f*******************************************
Ascent to Hell - Part 11 of ? (11/?)
by Kronos (kronos1@adelphia.net)
Rating:  NC-17
*******************************************


PAST
September 9, 1986
Tuesday, 1:35 p.m.
FBI Academy, Quantico, Virginia


Walter strode up the steps leading to the infirmary, still trying to make sense of the brief 
message he'd gotten second-hand from Dean's secretary.  Last he'd heard, the students 
were due for a training exercise late this morning.  What the hell could have put the kid in 
the hospital from a simple training exercise?

He walked down the hallway purposefully but halted suddenly when he saw Dean turn a 
corner at the far end.  Right behind Dean came John Malloy.  Both men looked angry, 
and they'd obviously been arguing.  Walter started towards them, this time with a slower 
gait, even as his heart raced.  What the hell had happened?

They stopped, a couple paces away from one another, and Walter waited for the other 
men to take the lead.  He was shocked when Dean gave Malloy a look of complete and 
utter disdain.  When the older agent turned towards him, Walter couldn't help wondering 
if the lingering look of contempt was for Malloy or himself.

Walter licked his lips and sunk his hands deep in his pants pockets.  He was determined 
to wait them out.  He didn't know what the hell was going on between them, but decided 
it wasn't any of his concern.

Dean finally relented.  The older agent's lips were pulled tight, in a disapproving grimace.  
The words were just as tightly drawn when they came.  "Walter.  I'm afraid you're going 
to have to wait for any insights young Mr. Mulder might bring to your case."

Walter was taken aback, caught by surprise at the implications of the other man's words.  
Then he started to get angry.  After a brief struggle to keep a grip on his anger, he 
managed a question to the men in front of him.  "What happened?  What's wrong with 
him?"

Malloy seemed to be staring at a point on the ceiling somewhere down the hallway.  
Walter stared into Dean's eyes, demanding an answer, even without words.  

The older man asked softly, but in a voice of steel, "Why do you want to know, Walter?"

Walter was beyond surprised.  He was cast adrift by what he saw in his mentor's eyes.  
He didn't understand.  He shook his head slightly, as if the gesture might magically clear 
his befuddled thinking.  Before he could summon an answer, Dean spoke again, this time 
without the challenge.

"Never mind, Walter. This isn't your fault."

Walter couldn't miss the inflection in Dean's voice and looked again at Malloy.  The other 
man's face was stone, with no emotion showing at all.  

Finally, Malloy turned to Dean and spoke for the first time. "I'm going to check on the 
training exercise.  I'll talk with you later."

Even Walter understood the implicit threat of those words.  The man turned and walked 
back the way he'd come.  When he finally turned the corner, Walter allowed himself to 
relax a bit.  He felt as though he'd weathered a bad storm, but knew by Dean's expression 
they were in the eye of the hurricane at best.

Dean sighed heavily, but his voice remained steady when he spoke.  "Fox was ... hurt 
during the training exercise."

"How?  What the hell happened?"

Dean snorted.  "That's a good question."

Walter was growing impatient now, and it must have shown on his face, because Dean 
continued.

"Malloy headed up the organization for the exercise.  It was the big one.  You know, 
several stations.  Terrorists, fleeing assailants, hostage crisis, whatever."

Walter nodded, remembering it well.  It had been worse than the obstacle course.  Much 
worse.  Five hours of hell.  Both physical and psychological, since inevitably you were 
going to end up dead.  Still, he couldn't really imagine what had happened in such a short 
period of time to result in Mulder's ending up in the infirmary.

Dean was thoughtful.  "From what Malloy said, Fox and his group were at the first 
station.  The warehouse." 

Walter nodded again, remembering all six of his team dead in a matter of minutes.  

"Malloy was actually leading that drill.  He says ..."

Walter waited the other man out.

"He said that one of his team members got a bit excited when he captured Fox.  Said the 
kid accidentally bumped his head against a crate.  He's got a minor concussion.  No big 
thing."

But Walter could tell by the way Dean relayed the story that the older man didn't believe 
it.  "What really happened, Dean?"

The older man shook his head hard.  "I don't know."

"Can you guess?"

The look Dean gave him was sharp.  Walter  crossed his arms, stood a bit straighter, 
refusing to be intimidated.

"I know that Jack Seabury was on Malloy's team."

Now, Walter was confused and it must have shown.

"Seabury led the bank robbery exercise.  He's been the butt of quite a few jokes around 
here ever since.  You probably wouldn't have heard.  Spend some time in the lunchroom."

Walter snorted softly.  He knew all too well what happened to someone who made the 
mistake of showing up another agent in front of his peers.  It was never pretty.  He turned 
toward the infirmary, as if he could see through the wall, suddenly feeling sorry for the 
kid.  Not because Fox had gotten hurt, but because Walter knew that younger man was in 
for a career of it.  It would be inevitable.

Dean broke him from his reverie.  "What pisses me off the most is the cut on the kid's 
neck."

Walter felt his stomach lurch.  His voice was dangerous when he asked, "What?"

Dean once again looked angry.  "An inch long cut, shallow but deep enough to draw 
plenty of blood."

What Dean was implying was something more than petty payback.  It was a damned 
exercise, for Christ's sake.  "What are you saying, Dean?"

The silence stretched out then.  Dean shook his head and muttered his response.  
"Nothing.  I'm not saying anything, Walter.  And I don't know why you're here."  The 
older man turned to him straight on and said, "Just why are you here?"

This was too much.  After all, the damned message had come from Dean.  "I got a phone 
call from your secretary saying that Fox had been hurt during the exercise.  I assumed it 
had come from you."

Dean was staring at him.  That scientist looking at a bug kind of a stare that Walter had 
almost become used to over the past week or so.  The man harumphed, as if all was 
explained.  "Go home, Walter.  If Fox tells me anything important, I'll let you know."

Walter felt the anger start to surface again, mixed in with hurt.  He could almost feel his 
face turn red as his blood pressure increased.  He took a step forward, not even aware of 
how menacing it was.  The words he spoke were practically a growl.  "What the hell does 
that mean, Dean?  You're sending me home like some recalcitrant child?  Who the hell do 
you think you are?"  He wasn't prepared for the other man's angry response.

"Who do I think I am, Walter?"  Dean laughed harshly.  "I wish to hell I knew.  I used to 
think I was a good judge of character.  I thought I knew you, but I'm not sure anymore.  
I'm not sure of anyone, anymore."

Walter immediately stepped back, letting himself lean against the wall.  He needed the 
distance and the weakness in his knees demanded the additional support.  He actually felt 
choked up and was embarrassed when his eyes filled.  He was too tired for this 
conversation.  His emotions were too close to the surface and completely out of control.  
He hated this.  Only Dean could elicit this response from him.

This time, all he could manage was a whisper.  "I don't understand."  The older man 
looked at him kindly this time and it was almost too much.  The exhaustion and stress of 
too many hours working the case caught up with him.  Walter swiped at his eyes, rubbing 
them with one hand.  He felt a hand on his shoulder and forced himself to look at his old 
friend.

Dean looked almost devastated.  The older man shook his head wearily.  "I'm sorry, 
Walter.  I'm an idiot.  An old idiot who thinks too much."

Walter swallowed heavily, still waiting for enlightenment.

"As you get older, you think you see more clearly.  I certainly thought I did.  I just hope 
it's not true this time, that's all."

Walter shook his head, not understanding anything about what the other man was saying.  
Dean must have seen it because he continued on, almost reflectively now.

