ABSALOM VII: The Threefold Cord - Part 1
by - Joyce
December 1998
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, Skinner and CSM do not belong to me. I have borrowed them, without permission, from 1013 Productions, no infringement is intended. Jason and Hamilton belong to me.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the 7th in a series of stories that take place in an alternate universe that split off of the official universe somewhere between Memento Mori and Gethsemane. Reading the past stories would help to understand what has led everyone to this point.
FEEDBACK: mab49@earthlink.net
SUMMARY: Mulder comes to terms with his deal with the devil and some of its consequences in his relationships with Scully and Skinner.
"And though a man might prevail against one who is alone; two will withstand him. A threefold cord is not quickly broken." (Ecclesiastes 3:16)
Reflecting Pool - Evening Four Days Later
"They're releasing her tomorrow."
Words of promise and hope delivered in a weary, hoarse voice by a dark-clad man sitting in the shadows of an early spring evening. Hope weighed down by despair and grim resignation.
Walter Skinner looked down at the gaunt man sitting on a cold bench beside the Reflecting Pool. The voice reminded him sharply of the voices of the walking dead in 'Nam; men exhausted by too many patrols, too many deaths, until their souls were leached of life and hope.
"That's good," he replied with a hint of a question in his tone. He had just come from Agent Scully's room and thought she was looking well, considering her near brush with death. She had sent him after her partner. Though she refused to say it, Skinner knew she was worried about him.
For the second time in twenty-four hours, Skinner wondered if his decision to dismiss the guards he'd assigned to protect Mulder was premature. Mulder seemed confident that the attack, which left his partner critically wounded, had been meant for him and would not be repeated, though he made no objection to a guard remaining at Scully's door. Skinner made a mental note to have a stern talk with Mulder about his cavalier attitude towards his own safety. It was annoying as hell to the people who genuinely cared what happened to him.
Right now, however, Skinner was far more concerned with Mulder's state of mind. By his count, it had been four days since Mulder had made his deal with the devil. During the intervening time, he had been preoccupied with Scully's flirt with death; too worried to give much thought to his future. Now that she was well on the way to complete recovery, Mulder's erratic genius would no doubt be turning its attention inward and he would begin to brood on his descent into hell.
It was only a matter of time until the reality of the deal he had struck came back to haunt Mulder. The bitter truth that he had sold out to their enemies would begin to gnaw at his conscience. Skinner was painfully familiar with the feeling. He wanted to help Mulder, to let him know that he wasn't alone, but Mulder was a very private man and offering help was difficult. There was also the inescapable gulf of rank and protocol between them. Trying to walk the thin line between friendship and supervisor might tax the bond they shared to the point of breaking.
Whether as friend or supervisor, however, Skinner knew the self-loathing Mulder was beginning to experience and he knew he had to find a way to straddle the gulf long enough to help him stabilize. The memory of the bourbon he had consumed in an effort to drown out the memory of his bartered honor still roiled his stomach. No man, not even Cancer Man, deserved a hangover like the one he'd had.
"Yeah. The new treatment seems to be working another miracle." Mulder looked down at his hands and sighed.
"Regrets?" Skinner asked softly, treading as carefully into Mulder's private reflections as if he were traversing a minefield. He was feeling his way through unfamiliar territory. Unless their on-the-job actions dictated it, he did not interfere in the personal lives of his agents, but he and Mulder were now partners in damnation and this, he supposed, granted him some license for intrusion.
"Does it ever stop hurting?" Mulder asked in almost the same instant. He shrugged as their words crossed, hunching deeper into his jacket, withdrawing into his self-imposed shadow.
"The day it stops is the day you become one of them and then the question is no longer relevant," Skinner replied gruffly. He feared the cessation of his own pain as he watched pieces of his soul flake away in the tawdry little acts of sabotage and sanitation he was forced to carry out. Mulder was just beginning to walk the road he had been walking for nearly three months.
"I told her everything. I think that I hoped she would do the sensible thing and get as far away from me as possible." Mulder gave a self-derisive laugh.
"You're a difficult man to run away from, Agent Mulder."
Skinner felt Mulder's eyes boring into him, but he steadfastly refused to acknowledge his agent's startled reaction and kept his attention on the lights from the Jefferson Memorial reflecting in the still cold water in front of them. He did not elaborate. Mulder would have to accept that he was not going to explain his cryptic comment. Skinner felt Mulder sigh and knew he was probably damn tired of obfuscation and hidden layers of meaning behind the simplest of words. Mulder would have to be satisfied with those few words which betrayed Skinner's unlikely compassion for this erratic agent of his.
"Dr. Ozwin has cleared me for light duty. Scully's going to stay with her mother for a few days, until she's back on her feet." Mulder paused and flung his head back to stare at the darkening sky. Skinner could see the edges of the scar Mulder wore like an obscene serpent coiled around the front of his neck.
"I can come back to work; half-days at least." A faint hiss of resignation betrayed his reluctant acquiescence to this request.
Skinner hid his surprise. This was the first time he could ever remember hearing reluctance in Mulder's oft-expressed desire to get back to work sooner than any sane man would attempt. It almost sounded as if returning to work was an argument Mulder had fought and lost.
"It's Scully's idea. She doesn't want me sitting around in my apartment, brooding," Mulder conceded with a bitter smile.
Skinner had always been aware of the dangerous admiration he felt for this renegade agent who surprised him daily with his passion and his willingness to fight all odds to get at his precious truth. Over the years, he had become accustomed to thinking of Mulder as a comrade, as well as a subordinate. An unfortunate lapse which now might be exploited by their enemies. However, all strategic implications aside, Mulder needed a friend right now, to help him through these first few days in hell. It was a risk and Skinner could see complications spreading out in all directions, like the ripples from a pebble cast into still waters, but he could not remain silent and risk the greater chance of Mulder losing his way. A Marine did not abandon a buddy in a firefight and underneath his starched white shirts and conservative ties, Skinner was still a fighting Marine.
"Scully knows you pretty well," Skinner said with a smile. He was relieved to see an answering smile, albeit a sad one, show up on Mulder's face.
"When did you eat last?" Skinner asked abruptly taking control of the conversation. He let a bit of the sergeant creep into his tone. Time to shake Mulder out of his daze and get him ready for action.
Mulder actually looked puzzled as if he were trying to figure out when he had eaten anything. Finally he shrugged, as if the matter wasn't very important and went back to staring across the Reflecting Pool.
"That's what I thought," Skinner said flatly. "On your feet, Mulder. I'm taking you to dinner. I'll even buy. If you're very good and clean your plate, I'll let you have some beer," Skinner chided him with a smile. He had to get Mulder's attention refocused and bullying him was not the best way to accomplish his goal.
"Ooh, does this mean we're going steady?" Mulder retorted with an effort at his usual smart-aleck humor. It wasn't up to his usual standards, but Skinner gave him marks for trying. The man wasn't dead, yet, just tired and battered from the cataclysms in his life.
"Well, I've had worse-looking dates," he shot back with a dead-pan expression. He had to hide a smile at Mulder's shocked expression. Bet you didn't know I can wise-crack with the best of them, Skinner thought as he remembered himself as a young wise-ass recruit smarting off to a furious DI. His feet still remembered the ten-mile run in full pack his smart mouth had earned him.
"Scully needs you on your feet and in fighting trim. Fainting from hunger at her feet is not the way to reassure her that you aren't going to fall apart on her," Skinner replied firmly with just a touch of steel.
