ABSALOM VI: The Covenant - Part 2
by - Joyce
April 1998
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Skinner, Scully and CSM belong to CC and Fox Broadcasting and I am only borrowing them for a moment and will return them. Jason belongs to me. No infringement is intended. Lord knows, I'm not making any money off of this and have no intentions of making any money from it.
FEEDBACK: mab49@earthlink.net
SUMMARY: Jason and Mulder make a choice.
"We have made a covenant with death, and with hell are we at agreement." (Isaiah 28:15)
Jason's Office
"What the hell is he doing?" Jason muttered as he listened to Mulder preparing to bare his soul, the soul *he* owned, damn it, to his partner. Damn the man. Did he think this little confession scene would alter the deal one iota?
"Scully, I went out this afternoon to meet someone, someone who sent me a warning that you were in danger."
Mulder held up his hand to silence Scully before she could speak. Giving her a sad smile he walked over to the pouch sitting by his computer and handed it to her. He watched as her fingers felt the unfamiliar shape of the chess pieces inside. In response to her quizzical look, he nodded his intention for her to open the pouch.
Scully looked even more perplexed as she looked at a white queen and a white bishop lying in her hand. The heavy parchment note sailed to the floor like the last stubborn leaf of fall.
"I was offered a deal, by the devil himself if I'm any judge." Mulder paused, unable to bear looking into Scully's worried eyes. "Not a very original deal. I gave up, Scully. Your life, Skinner's life - the price of not giving up was too high."
Mulder forced himself to look down into Scully's eyes - to read his fate in those clear blue eyes that had never been tarnished by dishonor.
Jason swore bitterly at the offending receiver as he listened to Mulder's confession. This ill-timed burst of honesty served no purpose except to complicate the deal. In a very dim way, he supposed he did understand Mulder's need to lay bare his treason. He never had anyone who would have cared enough to mourn his lost soul, but he did understand the forlorn wish to be mourned.
"Don't mess this deal up, Mulder or you'll be on a morgue slab and I'll be a cloud of ash drifting over New Jersey." Jason tried not to contemplate the consequences of failure. He had notified his friend that the deal was done - Mulder was theirs. Failure now would leave his friend no choice and him no future.
"Mulder, you can't let them win. You've lost too much. I've lost too much. Fight them," Scully pleaded with steel in her voice. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Either Mulder had gone completely insane or else the shadows she had stubbornly refused to acknowledge really were using her as a pawn.
"Is this what you meant when you said this was about you?" she asked uncertainly. She would be more than happy to erase the memory of Mulder dismissing her importance even if it meant accepting that the conspiracy they fought had reached into her life to manipulate her cancer.
Mulder nodded. He didn't trust his voice. All his flagging energy had been poured into getting this confession out. His throat burned and ached - a living reminder of his opponent's intrusion into his life.
Clutching the chess pieces in a closed fist, Scully stooped down and picked up the note and read it. She puzzled over the contents, forgetting Mulder who was standing quietly in the shadow just outside the glare of the lamp. Without really thinking about it, Mulder was already retreating into the darkness he believed he had given himself to.
"Who....?"
Mulder smiled, transforming his sad eyes into burning reflections of his heart.
"Well, unless I've taken leave of my senses, I think our enemies recognize that you are the most important piece in this game of theirs. Can't think of anyone else I'd trust with the job," Mulder ended on an embarrassed note. He wasn't used to this much honesty. It provoked a strong desire to cut and run and hide somewhere until the urge to bare his soul had passed.
As he listened, Jason was torn between respect for Mulder's ability to maneuver some breathing room and irritation that his carefully prepared plans had not been sufficient to demoralize him. Jason realized that he had no one to blame but himself if he had underestimated Mulder. Jonathan had certainly given him plenty of advice about Mulder's genius for skating on thin ice and surviving.
Jason did not waste time in useless recriminations. The simple fact of the matter was that he had failed to recognize and take into account the intensity of the bond between Mulder and his very dangerous partner. The one thing he had not foreseen was that Mulder would go against his nature and bring Scully into the equation. In fact, if the phone message he overheard was correct, Mulder was acting completely against every profile the Elders had on him and was bringing his boss into the now chaotic mess that was Jason's crisp neat plan to subvert Mulder. Jason briefly wondered if he could make a deal with all three of them, to bring all three under the overt umbrella of the Consortium while making sure their first obligation was to him and his friend.
"Mulder, you can't make deals with these people," Scully protested. Her eyes were angry, but they softened when Mulder flinched. She was furious, but only a small portion of that anger was for Mulder's obstinate streak of self-sacrifice.
Mulder shrugged. "It's done." He was trembling as he tried not to take his eyes from Scully's. He wished she would just damn him and get it over with. She wasn't following the script, damn it.
A loud authoritative knock on his front door saved Mulder from drowning in the ice-blue ocean of Scully's eyes. She persisted in caring for him, fearing for him, even, to his complete astonishment, loving him. Mulder didn't know whether to bolt or fall down on his knees before her and cling to her for salvation.
Mulder was becoming convinced that God was using him for divine comic relief. Of all the times to realize that Scully loved him. Fresh from signing his soul away, he should not be standing here burning in the heat of her love.
Startled by the interruption, Scully stepped back. Trying to gather her scattered wits, she walked over to the window. She suspected their untimely interruption was Skinner responding to Mulder's call. She did not intend to greet Skinner with a flushed face and unshuttered eyes.
Listening in on the rustle of movement in Mulder's apartment, Jason hoped that Skinner would be a sensible man and suggest that everyone get some rest and meet to talk about this situation in the morning. "Give me four hours with Mulder and I'll make him forget this awkward lapse into moral honesty," Jason muttered.
Jason heard Mulder step to the door as the listening device picked up a cacophony of confusion. Glass shattered, hitting the wooden floor with an icy patter A soft thud was mixed in with the sound of a door opening. Heavy feet moved quickly. Mulder's bellow ended in a rasping crack as his voice splintered.
Swearing, Jason pulled the ear piece out and hoped he had not gone deaf in that ear. Mulder must have been standing right under the mike.
Odd, he thought, even without the ear-piece he could still hear the sounds of bodies thrashing about.
"Damn," he yelled as the soft pops of a silenced pistol sounded from just outside his office. His gun was up and aimed at the doorway even as he ducked for cover.
