References to "Zero-Sum." And, yeah, I might've tweaked the timeline just a wee bit!


Anna didn't make it to Mr. Vernon. Flicking on the radio, she heard about the accident that had Highway 1 shut down for the duration. Deciding it was too pretty a day to sit in stifling traffic, she headed home. There were chores that needed to be done. And, she might just go for an extra run this afternoon after that cheeseburger.

She smiled to herself and shook her head. 10 miles.

He was most certainly made of 'tough stuff' as Grandma liked to say. Wasn't it just 4 – no 5 – days ago he was bleeding on the sidewalk? And now he was already back at work like nothing had happened.

Her smile faded. She wished she were that strong. It had been over a year since the accident, and it still haunted her.

What about the guilt? She always thought the pain would be with her always, not only the physical pain of her injured tendons, but the emotional pain. Today, she had her first glimpse of peace. Of enjoyment of a day without any care in the world. Was it because she was learning something new?

Or, was it the company?

Walter Skinner was still an enigma to her. A handsome, well-muscled enigma, no doubt, but still one, nonetheless. She was fairly certain he was only being nice to her for what she did for him, conveniently forgetting they were already on speaking terms before he was shot. Was she ready for more than that? With anybody?

She tried not to think about the moment he wrapped his arms around her to show her how to hold the pistol correctly. That meant nothing to him, and here she was, acting like a silly school girl. She promptly pushed those thoughts away.

Was she ready to let go of her husband's memory? After all, they'd dated since their teenage years. He was the only lover she'd ever known. Was she holding onto a past she needed to let rest?

An afternoon of scrubbing floors and attacking dust bunnies gave her time to think on these questions and more.

But, at the end of the day, she still had no answers. Only more questions.


When he didn't show up at Gordo's by the end of the week, she tried not to be concerned. She almost called his cell phone number a few times that he had written on the card with the shooting range address, but stopped.

What would she say?

Oh, I just wanted to say hi. Missed your tips at work. How's the FBI business?

Foolishness, that's all it was.

Truth be told, she was a little intimidated by him. He had a control over his life, and his job, that she could only dream of. As well as respect of his peers.

The only respect she got was Ace telling her that her work slacks made her ass look cute.

He and Gordo, as well as Gertie, had commented at her "big tipper's" absence. Anna shut them up fast by telling them maybe he just didn't want to get shot again.

She didn't dare tell them about the morning at the range or lunch. They'd read too much into it. Come to think of it, she was probably reading too much into it.

Anna didn't know if she could go back to their waitress-customer relationship.

But, then again, he'd actually have to come by for her to even know, wouldn't he?


Skinner still couldn't believe he'd done it. He'd broken so many laws, he lost count. He'd disposed of that body. Gotten rid of the evidence at the mail sorting facility. Not to mention the toll it had taken on his emotional state. It was hell. Pure and complete hell.

And what did he get for it? Certainly not what he was promised – a cure for Scully's cancer. He couldn't sit there and watch her die. When the option presented itself in the form of the Cigarette Smoking Man who enjoyed tormenting him regularly, he grabbed it. Her cancer was not her fault, and he'd been damned if it killed her.

However, it just may despite his best efforts.

After looking over his shoulder, afraid of being accused of a murder he didn't commit, he found himself staring down the barrel of his own agent's weapon in his own apartment. Mulder. Whom he'd talked out of doing anything rash to safe his partner's life when she was first diagnosed.

Seems he couldn't follow his own advice. And, he damned sure couldn't give Mulder the gory details.

But, when the murder rap seemed to fade after Mulder lied to the forensics lab concerning the location the gun was found, the guilt over what he'd done didn't fade with it. Somehow, without giving Mulder cold, hard facts to prove his innocence, he knew. Mulder knew he wasn't a killer.

Skinner almost committed a cold-blooded murder, instead. He'd have given anything to kill that smoking son of a bitch for putting him in this situation. His cool veneer, his veiled threats would be gone. Not to mention the stench of cigarette smoke that hid a more vile, evil odor.

But, just as the man said, so would the cure for Scully's cancer.

Firing the weapon into the wall did make him feel somewhat better, although firing it into the man's heart would have certainly been more gratifying.

