Chapter Ten
Skinner's Apartment, Arlington Heights, Washington, D.C.
September 25th, 2000, 11:14 p.m.
Skinner had taken the day off for personal reasons, at least that's all he told his assistant Kim over the phone. But the truth was, he really wanted to check on Scully. Something did not register with her attitude towards the case even after he told her that his life did not matter back in the hospital elevator. He knew that she deeply respected him not just as a supervisor, but also as a fellow investigator and friend. Skinner found himself growing rather fond of his agents and not just because their work was excellent, but rather because they had gone out of their way several times to dig him out of his personal and professional troubles.
Two years ago, Skinner had asked himself while he was lying helplessly on the hospital bed, what did he have to show for all their help? How could he have repaid them for all the times they had been there for him? He confessed later on that day to Scully that he could have done more when they were under the insidious shadow of the Cigarette Smoking Man, and that he should have. She had listened patiently that day and told him that they did think he was an ally...a formidable one even. But now that it was his chance to assist Scully in her quest for the truth and mission against the evil conspiracy that had arisen once more, he did offer something. He offered his life.
Skinner could tell that in that elevator, when he had said that to Scully, she was deeply touched and troubled by the statement. She couldn't have negated his wish under the doubt that he was not being sincere; she knew how he felt about sacrifice. She understood whose side he was truly on now. Why would she try to deny him from completing his greatest desire?
So under those thoughts, he eluded the heavy traffic of I-66 at 8:30 in the morning, and instead drove to Georgetown. She was not home, so he called Doggett. Perhaps like Mulder, she had turned into a workaholic. That suspicion went through the proverbial shredder as Doggett informed him that Scully was not at the office. The thought ran through his mind that maybe she had gone to her mother's house. He had heard Scully mention once that her mother's baked chicken and garlic mashed potatoes was the only thing that could drag her away from college to come home on a weekend.
Unfortunately, Scully wasn't there with Maggie Scully. After Margaret became overtly curious, he replied that he had just given Scully the day off and thought that perhaps she'd take the time to visit her mother. Mrs. Scully's tone was then full of worry, especially since Dana had not told her that she would be out of town. But Skinner assured her that he had spoken with the landlord that morning; he had seen her leave very early in a normal fashion. He just assumed that she was leaving earlier for work; she was certainly dressed for it. No strange visitors had come and none of the neighbors had any suspicious activities to report. That seemed to relieve Mrs. Scully enough to thank Skinner for his concern about her daughter and end the phone conversation.
What on earth could she have been doing? While he was at Scully's complex, he convinced the landlord to unlock her apartment, just so he could satisfy himself that his agent was not in trouble. Skinner promised that he would not drag in the forensic team or any kind of law enforcement's attention to disturb the neighbors unless it was absolutely necessary. God knows that they'd seen and heard enough of that throughout the years. Both Mulder and Scully's apartments were definite hotspots for trouble, and about half of the tenants that lived within ten feet of their doors wished that they had never moved into the building, despite the promises made by the landlords that the complexes were safer because of the two resident FBI agents.
While Mulder's landlord despised his FBI inhabitant, Scully's adored her. True, her apartment did suffer the occasional bullet holes in the wall and the illicit intruder, but Mulder's poor landlord had the circumstances occur about ten times as much. He had once remarked that Mulder had even bought a waterbed once that had leaked into not only his residence, but the one below as well. That was yet to be completely paid off, and although Mulder's rent was now being paid by Scully, Skinner also had learned that it was once too often that the FBI agent escaped being evicted due to late rent. So even though he was missing, Mulder's landlord considered the occurrence to be a godsend.
All the more reason why Scully's landlord was all too happy to be of service to Skinner. He stood in the front entrance while Skinner circulated through the apartment. The Assistant Director first limited his investigation to furniture surfaces only, but soon after he was reminded how organized his female agent was to Mulder, gave up and resorted to opening drawers. "Do you think she's done something wrong?" the proprietor asked, scaring Skinner.
