thoughts, that I owed it to him to defend them. I still didn't believe
 them, but I had to defend his right to have them in the first place. 

"Scully, Mulder believes that if he gains the evidence he came here
 to find, that will damage the other side." 

"Yes, he kept telling me he'd found 'the Rosetta stone', he said it
 over and over again. But why won't he accept treatment? Why is
 he just going to let the tumor kill him?" 

"He doesn't want us to trade what we have to save him," I told her
 gently. 

She closed her eyes and nodded. She understood, at least I hoped
 that was what was happening. "So, he's dying just to beat them at
 their own game." 

"Basically," I said with a nod. 

She was quiet for a moment, then looked up at me again, but this
 time, there were no tears. Just fire. Deep, bright, unextinguishable.
 "I don't think I'm going to let him do that, sir." 

I was about to object, wondering why I was going to bother, when
 Eric and his father entered the room. Albert greeted his son and
 grandson, Eric came over and asked us about Mulder. 

"He's being taken to a room," Scully told the boy. 

Something was bothering me, which, given the situation, wasn't
 that unusual, but it was something that wasn't being addressed.
 "Scully? Mulder kept telling you he found something? You said he
 called it 'the Rosetta stone'?" 

She nodded. "That's what he said, sir. The Rosetta stone was a
 tablet, found in an Italian farm field at the turn of the century. It
 had ancient Egyptian script, I think Phoenician script, along with
 readily known Roman and Greek script. It allowed the
 archaeologists of the day to translate the heiroglyphs in the pyramids.
 It's considered at major turning point in the archeology of ancient
 civilizations." She had been caught up in the explanation, but now
 her face grew sad again. "But sir, the tumor is causing a great deal
 of pressure in his brain. His b/p is off the scale. We can't really
 rely on anything he said in the car, or for the last couple of days, for
 that matter." 

"But we found something," Eric interrupted. "A rock. I couldn't
 see it that well, but Agent Mulder got excited when he got near it.
 Then he had a really bad headache and I had to almost carry him
 back to the car." 

Scully's head jerked up and she stared at me. "A rock?" she asked. 

"Yeah. A boulder, but flat on one side. It was big, really big. He
 wanted me to try and dig it out, but it's buried. We only found the
 top little bit, I think but it's about 5 feet wide and at least a foot or
 two across. You'd need a backhoe or something bigger to get it
 out. Maybe a crane." 

"Where?" I found myself asking. 

"In the quarry. Under some of the smaller rocks. I never noticed
 it before and I've hung out there since I was old enough to ride a
 bike. We had some more quakes this spring. Maybe it pushed up
 from the ground like the box car did." 

The kid was smart, but then, he was Albert's grandson. I gave him
 a quick smile of reassurance. Scully pulled at my sleeve. 

"I need to go out there," she told me. I could see in her eyes that
 she was torn, she wanted to go see what was there, but was afraid
 to leave Mulder. 

"No, Agent Scully," I told her. "Your place is here. I'll go with
 Eric." 

"It's getting dark," Albert's son interjected. 

"We'll get some flashlights. If this stone is what I think it is, and
 what Mulder seems to think it is, it could manage to disappear
 before morning. We need to get out there as quickly as possible." 

The man nodded, then looked to his father. "Go with them," Albert
 told him, but I could see he was simply verifying what the younger
 man had already decided. 

"Let's go," I told them, and we left, with Scully watching us until
 we were in the elevator. 

***** 

On the ride out to the quarry, I discovered that Albert's son's
 name was Tom and he worked construction in Farmington and the
 area. He said he had some friends with earthmoving equipment, if
 it came to that. I didn't really know what I was going to do with
 the rock. From the description, it wasn't something I could hide
 easily. Maybe I could use it as an office decoration. As I thought
 of that, I realized that I was in as much need of sleep as Mulder had
 been in need of a hospital. 

The sun was behind the hills around the quarry. It reminded me
 for a moment of the video images of man's landing on the moon.
 The long shadows, the landscape painted in blacks and grays. It
 was surreal, I guess. I shivered, but it wasn't from a breeze. The
 air was calm. Too calm. Like air feels right before a storm. 

