12.

The apartment was empty, just as Skinner had almost anticipated it would be. His insides clenched unforgivingly as he gazed around the abandoned room, not certain whether he was relieved or concerned with Mulder's apparent absence.

"Agent Scully isn't answering her phone either, sir," an agent informed him, coming a standstill beside him.

"Send Holt and Jamieson around to her apartment," Skinner said after a second. "If she's there, ask her if she knows anything."

"You don't think she'll be there, sir?" Barrett asked.

"I honestly can't say, Agent," Skinner murmured. "For all we know, they've both gone on vacation."

Barrett looked doubtful, but he was smart enough not to press the matter further. "I'll get Holt and Jamieson, sir."

Skinner nodded, still observing the room. He frowned, his eyes narrowing as they settled on something strange. Something very out of place for Fox Mulder's apartment. Lying on the kitchen cupboard next to the microwave was a small, bright object. A pacifier.

Why on earth did Fox Mulder have a pacifier in his kitchen?


"There's no sign of Agent Mulder or Agent Scully at either of their apartments," Skinner reported to Kersh.

"Convenient how they chose to disappear at this time," Kersh said calmly, pursing his lips.

"Both of them are suspended from duty, sir," Skinner pointed out, "I can't see anything strange in them taking a vacation for these few days."

"Agent Mulder is a possible murder suspect," Kersh said. "It's very suspicious that he chose to disappear at this time."

Skinner said nothing; his only response was to readjust the position of his glasses over the bridge of his nose.

"Excuse me, sir," Agent Barrett said, approaching them. "I think I may have some information on where Agent Mulder and Agent Scully are."

"Yes?" Kersh said expectantly.

"Their credit cards were used to by tickets to San Diego, and then again to secure a hire car. Flight SD 478, which landed yesterday evening at 7:12."

"So, they just can't stay away," Kersh murmured. "Good work, Agent. Alert the San Diego field office that Assistant Director Skinner will be joining them shortly to head the investigation."

"Investigation, sir?" Skinner demanded.

"Agent Mulder and Agent Scully were suspended from active duty because of their misuse and abuse of their position within the FBI. If they're continuing on with their unorthodox investigation, they will have to face the consequences of their actions."

"You want me to get them and drag them back here like a pair of naughty children," Skinner said blandly.

"As long as you find them, I don't care how you bring them back," Kersh said.


"Open up," Skinner demanded, banging on the door. "Damn it, Frohike, it's me, Skinner. Open the damn door!"

"What do you want?" Frohike yelled from inside.

"I need to talk to you about Mulder, now open the door!"

A few seconds of hesitation passed, before Skinner finally heard the grating sounds of locks being snapped open and dead bolts pulled back. The door swung open, revealing a short man framed by a dark room. "What the hell are you doing here?" Frohike demanded. "You know how bad this looks, you coming to see us?"

"I'm well aware of how bad it looks," Skinner grunted, pushing past Frohike and entering the room. "I need to know what's going on."

"What do you mean?" Byers hedged.

Skinner stared at the tallest Gunmen coldly. "What the hell are Mulder and Scully playing at? They've got the entire Bureau out looking for them, and Mulder's under suspicion of murder. I'm supposed to be on a flight to San Diego in three hours to look for them, and I'd at least like to know what I'm getting myself into."

The Gunmen glanced at each other, a silent conference.

"Who's side are you on?" Langly asked bluntly.

Skinner hesitated.

"Mulder didn't murder anyone," Frohike said. "I don't trust you, Skinner, but Mulder does. You should trust Mulder."

"I do," Skinner muttered.

"He's not in San Diego," Byers said quietly. "Scully isn't either. They've gone underground."

"Why?" Skinner asked. "The murder investigation? Mulder will be cleared in a matter of days – the evidence simply isn't there. Barrett and the rest of the FBI are grabbing at straws, and as usual Mulder's the scapegoat. There's no need for him to run from this investigation."

The men glanced at each other uneasily again, reluctant to tell him the truth.

"I can't cover for Mulder unless I know what I'm supposed to be hiding," Skinner pointed out.