A roar of gunfire, quickly followed by another loud shot temporarily deafened him. He held his ground, determined to make the assassins pay very dearly for his life. Stupid, he muttered to himself. He measured the distance to his bolt hole and calculated the odds of making his escape before his assassins burst in. Something had gone wrong with their plan. Obviously their plan had been to disable his alarm system then burst in and execute him before he had a chance to react. Now he could only wait to see whether his unknown helper or the assassins would walk through the door.
"Sir?" Hamilton's voice sounded breathless, as close to ruffled as he ever expected to hear from his dapper assistant. Jason remained silent. He wished he had had the foresight to put a remote switch on the light. Darkness would be really helpful right now. If he lived through this night, he would make installing remote switches a priority.
"Sir, I am coming in. I'll slide my gun on the floor and keep my hands in plain sight. The assassins are quite dead and making a terrible mess of the carpet."
Jason said nothing, but watched cautiously as a Browning 9mm was pushed through the small crack in the door, butt first. From the soft hissing noises Hamilton was making, the barrel was still very hot. Slowly the gun was lowered to the floor and was sent gliding across the polished oak floor with a tap of a foot.
After a moment, the door opened the rest of the way and a bleeding, swaying Hamilton appeared. His teeth were bared in a grimace as he held his arms up and out. Blood dripped rapidly from his left shoulder and forearm.
It was possible this was a set up, but Jason's instincts were telling him that whatever else Hamilton was, he was not a traitor.
"Put your arms down before you bleed to death," Jason ordered curtly, waving his assistant over to the chair beside his desk. Hamilton lowered his arm and stumbled forward. Still holding his pistol, Jason leaned over and examined the wounds.
"You'll live. The bullets passed straight through. You are a lucky man or should I say that I am?" Jason glared at Hamilton. "What brought you back here so late?"
"I was told by a reliable source that the Elders were cleaning house. I thought that it was possible that you were one of the people on their list. Being right hurts," Hamilton grunted as Jason shoved a handkerchief into his right hand and pressed the hand against the hole in his shoulder.
Damn them, Jason thought with cold fury. The mysterious sounds in Mulder's apartment suddenly made sense. Apparently Mulder was another one of those loose ends being tidied up tonight. Damn those old men to hell.
"Your friend, the smoker?" At Jason's nod, Hamilton continued, "He's been shot. His assassin was a bit divided in his loyalties so he gave your friend a chance to bleed to death rather than taking a clean kill."
"How do you know this," Jason asked suspiciously.
"Because my reliable informant is at the moment lying in my bed with my best pillowcase plugging the hole in his chest," Hamilton said with a sly smile for Jason's astonishment.
"Thank you," Jason said quietly, gently resting a hand on Hamilton's good shoulder. "The Elders won't be very happy with you for this night's work."
"I don't work for the Elders. I work for you, sir," Hamilton replied wearily, the adrenaline seeping out of him.
"I'll take you back to your place. Lock the doors. I'll send Webster over to stitch you both up and get my friend to a safe house. Lie low until you hear from me personally. If you don't hear from me by noon tomorrow, I'll most likely be dead. Take the best offer you can and play their game until you're strong enough to play your own." Jason instructed brusquely.
Loyalty like this was something he had never considered or counted on and he was at a loss to know how to acknowledge it. Thankfully, Hamilton seemed too out of it to realize how taken-aback his boss was by his words.
Hamilton nodded as Jason helped him up and leaned him against the wall. It was going to be a busy night. Jason locked his office door behind them as he shifted through people he trusted enough to clean up the mess in his outer office. Hamilton had shot one of the men through the head. Blood and brains were splattered all over the leather upholstery and the walls.
Using a very circuitous route, Jason got Hamilton home. He took the luxury of checking on his friend while he was there. The wound was bad, but his friend was tenacious and, even unconscious, appeared as tough as nails.
"They'll pay for this night, my old friend. They will pay until their souls bleed."
*********
Mulder opened the door to see something he rarely saw - a puzzled Skinner. His perverse sense of humor goaded him into smiling at his confused boss. Skinner gave him a stern look. Situation normal, Mulder thought with an odd feeling of comfort. Skinner looked positively menacing in a black fisherman's sweater, leather gloves and a dark leather jacket. Where the jacket hung open, Mulder could see Skinner's pistol. Apparently he had taken Mulder's warning that serious shit was flying.
As quickly as Mulder's smile appeared, it vanished into a somber, almost grim expression. It seemed appropriate that he and Skinner were dressed alike in black; twin shadows who had mortgaged their souls for the woman standing behind him.
He nodded a greeting and stepped aside to allow Skinner to enter. The silence between the men was broken by the sound of breaking glass. Skinner's eyes went wide. With three long strides he moved into the room, pulling his gun and dropping into a near crouch. Mulder spun around in time to see Scully crumple into the floor.
"SCULLY!" he yelled, his voice breaking and crackling as his throat was scoured raw. He felt as if he had swallowed the shards of glass scattered around Scully's body.
Skinner moved to the wall and sidled over to the window, trying to peer out without offering a target. Heedless of anything but Scully lying on the floor amid blood and glass, Mulder charged to her side, dropping to his knees and skidding the last foot or so. Glass impaled his knees, but he didn't feel a thing.
Another bullet passed through the air where Mulder's head had been a second before.
"Damn it, Mulder, be careful," Skinner hissed. He spared a glance down at Scully and realized that being careful was probably the last thing on Mulder's mind.
He didn't want to leave Mulder alone, but he was useless up here with no target to shoot at and no cover. Clawing his cell-phone out of his coat pocket, he called in the shooting.
"Officer down." He hated those two words, too often they preceded the grim fact that the downed officer was lost, but they would bring down the might of the law enforcement world in swift response. One of their own was in peril.
Skinner made it to the street by the time he heard the first faint wails of the sirens converging on this place. Gauging the trajectory of the bullet, Skinner slipped through the shadows until he was in position to watch the rear entrance of the building across from Mulder's. As the street outside the main entrance filled with police cars, Skinner waited patiently for the rat to run for cover.
A shadow slipped into a darker shadow. The assassin never broke from cover, but moved relentlessly towards escape.
"Freeze! FBI. Put your weapon down, NOW!" Skinner shouted as he brought the fleeing gunman into his sights.
The man suddenly dropped and turned and Skinner felt the hot buzz of a bullet carve a grove across his check.