"You know, Walter, I've been an agent for almost thirty years.  I'm thinking that maybe 
that's long enough."

Walter clenched his jaw.  Felt his fingernails sink into his palms.  He wanted to yell at the 
man.  Grab him and shake some sense into him.

Dean gripped his shoulder tightly again and added, "You're a good agent, Walter.  Don't 
worry about Fox Mulder.  You've got enough other things to worry about.  I'm heading in 
to see him now.  I'll give you a call after I've managed to talk with him."

Walter didn't have it in him to argue anymore.  He sighed and pushed himself away from 
the wall.

Dean's voice was kind when he spoke again.  "Go on now, son.  I'll talk with you later."  
And then the man turned away from him, slipping into the infirmary without another look 
or word.

*******************************************


A STREET CORNER


He'd seen her before, walking down the street, a huge smile on her freckled face.  He 
called her 'Annie' in his mind.  Her red hair reflected the sun and it shown more brightly 
than he'd ever seen before.  Sometimes, after swim practice, when it was still wet, it was 
several shades darker.  Like copper.  Burnished and aged.  Today, she was the last one off 
the bus.  She had her hands full, with a lunchbox in one hand, a backpack slung over her 
shoulders, and her swim bag in her other hand.  It must have taken her some time to get 
coordinated.  

The other kids were already racing away, ready to start the weekend as soon as possible.  
He knew her real name.  It was Margaret.  She went by the name Margie, but he still 
liked to think of her as Annie. 

She was smiling today, just as she was every other day he'd seen her.  She was perfect.  
He didn't care if her hair was wildly unruly and her nose was covered with freckles.  
Didn't care that she was a tad stout, the remnants of baby fat making her look like a 
tomboy.  None of it mattered.  

The anger and desire broiled up inside him, making his chest tight and the blood pound in 
his ears.  It had been so simple before this. He hadn't felt this way about the others.  They 
were just people he'd run across.  None of them mattered to him at all.  Not really.  The 
purpose of their selection and subsequent 'treatment' was to make a point.  To prove 
something.  Oh, there might have been one or two things that were irritating about each 
of them.  But it hadn't been like this.  Annie, he actually cared for.  Annie, he hated -- and 
loved.  The line was drawn and the conflicted feelings almost tore him apart.

Because she was perfect.  And he hated her for it.  She was everything he could never be.  
She was loved -- cherished even, by her parents.  He'd seen them watching over her.  Just 
watching her.  She had friends.  Everyone liked her.  Even her teachers and coach liked 
her.  He saw the coach once, ruffling her hair. She hadn't even won the race, but she still 
got praise.  Everyone accepted her.  Liked her.  Wanted to be with her.  Wanted to be her.

Annie would never know heartbreak.  Never know loss.  Never know love, unless he 
could show her the way.  They could be friends, maybe.  It was possible.  

This one -- this girl.  He hated her.  And wanted her.  Loved her.  Wanted to hurt her.  
This had never happened before.  His pulse quickened and breath caught in his throat.  He 
couldn't swallow and his chest ached.

She started to walk down the street and he rolled the window down fast.

"Hey, are you Margie?  Margie Connor?"

She stopped, the smile initially dying on her lips.  But when she turned at saw him in the 
car, she relaxed a bit.  The smile was back.  "Yes."  She was still somewhat cautious.  

"Margie, your mom sent me.  She's at the hospital.  She wanted me to pick you up and 
take her there."  The oldest trick in the book.  Because it still worked.

She took a step, then another.  She got in the back seat, not with reluctance, but fear.  "Is 
my mommy all right?"

He summoned a smile.  It wasn't that hard, really.  After all, he was pretty happy at how 
easy it has been.  He started driving quickly, to avoid anyone noticing.  "She's just fine.  
Nothing serious, honey."  He turned back a bit to look at her.  "After all, she's the one 
who sent me after you."

He was looking around as he drove down the street, and he saw that the few people who 
were out weren't paying attention to anything except what they were doing.  Looked like 
there wouldn't be witnesses, at least.  This had definitely been the most daring kidnapping 
yet.  It was worth the risk, though.  It was worth it because of who Margie was.  He had 
to have her and it had to be now.  He couldn't wait.  He still had a point to prove, but he 
wanted more now.  Because of how much he hated her.  And how much he loved her.

He heard the sniffling from the back seat.  He knew what he had to do.  He glanced back 
over his shoulder, then looked into the rearview mirror.  "You'll see your mommy soon, 
Margie.  Don't worry.  Everything will be just fine."  He smiled again at the sight of her.  
Then he felt his breath quicken and the sweat start on his forehead.  This one was 
definitely different.  This one, he wanted.  He wanted to punish her.  To make her cry.  
But he also wanted to make her laugh.  Make her smile.  Send her home and keep her 
forever.

He bit his lip and chewed at the inside of his cheek.  He couldn't afford this right now.  
Not yet.  He was surprised when he heard her voice again.  He'd almost managed to 
forget she was there.

"Where are we going?  Isn't the hospital on Center Street?"

He licked his lips and looked at her in the mirror again.  "She's not at that one, Margie.  
She and a friend went to a store outside of town and she had a little accident.  Nothing 
serious, like I said before.  Anyway, they took her to the nearest hospital.  It's out near 
Triangle.  We'll be there soon."

They were on the interstate now, racing away from the city.  It always amazed him how 
soon you could be in the woods.  He heard a rustle from the back seat and looked back 
again.  She was turned sideways in the seat, her head resting against the back.  She was 
looking out the side window.  A shaft of sunlight caught her face and he could see the 
tears glistening there.  It made him angry for some reason.

His foot pressed harder on the gas.  He wanted to get there fast.  He wanted to teach her a 
lesson.  He'd teach her good. 

But then someone gripped his arm.  Shook hard so he almost drove off the road.  What 
the hell?  What was going on?  His head pounded and he felt sick to his stomach.  
Someone was yelling at him.  Yelling so loud, he could barely think.  But the words 
didn't make sense. 

"Wake up.  Open your eyes."

He was driving, for Christ's sake.  His eyes were already open.  Then the pain increased.  
Someone was pinching his ear and it hurt.

He shook his head, tried to get away from the pain, but it only made it worse.  The pain 
vibrated through his entire head.  He groaned, wishing he could get away from it.  
Wishing the pain would go away.

"That's it.  Come on, now.  Open your eyes.  I know you're in there."

His stomach rolled and he felt himself gag.  He was vomiting, trying to, at least, but there 
was nothing but bile.  He felt something pushing at his chin.  Felt something else at his 
shoulder.  He was confused.  His eyes fluttered and he knew he wasn't in the car 
anymore.  He didn't know where he was or what was happening.

"What?"

He managed to croak out a word, and felt some small relief when there was an answer.  A 
woman's voice.  Soft and reassuring. 

"It's all right, Mr. Mulder.  You're in the infirmary.  You're going to be just fine, but we 
have to wake you up every couple of hours.  You were a bit stubborn this time.  It took us 
a while."

There was something cool wiping his face.
 
"Infirm..."  He couldn't quite get the word out.  He was still confused.  Disoriented.

"That's right, Mr. Mulder.  Do you remember anything?  Do you remember how you got 
here?"

He tried to lick his lips.  His voice was raw.  "Car accident?"  He blinked harder and 
understood that he was in a hospital or something like it.  What had the nurse said?  An 
infirmary?  The last thing he remembered was the car.  "Margie?"