"The information Scully had on the clinics in San Diego didn't come up entirely empty, the way she first thought it did," Byers said finally. "We found something."

"What?" Skinner asked.

"Another child."

"Like the girl Scully found last year?" Skinner asked, confused.

Again, there was a silent conference before Frohike spoke. "They didn't tell you the significance of Emily, did they?"

"What sort of significance."

"Where she came from," Byers supplied cryptically.

"Not entirely, no," Skinner admitted. "Their reports rarely tell me anything," he added ruefully.

"Emily was the result of a genetic experiment," Frohike said cautiously. "And we found another baby created in almost the same way."

It took Skinner three seconds to work it out. "You stole the child?" He exclaimed.

"More like took the child back," Langly corrected.

"What do you mean?"

This time the silence was more a reluctance to speak the words, rather than a debate on how much to reveal. Eventually, Frohike sighed. "Emily was Scully's daughter, Skinner. This child is their son. Both of them."

Skinner found his jaw working, as though trying to form a sentence, but there weren't any words he could string together to be coherent.

"We're not exactly sure why they've gone underground now," Frohike continued, almost gently. "Mulder said something about the baby – Adam – being in danger."

"Where are they?" Skinner asked quietly.

"We don't know," Frohike said. "We placed the credit trail there for you to find, so they'd have a head start on the run. They'll contact us when it calms down, but that's all we know."

Skinner nodded. "Thank you for telling me," he said softly.

"Skinner?" Byers said as Skinner turned to leave.

"Yeah?"

"We'll keep the trail warm for you."

Skinner smiled. "I'll stay two steps behind," he promised.


12b

The cold of the winter night bit through his jacket with icy teeth, making his bones ache. He was getting old, he thought ruefully. Too old to be running around doing the dirty work, so to speak. The long shadows of pillars were oily black in the parking lot of the San Diego office. He moved through the dark pools easily, his footsteps muffled by the dark and his thoughts hidden.

"Didn't think you were going to show," he murmured when he caught sight of his companion.

Skinner was leaning against a pillar, his bald head gleaming dully in the glaring fluorescent lights over head. Spender avoided the lights, staying in the shadows.

"What do you want?" Skinner demanded, his voice as gruff as Spender remembered it. He'd always thought of it as a mellow oak timbre, something that oozed authority and assurance and a walk on the straight and narrow.

God, Skinner was anything but straight and narrow. Spender chuckled at the thought.

"Hurry it up," Skinner snapped.

"Patience, Walter, patience," Spender called to him. "You're always in such a hurry."

Skinner didn't respond, but Spender could see his jaw working in frustration, the movements casting small shadows across his cheeks and neck.

"I want Mulder and Scully," Spender said softly, watching Skinner.

The Assistant Director's eyes flicked toward him sharply, the gaze piercing in its intensity. "Why?" he demanded.

"You don't ask why, Skinner, you just do what I tell you," Spender warned, reaching for a cigarette.

"I don't know where they are," Skinner admitted. "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

Spender smiled in the dark. "Well, then you'd better find them, Skinner."

"Kersh has the whole fucking Bureau looking for them, and he can't find them. What makes you think I can find them?"

"They'll let you find them. You know how to find them," Spender said pointedly. "And if you don'tâ€Ĥ"

The small control was cold and heavy in his fingers, but Spender didn't fumble with the settings. Skinner groaned in pain, his knees buckling, and sank to the ground clutching at his chest.

"You don't think Krycek had the brains to secure this technology by himself, do you?" he said when Skinner finally looked up at him, stunned. "It's imperative that you find them, Skinner," he whispered, dropping the device into his pocket and stepping back.

Skinner was breathing heavily, his breath condensing into small puffs of cloud as he fought to recover. Spender watched as the younger man pulled himself to his feet, dusting off the long black coat and staring at him with undisguised hatred. Sweat glistened on the bald head, and Spender felt a frisson of disgust flutter through him.

Only when Skinner turned his back and walked away did Spender leave, still cold and damp and in pain.