It took us a while to scramble over the rocks down to the area Eric
 and Mulder had been in. Eric explained that he'd driven the pickup
 truck further into the quarry, but the rental would have broken an
 axle had we attempted that stunt. Tom seemed a bit perturbed that
 his son had been so careless with the vehicle, but I think he realized
 that Mulder would never have been able to make the journey the
 way we were. 

I almost laughed when we finally found the rock, buried just as Eric
 had said. It was black, granite from the looks of it. The face, the
 flat side, was polished and glimmered like obsidian in the late
 sunlight. There were carvings and at first, I thought it was a
 picture. But as I got up close and examined it, I saw that it was
 writing. 

Three different types of writing. One set, the first, was
 indistinguishable to me. It was random slash marks and dots with
 circles. I couldn't recognized it and Tom told me he'd never seen
 anything like it, either. The next set, Tom recognized as some early
 writings found in the caves near the deserted villages of the
 Anasazi, not far from there. The last, for all the world, looked like
 the old binary language that was and is the basis for computer
 languages used throughout the world. Zeros and ones in seemingly
 unending stings. 

The implication hit me about the same time as the headache. If
 Mulder was right, and this wasn't just a set up, we had found it.
 Just as the archaeologists had dug up the translator to the ancient
 civilizations, we were staring at a translator to . . . could it really be
 an alien race? Or could it be as Mulder had once suggested in a
 report on a missing child, Gibson Praise? Could this not be an alien
 race, but the race that left the first beginnings of life on this planet,
 and then went on to conquer space? 

I turned to Tom. "You have friends with equipment?" 

He nodded. "I can get them out here first thing in the morning." 

That wasn't the answer I had been hoping for. "Then we should
 stay, guard it." 

Eric raised an eyebrow. "You really think somebody's gonna try
 and steal it? It's been out here for how long? And with that size,
 it's gonna take a day or two, even with a couple of backhoes to get
 it out." 

I found myself smiling at him. I wondered if the kid was at all
 interested in medicine or pathology. At the least, I wanted to
 recruit him for the Bureau the minute he was old enough. "Believe
 me, Eric. Stranger things have happened." 

I couldn't stop staring at the rock. As if by direction, Eric, his
 father and I started clearing away as many of the chunks of rock
 and dirt that held the boulder tight in the ground. The farther we
 dug, the more my head began to pound. I felt slightly dizzy and
 couldn't help but wonder if this was just a little of what Mulder had
 been experiencing. Maybe the tumor wasn't created in the same
 way as my recent heart attack and circulatory problems. Maybe
 something else was causing it. 

We'd uncovered about three feet of the rock, and the writing
 showed no sign of stopping. I noticed Tom and Eric were wincing
 and rubbing their eyes and temples, the rock was causing them
 problems, too. I became worried for the boy and his father. They
 were innocents, civilian, really. They had no business getting
 involved in what was really an FBI matter. I started to tell them to
 go back to the car when a high pitched sound emitted from the rock
 and knocked the three of us on our asses. 

Almost immediately, a bright light, whiter than I'd ever seen flashed
 from the rock and surrounded us. I was blinded, all I could do was
 hear. The wind picked up, just as I'd earlier suspected it would. It
 whipped dried brush and sand in our faces, it kept us on the ground.
 I rolled over, to protect my head from the onslaught of blowing
 debris. A loud crack shattered the air. 

And as suddenly as it all started, it stopped. 

I was breathless, but I could see. The landscape still held an eerie
 glow. I searched frantically for Eric and Tom, and found them
 huddled together, rubbing their eyes and staring at the rock. 

Or rather, staring at the spot where the rock had been. 

"What happened?" I demanded. My ears were ringing, I had to
 shout. I knew they probably couldn't tell me any more than I
 already knew, but I was devastated that we'd lost the object, the
 proof of alien connections to the planet. I had nothing to show for
 this trip cross country. Nothing at all, except a dying agent and no
 hope of saving him. 

"It's gone. The sky opened up and took it," Tom said, staring up
 into the night sky, devoid of stars or moon. 

"That's impossible," I shouted, this time in anger more than
 because my ears were still stuffed. I felt something warm run down
 my neck and wiped at it. My fingers came away sticky with warm
 blood. 