But, that would have been the point of no return. He would, in essence, be just like them – the people who were slowly, but surely, finishing a hair-raising tale 50 years in the making.

And, he just couldn't do it. Some vestige of humanity was still in him after all.

When he left the grungy motel room, he didn't know what to do. He was a bought man. They owned him. He had to do as they said, which was to rid the FBI of the formidable force that was Scully and Mulder. They had stumbled upon something that was bigger than all of them, and whatever that was, these unseen forces didn't like it one bit.

He drove to the first bar he saw, some sleazy joint with a flashing neon sign that barely worked. And drank.

He drank to forget what he had done. And what he had become.

And what he never could be.

But, the damn cigarette smoke in the bar was driving him insane. So, just this side of sobriety, he left.

Hell, he'd already committed more crimes than he could count? What was an additional DUI charge on top of it? He drove aimlessly, searching for an answer that he hoped was there, but afraid didn't even exist.

He didn't even realize what direction he was headed until he saw the bright sign outside of Gordo's.

Her green eyes came unbidden to his mind. They didn't judge. They didn't lie. They didn't ask him to do things he just plain didn't want to do.

No matter that she would probably recoil in horror at the things he'd done. He wouldn't tell her. All he wanted was some sort of hope that tomorrow, things might be a little better. Even just a bit.

Because it damn sure couldn't get any worse.


Anna heard the phone ringing in her sleep. Thinking it was her parents, always forgetting the time difference, she fumbled for it.

"H'lo?"

"Anna? It's Gertie."

Anna struggled into a sitting position. Nero raised his head and looked at her, then with a groan, rolled onto his side and went back to sleep. "Gertie? It's almost 2 a.m."

"That's right. And the bar's fixin' to close."

This was weird. And, she was tired. Or maybe she was dreaming. She rubbed her eyes wearily "What's wrong, Gertie?"

She could practically hear the older woman take a puff of her ever-present cigarette. "I want you to get your ass over here."

"Gertie, what are you talking about? Do you know what time it is?"

"I know what time it is!" The woman's voice was sharp, and obediently, Anna kept her comments to herself. When she resumed talking, it was in a lower voice. "It's your big tipper. He's here. The FBI man whatever-his-name-is.""

Her sleepy mind was instantly alert.

That figures. He'd finally show up on a night she was off – but, wait. The kitchen closed at 11 p.m. He knew that. Why show up now?

Gertie took her silence as an invitation to continue. "He's drunk off his gourd, sug. He showed up here an hour ago drunk as Cooter Brown, and he just kept drinking."

Anna threw back the covers and flipped on the light, wide awake. "What's wrong? Did he say anything? Do anything?" She just couldn't picture him on a drunken rampage. It didn't fit. None of it did.

"Not a damn thing. When we told him you were off tonight, he sat down at the bar, asked for a bottle of whiskey and a glass, and went to town."

Anna was trying to throw on some clothes and talk at the same time. "Why call me?"

She could almost see the woman give one of her famous shrugs. "I dunno. He asked for you. Seems pretty upset about something, too. Gordo and Ace wanted me to put him in a cab, but he sort of looks like he needs . . . well . . . something! Just get your ass down here, so we can go home!" Gertie slammed the phone down, leaving Anna staring at her receiver.

Throwing on jeans and a shirt with some flip-flops she used when going down the street to see Libby and the girls, she dashed out the door.

Nero insisted on coming, and honestly, she wanted the company. This was unfamiliar territory, and she was a little apprehensive about it.

With the light traffic, she got to Gordo's in record time, finding a parking space right in front of the restaurant. She noted what she was pretty sure was Walter's car parked right in front of hers, albeit a little crookedly.

Gertie was waiting on her at the front door. "Get him outta here, so we can go home," she said gruffly.

Anna didn't pay any attention to her seemingly heartless attitude. If she was that heartless, she'd have thrown Walter out on the street. Her bark was much worse than her bite. Anna knew that by now.

He was sitting at the far end of the darkened bar, the only lights coming from the kitchen. Anna thought she saw Gordo's unhappy face in the window from the kitchen, but it just as soon disappeared.

Her attention went back to Walter, who had definitely looked like he'd seen better days. He was leaned heavily on his arms on the bar, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie missing. She'd never seen him any way but immaculate, and his unkempt appearance took her by surprise. He looked 'pure-T miserable' as her grandmother would say.