He heard a sound.  A shuffle.  Then there was a different voice.  A man's voice, deep and 
sure.  The man spoke sharply.  "Fox, wake up.  Open your eyes and wake up, now."

It was a command that he couldn't ignore.  He forced his eyes completely open and tried 
to focus on the shape there.  His vision wavered a bit, and then he recognized Agent Dean 
Waring.  The man looked ... scared.

"Fox, do you know who I am?"

He started to nod his head, but stopped as the pain shot through his skull.  He had to close 
his eyes against the throbbing and he bit his lip to keep from crying out.  He managed to 
fight it off enough after a time so that he could open his eyes again.

"Agent Waring?"

The older man looked relieved.  "That's right, Fox.  Do you know where you are?"

"Infirmary."

Waring smiled at him, one side of his mouth lifted up just slightly.  "That's right.  And do 
you know how you got here?"

He was confused again, a jumble of images at the forefront of his mind.  None of it made 
sense, though.  He remembered being in a car, with Margie Connor. Then he remembered 
more.  He took Margie?  Why the hell would he do that?  He had thoughts about her.  
Jesus, what had happened?  She was in his car and he took her.  He felt his chest tighten 
and he couldn't breathe.  He was gasping for air now, desperate to get control of himself.  
He closed his eyes tightly and felt the tears that forced their way out.

He heard the woman's voice shouting in the background.  Felt someone gripping his 
arms, as if holding him down.  What the fuck was happening to him?  They were yelling, 
but the words didn't make any sense.  Then there was something covering his mouth.  
Half his face.  And he tried to push it away.  He was being held down and it terrified him.  
He struggled, fought to open his eyes, but it was all useless.  

Finally, the voices started to make sense again.  The tightness in his chest eased a bit and 
he was aware that he was still gasping for air.

"Slow down and breathe deeply.  You'll be fine.  Just breathe deep.  In and out."

It was the woman's voice, but he also heard Waring's voice, in between hers.  "Fox, just 
calm down.  You're hyperventilating.  Breathe deep."

He understood then and tried to follow their directions, concentrating hard on making his 
lungs move in and out.  In and out.  The tears were there again, from fear, from fright.  
He started to remember the dream and understood finally that it hadn't really happened.  
Margie was dead.  She was words on a page now.  An image on film.  

When his vision cleared and the weight lifted from his chest, he realized that Waring was 
gripping his left hand hard, offering a much needed security.  He felt another hand on his 
head, keeping it still and he knew somehow that that was Waring, too.  There was an 
oxygen mask on his face.  The woman was on the other side, injecting something into his 
right arm.  The pressure from the hand at his head lightened a bit and he felt its loss.  He 
calmed finally and focused on the instructor again.  Waring was looking at him intently.  

The older man wasn't about to let him get away with anything. The questions came fast 
and hard.  "You remembered something.  What?  You said something about Margie.  
What were you thinking?  What did you see?"

Fox licked his lips and wished for a glass of water.  Anything to soothe his parched 
throat.  As if she'd read his mind, the woman, who he assumed was a nurse, held a glass 
up close.  She lifted the oxygen mask and turned the straw so he could reach it easily.  He 
sipped greedily and felt the coolness run down his throat. 

"Fox."  Waring's tone was demanding.  Unbending.

Fox closed his eyes and nodded.  He didn't protest when the oxygen mask was slipped on 
again.  His words were muffled when he managed to speak again.

"I had a dream."

Waring nodded in encouragement.

"I dreamt that I was in a car.  I'd been following Margie.  I knew her schedule.  I knew 
where she got off the bus and when.  I dreamt I was there when she was taken."  He 
swallowed hard and ignored the shaking that had started in his hands.  "I dreamt ... that I 
was the one who took her."  He was afraid to admit it at first.  It was obvious that he was 
sick.  Perverted.  Waring would be disgusted.  But the older man's response took him by 
surprise.

Waring's voice was gentle.  Almost apologetic when he urged Fox to continue.  "Go on.  
Tell me what you remember.  Every detail, Fox.  It might be important."

He nodded understanding and raised his right hand to his eyes.  The tears were gathering 
again and he was embarrassed.  He sniffed hard.  "I called her over to the car.  Told her 
that I had to take her to her mother.  That her mother had been hurt.  She trusted me and 
got in.  Didn't even argue."

He was disgusted with himself.  How could he have dreamt such a horrible thing?

He paused and gathered his scattered thoughts.  "She got in the back seat.  Never even 
considered the front.  I don't know why.  Strange."

Pause again.

"Go on.  It's all right, Fox.  Tell me everything."

He rubbed his eyes hard. "I drove her out of the city and onto the interstate.  We were 
heading down the 495 I think.  Heading towards Triangle.  She started crying but I told 
her it was all right.  Her mother wasn't hurt badly and she'd see her soon."  He swallowed 
hard, then whispered, "Margie believed me."

He moved his hand off his eyes and turned to look at Waring.  "Why would she believe 
me?  She didn't know me."

Instructor Waring looked thoughtful.  After a few seconds he said, "I don't know.  It's 
interesting.  Go on.  Tell me what your thoughts were.  While you were picking her up.  
While you were driving."

Fox sniffed again, and turned to look at the ceiling.  He couldn't face the other man when 
he admitted what he'd been thinking.  "I hated her, but I loved her.  It was like one part of 
me wanted to be her friend while the other part wanted to hurt her.  Kill her.  And ... have 
her.  It didn't make any sense.  It was as if ... "  He was starting to get tired.  His thoughts 
starting to scatter.  He had to finish this while he could.  

"As if what, Fox?  Stay with me for another minute here."

He nodded sleepily and wondered what the woman had given him.  "It was as if he were 
schizophrenic.  But different.  More like multiple personalities.  Fighting with each other.  
They'd never disagreed before, but this time, they did.  The hate hadn't been there before.  
This was ... different."

He didn't consciously realize that he'd switched from first person to second.  Waring went 
along with it, though.  "Fox, what else was the man thinking?"

His words were slurred as he forced them out.  "That he wanted her.  Wanted to teach her 
a lesson, but also to be nice to her.  Treat her good.  Get her to like him.  But he wanted 
to make an example of her.  Doesn't make sense.  Was mad at himself.  Mad ..."

"What?  Fox, what did you say?"

He heard the question, but couldn't think anymore.  He was just too tired.  He allowed 
himself to relax and tried to forget the dream.  He prayed that this time there would be no 
dreams.  He wanted nothing.  Nothing at all.

*******************************************


Present Day, Hour 21 of the Wait
Sunday, 7:54 p.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


Skinner felt them coming.  He didn't know how, but he just knew it.  He turned to look 
down the hallway and there came a force to be reckoned with.  Scully walked in the front, 
freshly showered and looking years younger than she had just a couple hours before.  
Behind her, side by side, walked Teena Mulder and Margaret Scully.  They all seemed to 
be determined.  And unified once more.  Whatever had happened between Scully and 
Mrs. Mulder seemed to have been forgiven, or at least set aside.  They all looked much 
better for their brief break and he was envious.

He smiled at them and nodded.  "Ladies."

Scully planted herself in front of him, as if in defiance.  It was an amusing image, but he 
knew better than to actually smile.  She'd probably shoot him where he stood.  

"Sir, have you seen the doctor?"

He shook his head.  "No, not yet.  We'll see him in a few minutes."  She looked so 
downcast that he wanted to reassure her.  "I've been here the entire time.  If there had 
been any problems, he would have notified me."

She nodded and walked past him to stand close to the CCU doors.  He smiled at Margaret 
and Teena.  "I hope you had a chance to eat something."