"Yes sir!" Mulder replied with a snap that would have made Skinner's DI proud. Skinner began to feel more hopeful that Mulder was going to make it through his first few days in hell intact. The man was more resilient than anyone ever gave him credit for.
**************
An hour later, Skinner herded Mulder towards a back booth in a pub frequented by students from nearby George Washington University. He had discovered the place when he took the advanced management courses recommended for ambitious FBI administrators. The pub was his refuge from the world of D.C. bureaucracy; a place where he could be Walter, instead of Assistant Director Skinner. There had been times, before the X-Files consumed his future, that he had considered taking the time to pursue a second master's degree in something as frivolous as history. The academic life still held a certain appeal, but he was a soldier and the war was not here; not yet.
As they threaded their way through the milling crowd of students, Skinner watched Mulder visibly relax. This must bring back memories of his own college days. Dressed in jeans, sweaters and leather jackets, he and Mulder might easily pass for a pair of professors out for a relaxing evening. Reason enough for the students to give them a wide berth, yet not unusual enough to cause undue notice.
"Talk, Mulder," Skinner began after the waiter had taken their orders and disappeared back into the crowd. For once, Mulder seemed to be willing to cooperate. He had ordered a large gyro with extra fries and, with a sly glance at Skinner, a pitcher of draft beer.
"There's not much to tell," Mulder shrugged. "This Jason apparently has my apartment bugged, possibly Scully's as well. He knows too much about my daily routine. I haven't heard from him since our meeting the night Scully was shot. So far, he's held up his end of the bargain. The cancer is back in remission, so I'm officially bought and paid for ... sir," Mulder ended morosely as he poured himself a large stein of beer.
"It's been quiet on my end, as well. Then again, there has never been a pattern to the jobs I've been assigned; just random acts of cover-up." Skinner had pondered how far to confide in Mulder, but finally decided that the only chance they had was to cling to a modicum of trust among the three of them. If the Consortium split them up, then they were well and truly lost.
"Spite jobs. Scut work intended to humiliate you. I really doubt if Cancer Man had any real purpose other than to remind you who was boss. Jason, on the other hand, is dangerous because he has a purpose in mind for us."
Mulder glanced around the pub. His expression was wary and guarded as he kept his voice low, almost too low for Skinner to hear him over the noise.
"Relax, Mulder. I doubt if Jason or the Consortium have bothered to bug this place and, with the noise level in here, I don't think they'd pick up anything if they tried. This is a student hang-out, not a swanky bar frequented by D.C. bigwigs," Skinner reassured Mulder with a smile.
"Sorry. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop." Another shrug and a deep swallow of beer. "Thanks for taking the guard dogs off. Every time I turned around, I was tripping over them. I can't cope with young and earnest boy scouts right now."
"Mulder, the shoe is going to drop. From what you said the other night, it sounds as if whatever game this Jason is playing is not part of the shadow government's agenda. They may demand their own price for your soul. I might not be able to intervene. There will probably be a lot of times in the future that I won't be able to intervene." Skinner knew it was just a matter of time before he was set in opposition to Mulder. He had to warn Mulder that he was in no position to divert apparent betrayals.
"You're asking me to trust you even while you're reaming my ass? Is this supposed to be something new?" Mulder asked with a bitter twist to his smile and eyes that bored right through Skinner. His gravely baritone sounded harsh. Skinner reminded himself that Mulder was still getting used to his new 'voice.' He was lucky to be speaking at all. The problem was, now Skinner couldn't read his voice at all, where before, slight tonal shifts had been sufficient to tell him what he needed to know about Mulder's moods.
"Basically, yes," Skinner replied firmly. He knew he was asking a lot from Mulder. Trust came hard for this man, but once given, his trust was damn near unshakable.
Mulder concentrated on eating his gyro as he considered the situation. Skinner turned his attention to his own dinner. The noise from the crowd and the small band nearly drowned out thought and reason, but Skinner suspected Mulder was used to tuning out the world when he was wrestling with a problem.
"Hell, they'll do it, too. Just to watch me ... us squirm," Mulder growled. He looked straight into Skinner's eyes and saw reluctant confirmation there. Mulder gave a sharp bitter laugh.
Skinner tensed as he realized he honestly didn't know how Mulder was going to answer. He had thought he had come to a strong working relationship with this quixotic agent, even trust, but who knew, really, what went on in Mulder's head. Perhaps Scully did, but Skinner suspected that Mulder held secrets even from her.
"I can't trust you."
Skinner felt his chest tighten at the blunt rejection. To his surprise, it hurt more than he anticipated. Damn, he needed to pull back and put some distance between them before he started caring too much, he thought as he felt his face stiffen.
"And you can't trust me," Mulder added in an absolutely dead tone of voice.
It took a moment for his words to sink in. Skinner realized he was right and clamped down on an urge to curse. Damn Mulder for being right. He'd forgotten that Mulder was one of the best profilers the ISU had ever had. Odds were good, that Mulder had already profiled the situation and knew exactly how treacherous the waters were.
"But I can respect you. Just don't ask me to like what I think you're going to do to me," Mulder said with an ironic smile.
Stunned by Mulder's words, Skinner tried to come up with a response. Respect, from Mulder, was about as hard to earn as his trust; harder perhaps because Mulder rarely respected anything or anyone. Skinner looked up to see Mulder smiling at him. He nodded his understanding of the difference. Mulder could split semantic hairs with the best spin-masters in D.C.
"It won't be easy for either of us," Skinner reminded him. Mulder gave a weary nod to show that while he understood, he was the one who was going to be grabbing his ankles.
"I think they'll want us to be at each other's throats. I really doubt if it will occur to the Consortium that we might actually talk to each other," Mulder said with a hoarse weariness. He was staring into his beer as if it held the answers to the universe.
"Then we'll have an advantage they aren't counting on," Skinner commented with a small feeling of optimism. This situation was going to be as confusing and deadly as a night patrol in the jungles of 'Nam with no sure way of telling friend from foe.
"I wouldn't count Jason out, but I don't think he's our main concern. It's the men behind Jason; the ones who tried to kill me," Mulder said grimly, his voice breaking awkwardly.
"I can't offer you any encouraging word, Mulder. There will be mornings you don't want to look in the mirror. Talk with Scully. Don't shut her out," Skinner advised.
Mulder sat silently for a moment, his eyes half-closed. Skinner could almost hear the wheels moving in his head as Mulder considered his words. What half-baked, crazy-ass plan was Mulder coming up with now? Whatever it was, it would be outrageous, unexpected, implausible and, just perhaps, extremely effective.
"I'll talk with her and suggest you take your own advice, sir. She could be our bridge, if she'll do it. It's not as if she hasn't logged a lot of time in your office for the past four years trying to argue you out of canning my ass," Mulder grinned sheepishly and Skinner responded with a grim smile.
Skinner considered the plan. Scully was a frequent visitor to his office, mostly trying to run interference for Mulder. If he and Mulder tried to communicate, the whole damn Consortium would probably light up like a Christmas tree. It would be outside the normal pattern. No doubt the only reason they were getting away with it now was due to the confusion in the Consortium's ranks, if Jason was to be believed.
"Agent Mulder, have I told you recently that you are wasted on the X-Files?" Skinner commented. If Mulder had not diverted himself out of the advancement loop, he would probably be in direct line to head up the Violent Crimes unit.