And, she didn't know what to do.

Heck, she barely even knew the man! Just because he could make her heart race at times didn't mean she could mend whatever was wrong with him.

But, she wanted to. There was no way she could leave him here. She didn't know if it was because of what he'd done for her or because she plain didn't want to. But, she couldn't leave him all alone.

She wanted to know, to make his pain her own.

Quietly, feeling Gertie's gaze on her back, she flip-flopped her way towards him.


He couldn't forget. No matter how much he drank, the knowledge of what he had done was still sitting there, mocking him, laughing at him, telling him he'd compromised his principles for an apparition. Chasing dreams.

And now, he was stuck.

To top it all off, she wasn't here.

But, he needed another drink, so he stayed.

Now, it was time to go. He had nothing to go home to. He had nothing to work for tomorrow. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. His career was going down the tubes in a hurry, and all he could do was watch.

And, he could have sworn he smelt her perfume.

Laughing to himself at his own foolishness, he took another sip of whiskey, the now-familiar burn in his throat welcome to his decrepit, worn out soul.

"What's so funny?"

Her voice was soft, questioning, worried. Just hearing it almost brought tears to his eyes.

Dammit, just where did she come from?

He didn't look at her. Couldn't look at her. Afraid he'd bawl like a baby if he laid eyes on her.

And she didn't need to know. These were things she should be sheltered from, not made to face.

"Not a damn thing." He drained his glass and reached for the almost-empty bottle.


Anna didn't know what to say. His words weren't slurred, but he'd apparently drank that whole bottle, plus no telling what else. Also, she could hear Gertie's impatient shuffling behind her, so she better try something.

He reached for the bottle, but she got it first, setting it on another table away from him.

His hand fell to the bar, empty, but he still wouldn't look at her. "Doesn't matter. Doesn't help anyway." Now, his words were just a little slurred. She probably wouldn't have noticed if she didn't know him. Or think she knew him.

Anna climbed onto the stool next to him and leaned against the bar, her knees barely touching his side. "What's wrong?"

Laughing bitterly, he thought of all the myriad of things that were wrong, his alcohol-induced brain settling on what had caused all of this in the first place. "Scully's in the hospital."

He heard her sharp intake of breath. "Why?"

"Cancer. It's back."

"I didn't know . . ." Her voice trailed off. The woman did look a little pale, but most certainly not deathly ill.

"She didn't want to take any time off. She was determined to work. Stubborn woman."

Anna had many, many questions, but only one surfaced. "What're the doctors saying?"

Suddenly, he wished for another drink. But, it looked like they were the only two left in the restaurant.

Was it that late already?

Boy, time flies when you're having fun.

"The doctors are saying there's no hope. They give her a week. One week."

He looked so miserable, her heart went out to him.

Part of her couldn't help but wonder why he cared so much. He was just her boss, after all.

But, that's what made him good at his job. You had to care just a little bit.

"How's Mulder?"

"In denial. At least, up until she collapsed. He'll be worthless without her." He didn't dare tell her the gory details. She wouldn't understand. No one would understand.

She scrambled for something to say. "They seem close."

He glanced at her sharply. "How do you know?"

She was a little taken aback. "They . . . came to my house. After you were shot."

He seemed satisfied with her answer and went back to staring into his empty glass.

"That's not all that's bothering you."

"Boy, nothing gets by you." His tone was not kind.

Anna soldiered on. "You've seen enough, been around enough, to know about death. I can only imagine what you saw in Vietnam. And, the FBI probably isn't much simpler. Yes, she has cancer. And, yes, she might die. I just don't see you . . . you . . ."

"Drinking myself into a stupor over it?"

She drew in a deep breath. "Unless you . . . care about her?" It was possible. They worked together daily. And Dana Scully was a beautiful, poised woman.

And, Anna had long accepted the fact she was neither.

He looked at her, his eyes boring into her own. "I demand loyalty in my agents. They should receive nothing but loyalty in return."

Anna considered herself rebuked and wondered if he would just get up and walk out the door.

But, he kept on, picking up his empty glass and staring into it. "I care enough about her – and for Mulder - to compromise myself, my job and my life to see justice done."

