Posted 29th November

This story will (eventually) cover a number of years.

Spoilers: Avatar, One Breath. Season 6. I'm ignoring Biogenesis, and The 6th Extinction, etc etc, and creating my own mytharc now. I promise you more answers than CC ever gives you, and LOTS MORE SEX!

Thanks to Daydreamer for her inspiring creation of Commando!Skinner in Retrieval (and sequels). Also to Holmes, whose Folie A.D. has such a beautiful Young!Walter in it. Both these stories can be found on the WalterTorture site.

Massive beta reading thanks to: Holmes, Phoebe, Twisted Sister and Sergeeva.

I love both the pics I have to illustrate this story as they're both so right for it, and yet so different. I'm using the new one YankeeRose made for this instalment.

Part Four: Synergy

George Washington Memorial Hospital.

March 1st, 1999.

"How is he?" Mulder paused outside Skinner's hospital room and handed Scully a doughnut as she shut the door behind her.

"Lousy." She made a face, and took an absent-minded bite out of the doughnut, then frowned. "Mulder, when exactly is this Krispy Kreme obsession going to run its course?"

"Not until the big guy is home, and maybe…not even then," Mulder told her, wiping a piece of sugar from her nose, with the lofty, irritating air of a big brother.

"I stand warned. And you should be too." Scully grimaced in the direction of the hospital door.

"A bad day?" Mulder sighed.

"They're all bad days." Scully shrugged.

"Maybe this is just him," Mulder ventured. "I mean, we don't know him that well, not really. Maybe this is just what he's like."

"No, Mulder, I don't believe that." Scully's blue eyes were thoughtful, and sad. "Noy got to the very root of his soul, and it's preying on his mind. I think that's one reason why the physical injuries are taking so long to heal. Also…" Scully hesitated, and lowered her voice. "Mulder, I think he's scared of going home."

"What makes you say that?" Mulder frowned. This wasn't like Skinner. He couldn't imagine that the ex-Marine would be scared of anything. "How come I haven't gotten any of this? Are you getting information through the link that I'm not?"

"No. I think we both experience the link in the same way, and at the moment he's got it shut down pretty tight so it's hard knowing what's going on in his head. I got this information the old-fashioned way - from his body language, and what he says. Think about it, Mulder. They knocked him out, dragged him from his apartment, tied him, hurt him, beat him, and drugged him. Then they chiseled away at his soul with a precisely honed surgical instrument - Robert Noy. Skinner isn't a man who's used to that level of introspection. He can't put it behind him. It's just weighing on him. Look, you talk to him. He doesn't listen to me. In fact, he doesn't even like talking to me. I think it's some macho thing."

"Macho?"

"I'm a woman. He doesn't like me seeing him this vulnerable."

"And you think he'll be okay with me?" Mulder asked incredulously. "He doesn't even like me, Scully."

"That's not true, Mulder. He…" Scully hesitated. This was so hard on all of them. The feelings and thoughts that swam around in the link were confusing, and it was easy to be overwhelmed by them. Skinner, still taking drugs for his injuries, was seemingly unable to control the Nexus, alternating between blanketing it down altogether, or swamping it with a dozen or more conflicting emotions. Mulder and Scully both felt either bereft, or under siege, and the strain was taking its toll on all of them. "He's very fond of you," Scully finished, privately suspecting that Skinner's emotions were a good deal more complex than that. Mulder flushed.

"Yeah. Right," he murmured.

"Mulder." Scully put a hand on his arm. He looked down into her anxious blue eyes. "I know you don't find it easy to make friends - but he really needs one right now."

Mulder paused, and nodded. "I owe him, Scully. I'll do my best," he replied gently, covering her hand with his own.

Skinner was sitting at the window when he went in. Both his feet were still heavily bandaged, and his legs were raised in the air. The doctors had privately told Mulder and Scully that it was unlikely he'd ever be able to walk comfortably again. He might just about get by with the use of canes, but full movement was likely to be very restricted. That had hit them both hard. There was something so physically indomitable about Skinner, that seeing him like this hurt. His large, powerful presence had been reduced, and the loss of independence was clearly chafing on the big man.

"I heard that," Skinner remarked, ignoring the bag of doughnuts Mulder chucked in his direction, and allowing it to fall to the ground unheeded. Mulder sighed, and picked it up.

"You heard what? Scully telling me off because I'm addicted to doughnuts? Hey, they're good! Who wouldn't be addicted?"

"No, the other crap. I don't need a friend," Skinner said morosely, turning back to the window.

"Oh, that. Right. The trouble is that Scully would take all the sugar out, and fry them in some low fat oil or something, probably substitute whole-wheat flour and stick some tofu in them instead of jelly, and they'd end up being really healthy, and taste like shit." Mulder grinned, and took a bite of his doughnut. "Whereas men know that a doughnut, is a doughnut, is a doughnut. Don't mess with it. Eat it - or don't eat it, just don't try to feed us a pile of low fat crap that pretends to be the real thing." Mulder devoured the item of food in question, and licked the sugar off his fingers. "You've been eavesdropping again, haven't you?" He perched on the armchair opposite, and looked at the other man.

"Hard not to when you broadcast the whole time," Skinner growled.

"Well, you know, that's your fault. You've never shown us how this damn link thing works. I mean, there must be a way of controlling it better than we are doing, isn't there?"

"Scully doesn't seem to have much problem with it. You're the one shouting. Her thoughts are nice, and clean, and tidy, and…ordered. Yours are all over the place."

"Forgive me for thinking," Mulder murmured, reaching for another doughnut.

"And I'm not afraid of going home. What kind of crazy talk is that? I sure as shit want to go home," Skinner thundered. "The doctors say I can leave here at the end of the week, and the sooner that time comes the better. I'll get better a damn sight faster in my own home than stuck in this goddamn hell-hole, with this fucking awful food."

Mulder watched the outburst thoughtfully, sensing the underlying tension. Scully was right - it was a kind of fear, but of what, he couldn't tell.

"Sir, the fact that you're not eating is one of the reasons why they won't let you go home," he pointed out gently, "and that's the main reason why you're not getting better. You're also not taking all the meds they give you. That doesn't help."

"I don't like drugs, and how the hell did you know that anyway?" Skinner turned on him angrily.

"You're talking to a hospital veteran here, remember?" Mulder smiled. "I hate the wooziness of pain meds too, but at least when you're taking them you get some sleep. And you do need the sleep. Shit, sir, you look worse now than when they brought you in here, and you looked pretty rough then."

Skinner's shoulders slumped in despair. "I'll be fine," he shrugged, his voice distant. "I just want to go home." Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "What?" Skinner looked up, the nexus relaying an emotion to him, even as Mulder's body language yelled that there was a problem. "Nothing." Mulder did his best to keep his thoughts clamped down - he didn't want Skinner finding out about this the wrong way.

"Mulder." Skinner's dark eyes met his, and they were so helpless, and hopeless, that Mulder felt a wave of pity for him. "Please - I don't have any control over my life right now as it is. Don't keep anything from me," Skinner implored.

"All right." Mulder took a deep breath, "Look, Scully just went to the bathroom. She's going to pop back in before she goes to say goodbye. Let's wait for her to come back."

"You pulled the evening shift, huh?" Skinner sighed. "It's not that I don't appreciate what the two of you are trying to do, but there's no need. I know that I've placed you in an…unusual situation, but I don't want to be any more of a burden on you. What I did was wrong, and unfair. I had no idea that this would be the consequence. You don't owe me anything. I don't want anything from you. Just go, Mulder. I'll do fine on my own."

"Sorry, but I think you're stuck with us." Mulder shrugged. "And as for owing you something - you're wrong. We'd be dead if it wasn't for you. Jace," he said softly. Skinner flushed, and looked out of the window again. "I don't understand all of it, and I don't pretend to," Mulder made a face, "but I do know that you finished making the nexus because it was the only way to save our lives, and that's a fact we all have to learn to live with."

At that moment, Scully slipped into the room again. She handed Mulder a cup of coffee, and put another one down on the table beside Skinner.

"Well?" Skinner looked at them both expectantly. Mulder sighed, and glanced at Scully, who was raising both eyebrows questioningly.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"He says he wants to go home." Mulder shrugged. "We have to talk about that."