"We need to get back, immediately," I yelled, and the two others
 struggled to their feet, then came after me to the car. 

Tom drove. I don't know that I could have found the hospital
 again. Eric slept in the back seat and I was worried about him.
 Our ears seemed to have taken the brunt of the retrieval. The
 bleeding had stopped, but we still couldn't hear that well. It cleared
 up gradually, and by the time we got to the hospital parking lot, an
 hour later, there was just a soft annoying buzz in my ears. 

We got off the elevator at the floor the desk had directed us to.
 Mulder's room was just across from the nurses' station. We got a
 few strange looks from our appearance, but we pushed our way
 into the room without interference. 

Scully was holding her partner's hand, talking to him in soft tones.
 Albert came out of the corner he'd been seated in and greeted us. 

"He had a stroke, about an hour ago. The doctor says it won't be
 long," he told me, his voice devoid of all emotion. I stood where I
 was and cried. 

Scully looked up at me and shook her head. That was all it took to
 stop the tears. I took the two steps to reach her and she grabbed
 my hand in her left hand, her right holding tight to Mulder. "Talk
 to him, sir. Make him see reason," she begged. 

"Scully," he said, but with only one side of his mouth. His left side
 was frozen, but he was still capable of speech. He turned his face
 toward me but his eyes didn't catch mine. I realized he still
 couldn't see me. "Did you find it?" 

"Yes," I told him. 

He smiled, but only on one side. Somehow, it still looked normal.
 "See, Scully. I told you it was there," he whispered. 

"Mulder, it's not there now," I interrupted. His face hardened,
 demanding an explanation with his expression. "We were guarding
 it until morning, when some of Tom's co-workers could come with
 earth moving equipment. There was a . . . storm, or something.
 Bright lights, loud noises. I can't tell you exactly what happened,
 but when it was over, the rock was gone." 

"Then who took it?" Scully asked, standing to get a better look at
 my ear and the blood trail down my neck. "You need to have that
 looked at," she informed me. 

"The rightful owners took it, Scully," Mulder said quietly. His
 smile was still in place, and his expression was peaceful. "It's all
 right now, Scully. It's all going to be all right." 

Suddenly, his words took on new meaning. He was dying, right
 there, right then, and there was nothing we could do about it. 

Scully dropped to the chair, her hand grabbing his in a hold that
 would never loosen. Her tears fell on their joined hands. 

"Don't cry, Scully. Don't cry," he murmured softly. 

I was glad he was blind, because Scully wasn't the only one with
 tears on her face. 

"Don't leave me, Mulder. Please, please don't leave," she sobbed.
 I couldn't believe I was standing there, watching that very private
 moment. Even so, I couldn't turn away. And I knew I needed to
 guard the door. If the rock could disappear, who knew what, or
 who, would be next? 

I almost missed Mulder's whispered reply to her pleadings. "I'm
 not leaving you, Scully. I could never leave you. I'll be that cool
 breeze on your neck, that little voice in your head when you refuse
 to believe what your eyes are telling you." His face, so tortured
 over the last few days, looked calm, peaceful. I realized what he
 was saying, maybe even before Scully did. He was letting go. He
 was ready to die. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out,
 shouting at him. 

Scully beat me to it. "Oh, no, Mulder," she said through angry
 tears. "That's not enough for me. I don't believe in ghosts,
 Mulder. I refuse to have one for a partner. Don't you dare give up
 now. Don't you dare!" 

His eyes were shut and for a long, painful moment, I thought her
 words had come too late. But the monitors around the bed didn't
 change, his heart was still beating, his chest still rose and fell with
 each breath. Scully surprised me then. 

She leaned over and kissed Mulder lightly on both his eyelids, then
 kissed the knuckles of both of his hands. 

"Sleep now, Mulder. Think of what I said. No hauntings between
 us, hear me? Just rest now. Just rest." 

Then, she floored me by kissing him softly on the lips. She
 whispered something in his ear that wasn't meant for me to hear.
 When she moved to sit back, a smile was playing at the corners of
 his mouth. 

And the monitors, at that second, set up a wail. 

He was gone. 