Forgetting early promises to himself, he slammed the glass down so hard on the bar, Anna jumped, surprised when it didn't shatter in his hand. "They promised me, goddammit! They told me if I did it, they'd give me her cure!" He knew he shouldn't tell her. And he wouldn't. It would take too long to explain. But, he wanted her to understand! "But, it wasn't enough. Now, I'm at their mercy. Just like Scully. I'm just like them. Just as awful as them . . ."

He was hinting at things Anna didn't even want to contemplate. Cure? For cancer? And just what did he do exactly?

There was more going on here than she knew.

And, she couldn't sit here and watch him suffer.

She placed her hand on his arm, wondering if he'd even let her. "You risked your life and your career for a friend. That's something to be proud of, not ashamed."

He didn't shrug off her touch. In fact, her compassion was almost more than he could take, a compassion he could feel in the light pressure on his arm. He didn't look at her, but he reached over with his left hand, putting it over hers. "It doesn't make it right." He rubbed her hand lightly with his thumb. "It doesn't make it right."

His touch was gentle, and she had the urge to protect him from whatever was going on here.

Strange because she was the one who usually need protecting.

"You're a good man. I don't care what anyone says. Even you."

He looked at her, a little amused despite the situation. "My dear, sweet Anna. Always seeing the good in everyone." His voice was tender.

She held her breath. More than a little surprised, she figured it was just the alcohol making him act so out of character.

Then, did she really know the man? After what, spending just a few hours in his company?

Maybe she was as naïve as Allen always said she was.

She hated that her voice trembled when she spoke. "If you weren't a good man, you wouldn't be sitting in a closed bar at 2 a.m. drinking your troubles away because of something you did that was wrong. If you were as evil as . . . as these others, you would be sleeping like a baby right now, not a care in the world."

"When you say it, you make it sound less like the problem it really is." His voice was deep with emotion, and she could have sworn she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes.

"Just don't call my Pollyanna. I hate that." She tried to lighten the mood.

It didn't seem to work.

He put down his hand and turned away from her. "I think this world would be a better place if there were more people like you in it."

"I think the world would be a boring place if there were more people like me in it."

A ghost of a smile on his face. But, he remained silent.

"Let me take you home."

"I'll take a cab."

"No. I'm afraid . . . you won't . . ." She didn't know how to say it. She was afraid he'd take another way out. When you thought there was nothing else in life to live for, it was the easy thing to do. Lord knew that she understood that much.

He wanted her to take him home. To come upstairs with him. To have her whisper to him that everything would be OK, just like she did the night he was shot. And maybe – just maybe – everything really would be, that she could make it all go away.

As usual, reality reared its ugly head.

He rose to his feet faster than she thought he was capable of after drinking so much. Standing right in front of her and griping both of her arms tightly, he leaned in so close, she could smell the booze on his breath.

"Don't you understand? I can't let you get involved. They'll see you. They'll use it against me. All my friends, my family, they'll play mind games until nothing is left but hate and death. Don't you see?"

Anna knew he wouldn't hurt her. She was more frightened of this faceless entity he kept speaking of "Who? Who is doing this to you? I want to understand who's doing this, who's causing you such pain."

For a brief second, he almost told her. He almost told her everything he knew that was going on, everything he had done and everything he speculated was going to happen.

But, he didn't. He let her go and stepped back.

"I'm . . . sorry, Anna. I truly am. You never asked for this." He rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly more exhausted than he'd ever been in his life.

When Gertie cleared her throat, Anna almost jumped out of her skin, so intent was she on his pain.

"There's a cab waiting."

He glanced at the older woman, trying to figure out who she was and what she was doing.

Gertie realized there would be no answer and stepped into the kitchen. Anna could hear muted voices that faded away.

He looked at her one last time. Then, he was gone.

Anna watched him step into the cab on the sidewalk as she sat stock still at the bar.

She wanted to stop him. Oh, how she wanted to! To tell him he was wrong. There's always hope. If anything, she'd learned that. Even when you didn't want to go on, there was always something.

But, she couldn't put it into words fast enough. And, now he was gone.

"Did you help him any?" Gertie asked from behind.

Anna kept staring out the restaurant door. "Not a bit. I think I made it worse."

"I don't think he could get any worse."

Anna was afraid he could.