"I hate meetings. No one expects Spooky Mulder to attend boring bureaucratic meetings," Mulder admitted with a mischievous look in his eyes that peeled away the dead look that had haunted Skinner.
"That might change. The Consortium might have plans for you that don't involve the X-Files. Are you good with that?" Skinner asked cautiously, slowly withdrawing back into his customary reserve.
"No, but I can hope that Jason wants me right where I am," Mulder replied with a defeated sigh. He pushed his way out of the booth. "I better get back to Scully. She'll begin to worry that I'm doing something foolish."
"Need a ride?"
"Nah. I can take the Metro." Mulder paused, biting his lip as he wavered on the edge of leaving. "Thanks for the dinner and for listening. I couldn't ask for better company in hell, sir," he added with a mocking smile. His eyes, however, conveyed a sad gratitude.
"I'll expect to see you in my office tomorrow, Agent Mulder. Get Agent Scully settled at her mother's, then report to me." Skinner ordered firmly, slipping firmly back into Assistant Director mode. He noticed that Mulder relaxed as he settled back into the familiar pattern of their relationship. The sooner this charade began, the happier his nerves would be. It was the waiting, the anticipation of everything that could go wrong, before the patrol that always sapped his strength and his resolve. Once he stepped into the darkness, he could concentrate on staying alive and keeping his buddies alive.
"Yes sir." Mulder wrapped himself in shadows again and was soon lost in the crowd.
Skinner sat nursing the last of his beer until the crowd thinned out and the bartender was beginning to make motions of wanting to close up. Skinner walked the four blocks to his car, relishing the crisp bite of cold air that blew away the shadows from his mind. Mulder had rebounded faster than he had anticipated. He made a mental note to reread Mulder's file and, this time, pay very close attention to what was written between the lines. Know your enemy was sound advice, but his DI always told him that it was much better to know the guy with the rifle next to you.
Skinner walked swiftly, unaware of the silent shadow that watched him. Jason smiled. His chessmen were moving as expected and in the direction that best suited his plans.
"Sleep well, Mr. Skinner. We have much to talk about and I want your undivided attention," Jason whispered as he watched Skinner drive off. It was a good night, he thought as he found his own car and headed home. The sounds of a mellow jazz combo drifted in his wake.
**************
10:15 p.m. George Washington Medical Center
Mandy sighed as she glanced up from her paperwork in time to see Room 407's persistent visitor trying to slip past her station.
"Mr. Mulder," she said in a firm, no-nonsense tone. She chuckled as the tall figure halted, then gave a shrug before turning around to flash her a disarming smile.
"You know perfectly well that visiting hours are over," Mandy chided him, refusing to allow him to see the smile bubbling up inside her. She had learned early, when he was a patient on this same floor, that if you gave him the slightest leeway, he would steal a mile under your very nose.
"I just wanted to tell her goodnight," Mulder replied in a rough, broken baritone.
Mandy wished she had heard his voice before the knife had nearly taken his voice and his life away. Even now, gravely and uncertain in pitch, it had a honey-smoked tone that made her recall certain candle-lit nights with her Franklin.
"She's a better patient that you were, Mr. Mulder. By this time she should already be asleep," Mandy warned. She knew what was coming next. Mulder was unleashing his charm, intent on bamboozling his way into his partner's room.
"Now don't you pull that look on me. I've done raised six children and I'm on my fourth grandchild and all of them pull that same look when they're trying to sweet-talk me into something," Mandy gave him a stern glare and was amused to see him wilt slightly. Good. It never hurt to remind patients and former patients exactly who was in charge.
"Please?"
Mandy gave Mulder high marks for recovery. No wheedling this time, just a request accompanied by a quiet plea in his eyes for just a moment. Mandy remembered how she used to sneak in to watch Franklin sleep, to wish him good night as he fought to live after the accident. Dana Scully was in no danger of dying and, in fact, was going home tomorrow by the grace of God and his hardworking saints. Still, she understood his need to see her safe for the night.
"Five minutes and not one minute more, Mr. Mulder."
Mulder's eyes brightened and he unleashed a devastating smile in her direction. Mandy sternly reminded herself that she was sixty years old and well past the stage where a man's smile should have any effect, but she felt herself smiling in return.
"Get on with you. She asked about you around dinner time. I suspect she's playing possum and is waiting for you," Mandy said as she returned to her paperwork. She listened as Mulder's footsteps disappeared around the corner then heard a soft knock and the whoosh of a door being opened. Now, maybe Dana would go to sleep and get the rest she needed.
**************
"Hey," Mulder whispered. The room was lit by a single soft light in the corner, casting eerie shadows over her bed.
"Hey, yourself," Scully answered softly as she stretched carefully to turn on the light.
"Don't." Mulder reached out to stay her hand.
"Is anything wrong?" Scully asked with sudden concern.
"No. I just dropped by for a moment. It's late and I promised your watch dog out there that I wouldn't disturb you," he said trying not to sound like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Mulder rubbed his thumb in small circles on the back of her hand. He felt her relax as she appeared to accept his word that he was OK. So far, the tenuous pledge of honesty between them was holding, but Mulder knew it was only a matter of time before he might have to start hoarding secrets too dangerous to share. All the more reason, he thought, to treasure these brief moments of emotional intimacy.
"Frohike stopped by," Scully said evenly, her eyes telling him more than her words. Mulder smiled. Their silent system of communication was already adapting to the stress of his deal with Jason. 'Frohike stopped by' was apparently her way of telling him that the room had been swept for bugs and was clean. So much for trusting that she believed his earlier reassurance.
"Well, I'm still fine, but I'm glad the boys are looking out for you," Mulder assured her again that nothing catastrophic had happened. Frohike was a born conspirator; too bad he was going to miss out on the greatest conspiracy game of his life.
"I think I'll miss them the most," Mulder reflected sadly. His paranoid friends would never understand him selling out and probably would never forgive him. What was worse, he would never be able to explain; it was just too dangerous, to them and to Scully. They would simply start cataloging the trail of betrayals in his wake and draw the inevitable and painful conclusion.
"Mulder, they might understand," Scully urged him to believe in his friends' willingness to believe. She turned her hand and caught his larger hand in hers. Mulder felt her anchoring him to herself.
"I can't risk it," Mulder retorted. Visions of his friends murdered, as Scully almost was, played out in his entirely too vivid imagination.
"That's their choice." Scully paused. "Just as it was mine," she reminded him.
Mulder flinched. He was still torn between wishing he had never told Scully the truth and a deep gratitude that she was still by his side after knowing what he had done.
"Tell them the truth and let them make up their own minds. They might surprise you. At least it will give you one less thing to worry about." Scully smiled and Mulder felt himself drowning in the urge to gather her into his arms and hold on for dear life. She yawned and the spell was broken.
"I'll think about it, OK?" he promised.
Knowing Scully, the matter was merely postponed until she was strong enough to back him into a corner with her logic. Not that he would mind being backed into a corner by her, but that was the stuff of his midnight fantasies, not reality, he sternly reminded himself. He blushed slightly as he recalled some of the images those fantasies had created. The room, thankfully, was too dark for Scully to read his face.
"Mulder ..."
"Later. You're tired and I promised Nurse Barton that I would make this short," Mulder explained as he pulled a mask down over his longing to lean down and kiss her goodnight.
As raw as their emotions were right now, he was hesitant to open a door neither one of them was prepared to walk through. Still, he wanted to leave a promissory note, something she could either accept as a friendly gesture or recognize as the first hesitant steps towards something far more intimate.