"Why, for god's sake? Since when did I need your permission to go back to my own goddamn apartment?" Skinner exploded.

"Because it's been sub-let, and your furniture put into storage," Scully told him, gently but firmly.

Skinner's mouth snapped shut, his jaw clenching spasmodically. Mulder fought back an almost overwhelming urge to offer comfort. This was so damn hard! Watching this strong, capable man, taken apart piece by piece, struggling so hard to retain some semblance of his dignity in the face of blow after blow, his whole life falling apart in front of him.

"I know you had nothing to do with that, and that Noy or his...employer was behind it, but the lease is only for 6 months. By the time you've fought a legal battle over it, the sub-lease will be up, so it's not worth it. In the meantime, however…"

"Where the hell am I going to live?" Skinner asked. "Damn, I need somewhere of my own, somewhere I'm familiar with so I'm not tripping over the goddamn furniture every five minutes." He gestured towards his bandaged feet. "I need to get back to normal. I need my job. I want my life back," he whispered, bowing his head. Mulder sensed just how hard the big man was holding onto his emotions, and realized, not for the first time, that he was on the verge of a complete breakdown.

"Damn that fucking bastard, I'm going to break his fucking neck!" he fumed, unable to contain his anger. He got to his feet, and marched to the door, slamming it shut as he left. Scully emerged a few seconds later.

"What the hell was that all about?" she demanded, catching up with him.

"Robert fucking Noy. I'm going to go down to the prison, and rip his goddamn head off," Mulder snapped. "I can't stand seeing Skinner like this."

"Well you'd better get used to it," Scully retorted, her blue eyes flashing angry sparks at him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Mulder came to a halt, breathing heavily. His stomach ached as if he had a stitch. He hated standing by, watching people he loved…people he cared about, hurting like this. He needed to act. He had always needed to act, all his life, from when Samantha had first been taken, to watching Skinner being broken in two through no fault of his own, by faceless men trying to get at Mulder and the X Files.

"It's okay. I know." Scully wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him down. He buried his face in her hair for a moment, shaking.

"Shit, if this is how helpless I feel watching him, then how the hell does he feel?" Mulder mumbled into her blouse.

"A hundred times worse," Scully told him honestly. She pushed him back, and looked at him.

"I just can't stand being so passive. I can’t stand watching him fall apart like this. He was always the strong one, Scully. I didn't realize how much I relied on that."

"I know." The distress showed in her blue eyes. Mulder knew then that she felt exactly the same way as he did, she was just better at hiding it. "Mulder, you have to get used to this, and you don't have to be passive. There's something you can do," she told him, "and I don't mean beating the shit out of Noy. I don't think that would achieve anything, apart from giving Kersh enough ammunition to throw you out of the FBI," she said, with a wry smile.

"What are you talking about? What can I do?" he asked helplessly.

"Well…I've been thinking," she said slowly.

"Oh shit, I'm not going to like this, am I?" Mulder looked at her. "I can tell."

"Mulder - he doesn't have anywhere to go, and we can't leave him alone right now. You must see that. He's floundering…he needs us now, more than ever. Now, granted, my apartment's bigger, but I'm just not physically strong enough to help him around the place. In addition - I think it's you he needs particularly right now. He won't open up to me. At least he gets angry with you. He doesn't even do that with me - he's just icily polite, and distant."

"You think he should stay with me?" Mulder mused. "I wouldn't mind that, Scully, honestly, if it was for the best. I mean, I know he's not easy to be with right now, but he's welcome to stay with me, if it would help."

"He doesn't have anywhere else to go." Scully shrugged. "I'll spend as much time as possible there too but he'll find it easier living with you. He'll need help using the bathroom, and washing and so on. I think it would just about kill him if I saw him like that. He won't exactly enjoy it being you, but he'll be able to deal with that better. He does need us both though - if we're ever going to get him through this."

"Yes." Mulder nodded. "The nexus…when it's flowing right, it seems to soothe him. Hell, even I enjoy it when he lets it just flow. It's just all this stopping and starting, and the anger. Christ, the anger, the sadness, the goddamn awful pain." He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Okay, let's go and tell him the bad news shall we?"

"No." Skinner said the minute they walked back through the door. "You must be really pissed off to have drawn the short straw, Mulder."

"Eavesdropping again? You've got a bad habit there, sir," Mulder told him.

"The answer's still no. I'll find my own place to live. I don't need your fucking pity," Skinner said savagely.

"It's not pity, you stupid bastard, it's…" Mulder exploded into a sudden frenzy of activity. He picked up a bag, and started to cram Skinner's possessions into it. "It's friendship, compassion, caring, and, if we're going to be all new-agey about it, and why the hell not, love. So just shut up, and get used to it. You started it, and now you're stuck with it, and I don't care whether you want to stay with me or not. You're going to. Period. And I'm getting you out of this damn place right now. You're just going to lose even more weight if you stay, no matter how many infusions of doughnuts I get into you. At least back at my place I can feed you some proper junk food. You'll be on a diet of non-stop pizza for the next month, followed by cheesecake for dessert, every night. No arguments," he growled, as Skinner opened his mouth in shock. Scully's eyes were wide with surprise, and she exchanged a glance with Skinner.

"Better do as he says," she murmured. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're beautiful when you're angry, Mulder?"

Mulder flushed bright red, and thrust the packed bag into her hands. "Look, none of us are used to any of this. We're just getting by as best we can. Okay - I don't like knowing what girls talk about in private," he glared at Scully, "I find some of it toe-curlingly embarrassing to be honest. I don't like knowing every time you," he glared at Skinner, "want to go to the bathroom, and most of all, I hate it that you know how I feel about every tiny damn thing in the whole damn world. I'm dealing with that. We're all dealing with it but I guess it'll take time. Let's all just be kind to ourselves in the meantime, huh? We're all in this together, and as you are in no condition to take care of yourself right now, why not lean on us?"

"Why not, Walter?" Scully repeated gently. "We've leaned on you enough times."

"Whatever." Skinner shrugged.

Mulder sighed. He should have known it would take more than one frenzied outburst to deal with the demons Robert Noy had extracted from his ex-boss's psyche. And that was another thing - his ex-boss. Mulder felt a pang of sadness about that. He stood there, in the middle of that hospital room, just wishing that everything was back to normal. He wanted to turn back the clock six months, so that there would be no nexus, and no Kersh. He would still be working on the X Files, and his boss would be back where he belonged - behind a desk, and not inside his head. Then Scully wouldn't know that he loved her, and Skinner wouldn't know he fantasized about him…if only it was all as it had been. He wanted it back.

"So do I, Mulder," Skinner whispered, a faint smile on his lips. "So do I."

*****

Scully rolled her neck from side to side as she went to retrieve a wheelchair. She felt so damn tired. She and Mulder had taken it in turns being with Skinner for the past few days, and it hadn't been easy. Unlike Mulder, she wasn't sure that she did want her old life back. It had been a lonely enough existence, devoid of warmth, of love. Ever since Skinner had first entered her mind back at Thurmont, she had glimpsed something she wanted more than her empty apartment, her science journals, the X Files, and her perpetually teasing relationship with Mulder. The nexus between the three of them made her feel as if she belonged to something, it gave her a place where she could relax, and truly be herself, in the warm, comforting embrace of close friends. A part of her just wanted to knock Skinner and Mulder's heads together, and demand that they give her what she wanted, but an age-old, weary intuition, warned her to just stand back, and let events unfold. It was hard, but she was strong. Scully sighed. Yes, she was strong - she had always been strong, and sometimes she just wanted to damn well share the burden. Stepping back, and allowing Mulder and Skinner to work this out together, was the hardest thing she'd ever done, but somehow she knew instinctively that it was right. She didn't have any problem with submerging herself in the link, and finally claiming what felt almost like an inheritance, or a destiny, if she believed in such a thing. They were the ones who were resisting it. "Men," Scully sighed. "Can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em," she murmured under her breath, as she pushed the wheelchair back to Skinner's room. "Well, you can, but it doesn't solve anything. Been there, done that."

Skinner's doctor was not at all happy to have his patient removed from his care.