Scully hit the call button at the same moment I was at the door
 screaming for a nurse. One came, but she took her own sweet time.
 When she entered, she walked over to the bed and calmly checked
 the monitors, then double checked by taking hold of his wrist. "I'm
 sorry, Ms. Scully," she said. 

Scully was frantic. "Get a goddamned doctor in here! Get a crash
 cart! We can still save him!" she shouted, rushing over to Mulder.
 I think her intention was to begin CPR but the nurse's hand on her
 arm stopped her. 

"Ms. Scully, please. Mr. Mulder left very explicit instructions. No
 resuscitation. I'm sorry." 

Her words were like cold water in the face to Scully. "When?" she
 demanded, her eyes still angry and determined. 

By that time, a doctor I hadn't noticed before had entered the room
 and was checking Mulder as the nurse had done. He looked at his
 watch and announced "2:11 am," which the nurse wrote on the
 chart. The doctor turned to Scully. "He asked for the form when
 he was being settled in the room. Nurse Levitt on the evening shift
 and I witnessed it for him. He said it was for the best, that you
 would understand, eventually." 

It was then that she crumbled. 

I didn't want Scully to watch the nurse unhooking Mulder's body
 and preparing it for the morgue, so I grabbed her around the
 shoulders and all but carried her out to the hall. She was sobbing
 inconsolably, leaning on me completely. I got her to the lounge and
 onto the sofa where she curled into a ball and sobbed so hard that
 my own heart ached. I watched the hallway, and saw the doctor
 and nurse taking Mulder's body away on a gurney. 

***** 

For the first time, I noticed Albert was there. I didn't have a clue
 where Eric and Tom had gone. He was standing in the doorway,
 looking at Scully as she cried harder into the pillow she was
 clutching to her chest. 

"Maybe you should get a doctor," he suggested. I wanted to
 inform the old man that she didn't need a doctor, she needed her
 partner back, but the words were acid on my tongue and never left
 my mouth. I walked down the hall to find a doctor. 

I was stunned when I saw the man standing with his back to me,
 looking out a window on the darkness outside. 

I reached for my gun, and found it wasn't there. No matter. I
 would kill him with my bare hands. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked. I just wanted the
 satisfaction of seeing his wizened face as I squeezed the life out of
 him. 

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," he said quietly. His voice
 held a strange quality. He sounded sad, stricken. It made me sick. 

"You caused this, you black lunged bastard! You gave him this
 tumor, you killed him! And now, I'm gonna kill you." 

He looked at me with those steel gray eyes and shook his head.
 "You're too late, Mr. Skinner. You see, I've already lost my soul.
 Killing my body would be rather anti-climatic, don't you think?" 

"What are you talking about? You never gave a damn about
 Mulder! You've tried to kill him before, but he lived. You got
 what you wanted." 

"You understand nothing!" he shouted at me. "Mulder was
 important. And in the end, he led them to what they were looking
 for all along. In his dying moments, he sided with those I've
 chosen to fight against. And he gave his life to give them exactly
 what they needed. He won. After all this time, he won." He was
 out of breath, panting for air. He looked at me once more, then
 pushed past me. 

"Where are you going?" I asked. The desire to kill him was
 waning. You can't kill a man who is already dead. 

"To hide. It's futile, but it's my only hope." He took another step
 or two and then turned back. "Here. A little 'end of the world'
 present." He handed me a small object, the size of a palm top
 computer. I knew what it was the moment it touched my hand. He
 was giving me my life. 

"Would this have saved Mulder?" I growled. Maybe I would kill
 the old bastard, just to make myself feel better. 

He never turned back toward me, but I heard his answer clearly. "I
 couldn't save Mulder. The tumor was never my doing." He turned
 the corner and I turned to stare out the window and cried. 

I heard his voice from the end of the hall. "If you're looking for a
 doctor, Mr. Skinner, one is coming. Maybe you should go back
 and take care of Agent Scully." I heard his footsteps echo and then
 there was silence. I hurried back to the lounge. 

It was a different doctor than had been in the room and he looked
 pale, frightened. He licked his lip nervously as he approached
 Scully. 

"Ms. Scully, I'm Dr. Lambert. I'm so terribly sorry for any . . .
 pain the you might have experienced. Mistakes like this just aren't
 supposed to happen. I assure you, every precaution has been taken
 to insure that it never happens again." 