Slowly, even cautiously, he leaned over and gently tucked the covers around her with one hand as he held her hands in the other. He felt her watching him with those intense blue eyes that had a nasty habit of penetrating his best defenses. Gathering his courage, he bent down and brushed his lips against her forehead in the merest whisper of a kiss. Before she could say a word, he kissed her again, this time letting his lips linger. His nerves were humming with the effort he was pouring into keeping the kiss warm and promising without crossing the line into overt intimacy.
Scully was still watching him as he laid her hands down on the covers and stepped back. Not a word was spoken between them, but Mulder sensed that volumes had been spoken in the silent language of their hearts. He left without saying another word. The words that needed to be said after that kiss could not be said, not yet. Besides, the silences that lay between them were sometimes more eloquent than words could ever hope to be. He trusted that this was true tonight.
As he walked down the hallway, he smiled at Nurse Barton, who gave him a very approving smile in return. She seemed quite amused by something, but Mulder didn't have to courage to ask. He was comfortably wrapped in the warm glow of Scully's smile and the feel of her skin against his lips. Maybe tonight he could sleep and dream of infinite possibilities. Might as well store up the good dreams, he suspected he was going to have a bumper crop of nightmares soon enough.
**************
1:15 p.m. next day FBI Building - Skinner's Office
Jason paused for a moment outside the back door to Assistant Director Skinner's office. It had been years since he had ventured inside Hoover's little kingdom. He had detested the little dictator. In one of their rare arguments, Jonathan had persuaded him, with difficulty, not to leak Hoover's little cross-dressing habit to the press. Jason supposed Jonathan was correct; they needed a stable FBI. Rather than associate with Hoover, Jason had given over the reins of the operation to his smoking friend.
Typical of all bureaucratic architecture, one floor looked like another until they all blended together into a monotonous sameness. Jason felt renewed contempt for men content to work within such sterile surroundings. No wonder a maverick like Mulder preferred the archaic uniqueness of his basement lair. It was a shame to pry him out of his shell and thrust him back into the upper world, but the Elders didn't trust their newest recruit. At least they had had the wits to entrust him with the task of severing Mulder from his beloved X-Files. A gesture of their renewed faith in his abilities, perhaps, or simply a task that none of them knew how to accomplish without getting their hands dirty.
The Elder's supercilious lackey had been succinct and most uncommunicative beyond the simple message he had been entrusted with. Solicitous concern for his well-being, regrets for the death of his friend and assurances that the traitors had been dealt with. Jason had accepted all three lies with equanimity, but little enthusiasm. He saw no reason to inform the Elders that their regrets were premature. His friend was safe, but by no means secure. He needed time, both to make his plans and to allow Jason to orchestrate his triumphant return.
Almost as an afterthought, the lackey had given him his new orders - shut down the X-Files. He said that this would be a test of Mulder's obedience and loyalty to his new masters. Jason had resisted the urge to send his answer back pinned to the dead body of the officious messenger. It was too soon to make his disaffection obvious. He made a mental note to keep track of this errand-boy for future disposal.
So, outwardly obedient to the Elders' will, Jason was standing in front of the office of his personal ace in the hole. It had been an easy matter to have the A.D.'s office swept for bugs while Skinner was delayed in a meeting. Jason had no intention of sharing all his secrets with the Elders, just as he knew they shared very few of theirs with him.
Now it was time for Mr. Skinner to feel his hand on the leash; a light, but firm touch seemed called for. He wanted to bend Skinner to his will, not break his spirit. For the second time in a week, Jason felt the thrill of pitting his will against a worthy opponent. Two hawks, obedient to his will, would transform the game under the Elders' very noses, possibly as Jonathan had planned so many years before.
Jason slipped into the office and was pleased to find it empty. The impromptu lunch-hour meeting was running behind schedule, just as Hamilton had promised it would. Excellent. Jason preferred to be in place when Skinner returned. He detested grand entrances; they wasted valuable time. If he concentrated, he could almost smell his friend's smoke lingering in the air. Jason did not expect much opposition at this first encounter. Skinner was too skilled a tactician to stage a rebellion this early. There would be the usual pro forma arguments, but Skinner had no choice. The Elders must believe that Jason could enforce their control over the upper echelons of the FBI.
Ten minutes later, Jason heard the outer office door open and the mumble of voices as Skinner passed his executive assistant's desk. Quietly he withdrew into the far corner of the room. No smoke would betray his presence, just a voice coming out of the shadows. He watched as Skinner came in and shed his coat with weary frustration. Here, safe in his own office, away from prying eyes, Jason saw Skinner relax his iron control and allow his irritation with bureaucratic long-windedness to show.
Hamilton had merely said he would see to it that a meeting removed Skinner from his office at the appointed time; he had not said what type of meeting. From the look of irritated frustration on Skinner's face, Jason suspected that Hamilton had arranged a budget meeting. He reminded himself that sympathy could play no role in his dealings with Skinner, but he did allow a momentary surge of compassion to skim the surface of his mind. Accountants and auditors were at the top of his list for elimination when the new order began, right behind everyone's favorite, the lawyer.
Jason waited until Skinner sat down at his desk and started to select one of the reports waiting for his attention before he spoke.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Skinner," he said in a quiet voice that carried no farther than the desk.
Skinner stiffened as his eyes shot to the corner where the voice had come from. Jason gave him high marks for iron nerves as he stepped away from the corner and into the light. He felt Skinner study him, categorize and analyze him and wondered if he would make the proper leap of assumption. He hoped so. A lot of his future plans were built on the presumption that this man was a combat soldier capable of thinking very fast on his feet and making rapid judgements under fire.
"This is not a public waiting room," Skinner said sternly, but Jason had already seen the slight nod and the recognition in his eyes. So, Skinner was going to play the ignorant. An interesting ploy and quite logical. It forced Jason to make the first move and gave Skinner time to consider his options. Excellent.
"Of course not. I'm here in place of a friend, who has urgent business elsewhere," Jason said, offering up a sacrificial pawn.
"What do you want?" Skinner retorted brusquely. "As you can see, I am rather busy."
"Mr. Skinner, please do not insult me or yourself. You know perfectly well who I am or, at least, can make an educated guess," Jason replied calmly, smiling ever so slightly.
Skinner appeared to think about the matter for a moment.
"You must be the man who placed illegal wiretaps in Agent Mulder's apartment. Can you give me a reason why I should not make the logical assumption that you are also the man behind the attempted murder of Agent Scully?"
Jason smiled coldly, holding his ice-cold mask of indifference with difficulty. Delightful. Skinner went from conceding a point to an attack in a single moment. His friend had been much too consumed with personal revenge if he had overlooked this man's potential.
"Agent Scully had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You yourself dispatched the assassin, according to the police reports. The men responsible are shadows, Mr. Skinner; gone with the light of day."
Jason heard a barely audible hrumph from Skinner. From the tenseness of the muscles in Skinner's arms, Jason sensed that Skinner was controlling his temper with an effort. It was time to reduce the tension before springing his news on the man.
"Let me be blunt, Mr. Skinner. My predecessor has explained in full detail the bargain you made. I am here to assure you that what occurred was outside our control and does not release you from that bargain. Agent Scully's cancer is in remission. The men who tried to kill Agent Mulder have not been told of your little deal. We, not the Elders, control your destiny," Jason explained evenly.