Both of them smiled back at him and Margaret said, "Yes, thank you."

He gestured to the door and followed them both.  They seemed to be doing all right, 
despite the fact that neither had slept throughout the night.  Hopefully, they'd managed to 
grab an hour nap at least.  

He glanced at his watch and saw it was time.  The crowd had gathered around them, the 
various family members of CCU residents wanting to take advantage of every precious 
moment.  He prayed that he'd be able to talk the doctors into letting them stay again.  
This was the last official visiting hour until the next morning at nine. 

The doors opened then, breaking his reverie, and he found himself being pushed and 
shoved in the shuffle.  He fought the urge to push back and followed at a more sedate 
pace.  By the time he entered Mulder's room, he saw that some more changes had 
occurred.  It appeared that another machine had been pushed back.  It was certainly 
quieter, with fewer beeps and whirs.  He assumed that was a good thing.  He paused at 
the foot of the bed and took a good look at his agent.  Former agent, that is.  He had to 
keep reminding himself that no matter how responsible he might feel for them both, they 
weren't his to command.  

Mulder looked better.  The younger man was propped at an angle on his left side this 
time, pillows stuffed behind him.  He seemed to breathing more easily, an oxygen mask 
covering the lower part of his face, and Skinner could see his eyes moving under his lids, 
a sure sign that Mulder was asleep and not unconscious.

Skinner realized for the first time that he'd been dreading this moment.  Frightened of 
what they might find.  He needn't be.  For the first time, he felt that Mulder would make 
it back, at least physically.  He recalled the doctor's words of a couple hours ago and 
wondered whether there was a chance of neurological damage.  He shook his head in 
disgust.  Jesus, one step at a time.

He moved to the empty spot next to Teena Mulder and sat down.  Mulder's mother stood 
by her son's bedside, her hands resting on Mulder's right arm.  Scully stood across from 
them, her left hand gripping Mulder's left tightly.  Her right rested on his head, as if she 
were pushing the hair out of his face.  It was a familiar gesture.  One he'd seen quite a bit 
the night before.  He wondered if she knew just how much she gave away by the caress.  

He let his eyes drift to Scully's mother.  She watched her daughter, as well, a small smile 
playing at her lips.  

They stayed that way for about five minutes, with no one speaking.  There was no need, 
really.  They all seemed to know that they were waiting.  Waiting to know whether this 
would be the last few minutes they'd be able to stay with Mulder for the next twelve 
hours.

The doctor came in, finally, and both Skinner and Margaret Scully stood.  Skinner 
decided to take the initiative.  "Doctor, what can you tell us?"

The man seemed to have forgiven them, at least slightly, because he was much friendlier.  
"Agent Mulder has stabilized and his vitals are strong.  We're hopeful that he'll wake 
soon."

Skinner felt his breath whoosh out and was embarrassed that he'd done it so loudly.  
Everyone looked equally relieved though, so he imagined that he wasn't the only one 
who'd responded in such a manner.  

Scully's voice rang out in the room, not too loud, but strong and clear.  "Doctor, I'd like to 
stay beyond the end of the visiting period.  I think it's critical to Agent Mulder's recovery 
for him to have people he knows present when he wakes."

Her voice wavered towards the end and Skinner decided a little backup was in order.  
"Doctor, Agent Mulder has critical information pertaining to a serial murderer who might 
still be at large.  It's crucial that an Agent be with him when he wakes.  Agent Mulder 
may have vital information to relay.  It could save many more lives."

Take that, buddy.  Skinner was proud of himself.  He'd thought of this line of defense 
while sitting outside in the little garden.  Hell, at the worst, the doctor would say no.  At 
best, they'd have their visiting rights back.

The doctor was definitely on to him.  The man shook his head in mock disgust.  "Two at 
a time.  No more.  Do anything to risk his health, that's it.  Agent or no."

The smile that came to Scully's face was definitely worth the slight exaggeration.  
Skinner turned to the left and caught Teena Mulder's expression.  While it was clear that 
Scully intended to stay, it was also clear that Mrs. Mulder thought she was being evicted.  

She turned towards him, obviously distressed, and he reached his hand out to touch her 
arm for just a second.  "Mrs. Mulder, why don't you stay and keep Scully company.  Mrs. 
Scully or I will be in the waiting room if either of you want to take a break.  All right?"

The relief on her face was palpable.  He stood before she became more emotional and 
prepared to leave.  The doctor had already left on his rounds.  The fifteen minute visiting 
period in CCU had a tendency to come and go very quickly.  It was amazing how fast 
fifteen minutes went when you desperately wanted more time.  Of course, the reverse 
also seemed to hold.

He patted Mrs. Mulder once more on the arm and then walked to the foot of the bed.  
Scully didn't move, but she did look at him, her face set in an expression of appreciation.  
She said merely, "Thank you, sir."  He nodded and waited for Mrs. Scully to say goodbye 
to her daughter.  The older woman kissed Scully on the cheek and brushed her hair back 
as if she were a child.  It was such an endearing gesture that Skinner was touched.  

Before he knew it, he was back in the waiting room. Back to alternating between pacing 
and watching television.  Back to having Margaret Scully shooting him the occasional 
annoyed look at his restlessness.  It was so similar to the look he'd seen Scully give 
Mulder on occasion that he smiled without even thinking.  At least some things were 
constant.  It reminded him of that night, so very long ago, when Doug almost threw him 
through the window.  Accused him of being hyperactive.  Yeah, that night.

*******************************************


PAST
September 9, 1986
Tuesday, 10:27 p.m.
FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.


Walter wasn't at all sure he could take much more of this.  They'd spent the day 
alternating between strategy meetings with SAC Keenan, organizational meetings with 
the local D's on the case, and more meetings with the various Bureau teams.  He was 
completely meetinged out.  He wasn't cut out for this kind of work.  He felt the need to be 
in the field.  Running things personally.  Not relaying orders through three levels of 
bureaucracy.

He knew intellectually that what they were doing was critical.  That without this type of 
multi-jurisdictional organization, the case would never be solved.  Still, he had an urge to 
drop everything and run out to Quantico.  He hadn't heard from Dean all day and it was 
driving him crazy.

He'd been pacing in the small conference room and evidently Doug had reached his limit.  
Walter was shocked when a mostly empty coke can hit him smack dab in the middle of 
the chest.  He stopped abruptly, and raised his hands in the air.  "What the hell was that 
for?"

There was a small soda stain on his white shirt, courtesy of the can.  He dropped his 
hands to fuss with it and decided it was a lost cause.  Besides, the damned shirt was so 
wrinkled he wasn't even sure if the dry cleaners could salvage it.  The jacket and tie had 
long since been abandoned.

Doug didn't sound particularly pleased when he spoke.  "Will you either sit the fuck 
down or get out of here?"

Walter was doubly shocked.  Doug rarely cursed and certainly not over something like a 
little pacing.  He didn't feel particularly friendly when he answered.  "You got a bug up 
your ass, Doug?  Did I do something to piss you off?"

The other man seemed to deflate and Walter's own anger withered just as quickly.  He 
sank down into a chair and dropped his arms on the conference table, spreading them out 
in front of him.

Doug sighed and shook his head.  "No.  You didn't do anything."

"Then what?  What's up?  Other than the fact that our asses are on the verge of being sent 
to Alaska, that is."

Doug smiled at that and raised his head.  The smile faded and he sighed heavily.  "It was 
Patty's fourth birthday today.  I talked with Angie.  She threw a little party and had some 
of the neighbors over.  She said she took lots of pictures."