"The bandages on his feet will need changing each day to prevent infection," he pointed out.

"I can do that," Scully told him, watching as Mulder tried to pull Skinner out of his armchair.

"Mr. Skinner really isn't in any condition to leave."

"His condition appears to get worse with each passing day," Scully noted acerbically, thrusting Skinner's notes at the physician in proof of that point. Skinner growled in pain as Mulder clumsily tried to swing him from the armchair to the wheelchair.

"All the more reason to keep him here."

"No - all the more reason to take him home," Scully told him firmly. "Put him back in the armchair." She strode over to the two men. "Now, you," she said to Skinner, "put your arms around his neck, and then you," she looked at Mulder, "put your arms around his back, and pull him up that way." They both glared at her, and she could sense their discomfort at the thought of the close physical contact that maneuver required. Tough. They'd have to grow accustomed to it while Skinner stayed with Mulder. Using Scully's sensible method, Skinner was soon deposited in his wheelchair. Both the agents felt his total, and abject sense of misery at being wheeled out of the hospital in this way, and it hurt Scully more than she cared to admit. She didn't know whether it was better to address the issues that were upsetting the big man, or to sweep them under the carpet, and hope they'd just sort themselves out in time.

"You will walk again," she told him as Mulder settled him into the car.

"Is that your expert medical opinion, Doctor?" he snapped.

"No. Just a feeling," she said softly, smiling at him.

He turned his face away, and stared out of the window.

*****

"Home, sweet home," Mulder threw open the door to his apartment. Skinner glanced around his new home with a sinking heart. He hadn't relied on anyone else since…since the aftermath of Vietnam, and even then that hadn't been for long as his young flesh had healed quickly, despite injuries that should, by rights, have killed him - had killed him. He had always been self-sufficient, he had never needed to lean on anyone. He hated the feeling of vulnerability with a vengeance.

"Vulnerability isn't the same as weakness," Mulder said softly. Skinner clenched his fists. It was hard enough dealing with this situation without the added problem of his thoughts leaking into the nexus. He could keep them to himself, but it required a constant vigilance that he didn't always have the strength for. "You're an invalid - you don't need to be strong right now. You just need to concentrate on getting better," Mulder told him.

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Mulder," he growled. "What are you? Rent a homily? You sound like my Mom."

"Ouch." Mulder made a face. "Nobody ever accused me of sounding like a mom before. I must be getting old. Coffee? Iced tea? Oh, I don't have any of that. So, it's coffee or…nothing," he finished lamely. "I wasn't expecting company. See - I'd make a lousy mom. Look, I'll go and get some groceries while Scully settles you in." Mulder's sense of relief at escaping from the apartment flooded through the nexus in a palpable wave. Skinner winced.

"Walter, give it time. Just concentrate on getting better," Scully told him. He wasn't sure when she had first started calling him 'Walter', but instead of finding it reassuring, it was just another reminder of how much their lives had changed, and it was a change he couldn't accept right now. It reminded him of how much he had lost: his job, his apartment, his health, his peace of mind, and maybe even his goddamn sanity.

Scully drew the drapes, and tidied up an assortment of socks, old pizza remains, and magazines from the floor. Skinner glanced at the magazines as she disappeared into the bedroom.

"Celebrity Skin, Blonde Babes, Leatherboys, Conspiracy…nobody could accuse you of not having eclectic tastes, Mulder," Skinner murmured. He threw the magazines back down on the table, and wheeled himself over to the window. Mulder's apartment was small, and cramped, and it took him five minutes to maneuver himself around various obstacles by which time he was screaming with silent rage and frustration. He hated Mulder's apartment, and he hated the wheelchair, and his injuries, and... hell, he hated his whole goddamn life.

The view from Mulder's apartment wasn't exactly exciting, but at least it wasn't the damn hospital. Skinner stared out of the window for a long time, listening to Scully clearing up with half an ear. Guilt warred with anger inside him. Guilt for having entangled them in this nexus, trapping them in a situation they hadn't asked for, and didn't want, and anger with them for being inside his head, and his heart, just when he needed loneliness and solitude in order to keep going. Skinner knew himself to be a loner. In the past, when he had been hurt, he'd just crawled away and licked his wounds, but even that was denied him now. Skinner felt like an animal caught in a trap - and he'd have happily gnawed off a paw in order to escape. Maybe that was what he was doing right now, in pushing Mulder and Scully away. They were, after all, as much as part of him as his own right arm. The nexus had made them so. The nexus…Skinner remembered how it had been with his comrades in 'Nam. The link had pulsed with energy. So many minds, so much power, the heady, overwhelming sense of excitement. Much as he'd hated the experimentation that led to it, Skinner had loved the nexus itself, and this one had the potential to be so much more. It was smaller, more intimate, full of a soft, comforting warmth, like coming home, and he damn well hated it. Instead of soothing him, the nexus felt like an open wound - it was hard enough trying to keep up with his own shifting emotions right now, without having to cope with Mulder's and Scully's too.

"Okay - I've tidied up in the bedroom, and put fresh sheets on the bed, so that you can sleep there." Scully's brisk voice broke into his reverie.

"Mulder…?"

"Will sleep on the couch. He's used to it," Scully smiled.

"I don't want to put him out," Skinner said gruffly, in what was as close to an apology as he could manage for his previous behavior.

"You won't. He sleeps on the couch all the time," Scully informed him. "The bed was covered in junk, so I doubt he's slept on it in months. Now, I'm going to get some of your clothing out of storage for you. Is there anything in particular you'd like? Books, personal items?"

"No. I don't care. Whatever." Skinner shrugged. "You're leaving?" He fought back a wave of panic, hating himself. Damn, he didn't want them always around him, but he didn't like being left alone either.

"Yes, I am," Scully told him. "You'll be fine here until Mulder gets back." She patted his shoulder encouragingly, and squeezed lightly. He longed to put his hand over hers, and to kiss her cheek as she said goodbye, but he couldn't, and he didn't. Instead he shrugged, and turned back to the window. "I'll see you tomorrow," she murmured, and then she was gone.

Mulder returned with enough groceries to last for several weeks - more, Skinner suspected, because he had wanted to delay returning home, than because they really needed such vast supplies. The other man kept up a constant stream of conversation as he unpacked the groceries, none of which required any participation from Skinner apart from the occasional grunt.

"Look - pizza!" Mulder held up the cardboard box triumphantly. "Bought some salad too, in case Scully scalped me," he grinned. Skinner was beginning to find all the false attempts at cheering him up wearying. He wasn't a man used to sitting around doing nothing. Even at weekends, he'd always had the promise of paperwork, and more paperwork sitting waiting for him at the office, if he was at a loose end. He tried to remember what he had done in his limited spare time before this whole nightmare had begun. He occasionally read novels - about twice a year, but the rest of the time he really had either worked out, which clearly wasn't an option at this moment in time, or focused on his work, and now that had been taken away from him too. The emptiness opened up in front of him like a yawning chasm.

"It's kind of late," he said suddenly, fighting the melancholy. "I'll go to bed."

"You haven't eaten," Mulder pointed out.

"I'm not hungry." Skinner wheeled himself into the bedroom, thinking that at least Mulder's apartment was all on one level. In many respects, his own apartment would have been impractical for his recuperation, but that didn't stop him longing to spend a night in his own bed, with his own possessions around him. He wasn't used to wallowing in this much self-pity, and that was the whole point. He wasn't used to any of what was happening around him. It was all spinning out of his control, and he couldn't say, or do, anything to make a difference.

Skinner undressed, as best he could, refusing to call Mulder to help him. There was only so much indignity he could take. They had already both endured a visit to the bathroom that Skinner was sure would haunt him to his grave. He managed to strip down to his briefs, and then fell sideways onto the bed, hoping to crash-land on the mattress and stay there. He almost made it, but the foot rest of the wheelchair got in his way, and he lurched forwards, banged his head on the nightstand, and ended up in an ignominious heap on the floor. Mulder appeared in the doorway in nano-seconds, alerted both by the crash, and the wave of pain reverberating through the nexus.