Jason paused to let Skinner absorb his words. He was giving Skinner a look inside the conspiracy, to build a foundation for his later involvement in subverting the conspiracy for Jason's ends. Skinner never took his eyes off Jason, but gave him a small nod, indicating that he understood the situation.
"Good. I like a man intelligent enough to grasp the facts without a lot of boring details."
"Are we through now?" Skinner asked impatiently with a look of distaste.
"Not quite. There is the small matter of Agent Mulder."
Jason was gratified to see only the tiniest spasm around Skinner's mouth to betray his concern about the question. Steadiness under fire was a rare quality and Jason appreciated the control Skinner had over his expression. He walked over to the window, turning his back on Skinner and stared out at the courtyard below. watching the ant-like figures scurrying across the sidewalk.
"You are in a precarious position, Mr. Skinner. You have chosen to play a very dangerous game, but then the bishop is a piece of great flexibility. I hope Agent Mulder appreciates the situation he has placed you in."
Skinner said nothing. Jason couldn't even hear the rustle of paper. He felt Skinner's entire attention focused on him as if by sheer force of will, Skinner could shift the balance of power between them.
"The men in charge of the Project are often unwise, impetuous, and always reactive. I give you this insight because you must not blunder by believing that you can stand against their wishes. Blow with the wind and survive to fight on another battlefield."
He heard Skinner's chair creak. Like any good veteran of a shooting war, Skinner sensed danger threatening one of his men and he couldn't help but react to it, even if only by strangling the arms of his chair.
"I respect Agent Mulder. I even admire him, but I am powerless to help him right now. It has been decreed that the X-Files be shut down. Choose your own reasons; budgetary constraints would seem to be the most logical. Reassign Mulder wherever you think he would be the most use. As you can see, I give you merely the order. How you carry it out, I leave up to you. Just be certain that it is carried out."
"He won't like it," Skinner ventured. Jason sensed a testing of the waters, perhaps a probe to see what consequences would befall a failure to execute the order in a swift manner.
"Without you, Agent Mulder is vulnerable. Without you and Agent Mulder, Agent Scully is superfluous," Jason responded coldly. No need for Skinner to suspect that he would do everything in his power to protect Mulder. Better for all concerned that Skinner believed him to be a cold-hearted bastard who could shrug off three deaths without a second thought.
"Damn you," Skinner swore, showing anger for the first time.
That was a costly slip, Jason thought. So, threaten any one of the three and you threaten all. This was turning out to be a most interesting alliance. The small area between his shoulder blades itched. No doubt, if looks could kill, he would be a corpse, but Skinner had too much self-control. Jason was surprised he had even made that one slip, but the man had been under considerable strain for the past few weeks. Walter Skinner was a man of passionate beliefs and strengths. He did an admirable job of leashing his passions, but Jason knew just how close to the surface they seethed. The man was too good a soldier to betray his position to the enemy again, but once was all Jason needed.
Satisfied that Skinner understood the rules and costs of the game, Jason turned and walked towards the door, pausing as he grasped the doorknob. He turned his head to see Skinner glowering at him.
"Shut down the X-Files. If you don't, I will see to it that there is no reason to keep them open," Jason promised and departed before Skinner could respond. Getting the last word in wasn't always necessary, but it was enjoyable. Let Skinner draw his own conclusions about his intentions; the darker and grimmer, the better for all concerned.
**************
10:45 a.m. same day George Washington Medical Center - Lobby
"Mulder, are you sure you won't reconsider and have lunch with mom and me?" Scully tried not to sound worried. Her partner was looking better. Whatever Skinner did, seemed to have worked. The haunted look in his eyes still bothered her, though. She knew Mulder wasn't suicidal, but not giving a damn was just as dangerous until they were sure the men behind the attempt on his life were neutralized.
"Scully, I'm fine." Mulder's lips twitched. Scully stared at him. Hearing her favorite response to all inquiries about her health surprised her. She had no idea how annoying it sounded until now. No wonder Mulder had taken to growling softly whenever she threw those words in his face. Trust Mulder to come up with the perfect way to deflect her concern.
"Mom doesn't blame you," Scully added. She felt just a wee bit ridiculous sitting in a wheelchair, bandaged and sore, trying to be protective of her partner. She was tempted to offer to compare scars, but decided that her mother's house was not the place to start that conversation.
"Foster is going to follow you home. Tell your mother not to run any red lights because he's got orders to follow you come hell, high water or traffic cops," Mulder reminded her with a smile. Despite her worry, Scully had to chuckle at the image of her staid mother speeding through traffic lights with a determined FBI agent in hot pursuit in his prized Jeep Cherokee. Foster was an earnest young agent who took to heart the personal directive from the Assistant Director himself that her life was his responsibility.
"What are you ... ?" Scully began hesitantly. Mulder was usually paranoid where her safety was concerned. Why was he so certain she would be safe? Mulder had already turned away, to peer out the front door, so she couldn't be sure he had heard her, though she suspected he had and simply didn't feel like answering.
Taking the chance to study her partner as he stepped out on the sidewalk to flag down her mother, Scully realized that Mulder honestly thought she would be safer away from him. Drat the man, she thought. They were going to have to work on this tendency he had to shove her out of the line of fire while he walked into it. Right now, she had to trust that this mysterious Jason's word was good and that Mulder was no longer in danger.
"Your mom's here," Mulder said as he knelt down beside her. His eyes level with hers, Scully saw a deep tenderness flash in his changeling eyes. For a moment, he cupped his hand along the side of her head, fingers playing with her hair. "I'll be OK, Scully. I'm bought and paid for. The men behind the Project aren't fools. I'm too useful, either as a tool, or as amusement, for them to kill me yet. Go home. Rest. I'll stop by this evening. Tell your mom she can feed me dinner," he added with a smile.
"You better show up, mister," Scully warned with mock severity even as she raised her hand to cup his. They stayed like this, frozen inside the moment until the sound of a horn shook them apart. Mulder shot upright and started wheeling her towards the car, his mask firmly back in place. She was puzzled by this new quicksilver mood of Mulder's. Part of her seemed to understand, but she was too tired to put all the pieces together. Too many shocks, emotions scalded raw by their brushes with death. His tenderness could have so many different meanings than the one which her heart told her to believe in.
"I'll see you later, Scully. I promised Skinner I'd report in this afternoon. This half day thing was your idea," Mulder reminded her as he helped her into the car and shut the door firmly. She waved as the car pulled away and saw him raise his hand in return.
As her mother drove, Scully resumed her consideration of the strange transformation of the man she thought she knew so well. Contrary to everything she knew about him, Mulder had not run away to clutch the pain of his deal to his breast in solitary self-flagellation. She had recognized the signs of Mulder hiding something as their argument the other evening had escalated; another withdrawal, another stone cemented into the wall growing between them.
Now, she was the one who was fighting the urge to retreat behind strong walls. She loved him, had accepted that fact for months, but intimacy shared the hell out of her. It provided too many openings for someone to hurt her, as they always had when she was vulnerable. Now Mulder, the king of avoidance, had lapsed into devastating honesty. Even worse, he had not attempted to retreat, even after she was assured of making a full recovery.
This was a new Mulder, a puzzling Mulder, and a very frightening one to the strong secure walls she had constructed around her heart. On the one hand, she wanted him to break through her walls, but she knew she would fight furiously, resist any attempt to pressure her to open up emotionally. Apparently Mulder was learning subterfuge; he was undermining her walls, bit by bit, stone by stone until she had to either shove him away or step out from the crumbling structure.