Returning fire was an automatic response and a deadly one. Skinner knew what he would find even as he walked slowly over to the heap of bloody clothing lying in the alley. He felt no pity, just anger at men who killed from ambush. There would be no answers; this man would have no identity. He sympathized with Mulder. On more than one occasion, desperately sought and paid for evidence vanished without a trace, leaving behind only more questions. It never ended.
Skinner waited for the arrival of the police. The gunman's rifle was silenced, but the roar of his own gun must have alerted the police who would be approaching with caution and suspicion. Skinner put up his gun and had his FBI identification ready by the time the beams of the officers' flashlights lit up the alley.
*********
Mulder tried to call to Scully, to tell her not to leave him, to plead with her, but his raw throat refused to utter a sound. He fought the urge to cough. There was enough blood here, he didn't need to add to it.
Scully lay in a heap. Blood was spreading out around her, soaking her hair, dying her white sweater. Mulder scooped her up until he could cradle her head against his chest and lay her body in his lap. He felt the beat of her heart as it labored under the strain of pumping a diminishing supply of blood.
The bullet had gone in high on her left shoulder; a small rather neat hole that belied the gaping wound in her back busily pouring her life out all over his lap. Mulder crammed a discarded napkin into the wound and pressed her tightly against his chest to hold it in place. His hands were slick with blood and fear.
As he held her, he felt her life soak into him and he wondered that it did not burn him with scalding accusations. He had brought her to this. He should have sent her away. Then it would be him lying here, in the place he was meant to be.
Damn it, Scully. You can't die. My life for hers. That was the deal. Mulder's thoughts were a jumble of fear, anger and confusion. He had paid the price. His soul was sealed and delivered. Why her? Why now? Because he told her the truth? Mulder pleaded with a God he had avoided for over twenty years for a miracle. Not her. Not Scully, please.
"Don't leave me," he whispered, his throat aching as he fought to say the words. His voice was a husky rasp, but he hoped Scully understood all the things he couldn't say.
His entire being was focused on Scully, but he sensed a presence. If he looked away from her face he knew he would see the dark angel who had stood over him on a cold, icy street waiting to take him into death. Mulder stubbornly refused to acknowledge the intrusion of death. Scully hadn't let him die and he wasn't about to let her go either. He would fight Death himself if he had to.
Rocking slowly back and forth, cradling her as he breathed soundless words into her face, Mulder didn't hear the medics until one of them reached out to take her from him. Mulder fought to keep hold of her, clutching her so tight he felt her ribs bend. "No, I won't let you have her," he rasped painfully. He tasted blood. Fear suffocated sense and reason.
"Mister, let go," a medic barked, impatient to begin to try to save this woman's life.
"Mulder."
A whisper. A sound as soft as snow and as loud as a trumpet call woke Mulder from his panicked resistance.
Swallowing painfully, Mulder forced her name out of his torn throat and tried to smile at her. It was a weak effort, but he was rewarded by a return smile that didn't break into an anguished groan for nearly three seconds, an eternity of hope for him.
Reluctantly, Mulder released her into the care of the medics, but held onto her hand until the medics lifted her onto the gurney, forcibly separating them. He struggled briefly to stand, unaware that his untamed eyes reflected only horror and death and unending fear. He felt strong arms engulf him and hold him as he vainly attempted to struggle to her side. The darkness roared and swept over him as he collapsed in the arms that would not let him fall.
Disjointed words. The sounds of plastic tearing. Medical sounds. Familiar sounds. Skinner's voice.
"Mulder."
With a start, Mulder came back to full consciousness, aware of the cold air freezing his bloody sweater to his body. Scully was gone. He could feel the cold of her absence freezing his soul. He was afraid. If she was really gone, if death had taken her, he would freeze to death from the inside out until nothing was left but a frozen husk that walked and talked but felt nothing.
Unable to speak, Mulder looked into Skinner's eyes for hope. Skinner nodded though his eyes reflected his own worry.
Alive, then, but still in danger.
*****************
George Washington Hospital
Later that night
Jason walked slowly down the corridor of the hospital. Four weeks ago, he had walked this same corridor to observe the man he had tried to kill struggle back from the brink of death. Up ahead, standing like a tall pillar of black ice, that man now stood outside a room watching his partner fight to live as she had watched him fight.
Keeping an eye out for stray Assistant Directors, Jason slipped into an alcove where he could observe Mulder for awhile. He was flying by the seat of his pants now, improvising on the run. For the first time in years, he felt free. He was in an impossible situation with a death sentence waiting to be executed, yet there was an invigorating intoxication in skating along the thin edge of extinction with only his wits and his cunning keeping him alive.
Once again, Mulder was the key to the situation. Jason wondered if there actually was a minor god called Murphy and whether Mulder was his acolyte. Mulder seemed to move unscathed through disasters and cataclysms, wrecking the finely tuned plans of men who were themselves little less than gods in terms of the power they wielded. Well, if Mulder was Murphy's Law in action, then it behooved Jason to use his talents to the utmost. The only question was how?
Mulder stood vigil outside Scully's room. She looked so small and fragile lying there amid a maze of wires and tubes. Unconscious, her face devoid of the lively intelligence that transformed her, she looked like a child sleeping in blissful ignorance of the war being waged for her life.
The bandages on his knees stretched as he moved. He had protested taking the time to have the glass shards removed, but Skinner had been adamant. In fact, Skinner had taken over, getting him out of his blood-soaked clothes, propelling him into the emergency room for treatment and forcing a gallon of coffee into him until he threw the final cup against the wall along with a string of obscene curses. In Mulder's fragmented memory, he remembered Skinner smiling as he left to find some towels to clean up the mess. If he lived to be a hundred, Mulder doubted if he would ever completely understand Skinner.
Vaguely he recalled Skinner telling him that the man who had done this to her was dead. Mulder couldn't remember if he even acknowledged the information. It didn't matter. The assassin was merely the tool, not the heart and mind behind the killing. Inside his frozen soul, Mulder plotted the death of the men who stood in the shadows behind the assassin. If Scully died... Mulder's heart shuddered at even contemplating such a disaster, but his angry soul repeated the words, driving home the despair, to kill the last vestige of mercy. If Scully died, he would hunt down the men responsible before he joined her.
Mulder was struck by the hellish symmetry of his life. She had stood here, just four weeks earlier, as he lay amid a tangle of wires and tubes fighting for his life. He would gladly trade places with her; he wanted to trade places with her. Anything to silence the ache that was squeezing his heart into bitter wormwood. Anything to silence the guilt that charged him with her death and demanded expiation in blood.
