Fox Mulder closed his right eye in order to better focus on his target. He steadied his arm and checked his aim one last time. He didn't want to miss. He took in a deep breath and held it, rolled his wrist in an upward motion, then released the pencil from his grip and watched it sail straight for the ceiling, puncturing the tile on exactly the black circular indenture he had intended.

'Maybe I should make an appointment for my firearms re-certification,' he thought facetiously to himself. He'd had a lot of practice with the pencils in the last seven and a half hours. With no active cases to speak of and all of the paperwork from the last one completed yesterday, there was not much to do other than follow up on leads and reply to e-mails. Which had taken him all of twenty minutes this morning. He quickly double-checked the file folder that contained the completed reports from the previous case, making sure all the forms were filled-out and signed. He glanced at the clock, noting that the work week had exactly thirty minutes left.

He shut down his computer, made sure his desk drawers and file cabinets were locked, donned his coat, grabbed his briefcase and the file folder, then headed for the elevator. One last stop at Skinner's office to drop off the paperwork, and he'd be on his merry way.

'Zippadee Doo Dah.'

Mulder nodded to Kimberly as he walked into the lobby of his boss' office. "He in?" he asked.

"Yes, Agent Mulder, just a second," Kimberly replied as she picked up the phone.

"Oh, no, it's alright, I just came by to drop off the report he asked for." With that, he placed the file on Kimeberly's desk.

"I'll see that he gets it," she said. Once again, Mulder nodded, then headed for the door. He was three steps away from making his exit when he heard the door to Skinner's office swing open.

"Agent Mulder." It was more of a statement than a question. Mulder stopped and turned, summoning every last grain of patience left in his body.

"Sir. I just came by to drop off the Sutton file. Everything's in order and complete."

Skinner, still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, gave a slight nod of his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "So unless I hear otherwise from you or Agent Scully, I suppose we'll debrief first thing Monday morning."

"Monday morning," Mulder confirmed. But before he could slip away, Skinner spoke once again.

"How is Agent Scully? Have you talked to her today?" He strode over to Kimberly's desk and lifted the file, crossing his arms once more.

Dana Scully had called in sick on two occasions in her time at the FBI. Once when she received her cancer diagnosis a couple years back. Today was the other.

Really, she had insisted, she was fine, just taking a day as a precaution. She had called Mulder the night before. "I'm just exhausted, and I think a three day weekend will give me a chance to catch up on some sleep," she had told him. "Besides, I recall you once telling me that the amount you accomplish without someone nagging you all day is amazing," she had joked in an effort to convince them both that she really was fine.

Mulder hadn't bought it.

The two-week long case they had just finished had taken its toll on his partner. In the six years they had been working together, they had seen some unbearably horrific things. This case could have easily taken the cake. Wayne Sutton was a former surgeon-turned-sociopathic-child-molester who had been tipped off that the two agents were searching for him. Mulder had come across the case after it had filtered through VC and the boys up there had determined it just spooky enough to be deemed an X-File. Sutton had believed he was ushering about the colonization and was attempting to create hybrids by kidnapping children and committing unspeakable crimes against them. When he had learned of Scully's medical background, he had taken full advantage of the knowledge and had left her menacing clues at each crime scene, often in the form of a cryptic riddle or taunting puzzle, ones that only made sense once the tox-screens had come back and a cause of death had been determined.

Mulder had worriedly noted the number of young casualties, some as young as four years old, and had tried to be highly attuned to Scully's physical and emotional state. Not only was she working upwards of sixteen hours a day, she was clearly not sleeping. Mulder knew it was a combination of trying desperately to both figure out Sutton's clues and bear the weight of the loss of such young souls. Cases with children involved were particularly difficult for her.

She hadn't been eating either. Every time he stopped by the lab he would bring her a big meal, only to return hours later with another and see the previous one, untouched, sitting on the counter on the far side of the room. As if that wasn't enough, it was dead winter in the middle of Minnesota, and they had both spent a great deal of time in the cold, damp wilderness. He should have seen it coming when she started coughing and sniffling. What started as a cold had only gotten worse, exacerbated by the lack of food and sleep.

In the end, Sutton was caught in the act, making for a slam-dunk case when paired with all of the physical evidence against him. He had made it a point to call out to Scully while being cuffed, telling her to be ashamed of herself for taking so long to figure him out, that it was her fault that so many had suffered.

Had it not been for the pleading look in her worn eyes as she grabbed him by the arm, Mulder would have saved the good taxpayers of Stearns County the cost of a trial and execution and put a bullet through the sorry son of a bitch himself. One look at her and he knew he had to get her back to the motel.

By the time they had arrived back in Washington, he had insisted on driving her home, but attempts to convince her to take the rest of the week off had fallen on deaf ears. She had shown up on Thursday morning with a cup of coffee in her hand, one that had been refilled several times as the day went on. Between the coughing, sneezing, and blowing of her nose, Mulder didn't know how she got anything done at all. She was dragging all day, and during the lunch hour had opted to lie down on the couch in the rear of the office. Once again, his bids to talk her into eating or taking a half day had gone denied. By the time 5 o'clock had rolled around, he had to fight the temptation to place his hand on her forehead to check for a fever, and instead encouraged her to get some rest and take Friday off.

He was shocked when she actually had. Relieved, but shocked nonetheless.

"No sir, I haven't spoken with her since last night. I was actually planning on stopping by her place on my way home to see how she's doing."

"Tell her I hope she's feeling better. If she needs Monday, tell her to take it. And Mulder?"

"Yes sir?"

"Take care of yourself, too." With that, Skinner walked back into his office and Mulder headed for the parking garage.

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