"I don't know what to think. It's why I came here," was all the ex-Marine gave for his response and went back to his search. Everything in her living room secretary was legitimate; the top middle drawer contained nothing but writing utensils and a day planner. The others held hanging folders labeled according to subject: from credit card statements, financial investments, insurance, medical records, and even personal letters in diabolical order, for Pete's sake.
"Scully, sometimes even you can be a little too meticulous," he mumbled to himself and shoved the drawer shut. Skinner pondered the possibility of taking her laptop to the Gunmen and trying to pull some sort of information out of it, but decided against the notion when he remembered how nosy they could sometimes be. Then if they did discover something electronic that she'd hidden, they'd insist upon helping Skinner find her, and he just did not have the patience to deal with them right now.
Another search to her bedroom was futile except for the fact that her Bureau-issued SIG Sauer was missing. And so was her overnight bag. Skinner meandered into the kitchen with one last shred of hope and scooped the lid off of the garbage can--and hit paydirt. A crumpled up piece of stationary was its only contents. He reached in and opened up the note. Special Representative to the Secretary General? Whom could Scully know from the UN? Skinner removed his latex gloves, wrapped the note in them, and placed the evidence into his trench coat pocket. After that, he drove to Quantico and had the note studied.
The forensic analyst could find no prints on the note save Scully's, and the ink was from a ball-point pen; it could have been penned quite easily by a BIC. Finding out who the Special Representative to the Secretary General was, however, an easier task. Getting a hold of this Marita Covarrubius was another matter. Her executive assistant was rude and anything but helpful. All he said was that she 'was out of town on business and that he could leave a message if he wanted to, but it was likely that he would not be called back anytime soon'. That was both an infuriating and irrelevant phone call.
Back at his home, where he lounged on his sofa and frugally sipped his tumbler of J & B scotch, he now promised himself that since his search had basically been fruitless, he would give it up if Scully returned to work tomorrow. She was a good agent; she would not wander off into trouble like Mulder, although, there was that time last year when she'd rashly gone off with the Cigarette Smoking Man to try to find the cure for any disease known to mankind, but even then, she did report in to him to let him know that she was okay. It was so unlike her to be that irresponsible. Why would she suddenly turn over a new leaf like that?
"Good evening, Walter," Krycek's voice came from his door, and Skinner's eyes immediately went to his own weapon, which was lying on the coffee table in front of him in its holster.
"How'd you get in? I even used the dead bolt," Skinner remarked.
"The FBI isn't the only organization to use picklocks, Walter. The U.S. Military has an additional device on their standardized versions, though. Don't think that they'll be available to the lower branches of federal law enforcement anytime soon. It kind of works like a motorized corkscrew...my hat's off to the inventor. Probably started off with the idea of how to make wine bottle opening easier and got contracted by your government on the side. American entrepreneurship is the only facet I admire about your country--it's the only thing that you do better than us Russians."
"Then go back to it if it's so much better than the United States. What do you want, Krycek?" Skinner growled.
His intruder strolled further inside and without so much of an invitation, sat in a recliner near the sofa. "Thanks but no thanks, Walter. Russia does not suit my purposes for now. You do."
"What?"
"That's right."
"And what was the purpose of that stunt you pulled two days ago?"
"I think even you could figure out something like that, Walter." Krycek shifted around in the recliner and crossed one leg across the top of the other.
"To get Scully out of Arizona because you knew she'd come for me. But why? I know you fit into these Litchfield shenanigans somehow. And just to let you know, the FBI's dropped the case by all means, but the investigation's still going on out there."
"We're aware of that. We're also aware of the fact that the detective out there has requested some assistance from the X-Files office...strictly paperwork, though."
"And you want me to stop it?"