No, that was taking the easy way out, he thought with the last remnant of his dalliance with emotional honesty. Scully didn't deserve the pain of watching him die. He deserved every second of pain knowing she was dying because of him. He embraced the pain, made it part of him, used it to encase his heart in bands of unrelenting steel. Vengeance would be his. Mercy would be buried with her, along with his heart, his honor and his soul. Mulder felt the bloodlust rise and recoiled from the soulless executioner he saw himself becoming.
He didn't want to exist in a living hell. The ice that was freezing his soul frightened him. Madness had always lurked deep within his soul. Fury had unlocked the chains more than once and murder danced in the fires of his temper. Always before he had had a reason to not take the final step over the line. Now, his reason lay dying and the fires beckoned. He was so cold.
"Scully," he whispered in desperation. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me to face my demons alone."
Tears boiled up, but he refused to cry until he knew whether he was crying for his death or hers. Taking a deep breath he fought the urge to cough as the air rasped over his raw throat.
"I wish I could make outlandish promises that I'll change, that I will be the man you think you see beneath the mask. I can't. I am who I am, Scully. Not much to offer, I guess. There'll always be some quest, some monster that calls me out for one more fight. It's what I do. You deserve so much more than I can give you, but I give you all of what I have."
Mulder leaned against the glass, etching his plea into the glass barrier between them.
"You can't die now. Not until we at least try to see if it can work between us. If you die now, I don't think I can find my way home in the dark." Mulder closed his eyes, his body folded in prayer even while his soul cried out that no one other than Scully cared enough to listen to his plea. If she could not hear him, who would?
"Agent Mulder," Skinner interrupted his agent's dour thoughts with a softening of his usual resonant bass tones. He waited patiently as Mulder gathered himself together. His own mood was bleak as he fought the urge to revert back to the simple Marine code that blood called for blood.
"Yes sir," Mulder replied wearily. He raised his hand against the window in a silent, final supplication. With a ragged sigh he straightened up and turned to face the inevitable concern he knew would be in Skinner's eyes.
"Get some rest. You've been standing here for nearly eight hours. I'll watch over her," Skinner glared briefly to forestall the protest he saw building in Mulder's stormy eyes. "The moment anything changes, I'll call you. I promise."
Mulder shook his head, denying his body's need for rest. He was afraid that if he left her, she might forget his overwhelming need and drift into the peace offered by death. He remembered how alluring death could seem, offering peace and solace for all the pain and hurt acquired over the years.
"She will need to see you when she wakes up." Skinner tried to put as much confidence in those words as he could. Scully had to survive. If she died, no man on earth would be able to control Mulder's rage and he wasn't even sure he would try.
"Besides, if you go find a quiet place to rest, Agent Smithers won't have a chance to track you down and get a statement from you. He is taking this investigation very seriously. I think you would prefer to have all your wits about you before tackling his questions," Skinner advised with a note of wary resignation in his voice.
Mulder raised his eyebrow at the change in tone. Skinner's expression remained bland, but a slight shrug of one shoulder and a soft sigh told him that Skinner had already endured Smithers's bulldog persistence and had had an interesting time tap-dancing around the truth.
"You know, I'm really tempted to tell Smithers the absolute truth, but I don’t think he's ready for it," Mulder replied wearily, rubbing his forehead with the heels of his hands.
"I'd like to think that most of the agents under my command aren't ready to accept the truth we both know exists." Skinner paused, considering whether to pursue his own curiosity.
"I gave up, sir. I sold my soul to the devil and it couldn't even buy Scully her life." Mulder sagged against the wall, his tone defeated, his body collapsing in on itself as his rage turned inward.
Skinner guided Mulder over to some very uncomfortable-looking vinyl chairs. He said nothing. If Mulder wanted to talk, he would. The tale sounded terribly familiar. His own soul had been bartered for little or no results that he could see. It was a humbling experience to find that your most precious possession was worthless tender to your enemies.
"You are being set up, sir. There's a tape in my collection which has damning evidence against you. It's hidden, but if Smithers does a thorough search, he might stumble on it."
Skinner swallowed hard and his fingers stiffened around Mulder's shoulders, but he gave no other sign that he felt the noose tightening around his neck. He saw a spark of humor in Mulder's eyes.
"What..."
"'The Gladiator and the Slave Girls of Atlantis' is very high on my recommended viewing list, sir," Mulder said with a wry twist to his tone that broadened into a grim chuckle as Skinner's look of bewilderment turned into acknowledgement.
"Agent Mulder, remind me to have a long talk with you, off the record of course, about your video habits," Skinner said with mock sternness. Smithers was a puritan; groping through Mulder's extensive porn video collection would not be a task he would relish.
"Yes sir," Mulder said as he sagged back against the wall, suddenly too weary to continue talking in circles.
"If you won't rest, at least go take a walk and get some fresh air. I'll stay here. I have an agent posted on the door to the ICU and another one by the stairs. No one will get to her," Skinner vowed. He felt a slight surge of pride that Mulder gave a nod in response to his assurance. Mulder did not extend trust lightly, especially where Scully's welfare was concerned. Now for the hard part.
"I have also assigned Agent Cawlder to guard you," Skinner made his voice a battering ram that ran over and through Mulder's abortive attempt at protest. "You were the main target, Mulder. That bullet would have taken you in the gut. Somebody out there doesn't like you very much. I am not going to watch Scully pull through only to have to tell her that I was careless enough to allow you to be killed." Skinner was firm on this point. By this time, whoever had ordered Mulder's death, must know that their assassin had failed. It was only logical to assume they would try again.
Mulder looked rebellious, hunching his body against the necessity to walk among armed guards.
"I don't want..." Mulder started to protest then saw the implacable resolve in Skinner's eyes and recognized that on this issue he wasn't going to be moved. It must be the lingering influence of brutal emotional honesty, he decided as he realized that he had lost his usual urge to fight the intrusion of authority into his private life.
"Yes sir," he conceded. At least his abrupt surrender was rewarded by a look of astonishment before Skinner recovered his composure. Mulder gave him a resigned shrug as he shoved upwards to a standing position. It took a minute to regain his equilibrium and stop the hallway from spinning, but he waved off Skinner's assist and turned to leave.
"I'm going to the garden. It's private enough there that I should be safe. Tell Cawlder not to hover," Mulder snapped as he walked down the hallway. In the darkness of the hospital garden, maybe the man who bought his soul would emerge and tell him why it had not been enough.