"Oh shit. Why didn't you call me, you stubborn bastard?" Mulder knelt down beside him, and wiped a streak of blood from Skinner's head. "Damn, Scully will have my hide for this." He managed to haul the other man up, and get him into the bed. "Look, you have to start asking for help," Mulder told him, "I can't damn well guess everything you want. When your feet heal you'll be able to do more for yourself, but you can't yet. It's just a waiting game is all - you've played them before."

Skinner didn't reply. Somewhere, deep inside, something vital shut down. He knew he didn't want to eat, or drink, or speak, or live. He wanted to crawl into the darkness and lie there, for all eternity if need be.

"Look," Mulder continued, "you just need to get better. Your job's waiting for you, you can get your apartment back in a few months. Staying at the Mulder Penitentiary isn't a life sentence. You've got a Get Out of Jail Free card, you just can't use it yet, that's all."

Skinner turned over, and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure that he remembered how to speak, and if he did, he was too tired to manage it. If Mulder thought it was just a question of getting back on his feet, then he was wrong. What Noy had done to his body was nothing compared to what he had done to his soul. Skinner felt as if he had been broken into a myriad of tiny pieces, like shattered shards of crystal, each of them scattered to the four winds, and he was just too weary to even look for them. He curled up in a fetal position, and hoped for the blessed, numbing relief of sleep.

*****

Mulder stared at the other man's hunched back for a long time, in exasperated silence. He wasn't usually at such a loss with how to deal with situations that involved either Scully or Skinner, but this was different. He had always been able to get through to the big man before. He knew that Skinner hid behind walls, that he was a deeply private person, but on more than one occasion he'd managed to draw him out, and make him talk. Mulder wasn't afraid of confrontation, or of delving into someone's psyche to make them face up to the truth. He had done that much for Skinner during that fiasco with the call girl. Skinner hadn't been so unreachable then, though. Now it was as if he were surrounded by a dark cloud, and Mulder couldn't get through, either physically or mentally. When he tried to push his mind into the link Skinner wouldn’t answer. It was like shouting down a well.

Mulder returned to the other room, and surveyed the pizza and salad. He wasn't exactly hungry, but one of them had to keep eating. He ignored the salad, but took the pizza over to the couch and laid down in his favorite position, on his back, one hand clutching the remote, the pizza balanced on his chest. He turned the video on, and remembered, too late, that it contained his latest porno offering. He wouldn't have felt uncomfortable watching porn with Skinner in the other room, if it weren't for the fact that when he watched sex videos, gay or straight, he always ended up fantasizing about people not a million miles from home. How the hell was he ever going to be able to jack off again now they were in this damn nexus? He wondered if he was condemned to a life of permanent sexual frustration from here on in, as he really couldn't see himself sharing his fantasies with his chief objects of desire via nexus TV. He was just puzzling this dilemma, when the 'phone rang.

"What the hell was that?" Scully's voice.

"What? Oh, that. Skinner fell over and cut his head," Mulder winced.

"Is he okay? It really hurt."

"I know. I felt it too." Mulder sighed. "As for whether he's okay - well he's still alive, if that's what you mean. More than that, I don't know."

"Why? What's happened?" He could sense her concern through the link. There had been so much said, and yet unsaid between them. She knew he loved her, he knew she loved Skinner, and both of them knew that Mulder's sexuality swung both ways. It had been one hell of a way to be outed. Emotions ebbed and flowed through the nexus in an endless eddying whirlpool, and stray thoughts, or whole internal monologues danced in and out of focus. It was confusing, and with all of them feeling too vulnerable to just sit around a table and talk it out, they were lost in the dark, fumbling their way along while trying desperately to hang onto some semblance of their own personalities

"Scully, he's impossible. I don't think this is going to work. I'm worried about him. He wouldn't eat anything, and he's so damn stubborn. Jeez, I thought you had your moments but he beats you hands down."

"I am not stubborn." Scully sounded surprised.

"Yeah. Right! Dream on, unbeliever," Mulder chuckled.

"What about you!" she retorted. "Once you get an idea in your head, nothing on this earth can stop you from following it."

"That's called determination, not being stubborn." Mulder paused suddenly, feeling a lump in his throat. For a few seconds they had returned to the teasing relationship he valued so much - and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed it.

"Mulder, you need to get some sleep," Scully said softly. "When I felt Skinner's pain earlier, I tried talking, you know, with this head stuff, but everything's gone quiet, and kind of dark." He was surprised to hear a wistful tone in her voice.

"It's hard keeping your mental voice focused too, isn't it?" he added. "I'm not sure that telepathy is ever going to be as good as real speech. You have to really concentrate on what you're saying."

"I don't find it that hard." She sounded surprised. Mulder hadn't thought that their experiences of the nexus might actually be different. "I know what you mean though - your 'voice' jumps all over the place. One minute you're telling me something about Skinner, and the next you're musing on some X File in the bottom of your filing cabinet, at the same time as salivating over a doughnut. It's like having three different TV stations on at once. God, Mulder, is that what it's like being inside your mind?"

"Must be," he grinned down the phone, "and yours is scarily tidy. Or maybe you've just learned how to organize the messy bits more effectively."

"Hmmm." She was silent for a while. He lay there, just listening to her breathe, hearing a faint echo of her thoughts from across town - they weren't anything he could get a handle on, but somehow it was reassuring just listening to their whispering caress. "I'll come by tomorrow, Mulder, after work. Goodnight."

"'Night, Scully." Mulder clicked the 'phone off, and stared at the heaving, panting bodies onscreen, then with a sigh, he turned the video off as well. He just couldn't. Not with Skinner in the next room, and not with Scully listening in from across town. He switched off the TV, and closed his eyes. It was still early, but somehow he had a feeling he was going to need all his strength for tomorrow.

*****

Scully ran herself a bath, and lay in the bubble-filled water, with a bar of chocolate, and a good novel to hand. She rarely indulged herself like this, but right now, she felt she could use all the pampering she could get, and hell, nobody else was going to pamper her so it had to be a DIY operation - like so much else. Scully ran a finger over one breast, soaping herself. She touched herself lightly. Usually, such pampering sessions ended somewhat inevitably with a the use of a certain electrical item she kept in her night-stand. She thought for a moment, about the nexus. She had no wish for either Skinner, or Mulder to witness her in this most private of activities, but another, stronger, side of herself reasoned that they'd have to know. Sooner, or later, they all had to come to terms with the fact that they could tune into any bodily activity, however private, or intimate. Scully had already eavesdropped, guiltily, on a trip Mulder had made to the bathroom. She hadn't done it on purpose, but there was a fascination with understanding how the opposite sex felt, what their experiences were, and Scully was only human. If they similarly eavesdropped on her - well, good luck to them. She wondered again whether it was simple lack of imagination that made her so sanguine about being watched in this way, but decided it wasn't. Somehow, the fact that it was Skinner, and Mulder who could see her stripped of all pretense, merely made it seem natural to her. It felt right. She knew them now, more intimately than she had ever known anybody. She was joined to them, and she knew only that this was as it should be. It felt almost as if the universe had clicked into place.

Scully could hear her heart beating in the warmth of the bath water, and she had a faint flash of memory, of a woman holding her hand, showing her the world's heart beating in time to the lifeblood of every single being who lived upon it. Scully wondered whether the memory was real, or a dream, but it didn't matter. She felt connected with herself, with Mulder, and Skinner, with the world, in a way she couldn't remember ever feeling before. It was a good sensation. She felt at peace.

Scully soaked herself thoroughly, the warm water relaxing her stiff neck and shoulders, then enveloped herself in a fluffy towel and wandered back to her bedroom. She unwrapped herself in front of the mirror, and traced a hand over her thigh, tangled it through her pubic hair, stroked herself gently, fascinated by her reflection. Her red hair hung in damp tendrils down the side of her face. She closed her eyes, put her head back, and thought of Tom's blond hair, and wide, strong shoulders. She imagined Todd's mouth caressing her nipples, then moving lower. She hadn't thought about the twins in years - some memories were too painful to look at, and that particular memory had ended in the most embarrassing experience of her life. Yet ever since she'd had her out of body experience, she felt more comfortable with the memory. Now, she looked back with longing. They hadn’t done anything wrong. Those boys had been so right for her at that time in her life, and so good to her. She'd felt special with them in a way she hadn't felt in so many long, lonely years. Scully opened her eyes again, and gave a start. Behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror over her shoulder, was a young man she recognized. He had dark hair, and solemn brown eyes, and he was wearing a torn uniform.