Mulder, as always, was providing her with more questions than answers. She wanted to be mad at him, even muster up some exasperated irritation at his timing, but it felt so good to still be alive to ponder the problem he posed that she was willing to forgive his assault on her isolation. Perhaps she would surprise him with a pre-emptive strike of her own. Maybe she would surprise herself as well, she thought with a smile as she slid into a wicked dream, the sort you don't tell your mother about.
**************
2:30 p.m. A.D. Skinner's Office
Mulder paced restlessly in Skinner's outer office, too on edge to sit down and wait patiently. He had felt like a freak on parade during his long walk up here from the basement. Down there, he didn't have to cope with the too obvious stares that went everywhere but at the bandage around his throat. A few agents greeted him warmly and expressed what seemed to be genuine pleasure to see him back, but most averted their eyes from his newest, but most visible scar. If he had known of a back way to get to Skinner's office, he would have taken it, even if it meant a walk up four flights of stairs.
As a psychologist he understood that most of the other agents simply didn't know what to say or else felt uncomfortable in the presence of a man who had come so close to death, especially one they usually avoided. He wanted to tell them that he didn't want or deserve their sympathy. This scar and his uncertain voice were merely the outward symbols of a betrayal that most of them could not begin to comprehend. He carried them with a certain perverse pride; his own particular scarlet letter if anyone had the wits to realize it.
"Mr. Skinner will see you now," Kimberly's smooth voice broke into his bleak thoughts.
"Thank you, Kimberly," Mulder replied making an effort to speak slowly and keep his voice clear.
"It's good to see you back, Agent Mulder," Kimberly said with a touch more warmth than usual.
Her concern disconcerted him. For the first time today, he honestly felt that someone was glad to see him and welcomed him back. Strange, the person who got to see him at his worst, seemed the most pleased by his return. Mulder smiled and nodded an acknowledgement as he walked through the open the door into Skinner's office.
Skinner was working at his desk, apparently engrossed in some paperwork, but Mulder caught the slight tensing of his shoulders as the door closed. Something had changed. Warily, Mulder walked over to his customary chair in front of the desk.
"I'm here as you requested, sir," Mulder ventured as Skinner's silence fed his uneasiness. This wasn't like Skinner, therefore, it must have a meaning he was supposed to grasp. Mulder suppressed the urge to sigh. Unspoken communication was well and good, but he was a man who really liked to build his life on a solid foundation of words that could be analyzed and dissected.
"You're late, Agent Mulder," Skinner said abruptly. He signed off on a report and closed the folder with a snap. His tone of voice indicated bored irritation. Mulder raised his eyebrows before his mind shifted into high gear and he realized that they were playing out this game for the benefit of unseen listeners.
Damn, he cursed silently. He might as well sell tickets to his life at this rate. Right now, he wouldn't be surprised to find out that his bathroom was bugged.
"Sorry sir, I wanted to see Agent Scully before she was discharged," Mulder said smoothly, with just a hint of aggrieved innocence. As he recalled, Skinner had merely told him to show up whenever he was ready.
"Have you finished the paperwork for your return to light duty?"
Another useless question. Skinner was feeding him clues and Mulder was trying to drive his mind into overdrive to catch up. Then he began to put some of the pieces together. Skinner was pulling rank. That was unusual. Skinner didn't need overt means to establish his position near the top of the FBI food chain. He was getting ready to do something that required obedience from one of the Bureau's most notorious maverick.
"No sir. I did glance at the pile of memos from Personnel accumulating on my desk, if that counts," he added with a nod of his head to indicate that he understood Skinner's clues. He had a nasty feeling about the bombshell Skinner was preparing to drop.
"Then I would suggest that you clear off your desk. Due to budgetary considerations, particularly the significant cost overruns in your department, the Bureau is closing the X-Files, at least for the remainder of the fiscal year. A hearing will be held during the normal budget-preparation period to determine if this closure is to be permanent." Skinner played with his pen, the only sign of agitation Mulder could see, but his eyes were grave and held a warning.
"Damn it," Mulder growled as he instinctively fought the closure of his life's work. Even half prepared for bad news, this was more than his self-control could endure.
"Agent Mulder, sit down," Skinner ordered sternly. His hands made a soothing motion at Mulder who stood breathing heavily as he leaned over his desk.
Mulder tried to regain control of his temper. This wasn't fair, but then how could he expect the devil to play fair. This was just the beginning of his servitude to nameless, faceless men who dabbled in other people's lives. No wonder Jason compared him to a chess piece; moved about at another's whim.
Mulder collapsed back into his chair with a solid, audible thump. His lips formed a one word question - Jason? Skinner's nod confirmed Mulder's suspicion. So, this was either Jason's intention from the beginning or else this was the price of Jason's return to favor with the Elders he had mentioned. Absently he began to object, barely aware of the familiar litany pouring from his lips as he considered the situation. Obviously he was not going to win the argument. The closure was already a done deal.
"Enough, Agent Mulder," Skinner barked. "I expect to see the final reports of your last two cases on my desk by the end of the week. Then you will complete all the paperwork involved in your recent hospital stay and then, and only then, you will report to me for reassignment."
Mulder shut up. He had played out his anger for the benefit of their audience. He was angry, even bitter, but not at Skinner. If that had been the purpose of this exercise, then someone didn't know him or Skinner very well. That didn't sound like Jason. So, either the Consortium didn't trust him or they simply wanted to see how well he heeled while isolating him from Skinner who had proved to be an ally in the past.
Mulder gave Skinner a predatory grin and a slow nod. Some of Skinner's tenseness eased. Mulder knew that he had expected a major fight. Perhaps if they hadn't had a chance to talk last night, he would have thrown a major fit, endangering himself and Skinner in the process. He was still fighting the urge to storm angrily out of the office, but he had his instincts under control. Let their enemies think they won a victory. As long as they left Scully alone....
Alarmed, Mulder jerked his head up, startling Skinner whose eyes became very wary. Mulder took two deep breaths to calm himself.
"Where will Agent Scully and I be assigned, sir?" Mulder tried to keep the pleading note out of his voice. He'd accept anything, even the boring hell of bank fraud, if he had Scully at his side. He knew Skinner could sense the fear radiating from him, but his world had narrowed down to the threat of another, permanent professional separation.
"You and Agent Scully are being re-assigned to a special task force working with, but not within, the Violent Crimes Unit," Skinner said cautiously, his words careful and deliberate. Mulder nodded slowly, holding tight to the phrase that linked him with Scully.
"Chief Farmer, of the VCU, will eventually assign two other agents to complete the task force. The task force reports directly to me. Agent Bret Silverson will be the senior agent, but you will each select and pursue cases according to your strengths and interests. Your assigned duties will involve clearing up some of the backlog of deadlocked cases; cases that seem to defy categorization and ordinary paths of investigation," Skinner added seriously. His official restraint was marred by a sly twinkle in his eyes.
Mulder smiled as he realized that Skinner had left open the back door to the X-Files. As long as he was careful and slipped in his favorite cases unnoticed, then he could continue to investigate whatever it was that the Consortium was doing. Of course, that meant that he was going to have to learn a certain amount of discretion, but Mulder had a feeling that discretion and subterfuge were going to become second nature before too long.