In the shadows, Jason smiled. He was growing to like Mulder. The lad had a flair for improvisation and a genius for taking chances no sane man would consider. Bill Mulder never fathered this wolfling, if he was any judge of men. Neither had his smoking friend, who made caution and circumspection his gods. A glimmer of an idea began to rise like the dawning sun. Jason actually smiled. Where better to hide the truth than in a nest of lies?
Still smiling, Jason slipped into one of the side rooms and through an easily unlocked connecting door into an examining room that opened out onto the main ER corridor. From there he moved quickly towards the small enclosed garden. The ubiquitous Agent Cawlder paced restlessly by the entrance to the garden, obviously uneasy at his orders not to hover. Through the heavy glass sliding doors, Jason could see Mulder standing in the courtyard, staring at the winter-dead garden, waiting for some sign, some indication that his bargain had meant something.
Thankful that he had memorized the plans to the hospital four weeks ago, Jason followed a series of winding hallways until he reached a door that opened into the rear of the garden. He stepped into a small area hidden from the main entrance by large coniferous bushes enclosing a long semi-circular bench facing the statue of some unknown saint softly lit by recessed lights. A peaceful spot where he and Mulder could have a private discussion without distressing the earnest Agent Cawlder.
Jason sat quietly, listening to Mulder's restless footsteps grow closer. When he could hear the rasp of his breathing, he spoke up.
"Fox."
Mulder froze in mid-step. He had hoped for this meeting, but now faced it with an equal measure of fear and righteous anger. He didn't want to die with so many things left unsaid between him and Scully. He wanted to hate this man who had disdained his soul while at the same time he wanted to go to his knees and beg for some miracle to save Scully.
Gathering his anger around him like a shield, Mulder walked towards the soft circle of light. Jason stood up as he entered the small plaza.
"You are not surprised to see me here. Good. I like a man who anticipates events," Jason said calmly. It was time Mulder learned the price of playing this game. Their lives hung upon what passed between them in the next few minutes. Their lives and the lives of his friend, of Scully, even the life of A. D. Skinner all depended on whether Mulder would listen or act on the rage that was consuming him.
"Why," Mulder poured all of his rage into a single hoarse word. Mulder faced his tormenter, his eyes a dark hurricane green.
"Complacent men, afraid of what they cannot control, acted impulsively," Jason replied cryptically. "You should understand that much, at least."
Mulder scowled but said nothing. His fists clenched at his sides, he stood silent, a forbidding dark shadow standing in the light, trembling with an effort to contain the rage that demanded vengeance.
Jason sighed. So much anger, yet with enough wisdom or caution to wait and hear what he had to say. He might own this man's soul, but he wondered if anyone had the power to control him. Perhaps it was best not to try. The hawk served best slipped from its leash and allowed to hunt on its own. He would have to trust that, in the end, this hawk would return to his fist.
"You are not the only one who wonders if they will lose a friend, someone closer than a friend, this night. I learned too late what was planned to warn you. A friend lies where your partner lies as a result of their orders. The Elders will pay. I offer you a chance to help make them pay for this night's pain." Jason watched Mulder carefully as he recited the litany of the Elders' crimes against both of them.
"You said Scully would not be harmed if I accepted your deal," Mulder retorted in a husky, angry voice. His hands flexed as he fought the urge to throttle the truth out of the man who betrayed him.
"Yet you took it upon yourself to tell her about your deal. That was not in the bargain, as I recall," Jason responded calmly, feeling his way back onto familiar ground.
"You didn't say I couldn't," Mulder threw back defiantly, aware that he sounded like a small boy arguing with his elders.
"Very good, Fox," Jason smiled. "An old friend said you have a genius for discovering even the tiniest loophole. No, I never said you couldn't tell your partner or Skinner about our little deal. That wasn't why she was shot."
Mulder gave up trying to appear calm and began pacing in fits and starts around the plaza. If he put a little distance between him and Jason, he might be able to resist killing him with his bare hands on the spot.
"You were the target. Agent Scully was a miscalculation. I suspect that the shooter would have paid dearly for that mistake even if he had been successful in bringing you down. The Elders do not tolerate mistakes or individual initiative," Jason said with a grim humorless smile. "I on the other hand, encourage initiative and reward it."
Jason walked over to the bench and sat down, drawing Mulder's attention to him by the force of his words and his will. Death still hung in the air, but Jason sensed that Mulder was beginning to listen.
"You were just one of several men slated for termination tonight. The Elders are now short several assassins and none of their targets are dead. No doubt there are some serious recriminations occurring right now among the Council."
"They'll try again?" Mulder asked with a sudden return of fear for Scully's safety. He half turned to go when Jason reached out and held him still with one hand. Mulder froze at the touch, stiff with anger, but also curious.
"As I said, I intend to make the Elders pay. You and Skinner are my hawks. I can give you much information that will make the Elders extremely uncomfortable. You will act on that information. Between us we will shake the complacency of the Project's overlords. With my knowledge you have a chance to learn the truth hidden behind the lies you've been fed all these years."
Jason watched Mulder struggle with the concept that his bargain was not complete surrender, but simply a new way to fight the lies. He did not look totally convinced, but Jason sensed that the desire to fight back and inflict real damage was draining away his urge to refuse.
"Fox, the conspiracy you fight has more than one face, more than one purpose. If tonight's events had gone as I had planned, I would have brought you into the Project as their tool, to serve as your father always intended. Now I bring you and Skinner in as my tools. We will show them that we are not to be taken lightly," Jason urged, letting the long-banked fire of his ambition flare up and out to touch Mulder with its heat.
Mulder threw back his head and stared at the moonless sky above. His world had shifted on its axis one too many times today. He no longer knew where to place his feet, who to trust or even whether he should trust at all. Scully was his foundation and that foundation had turned into a quagmire as she fought for her life.
"And if I say no?"
"Then you're a dead man. A struggle for power is going on inside the ranks of men accustomed to think of themselves as gods. Either you join me or you become a luxury neither side can afford." Jason laid out the brutal facts of life and death in the Project.
Mulder thought about what Jason had said and even more about the things he had not said. Jason was offering him a chance to fight back, to maybe gain some justice for the victims of the Project, but not ultimate justice. Was it worth it? He didn't know. He did know that he wanted someone to pay for what they did to Scully. If he refused, he suspected he would be dead in a day or so. With him dead, there was no reason to remand Scully's death and Skinner would be left in thrall without hope or reason.