Walter was stunned.  He'd spent time with Doug's entire family and knew the man was a 
dedicated husband and father.  The man talked about his kids all the time.  It was still so 
foreign to Walter, even though he'd been married himself for a while now.

He felt like he'd let the other man down somehow.  "I'm sorry, Doug.  I'm sorry you 
missed it."  He realized he really was sorry and was surprised at himself.  He suddenly 
had an urge to call Sharon.  It was like a bolt out of the blue.  They'd talked every two or 
three days at least.  Sometimes even more often, depending on what was happening with 
the case.  He'd just talked with her last night, in fact, so it wasn't like she was expecting 
him to call.  Still ...

"Hey, let's get out of here, Doug.  We've covered enough ground today.  All the teams are 
doing what they're supposed to be doing.  We're not going to accomplish much ourselves 
until we start getting some of the reports.  We might as well get some rest and start early 
tomorrow.  What do you say?"

Doug nodded wearily and pushed himself upright.  "Okay, sounds like a plan."  Doug 
struggled into his own crumpled jacket.  "Why don't you come over, Walt?  Angie saved 
dinner."  Doug turned towards him with a grin.  "And some birthday cake."

Walter smiled back and nodded.  Doug and Angie had become his extended family.  He 
spent about half his nights at their home, now.  "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

His stomach growled loudly, as if to reinforce his words, and Doug laughed.  Walter was 
relieved that their earlier tension had been banished.  He'd come to respect and like his 
fellow ASAC.  He was still amazed at how close they'd become in such a short period of 
time.

He pushed himself up and wobbled a bit before getting his feet solidly under him.  He'd 
become used to getting only four or five hours of sleep a night.  Gotten used to missed 
meals and almost no exercise.  It was amazing how the body adjusted in periods of stress 
and need.  He just hoped his body would hold out until the damned case was resolved.

Doug drove, talking most of the way about Patty and little Jeffrey.  Walter couldn't help 
but smile.  Patty had started calling him Uncle Walt and he had to admit it had a nice ring 
to it.  

They stumbled into the apartment and were greeted by a soft hello from Angie.  She was 
in the recliner, reading what appeared to be a romance novel.  Walter smiled at the 
picture she presented.  He wondered idly what Sharon was doing.  Whether she was 
reading her own romance novel.  Maybe thinking of him, just as he was thinking of her.

Angie had gotten up while Walter's attention wandered.  She and Doug exchanged a 
sweet kiss and embrace and before Walter knew it, she was giving him a hug, too.  He 
smiled at her and hugged back, enjoying the warmth the touch represented.  "Hey, Angie.  
If you don't mind, I'm going back to call Sharon.  I'll be out in a few."  

Angie just nodded to him, then added, "Food in ten."

He made his way to the master bedroom and dropped onto the bed heavily.  He propped 
his elbows on his knees as he punched in the numbers, and wondered what she was 
doing.  Was she already in bed?  It was well after eleven here, after all.  That would put it 
after ten, there.  She might be perturbed with him for calling so late.  He was nervous.  It 
was almost funny.  Here he was, calling his wife, and he was nervous.

She picked up after the fourth ring.  She sounded out of breath when she said 'hello'.

He cleared his throat and said, "Hey, babe.  It's me."

He could almost hear the smile in her voice. "Walter."  Thank God, she was pleased to 
hear from him.  He was so relieved that he noisily released the breath he'd been holding.  
It must have alarmed her because her voice was filled with concern when she spoke.

"Is everything all right?  Are you okay?"

"Yeah.  Everything's fine.  I'm fine.  I just ..."  He wanted to tell her everything.  Wanted 
to let her know just how much he missed her, but he couldn't make himself do it.  "I was 
just checking in.  Thought I'd see how you were.  What you were up to."

It was a lame excuse and he doubted that she believed him.  He certainly hoped she 
didn't.  He could hear her own sigh at the other end.  A long-suffering type of sigh.  
They'd had this exact conversation many times over the years and he hated it.  He wished 
he could break himself free from the superficiality, but it was too damned hard.  He kept 
telling himself - later.  When things calmed down and they had time to talk.  Really talk.  
Then the walls would come down and he'd be completely honest.  

Her voice was like a lantern in the darkness, leading him back to all that was good.  "I 
just turned off the t.v.  I met up with Kate after work and we went to the mall.  Had 
dinner there."

He was starting to relax again.  "What'd you have?"  He could care less, and knew she 
didn't really care to talk about it.  But it was safe.  And it was easy.

"We went to the new grill that opened.  I had a chicken salad.  You would have hated it, 
Walter."

He smiled at that.  They had different tastes in food, that was certain.  

"What about you?  Have you eaten, yet?"

He sighed again.  "In a few minutes.  I'm over at Doug's.  Angie saved something for us."

He could hear the disapproval through the phone, despite the silence.  He decided to head 
off that particular conversation.  "How's work going?"  He knew she was ready to kill 
some of her colleagues.  She worked at an ad agency and hated the pretentiousness of so 
many of the creative people.

"Jeez.  You'd never believe what Frank did today?"

His tone was dry when he answered.  "Yeah, I probably would.  The guy's a complete 
flake."

She laughed and it was more beautiful than a symphony to his ears.  They talked about 
nothing for another five minutes or so until he heard Angie call for him.

"Hey, babe, I have to go."

There was silence for several long seconds and then his wife surprised the hell out of 
him.  "Let me join you, Walter."

He stammered, "What?"  He was confused.  Not understanding what she meant.

"I want to come to D.C.  I want to be with you, Walter."

He was shocked.  He thought she understood the nature of the work better than that.  
"Sharon, I'm on the case 24/7.  There's no time for ..."  He couldn't bring himself to finish 
the sentence.

She sounded frustrated when she broke in.  "I know that, Walter.  And I know that I 
probably wouldn't see you except when you manage to fall into bed for a few hours of 
sleep.  I know all that."

He made a confused sound - something between a what and a why, before he finally 
found his tongue.  "Then why would you want to come?"

The silence was a bit longer this time.  "Just to be with you, Walter.  To be there.  For 
whatever it might be worth."

He felt his air passages close and reached a hand up to his eyes.  He couldn't believe this.  
He was on the verge of tears because his wife said she wanted to be near him.  Jesus, he 
was screwed up.  He sniffed and cleared his throat.  "I'd like that.  I'd like that, Sharon."

*******************************************


Present Day, Hour 22 of the Wait
Sunday, 8:27 p.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


Scully finally felt ready to sit down.  She'd been standing by her partner's side for almost 
a half hour and her legs were starting to take on that rubbery feel again.  A few minutes 
of sleep and a shower just weren't quite enough to erase the exhaustion she'd been 
fighting.

She sighed and stepped back, sinking down into the cushions gratefully.  For the first 
time since the AD and her mother had left, she began to feel uneasy about being in the 
room with Mulder's mother.  Their last interaction had been unpleasant and memories of 
her irresponsible questions refused to dissipate.  Mrs. Mulder must hate her, right about 
now.  

She steeled herself and took a deep breath.  Raised her head and looked across the bed for 
the first time since they'd arrived.  And was shocked to see the woman crying softly.  
Tears rolling down her face, but no sound at all.

Scully was so surprised that she must have made a noise, because the older woman 
looked up slowly to face her straight on.  Her partner was better.  It was true he hadn't 
gained all the ground he'd lost since the operations, but he was definitely on the way 
back.