"Dana?" his voice sounded choked, and she smiled at him in the mirror.

"Jace."

He offered a tentative hand, and she took it, and kissed it, gently, then placed it on her breast. He pressed close to her naked flesh, so close that she could feel his hard, lean, body, and she arched back against him. His fingers played with her breasts, and his mouth nuzzled at her neck.

Scully closed her eyes, moaning softly as he touched her. In her mind's eye she could see two heads, two bodies, caressing, and fondling her. She thought at first that it was the twins, and smiled. The stroking on her nipples intensified, and a finger slipped between the folds of flesh between her thighs. Scully leaned back, opened up, and another finger caressed her. She made little panting cries, "oh, please…" she looked down, and saw two dark heads, and not the twin blond heads she had expected. Scully faltered, wondering why this fantasy was going along a different path. One of her phantom lovers couldn't have been more than 18-years-old, his dark brown eyes glowing with desire, as he kissed her breasts, and belly. He had wide, powerful shoulders, and a solidly muscled body. The other was gently tickling her clit with his fingers, his hazel eyes alight with love, a curl of dark hair flopping onto his forehead, his mouth wide and sensuous.

"You're so beautiful," someone was whispering. "So special. Our Dana, our beautiful Dana…" The whispering was like a chorus, surrounding her with love, and she fell back onto her bed, and allowed her ghostly lovers to caress her thighs, to dip their dark heads down onto her white flesh, to stroke, and soothe, and tease to climax. "So soft…so warm…" The fingers continued their work between her legs, and a warm mouth sucked at her breasts, arousing her to the point of ecstasy. Scully threw back her head and cried out her climax, and when the sound of the blood rushing through her head stilled, the ghostly voices had faded to nothing more than an echo. She opened her eyes, and found that the room was empty, and she was alone.

*****

Skinner awoke to the beating of his own heart. It was dark outside, and for a moment, he felt the warm, hazy after-effects of the shared dreaming. He'd forgotten about that aspect of the nexus. He bathed for a moment in the glow of a sensuous twining of bodies, and a love that ran so deep it reached into the very core of his soul. He stretched out his body, feeling good, then reality kicked in. His back hurt, his feet hurt, and his head was pounding. He glanced at the pain meds on the night stand, but mutely turned away from them. There was so much that he couldn't control right now, but he would have mastery over his own pain if that was all that was allowed. He'd suffer it, and transcend it, and, yes, maybe even enjoy it, for the distraction it afforded him.

He slept fitfully, on and off, but peace eluded him. When he closed his eyes, he saw his fallen comrades, and heard their strangled death cries through the link, or he recoiled in horror from the sight of Cressie's bloated, naked body as they dragged her from the lake. Scully's flashing blue eyes morphed eerily into Noy's pale, evil ones, Mulder's dark hair hid his brother's scared eyes - a mish-mash of images from his past assaulted and tormented him.

He longed for the comfort of his office, for the peaceful oblivion of his job, of knowing he could rely on his body, and his strength. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the boy, standing, looking out of the window.

"Feeling sorry for yourself?" the kid's tone was mocking.

"I told you I didn't want to go back," Skinner growled. "I said I didn't want to go back, but you made me, and now this has happened."

"You have to go back, before you can go forward." The boy wandered over to the bed, and morphed into the Old Woman. She smiled at him tenderly, and touched his bare scalp.

"Leave me alone." He moved away, angrily, and she backed off, her expression sad.

"Go back, go all the way back, Jace, then you can move on." She bent to kiss him, and he felt the press of warmth on his skin.

"I said, fuck off!" he yelled, turning over, and waking up to find Mulder opening the drapes.

"Good morning to you too," the agent murmured. "Not a good night I take it?"

"Don't you have to get to work?" Skinner glanced at the clock on the night-stand.

"No. I've taken a couple of days off. I don't think you're in any condition to be left alone right now."

"Mulder, I'll do just fine on my own. Go to work."

"Sorry. Scully's orders." Mulder shrugged apologetically. "It's nice out. How about I get some breakfast then take you for a walk?"

"Oh god, I'm not a fucking dog!" Skinner snapped. Mulder's reaction flooded the nexus with a mixture of anger and pity. Skinner knew he was behaving badly, but couldn't stop himself.

They both stared at each other, hearts sinking, coming to terms with the dismal reality that they were facing a whole day together, which wasn't where either of them wanted to be right now.

*****

Mulder was grateful for the knock on the door that evening. It had, he reflected, been one of the worst days of his entire life. Skinner had barely eaten, hardly spoken, and when he did, it was merely to bite Mulder's head off. Mulder wasn't sure just how much sympathy he could hand out without snapping. He was just glad that Skinner was sunk so deep in darkness that he hadn't noticed Mulder's bitter thoughts, or emotions.

Mulder opened the door, and his breath left his body in a whoosh. Scully stood there - only she wasn't a Scully he'd ever seen before. She was dressed in tight, faded jeans, and a bright blue sweater that clung to her breasts and brought out the vivid color of her eyes. He had a sudden, hazy recollection of a dream, of kissing her beautiful, naked body, and a flush rose to his cheeks.

"Scully?" he murmured.

"Mulder." She kissed his cheek, which was something she didn't exactly make a habit of doing.

"Walter." She walked over to the wheelchair, and kissed his cheek too. "Okay - we're going out," she announced, ignoring the looks of surprise that both men were giving her. Even Skinner seemed to emerge from his sullen reverie for long enough to be dazzled by Scully's new found aura. She shone as bright as any sapphire or ruby.

"Out?" Mulder got Skinner a sweater and slung it to him, then grabbed his own jacket.

"Yes. I thought Adams Morgan might be nice." Scully started pushing the chair before either man could object. "There's a ton of restaurants there. We could decide what kind of food to eat. Walter? Do you have a preference?"

"No." Skinner shrugged, his stance clearly indicating that he didn't give a damn. Mulder strode on ahead and summoned the elevator.

"There's whole wave of ethnic restaurants recently opened - some are pretty good," Scully informed them.

"There's a great Vietnamese restaurant down there," Mulder added. "Have you ever had Vietnamese food, Walter?"

Skinner gave him a withering look. "Yeah - in Vietnam," he said pointedly. Mulder felt sure the ground would open up and swallow him. He flushed, and glanced at Scully, who shook her head.

"Ethiopian," she said quickly and decisively, changing the subject. "I really like African food."

The food was definitely good. Scully ordered a Messob for them to share, and a whole platter arrived, with little heaps of food on it; some egg dishes, some meat, some fish, some vegetable. Skinner sat in his wheelchair, gazing at the platter listlessly. Mulder had only managed to get one piece of toast down the other man's throat all day, and he wasn't even entirely sure about that, as his back had been turned for some of the time Skinner had been eating it. Mulder fidgeted, overcompensating for the atmosphere by talking too much, but Scully was equally vivacious. Mulder had never seen her so sparkling, and he had no idea why she had been so suddenly transformed. She had always been a beautiful woman, but now she had an aura that was truly stunning. He knew he wasn't the only one blinded by her - the waiters, and other diners were also sneaking looks in her direction. Only Skinner seemed unimpressed. The big man barely spoke, and Mulder felt he made things worse every time he tried to drag him into the conversation. Skinner had a put-down for every comment he made. Skinner made no effort to eat, and finally Scully wrapped a piece of the light, thin bread around some of the meat sauce, and held it up to his mouth. He looked at her in mute rebellion for a moment, then opened up and allowed her to feed him. Thereafter she just kept doing it, whether Skinner liked it or not, and he opened his mouth grudgingly for each morsel. Mulder envied her courage. He'd tried something similar that morning and the results had been…unpleasant. Scully had been right about Skinner - he wouldn't explode with her. Even in the midst of such a dark depression, he was still too much the gentleman to shout at her. It was only when he was alone with Mulder that he allowed the demons to come out and dance.