It wasn't any easier the second time, but Mulder did not see any choice.
"I agree, but if I can take down the Project, I will," Mulder warned staring Jason straight in the eyes.
"Fair enough. However, you might find yourself going down with it. Still, you have a right to try and I really wouldn't expect anything less from you," Jason replied evenly. He stood up and, on impulse, stretched out his hand to Mulder. "By the way, my name is Jason. I think we are going to get to know each other very well in the next few years." This incandescent young man touched a part of him he thought had died on a dark bridge four years ago.
Mulder looked at the hand, glaring defiantly as he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. Just as he was turning away, he stopped and stared up at the brightly blazing hospital windows overlooking the garden before reluctantly raising his right hand to touch Jason's. He recoiled before Jason could grip the hand, but Jason nodded his understanding.
"Oh, by the way, you might want to give Dr. Anthony Walker a call when Agent Scully recovers from the gunshot wound, as I'm sure she will. I hear he is quite an authority on her type of cancer." Jason hid his smile at the flash of hope that changed Mulder's eyes from dull brownish-green to a light sparkling sea green.
"I am not a harsh taskmaster, Fox. You will hear from me from time to time. In the meantime you are free to pursue whatever avenues you choose. Feel free to tell Mr. Skinner that his duties will be substantially changed in the future. I am not going to harness a thoroughbred to a plow." Jason smiled at his own analogy. This unholy alliance he was forging had enormous potential for raising all of them as high as their dreams could imagine or thrusting them into anonymous graves. Either way, they had no choice now but to try.
Mulder started to turn and leave. "I haven't finished," Jason said. He saw Mulder's shoulders stiffen as he felt the leash tighten. Just one last tug, Fox, Jason promised silently, and then you're free to hunt on your own until I need you.
Mulder turned and stood silently, glowering, but acknowledging Jason's right to call him up short. He hated the feel of the bit, but he wasn't stupid enough to fight unnecessarily, yet. If his obedience was required to protect Scully and Skinner then he could be very obedient, if not completely happy about it.
"If you want the advice of an older man, tell Scully everything. If she walks away, I promise, she will always be under my protection and you will be better off knowing at the beginning. However, if she decides to stay, I will consider that decision to be of her own free will. Two souls are quite enough for me. I have no desire for hers as well," Jason assured Mulder. Besides, Jason thought, if she stays, as I think she will, then your soul is enough to bind her to my purpose even more securely than if I had tried to barter for hers. I think the price for her soul would be more than I could pay, he conceded with the respect one soldier showed another.
Mulder growled something under his breath, but not loud enough for Jason to hear. Jason's words were cold comfort. He knew he would tell Scully about the deal. If she was smart, she would leave him, but he had this sinking feeling she was going to stay with him and try to win his soul back. Jason and Scully in a tug-of-war over his soul - the image was daunting. Mulder had a feeling his future was going to be extremely uncomfortable.
Released, Mulder hurried back to Scully's bedside. Jason stepped back into the shadows and pondered how best to use his new hawks to bring down the men who had declared war on him.
"We're all together, just as you predicted, old friend," Jason whispered to Jonathan's ghost. "You knew. All along you knew and you never told us. Always one for keeping your little secrets."
***************
Dawn 30 hours later - Scully's room
Mulder leaned back in the oddly comfortable rocking chair and stretched the muscles in his back and neck until he could hear the vertebrae pop. The chair had appeared as if by magic an hour after he had returned to stand outside Scully's room. The duty nurse shrugged and simply said that someone higher up had authorized it. At this point, Mulder wasn't sure whether he had Jason to thank, Skinner or some unknown, but kind-hearted hospital administrator. Maybe the staff had simply grown tired of seeing him pressed against the window to Scully's room and quietly arranged to get him out of their way. Whoever was responsible had his undying gratitude.
Occasionally, during his long vigil, Mulder had seen the agents Skinner had left on duty pacing outside the room like stern hallway monitors. There was a brief flurry of contention when the shifts changed and each new nurse had to be personally checked out, but Mulder left the furor in Skinner's capable hands. He had more important things to do - like persuading Scully not to ditch him.
She was so still. He kept reaching out to touch her hand, to reassure himself that she was still alive, still with him. Each time he hoped that at his touch her eyes would flutter open and she would be back. She was somewhere very far away and he could not find her.
He had passed beyond bargaining with heaven or hell for her life. Besides, he had nothing to offer that had not been offered before with no response. If she wished to return, then nothing in heaven or hell could stand in her way. Mulder did not think that an army of angels could stand up against a determined Scully. If she was lingering in that gray area between life and death, then it was because she was torn between the serene peace death offered, the assurance her faith gave of a heavenly reward, and the soul-wracking frustration he and his quest offered.
Finally, just before four a.m., nearly thirty hours since the shooting, he laid his head down on the side of the bed and slept, cradling her hand against his face, holding on for dear life. Asleep within moments, he did not feel her hand shift in his until her palm cupped his cheek. As he slept, she slipped from coma into sleep and dreamed of him and with him.
An hour later he woke up as the duty nurse moved around him checking the machines that beeped constant reminders that Scully was still alive. Satisfied, she left as silently as she came in. He felt the heavy stubble on his cheeks rub against Scully's palm and tried to remember when he had fallen asleep. She looked almost translucent to his sleep blurred eyes. Something of the netherworld clung to her and he was afraid she was slipping away from him. Tentatively he raised his hand to touch her face, but pulled it back, afraid to disturb whatever peace she had found.
Mulder shifted back in the chair, letting his head thump lightly against the back, as he returned to his vigil. The smell of hot coffee hit him with a slap. Without turning his eyes away from Scully's face, he reached out and grasped the Styrofoam cup placed in his hand.
"I've eaten better C-rations than what passes for food here, but I want to hire the man who makes their coffee," Skinner said with a tired groan as he settled into a hard wooden chair shoved in the corner of the room.
"Hmmmm," Mulder mumbled as he cautiously sipped the rich, dark brew, waiting for the jolt as the caffeine hit his system. In spite of his intense focus on Scully, he had been grateful for the solid reassurance of Skinner's quiet presence throughout the long hours he had spent at her side. Skinner had been the only one he trusted to watch over her when he was forced to take a necessary break.