He wasn't making any sense, and Scully wasn't really listening.
 She was still in shock. I tapped the doctor on the shoulder so that
 he turned to face me. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

I didn't really mean to scare the man, but then, I didn't really care if
 I did or not. His eyes grew to the size of saucers and he started to
 stammer. 

"M-m-mr. M-m-m-mulder has been taken to ICU. Apparently
 there was a m-m-malfunction in the monitors. He was pronounced
 . . . inappropriately. How all the monitors managed to malfunction
 at once is b-b-beyond me. W-w-we're having the elect-t-t-tricity in
 his previous room ch-ch-checked out right now." 

Scully's head jerked up. "Mulder's alive?" she asked, in a tiny
 voice I'd never heard her use before. 

The doctor seemed relieved to be addressing someone other than
 me. "Yes, barely, but he is alive. His blood pressure was quite
 high, but it's been dropping. I have him on an IV. He's still in a
 coma, but he's breathing on his own. I don't know how the doctor
 could have made this mistake. It was discovered by an attendant in
 the morgue, thank God. I'm sorry it took so long to come and tell
 you, but we were concerned to find out how the mistake was made
 in the first place. We're still trying to locate the doctor who signed
 the death certificate. He doesn't seem to be on staff," Lambert
 added meekly. 

"You were concerned with covering your asses," I seethed, but one
 look at Scully and I knew I wouldn't have much time to tear into
 the guy. She was already up and running down the hall. 

"Where?" she shouted, over her shoulder 

"ICU is on the fourth floor, north wing. They're expecting you." 

The doctor smiled slightly, until he turned back to find me still
 standing there, glaring at him. 

"You have no idea how close you just came," I told him through
 gritted teeth. I had the satisfaction of seeing him shiver and nod.
 Then I went off to catch up with Scully. 

It was a different room, but the set up was much the same. More
 machines, but this time, I saw a blue one on a cart. I'd seen enough
 television to know what it was. This time, they weren't taking
 chances, orders or no orders. I had a feeling Scully had demanded
 it be on hand. 

Mulder still looked as peaceful as he had just an hour before.
 Scully would hold his hand, then rest her head on his chest and
 smile. She chewed on her lip from time to time, but for the most
 part, she was too happy to have him lying there breathing to worry
 about what would happen when he woke up. 

The night was growing long. I pulled up a chair, propped my feet
 on the rail of Mulder's bed and before I knew it, Scully was shaking
 my shoulder and offering me a cup of coffee. Mulder's bed was
 missing. 

"Relax, sir," Scully assured me. I'm sure I'd looked startled from
 her reaction. "We're taking him down for some tests. He's been
 improving through the night and we wanted to see what was going
 on." 

"Are you going with him?" I asked. 

She nodded. "They're waiting for me at the elevators. I'm not
 letting him out of my sight, but I thought you'd wonder if you
 woke up and we were both gone." 

"Spender, Sr. was here last night," I told her. I reached into my
 pocket and removed the small computer. "He gave me this." 

Her eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. 

"I think it's my fate," I told her simply. "Do you think it might
 work on Mulder?" 

"I don't know," she said shaking her head. "I just don't know." 

They weren't gone that long, or I fell asleep again. Next thing I
 knew they were back. The orderly pushed Mulder's bed back in
 and against the wall. Dr. Lambert was close behind, still staring at
 some films he held in his hand. "Dr. Scully? If I could have a word
 with you?" 

'Dr.' Scully? He had called her 'Ms.' before. I knew something
 big was up. I wanted to follow them out into the hall, but decided
 someone needed to stay with Mulder. I settled down in the chair by
 his bed and waited. 

Scully came back in, looking confused. She went over to Mulder
 and peeled open one eyelid, then the other. She shook her head,
 and looked back at the chart she'd placed on the bed. 

"Scully? Is something the matter?" I asked. I was almost afraid to
 say anything. I was sure whatever she'd tell me would be bad
 news. 

"I don't understand it, sir. These just aren't making any sense." 

"Scully, I'm not following. What is the problem?" 