Mulder almost dreaded the moment when they returned to the apartment, and Scully would leave. He helped Skinner into the bedroom, and then returned to the other room, shutting the door softly behind them. Then he sat next to Scully on the couch in silence for a moment, feeling Skinner's grasp on consciousness fade. It was only when Mulder knew Skinner had fallen asleep, that he turned to Scully.

"I don't think I can take much more of this," he told her.

"You have to. Mulder - he's only been here for one day," she pointed out. "Don't you want to help him?"

"Yes, but I'm not. He despises me. I can't say anything without him jumping down my throat. Scully, let's face it, he needs expert care."

"That's exactly what he's got," Scully told him, getting up and going to his bookshelf. She put her hand on one of the volumes, took it out, and laid it on his coffee table, then another, and another. "Mulder, you did get a psychology degree…" she began, pointing to the texts.

"That was years ago!" he protested.

"And I've seen you in action - you've out-psyched serial killers. How can one tired, wounded, damaged friend be too much for you?"

"Because I know him. I care about him. I'm scared of screwing up, and getting something seriously wrong," Mulder admitted miserably.

"Mulder." She took hold of his shoulders, and looked him square in the eye. "You are what he needs right now. I don't know why, I just know it's true."

"What about you?" he asked.

"He'll accept comfort from me - he'll let me feed him, and touch him, but he won't talk to me. You've seen that."

"He doesn't do more than snap at me," Mulder told her.

"Well, make him. You're not the one who's lost everything here, Mulder," she kissed his lips gently. "You're the smartest person I've ever met, and you have a handle on people, a kind of intuition that I could never hope to emulate. If anyone can figure him out, it's you."

Mulder gazed at her. She radiated a kind of strength, and beauty that was mesmerizing. He had never seen her so sure, so certain, so in charge.

"What the hell happened to you anyhow?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem different."

"I feel different." She gave a half smile. "It's like…Mulder, when I was younger, I agonized about whether to go into the FBI or pursue my career as a doctor, or even whether to channel my energy into medical research. I spent hours and hours talking it over with Melissa, and Mom and Dad. Mom, being Mom, used to tell me that God had a plan for all of us, but I always thought that was a cop-out. It seemed to me that God would want you to make your own plan - why else give us the sense we were born with, to say nothing of free will? I…I do have faith," Scully ducked her head down, and played with the hem of her sweater. "I do have faith, but it's changed. It changed last night. I don't understand how, or why, I just know there's a purpose, and I've figured out what I am, and where I belong. Before, every day seemed to be a process of negotiation. Should I go to work, or should I hand in my notice?" He caught his breath, and she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but there were so many occasions when I felt as if your work, and your quest were swallowing me whole. I wasn't sure who I was any more. I believed in the work, and yet…" she shrugged. "Well, I wondered if I wouldn't be more use working as a doctor, or a scientist, than chasing after monsters and conspiracies. Today though, today I didn't wake up questioning myself. Today I knew the answers. I know what's important now." She looked up, and smiled, and the sight took his breath away.

"What's that?" he asked.

"You. And him." She nodded towards the bedroom door. "The three of us - this nexus. It's given me something I've never had before. I'd fight for it. I'd die for it. If necessary…" she paused, her face serious, "I'd even kill for it. You're always the one acting on instinct, and I'm always the one reminding you about science, and logic, but not this time. This time I can only tell you something nebulous, something I have no proof of, but the truth is, that I believe. I believe that there is something so right about this, and I don't know why, or how, I just do," she shrugged. "There, go call the men in white coats, Mulder. You and I have finally swapped sides!"

"The truth is in all of us, huh?" he teased gently. "I just wish it wasn't so damn hard." He glanced towards the bedroom door, lost in thought.

"You can do it," she told him firmly. "You have to. For all of us."

Mulder said goodbye to her a few minutes later, then turned back and gazed thoughtfully at the books on the table. He fished out his glasses, sat down on the couch, put his long legs up on the coffee table, and began flicking through the books. He felt emotionally tired and wrung out after the difficult day with Skinner. He couldn't help wondering if the way he was treating the other man was helping. Maybe treating Skinner with kid gloves was just making things worse. Mulder looked up a number of different opinions on the subject, and tried to work it out for himself. He devoured the concept of "tough love" from various papers on drug abuse, but decided that neither he nor Skinner were ready for that yet. A thought occurred to him. Maybe he was approaching this from the wrong angle - maybe he needed to write a profile of the other man, as he would when getting into the mind of a serial killer.

Mulder went to his filing cabinet and got out the notes on the Nexus project that he had taken from Lubecker's office. He'd gone back to arrest the other man straight after freeing Skinner, and had taken the opportunity to thoroughly clean out the entire laboratory. He'd already read the notes about the Nexus project several times, but now he went through them with a fine tooth-comb.  He was so engrossed in his work, that he didn't notice the movement by the door. There was no shadow, the door didn't open, but suddenly, Mulder looked up to find that he wasn't alone. There was a kid sitting on his couch. Mulder held his breath - he recognized the boy, although he had no idea how he had got there.

"Jace?" he smiled.

The kid gave a tentative smile back, then flicked through the files Mulder was looking at. "What are you doing?" he asked, his dark brown eyes solemn.

"Trying to figure you out," Mulder said softly, pinching himself, unsure if he was awake or asleep. This was the closest he'd ever been to experiencing a paranormal event at first hand, and his mind was racing, trying to make sense of it.

"Me? I'm not that tough to figure out."

Mulder was fascinated by the boy - he was clearly Skinner, but so young, and without that businesslike veneer, and aura of authority that characterized his older self. There was an endearing innocence to him, combined with a streetwise bravado that came and went. The boy wasn't sure of himself.

"Why are you here, Jace?" Mulder asked gently, taking his glasses off and placing them on the table.

"To be with you." The kid shrugged. "You're more fun that he is right now." He gestured with his head in the direction of the doorway.

"Hmm. That's not strictly true." Mulder sat back, anxious not to scare his unexpected guest away.

"What do you mean?" The boy's face was half in shadow. He moved into the light, and Mulder fought to stop himself from gasping. The kid was blood-stained, and his uniform was torn, yet he looked quite solid, and corporeal. His dark eyes were glowing softly in the lamplight.

"Well, I think you're a manifestation of Skinner. You're using the nexus to escape from the prison of your own mind. Being here with me is an expression that you'd like to get well. That's a good sign, but you can't do it by escaping. You have to face up to this, Jace."

"You know what's best for me?" The boy's eyes were wide, and scared. He was asking a question, not issuing a challenge.

"I think so." Mulder got up, and moved carefully, so carefully, over to the couch. He hunkered down beside the boy, and reached out a tentative hand to touch him. The kid didn't move. Mulder was surprised to find Jace's arm felt real. He was solid flesh. "Walter…" Mulder hesitated. The boy froze, as if he wanted to run, but he was still there - the use of his name hadn't scared him away. "Is it only as Jace that you can show your vulnerability? Is that what's happening here?" Mulder gazed searchingly at the boy.

"I was scared every day in Vietnam. I woke up scared, and I went to bed scared," Jace whispered. "Have you lived with fear like that, Fox?"

"No. I can't say I have." Mulder watched the light and dark chase fleeting battles across Jace's pale face.

"When they died…" Mulder had a vision of a wrenching, screaming agony that almost blinded him. A dozen minds died, crying out their pain, and a white light exploded in his mind.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jace's hands batted at his face, bringing him back to reality.

"It's okay. Thanks for sharing that with me," Mulder said, trying to pull his thoughts back into some semblance of calm after the horror he'd just witnessed.

"I can never stop it happening. I can't keep you safe." Jace gave a broken shrug. "I've put you in danger. I'll lose you both, like I lost the others."

"Is that why you keep pushing us away?" Mulder bit on his lip. God, he understood! He understood all too well. "Jace, when my sister was abducted, I blamed myself. I blamed myself for years. If I'm honest…" Mulder hesitated, but Jace's dark eyes never left his face, and he knew he had no choice but to give the kid the truth. He deserved nothing less. "If I'm honest, I still do. A small part of me always will. There's a word for it in these textbooks, Jace - it's called Survivor's Guilt. There's also PTSD?" Mulder stared at the kid keenly. He wasn't sure how much he knew, and whether he was patronizing him or not. It felt so strange to be sitting here, talking to an 18-year-old version of the man who had been his boss, and who he knew himself to be in love with. Jace was frowning.