Once Skinner had accepted Mulder's refusal to leave, he had kept him supplied with coffee. Finding Mulder asleep on his last round, Skinner had gladly drunk both cups of coffee. Right now he was running on nerves and caffeine, but he wouldn't allow himself to rest until Scully was out of danger and Mulder did not need to be reminded not to hurl himself into self-destruction. Mulder's face sagged with exhaustion, but his eyes burned with the dark fires of vengeance that worried him.
"Hey partner . . .," a small voice shattered the silence.
Mulder froze. Hot coffee splattered as his fist crushed the cup. Part of him noted for future reference that he had just been scalded in some very tender spots, but for now his entire being was caught up in a miracle.
Skinner held his breath, almost afraid to believe he had heard anything. He had moved beyond exhaustion about four hours ago. Hearing voices was one sign of extreme exhaustion, that much he remembered from 'Nam. He prayed that this wasn't some cruel hallucination. Mulder couldn't take much more and he knew he was close to the edge himself.
"You look terrible," the voice continued, slightly stronger this time, filled with amused tolerance and contentment.
Mulder swallowed twice, trying to find his voice, then gave up. With a mingled sob and groan he leaned forward and laid his head in Scully's lap, anointing her with his tears. Straining with the effort to move leaden limbs, Scully slowly raised her hand and let it drop on Mulder's head, fingers lightly smoothing his hair as she made soothing whispers of reassurance.
Scully was smiling down at Mulder; a sad, soft smile that acknowledged sorrow, betrayal and future pain. There was also immense understanding of and love for the man shuddering with relief under her hand.
Skinner stood to go, feeling embarrassed at his intrusion into this intimate act of reunion. Scully lifted her eyes to his as the chair creaked under his shifting weight. Skinner was captured by the serenity and resolve that shone out of eyes that still looked into the world beyond. Scully nodded once, mouthing 'thank you' to him as she turned back to her partner who was raising his head at last to look at her.
Walking quietly into the hall, Skinner felt the odd sense that he had been given absolution by the only person who could give it. Looking out the window at the rising sun, Skinner felt the second of his lives slip into the dark waters of the past. How many lives did he have left? For that matter, how many lives did any of them have left? They had pushed the odds far beyond all reason, yet miracles still kept bringing them back into the fight. They had no right to expect their luck to hold, yet he couldn't help believing that it would.
He knew that any time they beat the odds was cause for celebration. Too tired to even rejoice, he indulged in the rare luxury of simply watching the sun come up with no agenda or urgency beyond the calm wonder of seeing another day begin.
But I've a rendezvous with Death. The words formed out of the shadows of his memory, a poet writing of his own fate in war, whose words had haunted him throughout the hell of 'Nam. And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.
As the dawn turned into daylight and the bustle of the hospital swirled around him, Skinner stood sentry over the reunion of two soldiers in this latest war, a war fought in darkness and without fanfare. There were no victors in this war, just survivors, but he intended to see to it that even if no one else was left standing, the two he had just left would survive.
*********
Still unable to speak, Mulder poured his heart and soul into his eyes as a shy, tremulous grin lit up his face. They had wrenched another miracle out of fate's hands. Words were beyond him. There were no words to describe his gratitude to whoever or whatever watched over Scully and brought her safely back to him.
Scully watched the sun dawning in Mulder's eyes as it banished the chill of her dalliance with death. If she did nothing else in the short time left to her, she intended to make this incredible man realize his own worth. She was a woman with a mission. Mulder held himself too cheaply. It was time he saw himself through her eyes. His need had drawn her back into life. For too long she had drawn strength from his stubborn faith in her and in the possibility of a cure. Now it was time she gave some of that faith back to him before she had to leave him alone for good.
"Mulder," she spoke his name with a tenderness meant to capture his attention. Liquid eyes bored into her and she had to resist the urge to drown in the passion she saw swimming in their depths.
"You haven't slept, have you?" she chided him with a smile.
Mulder shrugged and absently rubbed the stubble on his cheeks that was bordering on a young beard.
"You can tell?" he quipped back - lame, but at least he got the words past the lump in his throat.
"I'm a trained investigator, Mulder," she responded in kind, basking in the warmth of their familiar repartee.
"I'm back now and I don't intend on going anywhere, so go home and get some sleep. We haven't finished that talk we were having and I don't want you falling asleep before I talk you out of this insane plan of yours," she admonished with mock sternness as she lightly traced his jaw-line. Her body felt the thrumming response Mulder made to this advance. Suddenly a whole new host of extreme possibilities opened up in front of her.
"Scully..."
"Later, Mulder. Get some sleep. You're swaying. I'm getting dizzy watching you try to sit upright." Scully brought her other hand up to cup his face and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. A chaste act with overtones of passionate intimacy that left them flushed and breathing hard.
A loud raucous buzz exploded in the silence and they pulled back in startled alarm. Two nurses and a resident burst into the room prepared for the worse. Mulder glared at the heart monitor then gave Scully a rueful grin. He allowed the nurses to shoulder him out of the way as they hovered over a flushed Scully who was losing the battle not to laugh. Skinner's appearance blew the last of her self-control and she dissolved into chuckles as she tried to reassure the nurses that she was fine.
Mulder gave the perplexed Skinner a shrug and a smile before he grabbed one of Scully's hands, squeezed it and mouthed 'later.' Knowing hospitals as well as he did, Scully was going to be completely occupied for at least the next couple of hours. He didn't think he could sleep, but he figured he could lie down for a couple of hours so he could honestly tell Scully that he tried.
"Sir, you were telling me about a spare room where I could sack out for a few hours?" Mulder commented as he walked out into the hallway and noted how bright the day looked.
**********
Later that day
"Hey, moving up in the world, partner," Mulder said as he walked into Scully's new room five hours later. Contrary to his expectations, he had fallen asleep almost immediately and logged in a solid four hours sleep. Thanks to a shower, a shave and fresh clothes he felt that he might just pass muster.
"Still the same old food, though," Scully shot back as she contemplated the consequences of rebelling, just once in her life, against clear broth and Jell-O. "Hungry, Mulder?" she asked mischievously.
"Nah, I've had my quota of Jell-O for the year. It's your turn," he retorted as he grabbed a lumpy chair and pulled it over to the side of the bed. As he tried to fit his body between the lumps, he wondered if he could track down the rocker and hijack it.
"You got some sleep," Scully said with relief. Mulder looked tired, but the glassy sheen of exhaustion was gone from his eyes. She realized that she missed the stubble. It gave him a dangerous, don't-bring-home-to-mama look that definitely opened up some very tempting possibilities.