"Oh, even if Scully had continued on out there and had the original X-File to work with, she would never have been able to tie the creation to the creator. So no, Walter, you're not going to stop your agents from sending the paperwork. You're going to rid the office of it...permanently--and not just the files dealing with the Litchfield experiments. All of the conspiracy X-Files are to be destroyed...by you."
"No longer do you have a hold on my life, Krycek. I don't care if I die--at least it won't be in vain." Skinner set the glass onto the table.
"You've got it all turned around, Skinner. With you dead, that just leaves the X-Files office out in the open again...to the vultures, so to speak. Or wolves, if you prefer the metaphor."
"No. Even if it's at my grave site that Scully has to tell me that she and Doggett or Mulder have finally rid the planet of your ugly conspiracy, I'll consider it an honor greater than any medal I could have received."
Krycek was impressed with the ex-Marine; Skinner could really be a diamond in the rough when pushed to the extremes. He pulled the PDA out of his leather jacket pocket and when Skinner did not even flinch or bat an eye, his smugness grew by the volumes. "Remember three years ago when the old man gave Mulder the cure for Scully's cancer?"
"Your mind games are falling upon deaf ears, Krycek."
"They always did wonder why it was so miraculous. I have to admit myself, that the technology is admirable--but with that chip came a great cost. Just as you have a marvel of science in you, so does she. Granted, I can't kill her quite as succinctly as you. But..." he actually grinned this time with teeth, "I can make it three times as painful."
"You son of a bitch," Skinner's temper flared.
"So your life doesn't matter anymore, eh, Comrade Skinner? Well, perhaps someone else's does."
"Do I even get a choice? How do I know that you're not going to push that button on either of us after I do this?"
"I'm the antagonist, Skinner, not the villain. I only stir up trouble that's been brewing for a while...I don't create it out of thin air," Krycek shook his head.
"I'm not agreeing to anything yet, but let's say that I do this. What happens after that?"
"Neither of you die." Krycek took a glimpse at a watch. "Don't make me resort to tired cliche threats. You decide now."
"This isn't just a choice to be made in two seconds, Krycek! I'm not comparing the prices of two different brands of soap."
"Fair enough. I'm going to pour myself a shot of that scotch," the Russian gestured to the J & B bottle sitting on the coffee table next to Skinner's tumbler, "and by the time I finish it, you'll have made up your mind or be pushing up daisies with Scully faster than you could pucker up and kiss my ass."
As Krycek arose to find himself a glass from Skinner's kitchen, the Assistant Director pondered his conundrum. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt had it been Mulder's life in question that Mulder would give it up. His life was the pursuit of truth no matter the cost. At first Scully did not share his vision; Skinner saw that now she was more and more concerned about it, but he was not certain that she'd give up her life like he or Mulder would. Oh, God, and if she were to die now, there was no hope for that baby--it was still far too young for the miracles of modern science to keep alive.
Krycek sat back down and poured himself the shot. He eyed Skinner and placed the PDA back into his pocket before downing the liquor. This man truly is what the Americans call a hero. Mulder was a loaded gun ready to explode at any second. What could Scully possibly see in that man? he thought.
"I'll do it," Skinner announced calmly and looked directly into Krycek's face.
"Dobre, good. Of course, since we don't trust one another, this action will take place in front of me. I don't care if you burn down the X-Files office again, although I thought that was a moronic decision on the old man's part, or if you have to put them all through the shredder after hours. I'll be there to watch it happen as proof."
"Is there a time limit on this deed?" Krycek put down the glass and wiped his mouth with a gloved hand.
"Tomorrow. Let your secretary know that you won't have be taking any appointments or any visitors during the day. I'm sure that there's that much information in their possession. Of course, if either agent wants to visit you, it's out of the question. In fact, you won't be taking any calls either."
"When will you be coming in?"
"Expect me around nine. We could use a man like you, Walter. You know which chess pieces are the right ones to give up at the right times." He stood and held out his hand to Skinner who just stared at it spitefully.
"A man like you doesn't even belong in the human race."