She looked up at me, her eyes more blue than I'd ever seen them.
 "That's the point, sir. There isn't a problem. I'm just confused.
 Very, very relieved, but confused. The tumor is shrinking. It's
 only 75 percent of it's original mass." 

I know I blinked. "Is that possible?" 

"No," she answered sharply. "But it's happening." 

"Did they find the doctor who signed the death certificate?" I
 asked, trying to put the pieces together. Had Mulder really died, or
 was that just a ploy to get him away from us for a few minutes?
 Enough time to cure him. But it still wasn't making too much
 sense. 

"No, they didn't. The nurse is gone, too. Do you think the doctor
 and that nurse worked . . . for him?" Scully asked, a worried frown
 coming to her face. 

I drew in a deep breath. "I don't know. I don't think so. Not from
 the way the old son of a bitch acted last night. But he did say
 something. That Mulder had helped 'the other side'." 

The worry quickly turned to confusing again. "The other side?
 Meaning the ones Mulder calls the rebels? I don't understand." 

"Well, if you're looking to me for an explanation, Agent Scully, you
 have a long wait," I told her lightly. I was as confused as she was.
 But somehow, in light of the news of Mulder's improved condition,
 I felt the explanations could wait for another time. Scully seemed
 to agree. 

Albert and his son and Eric came by during the day. He brought
 with him a small leather pouch of sunflower seeds. "He'll be asking
 for these," Albert told Scully as he handed over the pouch. She
 looked inside and smiled in gratitude. 

I finally convinced Scully to go get some rest. She made it as far as
 the sofa in the lounge, and laid her head on the pillow still damp
 from her tears of the night before. She was asleep in seconds. I
 took up my watch over Mulder. 

Scully only slept for about four hours. I'd flipped channels and
 found Aussie rules football. It seemed too normal, sitting there
 watching a game played a half a planet away, while a co-worker,
 and friend, lay fighting for his life just three feet away from me.
 But if I sat there and just stared at Mulder, at that peaceful look on
 his face, I knew I'd walk out into the hallway and blow my brains
 out. 

How had I let it get this far? And whose side was I on now,
 anyway? I pulled the little computer out of my pocket. I was too
 afraid of it to even consider powering it up. God forbid I hit the
 wrong key stroke and manage to kill myself by accident. So what
 the hell was I going to do with it? Not exactly the kind of thing I
 could send down to the FBI labs for analysis. I could hand it over
 to Mulder's wacked out friends in Anacostia. Yeah, much better
 idea. Then I'd be killed when _they_ hit the wrong key stroke.
 Maybe Scully would have some idea. I knew for a certainty,
 Mulder would know what to do with it. 

Scully wandered in with a serious case of pillow hair and red
 rimmed eyes. She sighed as she dropped into the vacant chair. I
 took one look at her and made my diagnosis. There was only one
 treatment for her ailment. I went to go find us both a decent cup of
 coffee. 

My search took me longer than I'd expected. I ran into Tom and
 Eric. They'd been back out to the quarry. Apparently, the rocks
 had shifted. Even the hole the big rock had occupied was now
 filled in and covered. Nothing remained. I can't say I was too
 surprised. I thanked them for all their help. 

Coffee smelled wonderful in the cafeteria, but the smell of bacon
 and eggs almost sent me into spasms. I had forgotten how long it
 had been since I'd eaten. For that matter, I couldn't remember
 Scully eating anything either. Without a second thought, I had one
 of the cooks put together scrambled eggs and bacon on bagels for
 the both of us and added it to the two large coffees I was already
 buying. 

I didn't bother knocking on Mulder's door, my hands were full. I
 just toed the door open and almost dropped everything in my
 hands. 

His eyes were open. 

Scully was leaning over him, stroking his hair back from his
 forehead. I could feel the heat brush my cheeks and I'm not a man
 who blushes easily. I felt like I'd just walked in on a couple having
 sex, but swiped that image away before it could take hold. 

Mulder was talking. 

" . . . knew they'd look like you." 

At least that's what it sounded like. Scully must have looked as
 confused as I felt by this sudden declaration, so he answered her in
 a raspy whisper. 

"The angels. Knew they'd look like you." 