"Yeah, some," he assured her. Biting his lip, he looked down at his shoes, trying to brace himself for the talk he knew was coming. She was too late to save him and somehow he had to make her understand.
"Mulder, don't you dare feel guilty for not being dead," Scully snapped sternly. Mulder's head came up and she was startled to see surprise in his eyes.
"Actually, I've already had that lecture from Skinner. You were unconscious for so long, I guess he figured somebody had to do it," Mulder said with a resigned shrug.
"Then what..."
"Well, as I recall our last conversation, before you took a bullet meant for me, you were saying something about me not taking the deal," Mulder paused as Scully quickly shifted gears from her planned lecture and remembered the interrupted discussion. At her nod, he continued. This honesty routine was not coming easy for him but he wanted to lay everything out on the table before crawling back inside his barriers.
"It's too late, Scully. I'm bought and paid for. The good news is that part of the price is a cure for you. The bad news is that if I try to back out now, I have a choice of being shot by the Consortium or by Jason."
Scully was frowning now. "Who..."
"Jason's the man who holds the other end of my leash," Mulder shrugged and gave a sad smile. "Actually, he isn't as bad as I expected. He has his own agenda after the other night. Seems the Consortium went mad and issued hits on several people, including Jason and a friend of his. If I can believe him, then I'm pretty much back where I started, with him as my informant. I told him I'd take him and the Consortium down if I could. He laughed and told me to go ahead and try." Mulder sounded faintly insulted.
"He's lying to you," Scully interjected. She was determined to remain calm despite the urge to shake Mulder until he came to his senses.
"Possibly. What else is new? I was weaned on lies, Scully. I'll have to wait and see. I think he was telling the truth about your cure. Take it. Make something good come out of this deal," Mulder pleaded. He refused to bolster his arguments with physical contact, but his eyes begged her to take the chance to live.
"They'll keep using me, then. I won't be a pawn to be used against you," Scully argued, angry at the men who used her to destroy the one man who dared stand in their way.
"You've got it all wrong, Scully. You're no pawn. You're the only reason I even made it this far. Without you, I'm the pawn, their pawn. You've validated me. You have given me faith to believe in miracles and offered me the solid rock of your integrity as a person and as a scientist to put my back against," Mulder said passionately, his soul spinning the words out of his need to make her understand how much she meant to him.
Flushed by his outburst, he laid his hand over hers, smiling as she grabbed hold and squeezed. Such a tiny hand, almost lost in his larger one, yet he never seemed to think of her as anything less than a giant towering over lesser men.
"Mulder..." For once, Scully was at a loss for words. While she understood that Mulder loved her, she had never once realized how much he also admired and respected her. Love suddenly seemed to be the easier emotion to deal with.
"No, listen just a moment longer, then I'll shut up and give you a chance to tell me I'm wrong," Mulder admonished with a sly smile.
"The deal is made. I think Jason is right - if I back out now, I'm a dead man. At least this gives me a chance to fight back . . . and you a chance to live. Sounds like a pretty fair bargain to me." Mulder didn't smile. Scully needed to know with absolute certainty that he was dead serious.
Mulder's eyes told her all she needed to know - a desperate need/fear for her life combined with a grim awareness of what this deal would cost him. Mulder had entered this deal fully aware of the price. This was not like any of his other forays into forbidden territory which were as much a boy's reckless belief in his own invincibility as all-consuming drives for the truth. This was a man's decision, made with a man's heart and a man's acceptance of the consequences. What a hell of a time for Mulder to finally grow up, she thought irritably.
"I'm not leaving you alone in this, Mulder," Scully responded with steel in her voice. She was pleased to see him flinch just a bit.
"If you had any common sense at all, you'd walk away from me just as fast and as far as you could."
"Well, I think whether I have any common sense was settled a long time ago and the answer is no - not where you are concerned. I am not going to stand by and watch you become everything you hate. My life isn't worth that much," she snapped.
"You're not going to refuse..." Mulder stopped, trying to regain control of his voice which deserted him along with his composure at the thought that Scully might refuse the cure.
"No," Scully said with a softening of her tone. "No, I'll take the cure. I'm selfish enough to want to live, if for no other reason than to keep you from making any more idiotic deals."
Scully watched fear, relief, hope, and regret chase themselves across Mulder's expressive face until only relief was left. He wasn't the only one who couldn't bear to imagine life without the other. Someday she hoped she could make him understand that she wasn’t being noble; she was simply unable to walk away from the life they had created. However precarious, however insular, this was the life she chose and would fight for with every ounce of her stubborn Irish will.
"Besides, someone has to stick around to haul your ass out of the fire, partner," she added with a glint in her eye that brooked no argument and a smile to let him know she had every intention of picking up where she left off.
"Can't imagine anyone else I'd rather have hauling my ass," Mulder quipped. His eyes were sad as he realized that Jason was right, Scully wasn't going to abandon him no matter what. He didn't know why she stuck around, but he hoped one day maybe they could talk about that as well.
*********
Standing in his friend's smoke-drenched office, Jason stared down at the empty chessboard. Slowly, almost reverently, he began to replace the scattered chessmen. The black side was missing two bishops, a rook and over half its pawns. The pawns were expendable, but he suspected that the Elders would soon feel the gap left by his and his friend's exile. Overtures would be made, responsibility for a gross act of individual initiative passed on to a dead man and the strayed sheep would be welcomed back to the fold. The Elders were fools to trust men they tried to have killed, but fools were very useful things to have in this game of secrets and lies.
On the opposite side of the board, the ranks of the white king betrayed a strange new alliance. Jason wished the board could reflect the new hierarchy that had hatched in a dark garden at the cusp of midnight. Light and dark mixed together in no arrangement known to modern chess. Mulder's white king stood in the bishop's square with the white queen at his right hand. Two black bishops sat in the royal squares holding court over this new order. A black rook guarded their left flank while a white bishop flanked by two knights and a rook protected the king and queen.
New rules. A new game. Jason smiled as he pondered the possibilities in this new power structure. He raised a glass of amber whiskey in a toast to the gods of dark ambitions he had followed for nearly fifty years.
"I brought him in. I have bound him to our purpose with chains he cannot break."
In the shadows he stood, casting his shadow over the white king and his allies. It was time for the real game to begin.
THE END
***************
Author's Note: The fragment of poetry quoted by Skinner is Alan Seeger's "I Have A Rendezvous With Death."Feedback will be given a good home at: mab49@earthlink.net
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