"Mrs. Mulder, what's wrong?  I'm sorry... I'm sorry about what I said earlier.  I had no 
right."

Teena was shaking her head and raised a hand, as if to cut Scully off. The woman's voice 
was rough and cracked when she spoke.  "No, it's not that.  Not at all.  It's just that ..."

Scully shifted in her chair, trying to get more comfortable.  She swallowed hard, not 
knowing where the woman was going with this.

"I was thinking about Fox a week or so ago.  I can't remember now what made me think 
of it, but it occurred to me that he hasn't cried since he was twelve."

Confusion and shock warred with one another and all Scully could do was shake her head 
to demonstrate her lack of understanding.  This was coming from out of the blue.

"When Samantha was taken, Fox was inconsolable.  He was so depressed.  I know he 
blamed himself.  I told you that Bill took him to Boston for the summer.  I visited as 
often as I could.  When he came back for the school year, he was so different.  So grown 
up."

Scully realized she'd been holding her breath and let it out slowly.  Teena Mulder still 
stood by her son's side, stroking his face gently with her left hand.  The woman looked 
over at her and smiled.  But it was a smile filled with sadness and loss.

"I think he left his childhood behind for good that summer.  And somehow, I think he 
decided that tears were only for children.  And that it was safer to avoid any kind of 
relationship that could ever possibly result in tears."

The woman swallowed hard and Scully could see her shoulders shake softly.  When 
Teena spoke again, it was little more than a whisper.  "When I realized it last week, I 
cried for him ... and for me.  I failed him, Ms. Scully.  Somehow, I should have taught 
him that ..."

The woman trailed off then, her words left unfinished.  Teena dropped her head almost to 
her chest, the despair obvious.  And Scully could only shake her head at first, amazed at 
how little the woman knew her own son.  She took the time to gather her thoughts before 
speaking, knowing that she had an opportunity she might never come again.

She cleared her throat and swallowed hard.  Looked directly at the woman.  "Mrs. 
Mulder.  He cried for you."

Teena raised her head slowly, a flicker of hope showing briefly.

"When you had your stroke, Mulder was frantic.  He would have done anything to make 
you better.  He followed a lead and almost got himself killed.  He was hurt, in shock, but 
he could only think of one thing.  Making it back to your side."

Teena was crying again, a bit harder this time, but obviously trying hard to be quiet.  
Scully's own throat was tight and she had to force the words out.  "He made it to the 
hospital -- I'm still not sure how.  And he cried for you.  He loves you so much, Mrs. 
Mulder."

Teena leaned forward and rested her head right next to her son's.  Scully knew the woman 
was still crying and it was all she could do to avoid it herself.  She'd cried more in the last 
twenty-four hours than she had in the last two years.  She forced herself out of the chair 
and reached across her partner to put a shaky hand on Teena's shoulder.  She squeezed 
gently, then dropped her hand down to Mulder's shoulder.  

Teena Mulder stood straight again, moving slowly, and swiped at her nose with a tissue.  
"Thank you, Dana.  Thank you for telling me.  I was scared that ... that he'd decided not 
to love anything anymore."

Scully was touched by the woman's use of her first name and actually smiled at Teena's 
words, again amazed that the older woman could think such a thing of her own son.  If 
anything, Mulder cared too much about things.  And people.

Scully turned back to look at her partner and it was as if the air was pulled forcibly from 
her lungs.  Mrs. Mulder said, "What?  What's ..."  But her words were also cut off in 
surprise when she looked at her son's face.

Tear tracks streaked his face, glistening in the soft light than shone from above his head.  
Scully started to reach out, but Teena was already moving. 

Mulder's mother reached for his face, slowly, hesitantly, with a single finger.  As if she 
were afraid he'd disappear once she touched him.  She wiped away the tears and leaned 
close, to whisper in her ear.  "I love you, Fox.  I love you so much."

He didn't respond and the monitors showed steady, but Scully knew it was only a matter 
of time now.  Her partner was in there, and she was sure he'd make it back, whole and 
safe and sound.  And maybe, finally, he and his mother would be able to talk.  To reach 
an understanding.

When Teena Mulder pulled back and stood straight, she appeared stronger than she had 
all night.  As if an internal fire had become ignited that leant her strength.  She surprised 
Scully again when she spoke.  Teena's words were firm and she seemed as if she'd either 
made a decision or reconfirmed an earlier one.  Teena met Scully's eyes and said, "I'd do 
anything to keep my son safe."

It was said as if it explained something.  After a few seconds, Scully nodded.  Perhaps it 
explained everything, after all. 

*******************************************


Present Day, Hour 22 of the Wait
Sunday, 8:41 p.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


Skinner kicked at the floorboard with the toe of his shoe and almost jumped when 
Margaret Scully touched his arm.  Then she actually laughed at him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Skinner.  I didn't mean to startle you.  I asked whether you'd managed to 
eat?  I'll be happy to hold down the fort here if you wanted to leave for a bit."

He turned back and waved to their chairs.  "No, I already ate while you were gone, but 
thank you for the offer."  

She sat down across from him and crossed her legs at the ankle.  He took a good look at 
her for the first time and was struck by how similar she and her daughter were.  Both 
were women of steel. Then it occurred to him that Margaret Scully had spent more than 
her fair share of time in hospitals over the last several years.  

Her own thoughts must have traveled in similar paths.  "You know, Mr. Skinner, I'm 
really tired of hospitals.  Before Dana joined the Bureau, hospitals were only for stitches 
and babies.  I never would have guessed I'd spend so much time in them after that."

He felt the guilt wash over him in waves.  Still, her tone wasn't really accusatory.  It was 
more thoughtful than anything.

She smiled at him then, just a bit, and added, "But strangely enough, Dana's happier than 
I ever thought she'd be."

He remained silent, letting the woman take the lead.

"Dana was always so literal as a child.  Even when she was little, she was a hard one to 
convince.  If she couldn't feel it, taste it, see it, then forget it."

Margaret's smile was a bit broader now, as she remembered her daughter so long ago.  
"And she never had any friends.  No real ones.  Lots of acquaintances, good ones, but that 
really wasn't the same."  Her tone was almost musing now.  "She was so different from 
her sister.  So serious."

She looked at him and he wasn't sure how to respond.  He just nodded, as if he 
understood.  And he did, really.  Scully was nothing if not serious.

"They've done studies about military brats, you know."

He was surprised by the comment, unsure what it had to do with anything.  He shook his 
head slightly.

"They found that children who moved around so often had trouble in forming long term 
attachments.  It always worried me.  We moved every few years, after all.  New schools.  
New home.  New friends.  And her father was out to sea so often."

The woman's voice trailed off, but after a few more seconds she started again.  "All the 
kids adjusted, of course, but I think it hit Dana harder, for some reason.  It made her 
cautious.  And incredibly self-sufficient."

He was truly interested now.  The last twenty-some hours had yielded a great deal of 
insight on Mulder, but now he was learning more about Scully.  He could see it, too.  
Could see how his former agent might have been affected in this way.

"I think Dana decided someplace along the line that all she needed was herself.  From a 
very young age, she insisted that she could do everything herself.  That she didn't need 
help."

Margaret Scully leaned forward over her knees a bit and propped her elbows on them.  
Raised her hands and rubbed her face.  "I should have been paying better attention.  I 
allowed it to happen.  Someplace along the way, I should have made sure she understood 
that you can't do everything by yourself.  That it's not a crime to ask for help."