The X-Files Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
September 26th, 2000, 7:57 a.m.
Scully never thought that she'd see the day when she would reluctantly walk into their office for a day's work; granted, it had been much harder to come to work since Mulder was gone, but even then, she had held up her head with pride while walking across the instep. Today was different. Her heart was beginning to sink, and she felt her shoulders sag as she settled herself into the chair she usually occupied while either speaking or listening to him.
She couldn't even look at his chair; she had made a deal with the Devil and was endangering their mission for the pursuit of truth. How can I say that I'm doing this for him but yet destroy the very thing he's put all of his mind and soul into? Am I really that selfish? That thing that I saw last night could have been a sideshow freak--they even fooled Mulder with an alien before, although it was a corpse at the time. Maybe they're doing the same thing with me as they did Mulder; they made him disappear so that I'll believe in their cause. But what could we do to stop them even if Mulder does come back? He'd definitely be incapacitated for a few days, perhaps even suffer from amnesia. And then--oh God. What if I had to retell his life back to him? And then should he ask me why I'm not looking further into this investigation...what do I say? Sorry, dear, I gave up your life's meaning to get you back into my arms.
"I need something to do, or else I'm going to go nuts," she mumbled to herself, stood, and went over to the file cabinets. She opened one and inadvertently stumbled upon one of several unsolved cases--but in all truth when they were ordered to stop its investigation, Scully didn't give a rat's ass one way or another about it. The case had called the both of them last year into New York into a fabulously opulent penthouse suite that it probably had costed about half of her annual salary. They had spent about three days mostly doing nothing but eating, and Scully had secretly wished that it could have been much longer. The following Saturday, they had agreed to the 'sacred spring cleaning ritual' and showed up at the late hour of 9:00.
"Well, good morning, Scully," Mulder greeted her with his back turned and began to rummage through the folders.
"Amazing. I didn't even wear the heels today," she chuffed and journeyed across the doorstep lightly.
"You didn't have to. Number one, we planned this rendezvous according to your heart's desire, and number two, if Skinner ever does storm down these hallways, the scent that lingers in the air is old Spice and not my favorite..." he spun around, shut the drawer, and noticed that she was dressed practically in plain clothes.
Plain clothes, well, even a Scully clad in a V-neck cardigan ivory sweater and Lord, was that a spaghetti strap tank top underneath? That was almost too much for Mulder. He found that his throat went completely dry and no words were coming out when that sweater came off and was hung onto the coat rack. But oh, the thoughts were there. Woman, what are you doing to me?
"My heart's desire? Wasn't that you who brought up the suggestion after our latest case, hmm?"
"I don't think I've ever seen you in this office with so little clothing on before," he retorted and opened a desk drawer to search through it.
"Well, we did agree that I wasn't going to wreck another one of my Brooks' Brothers Oxford suits, and if that happened, you were going to pay the dry cleaning bill. So I decided to wear some clothes that could actually be thrown into the regular laundry machine. Did you make any coffee?" She wandered over to the pot , saw that it was empty save for a few drops left, and raised one slightly irked eyebrow at him.
"I drank the first pot and ran out of filters. That's what I'm looking for right now, actually," he replied and pulled out a stack of paper.
"Ugh," she sighed and stopped him from piling more of a mess onto his bureau. "I thought we were supposed to be clearing your desk off today so you could actually find the bottom of it. I know where we can get some more filters--be back in five minutes. Why don't you find some empty boxes and paste your infamous acronyms across them?" Before he could tell her that he had already done so, she disappeared from the office.
Mulder dumped out the dregs from the first pot, rinsed it out in their sink, and refilled the reservoir with the new water. Then he hefted the three boxes up onto his desk, which were half full of contents. He was proud of himself that he had actually thought ahead of Scully and brought a large twenty gallon garbage bin that he'd smuggled away from the cafeteria half an hour earlier into their office from the dark hallway. And Skinner had graciously surrendered his huge two by four office shredder the day before. Mulder remembered Skinner's strange reaction when he had explained that they would be re-organizing and downsizing their office. He looked as if Mulder had told him that he had discovered Bobby Fischer in a drawer and was asking to borrow a bicycle pump to re-inflate the man.
