April 7, 12:43 PM, Wilkes Memorial Hospital, New York City
The man in the bed coughed with the cigarette in place. His face was concealed, but Skinner knew who it was right away. He knew the presence of the man who used to hover his desk, watch his every move, and never knew when to put out a Morley. The Cancer Man himself, alive, more or less. How was that even possible?
"You son of a bitch, I ought to pull the plug on you." He said to the body.
"He can't answer you. Not yet." The nurse said.
"I'm through wanting answers from that thing."
"He's not dead, Mr. Skinner." A man said. "He is fully awake, but he's got a long way to go."
"It's impossible. He ate a missile, nobody can survive that."
"And how is your shoulder doing, Mr. Skinner?"
"My shoulder?"
"Your shoulder. An hour ago you had a hole in it, and from what I hear through the old grapevine, a nasty little infection starting. I assume that's all taken care of."
"I didn't take a missile to the shoulder."
"No, you did not. But, Mr. Skinner, some things about your kind heal…easily. It could be that your friend here will never really heal."
"That's not my friend."
"There's been a change in plans, and now you are going to hear me out. Are you hungry, Mr. Skinner?"
"I'd rather puke."
"We'll get you a soup and sandwich anyway."
"Shove it. We're through here."
"No! WE ARE NOT THROUGH!" The man's face was covered in fury. "I mean, you will hear us out. Nothing more. Then you go back to your life like nothing happened. But until then, get comfortable. I think we can get some words out of our friend here."
Skinner looked at the lifeless lump on the bed. It had to be some kind of crazy trick, there is no way that it was the Cancer Man. The nurse gave it another puff of its cigarette.
April 7, 2:05 PM, Milton, Vermont
The phone rang suddenly, and Monica Reyes answered. "Agent Reyes."
"Monica. I want to talk." It was an old, familiar voice that made her want to retch.
"Brad?"
"Yes. I wanted to talk to you. In person."
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Of course. You would say that. But I don't forget things, and I wanted you to understand."
"I understand what two-faced scum you are."
"Monica, I'm going to set it all right. If you talk to me. Can you get here tonight?"
"I don't think…"
"No, you think. You always think. And you should be thinking. I've made a lot of mistakes. Don't let you be my last one. For one last time, for crying out loud. Meet me."
"I…I have to think about it."
"Do that. I will see you."
She hung up without another word.
There was another email.
I know you mean well, but go home. Drop whatever it is you are on. Don't let it be you next.
What kind of devil would possess him to tell her to give up?
April 7, 2:35 PM, Shining Star Café, Milton, Vermont
Doggett was gazing into a black cup of coffee, musing to himself about something. Tolson walked up and sat next to him, returning from the bathroom.
"Deep thoughts for a deep man?" Tolson asked.
"Something Monica told me about coffee. If you turn the cup just right, you can see the future. Do you believe that crap?"
"Honestly, I would rather just not drink the stuff."
"It's something about energies and reflecting light. She said it was like how Nostradamus saw things."
"Uh-huh."
"I keep looking through, trying to figure out why I am even here and why Monica ran off. Do you know what I see?"
"No idea."
"A crappy black cup of coffee." He took a big swig of it.
"So Monica, Agent Reyes, she's kooky like that?"
"She's a damn good agent. You can put your life in her hands."
"But I mean, the UFOs, the cults, psychic coffee cups…"
"Tolson, there's stuff in this world I don't want to believe. But I have seen things you would never understand, and of all of the people in this world you can put your trust into, there's Monica Reyes. She will never break that trust, and would never go to the other side."
"What other side?"
"You don't have a clue, do you? When I was on The X-Files…"
"UFO Chasing."
"Real field work. When I was on The X-Files, we found some hair-raising stuff, Agent. People aren't always what they appear to be, some of them are even…"
"Alien."
"Your words, Agent Tolson."
"Yeah well I watched ET as a kid, too. But this is grown-up land now, and sure there's something screwy-as-hell happening, but it sure ain't little green men."
"Gray. Or black, sometimes."
"Incredible. Whatever, your words, Mr. Doggett."
"Don't believe, that's fine. I don't care. It's not my job to care. After this is over, I am out for good, and you never have to see me again. I honestly can't wait."
"That what your coffee is telling you?"
"It's telling me you pointed a gun at someone thinking it was Dana Scully, and I never said anything about her. Which tells me a lot about you."
"That Scully is a fugitive harboring a convicted murderer, even though we're investigating the validity of all that? She still has to be brought in."
"Tolson, you have no idea what you are dealing with here. Nobody's bringing in Scully, or Mulder. Not if I have anything to do with it."
"I do my job."
"And if that means what you make it sound like you mean, then you've just made a dangerous enemy here, Mr. Tolson."
"The FBI investigates. We're not some sinister plot involved in some conspiracy."
"That's exactly what you are."
"Where, then, is the proof?"
"You tell me."
"Well this is going nowhere."
"Who you answer to, Agent Tolson?"
"What?"
"You heard me. You're awful chummy with the Director, you're the FBI's bright boy, and how? Who is backing you up? Torino, or something bigger?"
"How dare-"
"How dare I? Tell me why you are pulling a gun on a stranger and getting the Assistant Director shot?"
"Screw you, Mr. Doggett! To think, Kersh spoke highly of you."
"Kersh. That's all I needed to know."
"Wow. You know what? Good luck getting home, I have a case to investigate and you've kept me off it too long here. Have a nice walk to New York City."
Doggett made a rude gesture.
The waitress came up to the bar with a carafe of coffee. "That didn't sound friendly."
"Doesn't matter. He's not my problem."
"More?"
"Of course."