Skinner thought about the woman's words seriously, but then shook his head.  She just 
didn't understand her daughter very well.  "Mrs. Scully, I think there's a difference 
between being self-sufficient and isolated.  Scully is stubborn."  He smiled, remembering 
several memorable encounters.  "And she's headstrong."  The smile grew a bit broader.  
He met Margaret Scully's eyes, again.  "But, she not only knows how to ask for help, 
she'll demand it, if necessary.  In fact, I know she'd do just about anything for Mulder."  
He paused for just a moment to let his words sink in before adding, "And has."

Margaret sighed and smiled wearily.  Then nodded.  "I know.  I do.  It's just so hard, 
wanting to help, but not being able to."  She stared directly at him and added, "She's my 
daughter."

He understood.

*******************************************


Present Day, Hour 23 of the Wait
Sunday, 9:52 p.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


Skinner jerked and his head hit the wall, hard.  He must have fallen asleep.  Something 
woke him.  What?  He blinked hard in the bright florescent light and raised a hand to the 
back of his head.  

A sheepish voice muttered, "Sorry" and then Skinner finally focused on Jerry crouched 
next to the chair.  He sat up quickly, thoughts of a little bump on his head forgotten. 
"Everything all right?"

Jerry stood straight, if slowly, and held a hand out, as if in reassurance.  "No problems, 
sir."  The younger man grinned wryly then.  "The SAC pretty much kicked me out so I 
figured I'd come over to see how things were going here."

Skinner allowed himself to relax a bit and glanced over at Margaret Scully.  She'd 
managed to turn in the chair in such a way that she actually looked comfortable.  A 
blanket covered her and, for the first time, he realized there was a blanket draped over 
him as well.  Jesus, he couldn't remember any of it.

He gathered the soft material up in a ball and shoved it onto the little table next to his 
chair, then gestured for Jerry to sit down.  He cleared his throat, realizing that he was 
desperate for something liquid.  His voice came out as a gravelly growl when he finally 
answered.  "Good as far as I know."  He cleared his throat again and scrubbed his face, 
then leaned back to rest his head a bit more gently against the wall.  He turned to get a 
good look at Jerry and decided the man would end up here himself if he didn't get some 
sleep.

"We got in to see Mulder at 8 and the doctor let Scully and his mother stay.  Mulder was 
doing better then.  If anything had happened, I'm sure we would have heard about it."

Jerry nodded, his head barely moving.  The younger man seemed to be staring at nothing.  
Walter was just getting ready to chase him off when the other agent spoke again.

"Sir, I was wondering something."

Skinner lifted an eyebrow.  About all he had the energy to do.

The other agent went on.  "You were telling me earlier about the warehouse scenario.  I 
remember that one well."

Skinner traded a smile with the other man.  Everyone always died in the warehouse.  
"Yes?"

"So, I was just curious.  What made Mulder retrace his steps during the exercise?"

Skinner smiled again, remembering the story as it had been relayed to him by Dean.

*******************************************


PAST
September 9, 1986
Tuesday, 8:21 p.m.
FBI Academy, Quantico, Virginia


Dean had just had one of the most frustrating days of his life.  It was strange, really.  For 
some reason, he felt responsible for this boy.  He hardly knew Fox Mulder.  The kid was 
one of hundreds who'd passed through the Academy and his classes.  There was really no 
reason that this kid should have made such an impact on him.  No reason at all.  But here 
he was, cooling his heels outside the infirmary, waiting for permission to see him.

But deep down, he could admit to himself the truth.  That what he saw in Fox Mulder was 
quite a bit of himself.  He felt an affinity -- a connection -- that he'd never felt before.  
Oh, he'd had his favorites.  Walter had been one, in fact.  But, still.  This was different.

The door swung open and he pulled himself to attention.  It was the same nurse he'd met 
earlier.  Her name was exotic.  Something unusual. "Genevieve?"

The woman smiled, not really indicating whether he'd gotten it right or not, and said, 
"You can go on in now.  Fox is awake.  And anxious for company, I'd say."

Dean smiled back, particularly interested in the fact that she was now on a first name 
basis with her patient.  

The last time he'd come to visit, Fox had been in a different wing of the infirmary.  This 
time, his injuries had been deemed sufficiently serious that he'd been put in a room right 
next to the nurses' station.  About half the wall leading into the room was glass, but 
shades had been lowered so that he couldn't see in.

He knocked on the door and heard a muffled response.  He opened it cautiously, not 
really knowing what to expect.  It was actually a very familiar picture, though.  Fox was 
standing with his back to the door, looking out the far window.  Arms wrapped around 
his chest and tucked under his arms.  He leaned against the wall with his right shoulder 
and his left foot, left foot crossed over the right at the ankle.  At least the kid didn't seem 
to be suffering from balance problems.

Dean tried to orient the room in his mind and decided it looked out into the forest, where 
the obstacle course was.  Wouldn't be much to see at this time of night.

He cleared his throat and said, "Hello, Fox.  How are you?"

He was pleased that the younger man turned to look at him.  He was afraid he'd get the 
silent treatment.  Instead, Fox actually looked pleased.  There was even a smile lingering 
on his face.  Of course, that could have been because of the ministrations of the lovely 
Genevieve.

"Hello, sir.  I'm fine."  Fox stood straight and dropped both arms, then lifted them 
slightly, palms up in a 'what's up' gesture.  "I wish I could get these people to believe 
that."  It was said dryly, with a trace of humor.  No rancor.

Dean laughed a little.  "Trust me, Fox.  I've had a few concussions.  They'll make your 
life hell for at least twenty-four hours, then send you on your way."  He sat down on the 
second bed in the room and added, "As long as you don't go into convulsions or show 
signs of dementia before the magic period is up, that is."

It got a laugh out of the other man, but he saw the seriousness return almost immediately.

"Sir, were you here?  Earlier, I mean?"

He understood that Fox didn't have a clear memory.  He debated whether to hide the fact 
or not and decided there was really no point.  "Yes, I stopped by right after you'd been 
brought in."

He saw the flicker of emotions cross by the younger man's face.  Curiosity, insecurity, 
frustration.  

"Did I ..."

"What?"

"Did I say anything?"

"About what?"

There was annoyance now.  He wasn't intentionally being an obstructionist.  Well, 
actually, he was.  It was just that he didn't want to push.  Any conversation about the 
dream, or The Dream, as he was now thinking of it, had to come from Fox.

"I seem to remember ..."  The kid licked his lips.  Moved over to the other bed and sat 
down, just a couple feet away.  The bed was high enough that Fox's feet were dangling 
off the floor.  He looked absurdly young, sitting there with mussed hair, a bandaid on his 
neck, kicking his feet back and forth in the air.

"What do you remember?"

"A dream.  I had a dream.  Did we talk about it?"

He made sure there was absolutely no inflection in his voice when he responded.  "Yes, 
we did."

The kid actually looked relieved.  Then he squinted.  Seemed to chew on the inside of his 
cheek.  "Was any of it ... helpful?"

Dean smiled a bit.  Nodded slowly.  "I think so.  I haven't processed everything yet.  I'd 
like you to let me know if you remember anything else from it."

The kid nodded again and looked across the room, over Dean's shoulder.  Dean had to 
fight the urge to turn and see what he was looking at.  Instead, he decided to broach a 
different subject.  One that John Malloy had brought up to him earlier.

"Fox?"

"Hmmm?"  The younger man was obviously distracted and Dean wondered where his 
thoughts had been.

"I have a question about the exercise."

That got the trainee's interest.  Dean knew that he had Fox's full attention.