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Mulder offered. "I know they didn't give vets much help with that after 'Nam. If nobody ever helped you, maybe you just buried that side of yourself - literally. You buried the Walter who died that day back in 'Nam, and maybe he could have stayed buried if it hadn't been for your recent traumatic experiences. Now, you have to make peace with him, Walter. Can you do that?"

"Can you help me?" the boy's voice was so faint as to be almost ethereal.

Mulder smiled. "I'd like to, but you're not an easy guy to help, Walter." He was reminded of Melissa, the woman he'd interviewed about the Temple of the Seven Stars. She had been suffering from a multiple personality disorder, each sub-personality invented by some part of her mind in order to protect her. Skinner seemed to have just the one. Mulder wondered if the other man divided his life up into before his OBE in 'Nam, and after it. He watched the emotions splay over the kid's face. He was so young - his expressions so honest, and open, compared to the much more guarded personality he would become. "Do you want my help, Walter?" he said softly. "Is it so hard to ask for it?"

Jace began rocking, back and forth, clutching his stomach. Mulder put a gentle hand on his back. "Walter?" he pressed.

"I'm scared," Jace confided.

"Of what? Of me? Of being known?"

"Of what I might find out." Jace's face was deathly white, his eyes darker than ever. The blood in his hair was a sickly red.

"Why?"

"I was…there's a field." The boy stared into space, his eyes tortured.

"Nam?" Mulder pressed, carefully.

"No. Before." The boy carried on rocking back and forth. Mulder slid his hand over his shoulder, and held him. His shoulders were thinner than Skinner's broad frame, and he was trembling. "I can hear a dog, barking. There's a tractor…I can't do it." Jace broke off from the narrative. "Don't make me do it," he begged Mulder.

"You have to," Mulder said, his tone uncompromising. If he could have spared the kid he would have done, he'd have done anything to help him, but he didn't know any other way. It was so strange, seeing Skinner like this - as this lost, innocent youth. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

"What?" The boy looked distracted, then he gave a strange half laugh. "Of course," he whispered. "You more than anyone. You, and Dana." Mulder couldn't help feeling a glow of pride, and warmth on hearing those words. The way Skinner was treating them these days he wasn't sure the other man even liked him, let alone trusted them.

"Well then. What harm can you come to?" he asked, reasonably. "I'm not Noy, Walter. I won't use the memory against you."

"I can't." The boy shook his head, his movements becoming more violent, and his eyes seeming to become darker, and deeper.

"Walter, it's okay. Look, we can…" Mulder blinked. One minute he had been talking to the kid, and the next he'd just vanished, as if he hadn't been there, and yet he'd been solid. Real. Mulder had seen him, held him, touched him. "Jace?" He got up, and glanced around the empty apartment. "Walter?" He walked over to the bedroom, and opened the door. Skinner was fast asleep, his face as pale as that of the boy Mulder had just been talking to. "Walter?" Mulder crouched down beside the bed, but if the other man was awake, he didn't move. Mulder watched him for a moment, seeing the boy all too clearly in the visage of the sleeping man.

"I know you're in there, Walter. Just hang on. It might be a rough ride, but I promise I'll be here," he whispered. "I'm going to step back. You know what you have to do. When you're ready, I'll be waiting."

*****

Scully spent the following day pulling in a couple of favors, then she drove to the prison where Robert Noy was being held. He had been Skinner's nemesis, and she was going to make damn sure that he didn't end up being a nemesis for all of them. Scully had never felt so liberated from pure thought before in her entire life. She was acting on instinct, a kind of protective instinct that she'd never felt before, like a lioness fighting for her pride. She walked down the long corridors, and into the visitor's room, and paused in the doorway, just looking at him. He wasn't a big man, and, sitting there, head bowed, examining his fingers, he didn't seem remotely dangerous, but Scully wasn't fooled. This man had single handedly taken Skinner apart. She was here to see if he had any clues about how to put him back together again, and she didn't intend to leave empty handed. Sensing her gaze upon him, Noy lifted his head, and looked straight at her. His pale, almost opaque eyes, sent a shiver down her spine. He smiled, and waved a hand at the chair waiting for her.

"Agent Scully. How good to see you. I wondered when you'd show up," he murmured.

"Don't try that crap on me." She took her seat opposite him. "You had no idea I'd come here."

"Of course I did. I know you." He gave her an easy smile, that didn't reach those cold, evil eyes. "He told me all about you. Do you know what he'd like to do to you?"

"I'm not hear to listen to this," she snapped.

"Oh?" He put his head on one side. "He's crazy about you. I asked him if he wanted to sleep with you, and he lied. Of course, he has some fairly old-fashioned views about love - he knows you're already in love with Agent Mulder, so he doesn't see a place for himself in your charming little love-nest. Obviously the man has never considered the intriguing possibilities of a menage a trois. You have, though, Agent Scully, haven't you? Hmm?"

Scully felt almost lulled by the seductive cadence of his voice, and the sense that he somehow knew her. Damn, no wonder Skinner, drugged, dehydrated, and tortured, had been sucked into this man's twisted view of the universe.

"You don't know me, Noy," she hissed.

"Of course I do." He gave her a bland smile. "How is dear Walter? Ah, don't tell me; he's suffering, isn't he? You see, my dear Dana, you must give me credit for knowing my job - and you really should have allowed me to complete it."

"If, by that, you mean torturing him half to death, then…"

"Dana!" He interrupted her, looking hurt. "I know my craft, my dear. There was no gratuitous torture, just enough to get to the bottom of dear Walter's soul. After that, well, you interfered just as we were getting to the good bit - the bit where I built him back up again. That would have been so good. Walter would truly have been my masterpiece if you hadn't stopped me. I was so close." Noy smiled. "I'm an artist, my dear, and Walter was the most exquisite example of my art. So many secrets, so many walls, all of them stripped down. Now, the poor man doesn't have any defenses. You were very cruel to remove him from my care in that way."

"Your care," Scully spat. "He'll never walk properly again because of you."

"Ah, well. I never said there wouldn't be a price to be paid. He was so obstinate." Noy gave a little chuckle. Scully closed her eyes. The frightening thing was that Noy could almost make her believe in this nonsense. He had gotten to the core of Skinner's soul, and maybe he could do a better job of building the big man back up than either she or Mulder seemed to be managing.

"Self doubt? How very un-Scully." Noy seemed to guess her thoughts. She noticed the way those shifting, opaque eyes minutely examined every expression, every nuance of her body language. Oh yes, he was very skilled indeed in his black art.

"We're not here to talk about me. I want to talk about him," she said firmly.

"Forgive me for reducing our charming little conversation down to its most crude level - but what's in it for me?" Noy leaned back in his chair.

"Restitution? Recompense?" she suggested. "Don't you have any sense of remorse for what you did?"

"Remorse? You could hardly expect that from a sociopath, my dear." He smiled, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "No. I think I would need a show of good faith from you in order to reveal any of my little secrets."

"All right then. Maybe we can do a deal. If you co-operate with me, I'll certainly make sure it's noted on your file. The court might view that favorably."

"Or they might not." Noy shrugged.

"I've spoken to Marla, and Antonio." She tried a different tack. "Why did you use them, Noy? What were you hoping to achieve?"

"You know the answer to that very well, Dana." He smiled smugly. "I did think Agent Mulder might drop by and see me, then I weighed it up, and I knew it had to be you. You make an interesting threesome. Have you noticed the patterns in your lives? I have. Walter's wasn't the only file my employer gave to me - he also provided me with yours, and Mulder's. I needed them to make sense of the whole picture. And what a pretty picture it is too." He laughed out loud.

"Tell me how I can help him," she demanded in despair. She hadn't intended to let him know how much this meant to her, but she wasn't sure that she could truly hide anything from this man.

"You can't. A bullet to the head might be kindest." Noy shrugged. "Ironically, it's probably the nexus that's making it impossible for him to heal. He can't hide, you see, and he does so need to hide. Such beautiful secrets. Did you know that he loves you? Of course you do. Did you know that he also loves Mulder? That did intrigue me - there's no evidence of any previous homosexual encounters in his life."