That brought a soft laugh from Scully, who continued to stroke his
 hand as gently as she'd stroked his forehead. "Sorry Mulder. No
 angels here. Just FBI agents and ADs in this room." 

"I'm fine with that," he said with a tired smile. He swallowed
 roughly and blinked. "Uh, Scully? Why doesn't my head hurt?
 Not that I'm complaining . . ." 

She smiled at him, and this time I had to laugh. A good laugh, a
 laugh of relief. 

"Your tumor's shrinking, Mulder," she explained. "Your
 headaches are disappearing as it does. At the rate it's decreasing, it
 should be gone in another two days." 

He blinked again, almost as if he wasn't ready to believe her. I had
 to laugh at that, role reversal at it's finest. 

"Can a tumor do that?" he asked. 

"No," she said seriously. "But it's happening," she added with a
 smile that brightened his eyes as much as it brightened the room. 

"Scully, what did you find in . . ." He looked over at me, and I
 realized he had every reason to still be suspicious. 

She looked over at me, too and then back to Mulder. "Something.
 I'm not entirely sure what I saw. We'll talk more about it, when
 you're up and around." She stood up and kissed the knuckles on
 his hand. "Hey, as much fun as this is, I haven't had a shower or a
 decent night's sleep in about a week. You need to rest, and I need
 to get cleaned up and do the same. They'll probably be taking you
 down for another MRI soon, so why don't you try and nap until
 they come get you. I'll be back later, all right?" 

He nodded. "Yeah, Scully. Kelp is great for the hair and skin, but
 your's is smelling a bit ripe now," he wiggled his eyebrows as he
 said the words. I was just glad he was already in a hospital bed,
 because I was pretty sure that sentence would have landed him in
 one if he'd been standing. 

"I'll speak to you later," she said with a mock glare, then winked
 and left the room. 

I stood there, still holding the food and coffees. Scully had
 forgotten hers and I was about to go chase her down to give it to
 her. His voice stopped me as I started out into the hall. 

"Not so fast, sir." 

I felt like I was being called on the carpet and I had no idea why. It
 was very disconcerting, not to mention, uncalled for. But I turned
 to face him. 

"Yes, Agent Mulder." My entire intention was to make it clear
 who was in charge. 

"You dealt with him, didn't you?" he asked, his eyes lethally
 serious. 

"No," I replied honestly. "And neither did Scully." 

"Then why am I alive?" he shot back, accusingly. 

"Maybe you're valuable to more than one side, Mulder. Did that
 ever occur to you?" 

His eyes grew to the size of saucers. "You think . . . the rebels . . .
 but why, sir?" 

"I don't know, Mulder. If I did, I'd tell you." 

His eyes were drooping, but he was still turning the concept over in
 his mind. "But if they saved my life . . ." A yawn interrupted his
 further comments. Time to put an end to all the speculation. 

"Agent Mulder, I'm giving you a direct order. Get some sleep.
 We'll sort this out, or not, later. After we've all had some rest." I
 turned and started out the door again. 

"Sir," he called out, and I turned just my head. I was not going
 back, no matter how much he wanted to talk. The simple fact was,
 I wanted to forget about the whole ordeal. Paperwork be damned,
 I just wanted to forget it all. 

"Thank you, sir. For taking care of me, for believing me in the first
 place. But especially, for honoring my wishes. I know that
 couldn't have been easy. I appreciate it." 

"Are you through, Agent Mulder?" I said gruffly, but I think the
 crack in my voice betrayed my hidden emotions. 

"Yes, sir." I could hear the smile in his voice. 

"Then follow my orders or face charges of insubordination." 

"Yes, sir. Following orders now, sir. Right this very minute." 

When I looked back to check, his eyes were closed, but that same
 goofy smile was plastered on his face. I decided I was hungry
 enough to eat both egg sandwiches, and left to find a quiet place to
 do just that. 

the end. 

For those of you who thought I'd killed him off, you obviously
 haven't been reading my other stuff, now, have you? <VEG> I
 don't do 'character dies' stories. But it's fun to say 'Gotcha!' 

Vickie 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

"You know the prickling feeling
 you get at the back of your
 neck?
 . . . That's them." 

Cole to Malcolm
 The Sixth Sense 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^