Sometimes being right was sufficient gratification in itself – the world shrouded in a smug, fuck-what-you-think yellow haze. The walls of Skinner's bedroom were painted in the same, what the can had defiantly labeled goldenrod, and he would die in agony before he confessed that little gem to anyone but his priest. It was an odd disorder, this labelling of emotion by color, and he'd lived most of his life inside a rainbow before he realized it had a name. He'd kept the colors, and couldn't remember the label.
But when smug mingled seamlessly with the rose hue of Mulder's sorrow, the result was an unsettling terra cotta brown that took him back to the muddy jungles of Vietnam, and spoiled the afternoon for anything but paperwork. He'd told them, hadn't he, that separating Mulder and Scully was like cutting a boat in half and expecting the pieces to float. They might bob about on the surface for a little while, but inevitably, battered by the wind and waves, they sink into the depths. And he suspected Mulder was about to go under for the last time.
They might have been able to wait it out if the powers that be hadn't transferred Scully halfway across the country. A temporary move, Skinner's superiors had insisted. That had been eight months, and from his last look at Mulder, about twenty pounds ago. Mulder had started eating again when Skinner began threatening him with forced leave; without his partner, work was all he had. The X-files were locked away in their file cabinets only weeks after Scully's departure, and far from crying foul, Mulder had given them up without a fight. Encouraged by his lack of spirit, and again over Skinner's strident protests, he was assigned a new partner.
Mulder had accepted that indignity too without a word, and promptly abandoned his companion when the case heated up. He didn't trust them, he'd explained, and looking after an undependable partner cramped his style. When Mulder had ignored an official reprimand and pulled his disappearing act on his next assignment, Skinner conceded, and Mulder closed the case alone. But as the days wore on, Skinner's amusement turned slowly to concern. Despite his endless pursuit of the fantastic, Mulder was an incredible and dedicated agent. Skinner hadn't forgotten that. But without Scully to moderate his impulsive behavior and only himself to defend, Mulder was fearless. After the first few hospital bills made their way into the completed pile on his desk, Skinner summoned Mulder up to his office for a chat on proper procedure.
It didn't any good, of course, and Mulder simply shrugged as Skinner eyed the careful stitches under Mulder's jaw. There was a story there – an inch deeper and they would have shipped his agent back to him in a body bag – but Skinner didn't ask. He didn't like the shadows under Mulder's eyes, or the edgy tension that made the air too thick to breathe. Mulder was slowly self-destructing. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do.