"I'm back," she announced and proceeded to finish making the coffee. "I also managed to snag some pastries for us from the bullpen, too. They're sitting on my chair." Mulder practically hopped over his desk and headed straight for the kill.
"Doughnuts and chocolate croissants? All right, you are obviously not my real partner. First the clothes and now the food . I demand to know what you've done with her."
"Skinner lent you his shredder, huh? What was his reaction?" She ignored his banter and washed out two mugs in the sink.
"Something along the lines of mild amusement, I think, would be the colloquialism. It looked like he wanted to laugh when I told him that I'd actually be throwing away some X-Files, but he didn't because he's an ex-Marine." Scully let out a brief exhale through her nose, smiled briefly, and shook her head. "By the way, Scully, on Monday, we're going to be audited again. This time the both of us will have the pleasure of addressing Agent Chesty Short. Poor guy...wonder how he made it through high school with a name like that."
"Maybe he changed it. I knew a kid in Miramar whose actual first name was Limuel Crockenfeld, but he went by the pseudonym Dave."
"Limuel Crockenfeld? I thought that my parents were treacherous for giving me mine, but I see that I'm not the only one that suffers. Why didn't he go by L.C.?"
"I don't think he even wanted to give anyone a clue about his real identity. You know, give people an inch, and they want a yard. Don't you touch that croissant, Mulder, that's mine. The doughnuts were for you."
"Who, me? I didn't do anything," Mulder shrugged innocently and traveled around the bureau back to the file cabinets. Scully poured them the coffee, set his mug on top, and then retrieved her 'junk food' for the day from her seat.
"Yes, you were. You were ogling the croissant--I could feel it. Must be finally listening to that famous 'spooky sense' that's hammered into my head day in and out."
"Oh, no, Scully. That's the first thing that look out for...you might end up in a padded cell if you keep talking like that," he gibed and hummed the theme from The Twilight Zone.
"And where does that leave you?"
"In the same cell. What the...what happened to the autopsy reports for this one?" He peered inside of a folder, turned, and gave her his interrogation stare.
"Which one was that?" she asked coolly and blew on her coffee.
"Well, uh...the case where we were out in LA...and when we were on TV."
"I don't think I have to remind you of what occurred in the morgue, do I?" Mulder thought for a moment, agreed, and started sending the whole folder through the shredder.
"Hey, now wait a second! Suppose we have to go back out there one day and-" she arose from her chair but it was too late. The file was far too thick to go through the machine all at once and got stuck.
"Shit," Mulder cursed and tried to remove it. As a result of his battle, he came out with a large paper cut across his index finger. But at least the file had gone through the shredder all the way. "Yeow!" he shouted, shook his finger, and stuck it into his mouth.
"Mulder, don't do that. Did you know that that's the dirtiest place on the body? Here, let me take a look." She set down her breakfast and reached across the desk to yank the digit out of his mouth. "I hope you didn't infect it."
"Scully, quit playing doctor, I'm all right. It's just a little cut--nothing in comparison with some of the many others I've gotten through the years." She lifted it underneath his desk light, which was now sitting atop the file cabinet while he struggled to reclaim his wounded paw. However, as the daughter of a Naval captain and sister to two brothers, she had learned how to hold a squirming object down and kept her strong grip.
Some force got ahold of Mulder that morning, Scully thought, because he closed in onto her personal space and the next thing she knew was that she became pressed against the cabinets with nowhere to go. "You did it for me, didn't you?" his bold question hit her like a sack of bricks and his breath was teasing her ear.
"What?"
"The perfume, the clothes, coming in on your day off...why're you so good to me, Scully?" It was now coming out in a husky voice, and she could feel herself beginning to crack under his pressure.