"Yes sir," Mulder responded, trying to sound a bit surly. Growl for the nice eavesdroppers, he thought sarcastically to himself. He saw Skinner smile and realized that they were nothing more than trained dogs putting on a show for invisible masters while plotting a raid on the dog food stash.
"Anything else before I go and close down my division?" Mulder asked with unfeigned resignation. It was bad enough to have to oversee the closure of the X-Files. Now it looked as if he'd spend most of his light duty time chained to a desk doing paperwork. Trust Skinner to make sure he obeyed Scully's conditions.
"Dismissed," Skinner said brusquely. He was already reaching for another report before Mulder even got out of his chair. Mulder considered some of the alternatives and decided that he was lucky the Consortium hadn't decided that he would be a perfect candidate for some of the administrative vacancies. He gave a slight shudder as he left Skinner to his piles of paperwork.
Exile, but not separation. Not entirely unexpected, but an unwelcome reminder that he was embarking on a very perilous double game. At least he would see to it that Scully's genius was recognized in the mainstream. He could do this; it was part of the deal and he didn't, he wouldn't, regret the price for Scully's life.
**************
Mrs. Scully's house - later that night
"Dana, don't stay up too late," Mrs. Scully said as she headed up the stairs in response to a meaningful look from her daughter.
Mulder was willing to bet that the look translated into something like, my partner is acting like a grumpy bear, let me handle him alone. Not too far off, actually. He had been quiet during dinner, too emotionally drained to even try to act normal.
After the meeting with Skinner, he had retreated to the basement office and simply collapsed in his chair. For nearly three hours he stared at the cabinets holding the mysteries he had sweated for, bled for, even died for.
How could the shadows think he could just say goodbye and walk away? Yet, he had given them the power to expect just that from him.
"Earth to Mulder." Scully's voice penetrated the fog of depression that had settled in along with the bleak reality of how much this deal was going to cost him.
"Sorry," he apologized as he tried to refocus on the one bright thing his deal had bought; a healthy, cancer-free partner.
"What did Skinner say?" Scully asked carefully, cutting to the heart of what he glossed over when he arrived for dinner. Mulder sensed that she was quite prepared to instigate severe interrogation if he seemed inclined to practice his customary avoidance techniques.
"He's closing the X-Files," Mulder replied bluntly. It didn't sound any better spoken aloud than it had endlessly replaying in his mind over the course of the afternoon. He watched her assess the situation. Her eyes never left his face as she probably wondered what he wasn't telling her if he was so willing to cooperate this early in the conversation.
"We're being reassigned," he added, stressing the plural, trying to let her know he wasn't going to allow anyone to separate them. He tried to smile, but suspected that it came across as a lop-sided grimace. Scully reached out and touched his arm, reminding him that they were still partners, no matter where they ended up working or how much distance the Bureau tried to put between them.
"I think this is a test of my loyalty or may be payback - either way, it sucks." Mulder threw his head back and let it thump down on the back of the couch. God, he was tired and the game was just beginning.
"Quantico?" Scully asked finally. Mulder heard the uncertainty in her voice, a tinge of concern, mostly for him, he suspected. She knew what profiling did to him; how he lost a small piece of himself each time he followed the trail of a killer into the darkness.
"No. Skinner is giving us some breathing space, at least for now. We're assigned to a special task force responsible for cleaning up the backlog of unsolved cases in the VCU." Mulder smiled.
"He's taking a chance," Scully said after considering the offer. "He trusts you not to be too overt in keeping tabs on the unexplained."
"I know. That scares me, in a way," Mulder admitted seriously. "I can get carried away sometimes. I guess he thinks I've got more reason now to play it slow and easy."
"You OK?" Scully asked quietly. Her hand was stroking the sleeve of his sweater, creating a small static electricity field that sparked every time he moved.
"Do I have a choice?" Mulder asked gruffly, smiling sadly as he spoke to take away the sting of his words. "I'll cope. At least we're still partners, partner," he added with more of a genuine smile this time.
"And don't you forget it," she warned with a warm smile that melted some of the ice freezing his soul. When she smiled like that, all the possibilities that lay between them burned bright as his hope that one day he would garner enough courage to take a step forward into making real what he only dreamed about.
In the comfortable silence that followed, Mulder closed his eyes and relaxed in the safety of Scully's presence. With her, he didn't have to pretend. She had seen the worst of him. He didn't have many secrets left. Oddly enough, instead of resenting the stripping away of his camouflage, he felt free.
Sated and relaxed, Mulder drifted in the languid undertow of good food and the low end of the emotional roller coaster he'd ridden for the past week. Warm fingers began tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand as it rested on his thigh. Caught off guard, Mulder felt himself harden with desire. Dying from embarrassment was becoming an option. If she didn't know what she did to him whenever she touched him, she did now. He was mortified. This was not how he wanted to let her know how much he desired her. This was a schoolboy's reaction, not the slow passionate seduction by a man in love with her spirit as well as her body.
As he felt his pants become uncomfortably tight, he opened his eyes, trying to gauge whether a witty quip might smooth over this embarrassing lapse. Scully was smiling at him with a come-hither expression that turned her eyes a smoldering smoky blue. He simply stopped breathing. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure he could remember how to breathe and wasn't the least bit concerned. His world had just shifted on its axis as he tried to adjust to the notion that Scully might harbor fantasies of her own.
Before he could say a word, she laid her fingers against his lips. Tentatively, almost shyly, he flicked out his tongue to lightly caress the fingers, noting that Scully was having the same trouble with breathing as he was.
"Not here," she warned in a husky voice that only intensified his body's demand for right here, right now. "I'm not going to make-out on my mother's couch like some over-eager teenager," she added with a look that suggested she had given the idea a passing thought. Mulder grabbed at the fleeting strands of his control.
"Afraid of being grounded?" he retorted, somewhat breathlessly, but pleased to find that his voice still worked at all. If he could just find the old familiar pattern of innuendoes, this could all be explained by emotional exhaustion and his obvious relief at Scully's recovery.
"No, afraid of not giving the matter my undivided attention," she shot back, cutting off his retreat. Mulder wondered if she was finding some perverse pleasure in watching him squirm.
"What do you want from me, Scully?" he finally asked. Evasion wasn't working, so he decided that he might as well try a frontal assault. At least her other hand had left his thigh, giving him a chance to reassert a modicum of control over his rather obvious desire.
"I'm not sure yet, Mulder, but I do know that what I want isn't going to happen in my mother's living room," she responded after a moment's thought. As he considered her reply and what it said or didn't say, she raised her other hand and laid it against his chest, over his pounding heart.
Mulder reached out to gather her gently against his chest, resting his head atop hers as they lay, half-sprawled, on the couch. Whatever the future brought, for now he was content to just hold her and relish the warmth of her reborn life and feel the beat of their hearts as they began to beat in sync. He felt, rather than heard, her breathing slow into a sleepy rhythm. They were both so tired. It couldn't hurt to just close his eyes and rest, just for a moment, he told himself as he slipped into sleep with her.
**************
As the early predawn light scattered the shadows of the night, Mrs. Scully walked down the stairs to fix breakfast and saw them nestled together, sleeping. For the first time in weeks, she saw her daughter's face relaxed and at peace. Fox's expression was free of the stress and the tightly controlled despair she had seen in his eyes since the attack that nearly killed Dana. They looked like children ... no, she corrected herself, not children. There was something about the way they held each other that spoke of adult passions, tightly controlled, but beginning to emerge.