"We can talk about this as much or as little as you want.  I want to make that clear right 
now.  I'm not trying to push you."  He let it sink in and saw the younger man processing 
his words.  He could imagine what was going through the kid's mind.  Narking out your 
colleagues, no matter how badly they'd behaved, was not a recommended course of 
action.  It wasn't fair.  It wasn't morally right.  But, it was life.  The kid nodded slowly.

"I'm curious about what made you turn back in the warehouse.  You'd gotten to the third 
row of crates on the right side, then before even checking the other side, you turned back 
and retraced your steps."

The other man was thoughtful.  The arms came up and crossed again.  The head was 
bowed, as if trying to decide whether there was a trap in the words.  Fox evidently 
decided it was a safe question, because he finally answered.  "I knew something wasn't 
right.  I should have seen the team coming from the other way.  I should have heard 
something.  I just knew there was something strange going on."

Dean nodded, still curious.  Wanting an explanation.  "But, what exactly was it that made 
you turn around?"  As delicately as he could, he added, "It's not exactly standard 
procedure, Fox."

The younger man flushed red, raised his chin in defiance.  Dean caught the tightening of 
the arms.  

"I know it wasn't procedure, but the exercise was wrong from the start."

"What do you mean?"

Fox shook his head.  Dropped his arms and pushed himself off the bed.  He wobbled just 
slightly, then walked to the window again.  Same position as before.  Dean heard his 
voice, low and muffled.

"I didn't understand why we were going in at all.  It didn't make sense."  Fox turned back 
to face him, back against the wall.  He shook his head in disgust.  "We didn't have 
intelligence.  No clear reason for going in.  A suspicion of gunfire."  He stressed the word 
'suspicion' as if it were dirty.  "I mean, it was just irresponsible from the beginning."

Dean fought the smile.  It was true, what Fox was saying.  That was part of the exercise, 
in fact.  The first mistake that every single team had ever made throughout the history of 
the exercise was that they went in when they shouldn't have.  "All right.  We can talk 
about that later.  But, it still doesn't explain why you went back once you were in."

Fox dropped his arms.  Put his hands on his hips.  Turned to look over his shoulder, out 
the window.  "I can't explain it.  I just knew something was wrong and that it was behind 
me.  Not in front of me."

Dean nodded, still not knowing how the trainee could have known that, but 
understanding that sometimes, you just can't explain everything.  Before he could ask any 
more questions, Fox continued.

"I know it was a set-up, but I've gone over and over the entire thing in my mind.  I still 
don't know what happened.  I can't figure it."  Fox looked directly at him, demanding an 
explanation.

Dean smiled.  Shrugged, not really wanting to be the one to tell the trainee.  "Oldest trick 
in the book, Fox.  What do you think all those carefully arranged crates were doing in an 
abandoned warehouse?"

He watched the intent expression.  The thoughtful gaze.  Then, as if a light was flicked, 
he could see that enlightenment was achieved.

"Fuck!  The crates.  They were in the God damned crates!"

He was surprised by the language, but he'd used much worse himself just hours ago.  
Actually, the flustered expression on Fox's face after he realized what he'd said during his 
outburst was priceless.

"Sorry, sir.  I mean, I didn't mean..."

He shook his head and lifted a hand to stop him, fighting a chuckle.  "No problem, 
trainee.  It's a typical response."

Once the shock had passed, though, he could see the thoughts processing again.  "But, it 
still doesn't track.  Why were they there?  What was the point of the supposed gunshots?  
What was the point at all?"

Dean smiled again.  "The point was ..."  He paused for a moment, making sure the point 
would be driven home.  "There's always someone smarter than you.  If you don't know 
what you're getting into, it's probably best you don't."

Of course, Dean didn't mention to the younger man that Fox had come damned close to 
actually catching part of the assault team as they exited the crates.  It was part of the 
reason Seabury was so angry.  He'd almost been shown up again, by the same damned 
kid.

Fox seemed to nod just a bit too quickly to his words.  Dean cocked his head and looked 
at the kid sharply.  This one required some looking after. Fox was smart, no question.  
The kid had an uncanny ability to see through to the heart of the matter.  But, he was way 
the hell too cocky.  It would get him hurt some day.  Maybe worse.  

Dean stood up straight, drawing Fox's eyes toward him.  "Listen to me, Fox.  This might 
just save you some day.  Know what you're getting into.  Learn everything you can.  You 
don't take chances with your life or the lives of those agents under you."

He was disturbed at the fact that Fox actually seemed to be thinking about this.  It should 
have been a no brainer.  "Fox."  He knew it was threatening, and he intended it to be.  
When there was still no reaction, he took a step closer.  The kid finally responded, as if 
realizing there was no other option.

"I understand what you're saying.  It's just ..."

"What?"

"Aren't there some situations that demand action before thought?  Or at the very least, 
action with minimal information?  You can't always know everything.  It's impossible.  It 
seems that it's more important to trust your instincts."

Dean shook his head and looked down at his shoes, struggling between wanting to 
strangle the kid and wanting to pat him on the back.  He finally looked up and stared 
directly into Fox's eyes.

"Listen to me, Fox.  You're right.  Sometimes, you have to act fast and the only thing you 
have to listen to is yourself.  But, this job -- it's not like the movies.  You'll be surrounded 
by colleagues, partners, bosses.  There are always other people around to get input from.  
You're never going to be the lone ranger, Fox.  Never.  Just remember that." 

*******************************************


Present Day, Hour 24 of the Wait
Sunday, 10:43 p.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


A nurse entered the waiting room and paused, obviously looking for something or 
someone.  Somehow, Skinner knew who she was looking for.  He had just stood when 
she focused on him and started his way.

"Are you Assistant Director Skinner?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sir, there's a call for you at the nurse's station.  It's someone from the FBI.  They also 
said to ask if there was another agent with you.  A ..."  The woman looked down at the 
slip of paper, obviously trying to make out her own scribble.

"Jerry Friedman?"

She smiled at him and nodded.  "That's right.  The phone's right this way."

He leaned took a couple steps and shook Jerry's arm.  The younger man barely moved.  It 
required quite a bit of shaking and a sharp kick to the foot in order to get him to open his 
eyes.

"Come on, youngster.  We're wanted by the Bureau."

That got the other man's attention and Jerry was upright in seconds, even though he didn't 
appear to be particularly steady.  Skinner glanced over to Margaret Scully and decided 
he'd let her sleep until he knew for sure what was happening.  He nodded to the young 
nurse, then followed along behind her down the hallway. 

She punched a button once he'd picked the receiver up.  "Skinner."

He knew who it was, of course.  From the moment he'd been told there was a call, he 
knew Carl Landers was on the phone with news on the case.  His instincts were still 
serving him well.

"Walt, it's Carl.  How's Mulder?"

Skinner appreciated the fact that the other man asked, even though he wanted to know 
what was happening.  "Better.  What's going on?"

He heard the sigh and what sounded like creaks from the man's chair.  "We need you 
here.  Is Friedman with you, by the way?  We haven't been able to reach him.  His cell 
phone's off."

Skinner cocked an eye towards the younger man.  "Yes, he's here.  No cell phones in the 
hospital.  You know the rules."  He paused for a second before adding, "Why do you 
need me?"

The silence was almost palpable.  "Just get here, Walt.  Fast."

And then there was nothing but a dial tone, buzzing in his ear.

*******************************************
End Part 11 of ?
(Feedback to kronos1@adelphia.net greatly appreciated)
Ascent to Hell
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