"I told you...there's practically an unlimited supply of coffee down here. Speaking of, yours is probably getting cold." She let go of his finger and tried to push him away gently, but he would not budge. "Come on, Mulder, we've got work to do."
"And it can wait," he whispered. The temperature was rapidly growing hotter in that room, but somehow, Scully felt herself shiver involuntarily. "Don't you dare tell me that you haven't thought about us since New Year's."
"I have, Mulder, but...this kind of behavior doesn't belong at the office. I don't think I should be having to tell you that," and she was shocked that she did.
He appeared to reconsider his actions when he heard the phrase 'at the office' but then leaned in so close that his mouth was centimeters away from her ear. "But it's Saturday."
"Agent Scully?" Doggett's voice called her from the doorway, and she spun around, slightly flustered.
"Yes?"
"AD Skinner's lent us out to some different departments that need our help for the day. I gotta help a task force bust an arms dealer across the river, and you've been requested for some consultation at Quantico. Guess they need help with an autopsy or something. Anyway, they'll be expecting you around ten or so. You okay?"
"Yeah. I'll be there shortly. Did he say which M.E. needed me?"
"Ah...he mentioned the name, but it's slipping from my mind at the moment. Did you get any more sleep last night?"
"Some," she nodded and lied. Last night kept her tossing and turning. Now that she had remembered the result of that little episode, she was even more confused about her decision. "Did you get to see him?"
"No, actually. I got the message from his secretary."
"Skinner's out of the office again? There's got to be something wrong," Scully shook her head and headed for the doorway, but he stopped her with his hand.
"He's in, but he's not taking any calls or seeing anyone at all today. I think she said that Deputy Director Kersh was in with him or something. Don't think he wants to be disturbed for a reason, Agent Scully. Oh, by the way, did you ever fax those case files to Detective Gardener?"
"No, damnit, I forgot. Left them on the table...ugh...I was going to take them with me this morning," she groaned and collected her keys from Mulder's desk. "It's probably Selina Carmine. She just transferred from the Atlanta regional office not too long ago."
"Would you mind calling Detective Gardener and telling her that, please? She left you about half a dozen voicemails yesterday. I was out at the shooting range doing my re-certification," Doggett pointed to the door as she locked it, and together, they both headed to the elevator.
"I wonder how much headway she's made since I saw her last." Scully retrieved her cell phone from her belt clip and searched through her contact lists.
Two hours later...
Skinner and Krycek went down to the X-Files office on the lift together and before Skinner unlocked the office, he put on a pair of latex gloves. "That was good thinking, Walter--reassigning them temporary duties while you come in and wreak havoc," Krycek remarked.
"Unlike you, Krycek, I don't stoop down to your low level. You probably would have shot someone first."
"Or perhaps destroy property. I can get creative every now and then."
"Get out your trash bag and hold it while I fill it," Skinner instructed his companion who complied. As the Assistant Director opened the cabinets, his eyes sped over the subjects, numbers, and names. He then tossed the appropriate ones into the bag. The prolific amount of conspiracy and alien related files was quite substantial to the other cases, but it did not shock Skinner all that much. It was Mulder's quest to find the extraterrestrial--he probably put those cases ahead of some of the others, especially when those matters concerned his sister or Scully.
"So answer me this question, Krycek. Is the surveillance going to end?"
"What surveillance?"
"Don't jerk me around, you Red bastard. You know exactly what I mean."
"It's not my decision, and nothing's been said to me about discontinuing it. However, I'm not in charge of the Consortium's security matters anymore."
"After everything that you people have put Scully through, the least you could do is just to leave her alone," Skinner grunted.
"And we will...we just have to make sure that the X-Files Division is no longer concerned with us."
"Isn't that why I'm doing this here and now?" Skinner slammed a cabinet shut and then jerked another open.
"Of course, but we must prepare for countermeasures."