Good, it was about time, she mused to herself. Fox might not be the man she would have chosen for Dana and she didn't think that their relationship would be an easy one, but she recognized that elusive commitment of heart and spirit between two people that denied them peace with anyone else but the one they had chosen.
Memories of Bill and that couch and an overnight shore leave made her smile as she went into the kitchen and quietly made herself a cup of tea. Breakfast could wait a few minutes while she watched the sun come up and remembered some of her memories with Bill; the kind you don't tell your daughter about.
**************
Jason's Office, One week later
"Sir."
Jason nodded, acknowledging his aide without looking up from reading the report of the Elders' latest secret meeting. They really needed to tighten security if they intended to rule the world. It was becoming entirely too easy to obtain transcripts of their secret meetings. Then again, he supposed that it was bred into their mentality to trust the butler. Fools. Butlers knew everything and were as invisible as mice.
"Jackson and Tilbert have been reassigned, as you ordered, sir. Do you wish to see their report?" Hamilton asked politely with a tinge of uncertainty in his tone. The charcoal gray silk scarf serving as a sling for his injured arm and shoulder gave him a debonair appearance. He was beginning to look like quite the cavalier; lacking only a mustache and a rapier to complete the image.
As Hamilton shifted his weight ever so slightly, Jason recognized the signs of curiosity coming to the fore. Jason sensed a question hovering and wondered if Hamilton would take the initiative and ask it. It was high time his loyalty and resourcefulness were rewarded with a deeper understanding of the strategy behind Jason's apparent whimsical moves. He could even guess at the question, but it was important that Hamilton take the first step. He would not make it easy for him.
"No, I don't think so. I doubt if they can tell me anything I don't already know," Jason replied, assuming a disinterested air that masked his anticipation of Hamilton's next move.
For a moment, Jason thought his aide would disappoint him and retreat back into his shell. He started to leave, then stopped and turned back to face him.
"Sir, it is not my custom to inquire as to your motives, but it would seem ... imprudent to remove all surveillance on Mr. Mulder." Hamilton held his gaze steady as Jason looked up and stared stonily at him. Aside from a slight tightening of his eyes and lips, Hamilton did not flinch or retreat. Excellent, Jason thought.
"Why do you suppose I have done so, Hamilton?" Jason asked quietly, allowing a hint of a smile to soften his expression. He had passed the first test, now it was time to see how much he had learned about evaluating men.
"I have reviewed Agent Mulder's file and I must confess that I have found more than sufficient reason to increase surveillance rather than eliminate it. From the reports you have allowed me to read, the Elders seem to be extremely wary of Mulder's conversion and are placing a heavy burden of responsibility on you for keeping him in line. Yet, despite Fox Mulder's propensity for resisting authority, you remove the men assigned to watch him and leave him completely free to act against your best interests."
Hamilton sounded indignant towards the end, almost protective. Jason wondered what he had done to engender such loyalty in this man. He was still slightly taken aback by Hamilton's fierce defense of him when the Elders' assassins had attacked. Now, Hamilton appeared angry that Jason was gambling his safety on the Mulder wild card.
"Then you have merely skimmed the surface of the file and know very little about the man himself," Jason chided with a smile. "Still, not a bad summation of the facts," he added when Hamilton looked puzzled. "Look beneath the surface, into the soul of the man profiled in those files and you'll find the answer," he encouraged. "The Elders are content to know only the outward shell of the men they buy. You must be smarter and more intuitive than they are if you want to succeed in the game."
"Yes sir," Hamilton replied doubtfully.
Jason relented, slightly. Perhaps it wasn't fair to start Hamilton out on a graduate level assignment. Profiling Fox Mulder baffled even the best minds the Project had assigned to him. Even now, Jason knew he was operating on instinct where Mulder was concerned. His instincts also told him that one day Hamilton would be a master manipulator of men, but not if Jason mishandled him now. He gestured for his aide to sit down and assumed the quiet tones of a teacher prompting a favorite pupil.
"Have you ever read much about falconry?"
Hamilton looked startled and then puzzled by the sudden shift in direction.
"In the Middle Ages, kings and nobles used falcons to hunt small game. They trained to bird to return to their fist, but it flew free to make the kill. Mulder is my falcon. He's brash, rebellious and fiercely determined to find the truth, in short, everything a magnificent predator should be. He returns to my fist because I hold in that fist the lives of the two people he cares for. In turn, I can fly them against our enemies because I hold Mulder in my fist. Three fierce hawks to answer to my call. I can allow them some freedom to hunt on their own because each of them knows the consequences of failing to answer to my call."
Hamilton looked stunned, as if he had suddenly discovered that the sane world he thought he knew was just an illusion. Jason smiled as he saw his aide begin to glimpse the strategies in the game Jason had been playing for nearly fifty years. There was a dawning sense of wonder and a little bit of eagerness in his eyes as he saw endless possibilities open up before him.
"It is to my advantage to have Agents Mulder and Scully consummate the feelings they have for each other. They will not do so if they feel they are being watched," Jason continued quietly. "The closer they are tied to each other, the tighter my fist closes around the leash that binds them to me."
"And Assistant Director Skinner?" Hamilton asked slowly as he tried to fit all the pieces into place.
"A Marine," Jason said simply. He chuckled at Hamilton's confusion. He really must send the young man out in the field to get some seasoning. Up to now, it hadn't occurred to him just how protected a life he must have led.
"Skinner feels responsible for his agents. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are his people; his sense of duty requires that he expend every effort to protect them. In addition, I believe, he also respects them and considers them comrades in arms. They bind him to me." Jason smiled at the simplicity of this three-fold deal.
"It's a big risk, nonetheless, sir," Hamilton commented, still doubtful.
"Without risk, the game means nothing," Jason chided with a feral smile. He had been growing bored with the routine cover-ups and inane campaigns of misdirection. Mulder and his companions were like a cold biting wind blowing the cobwebs away. With luck, the Elders would never discover that three wildcards had been introduced into their placid game until the cards were on the table and he and his friend broke the bank.
"Yes sir," Hamilton replied with just the hint of a smile. "If I may ask, why is Mulder so important that you'll risk everything on him?"
Jason studied the chessmen set up on the table beside his desk. Black and white were mixed together reflecting the new alliance he had forged. A memory of Jonathan playing with the pieces, rearranging them in odd patterns flashed, then faded away.
"I don't know, but a very dear friend was willing to die to insure that Mulder remain in the game. I trusted Jonathan as I trust no other man, alive or dead. Faith comes in strange ways, son, but if your instincts tell you to follow a path, however unlikely, go with them."
With that, Jason leaned back and stared at the ceiling, dismissing Hamilton. He had given the man enough to think about for now; more than he should have perhaps, but it felt good to share his insights with someone not quite so cynical as his smoking friend. Jonathan would have understood, but then Jonathan was a romantic at heart, despite everything he had seen and done in the darkness. In spite of himself, Mulder was also a romantic. No wonder he and Jonathan had gotten along so well, among other reasons Jason had not had a chance to look into.
"Jonathan, I think you'd be proud of him," Jason whispered softly to the silent chessman, the memorial to a master strategist and friend. None of them had ever come close to matching Jonathan's skill, but perhaps Mulder, once he had settled down, would follow in the master's footsteps. They had time, now, and he could afford to be generous and allow his hawks some freedom to fly before he had to call them back to his fist. If Mulder did not take advantage of the situation, then he wasn't half the man Jason took him for.
Go to Part 2
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