"You don't know him, and you sure as hell don't know me." Scully got out her gun, and loaded a cartridge. Noy watched her, intrigued. "This panel between us is bullet-proof," Scully informed him, deciding to try a little psyching out of her own. "However, if I were to fire at the same place enough times, it'll shatter. What you have to weigh up, is how long it will take to break. Will there be enough time for the guards to come in here and stop me, or will I get to you first. This…" she took another object out of her pocket, "is a silencer. So maybe they won't even hear me. They're not watching - they let me see you as a favor, and they're turning a blind eye. I don't suppose they'll allow me to go so far as to kill you without trying to stop me, but by then it might be too late. What do you say?"

"I say that you're bluffing," he smiled, but she noticed the faintest flicker of morbid curiosity passing across his pallid face.

"You see, if he doesn't get better, then we all go down with him, so I have nothing to lose," she said nonchalantly, taking aim at the plastic panel. "You know enough about the nexus to know that's true."

"And I know enough about you to know that you wouldn't pull that trigger," he said. "You can't threaten me, Dana, and you can't offer me anything, either, although it's been very amusing toying with you. I'm already very well protected. Do you seriously think I'll be convicted for what happened to Walter? I have friends, my dear, in very high places. We both know that. I'm not going to prison for this. I'm getting away with it - scot free."

Scully felt an anger rise up deep inside her heart. It built up into a single ball of shining white energy, and she couldn't contain it. There was a soundless explosion that made the world go black, and the next thing she knew, Noy was picking himself up off the floor, nursing a bruise to his chin. She wasn't sure which of them was more surprised - her, or him. The plastic screen between them remained untouched, and undamaged. She had somehow managed to reach through it, and deliver a resounding punch to his jaw, without physically doing anything.

"I see that you've discovered some of the more unusual aspects of the nexus," he murmured, rubbing his chin ruefully.

"You knew about that?" She sat down, feeling exhausted. She heard a faint clamoring sound in her mind, and then the nexus went black, as if it had been shut down altogether. She had no idea what that meant.

"You didn't?" he smirked, seating himself back down again. "Ah, you, and Walter, and Mulder. The blind leading the blind, blundering around without knowing anything about what you're truly capable of."

"Why don't you tell me?" She folded her arms. "Or next time I might hit you with more than just a psychic right hook."

"What do I know?" He gave one of his little chuckles. "Not much. They only told me enough to help me with Walter's particular case. You were born…when? 1964?" Scully nodded. "Well that part of the immunization program was 2^nd stage so you certainly have the capability. You, and every man or woman in your generation. Of course most of them can't access their special…gifts, because they don't have the sheer energy required for it. You do. You have three people's energy to draw on. Don't ask me how it works because I don't know. And I don't know why either." He held up his hand to interrupt her before she could even ask the question. "I just know what they told me. You, Agent Mulder, even me - if I were in a nexus, or had some other form of energy to draw upon, we all have dormant specialized skills. Congratulations - it looks like you've just found yours."

Scully tried to process this information, her mind working overtime. She attempted to call Mulder through the nexus, but she assumed he must be asleep because it felt like she was talking from underneath a blanket - her voice was muffled, and there was no reply.

"Lubecker - does he know more?" she demanded.

Noy shrugged. "I have no idea." He sat back, and gave her an assessing stare.

"What about Skinner?" Scully asked. "How can we help him? Can we even help him?"

"Normally I'd say no," Noy smiled. "I did, after all, do a very thorough job. But…the nexus is the one variable I can't calculate. It'll either send him over the edge, or it'll save him. Only you, Mulder, and Walter himself have the power to influence that outcome. Walter's a strong man - my only advice to you is to be even stronger. Good luck, my dear," he smirked, as if it were already a lost cause.

Scully gazed at him coolly, then picked up her gun, and got to her feet. "You'd better hope that your friends in the Consortium don't manage to save your hide," she told him, slamming the gun back in her holster. He raised an eyebrow. "Because the minute you're a free man, you're also a dead man," she hissed, in a low, deadly voice.

"Dana Scully? Assassin? I don't think so." He shook his head, those wintry eyes never leaving her face.

"I've changed." She leaned across the table, her own deep blue eyes spitting fire. "Before the nexus I was just a ghost, drifting aimlessly. Now I know who, and what, I am, and nobody touches either of my friends again. Ever." Scully felt a protective surge inside that she had felt briefly before, when Melissa had died, and when Emily had been ill but it was far eclipsed by her current emotion. Skinner and Mulder were part of her now, and it was a bond that was stronger than any blood tie. She loved them, and would fight to the death for them, like a lioness protecting her cubs.

"Ah, not an assassin - an avenging angel. A very beautiful avenging angel. It's an image that suits you, my dear." Noy nodded, his expression serious. "I'll take your words under advisement." For the first time since the interview had begun, Scully felt that she might have rattled the other man's cage. She was aware of those chilling, opaque eyes never leaving her back, as she turned and walked towards the door but her own resolve was even stronger. When she got to the door, she paused, and glanced back at him, resonating her determination in every atom of her body, and she knew from the expression on his face, that she had finally gotten to him.

Scully drove quickly to Mulder's apartment in order to share her discoveries with him, but there was no reply to her knock on the door. She got out the set of keys he had given her, and opened the door, drawing her gun. Mulder was sitting in an armchair, one arm lolling by his side, his eyes closed. There wasn't a mark on him but he was out cold. A quick look in the bedroom revealed that Skinner was in a similar condition, his face etched with lines of pain, his expression frozen into a mask of anxiety.

*****

"Walter, wake up." Skinner heard the voices from a long way away, but it took him several minutes to follow them back into consciousness, then he found himself gasping for air. The world coalesced into a pair of bright blue eyes, which he identified as belonging to Scully, and he came to with a start, shivering violently. She covered him with another blanket, and pressed a cup of strong, sweet coffee to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mulder, shivering equally violently, wrapped up in at least 3 sweaters. Mulder dropped onto the bed as if his legs wouldn't hold him up any more.

"What happened?" Mulder asked.

Skinner looked at Scully, and tried, and failed, to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He felt so tired he could barely move.

"Scully…did something," he muttered. "She drained the link."

"I'm sorry." Scully looked abject in her remorse. "I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know it would have any effect. It just happened."

"I repeat, what happened?" Mulder asked again. He sank back onto the pillow beside Skinner. His face was pale, and there were enormous dark rings under his eyes. Scully hesitated, and glanced at Skinner, and he sensed her anxiety, then she took a deep breath.

"I went to see Noy. I wanted information. He…made me angry and before I knew it, I'd zapped him with some kind of energy discharge. He went down like he'd been hit by Mike Tyson."

"Way to go, Scully." Mulder grinned. "Energy discharge? You mean it was a physical manifestation of your emotional state? Fascinating. Kind of like a poltergeist, although the psychic energy there is usually only released by disturbed adolescents. I think you're a bit old to have your own personal poltergeist, Scully, and besides, I'd be really envious if you had one, and not me."

"I don't understand it either." Scully sat down on the bed next to Skinner, and looked at him. "Do you?" she asked.

"No. Yes. No." He shrugged.

"Ah, very decisive, Walter," Mulder murmured. Skinner was aware of two sets of eyes looking at him expectantly. He stared into the distance. He knew he had started speaking, he just didn't have any power over his own voice. He felt detached, numb, and the room dissolved around him, taking him back in time, to a different place. A memory, long suppressed, flashed into his mind.

"He was just a kid…we never spoke about him again. He was the youngest in our unit. One day, we were out in the jungle, and under attack. We were outnumbered - there must have been thirty of those guys - and we didn't stand a chance. Corporal Lyle…Ritchie…he, I don't know what he did, but the next thing I knew we were waking up in the jungle surrounded by the charred bodies of a whole unit of Vietcong, and Ritchie… couldn't get his head around what he'd done. They knew of course…we were always monitored, and they pulled us back in and tested us to death. Literally."

Skinner closed his eyes, remembering, then opened them again. "Ritchie's response showed that it was possible to use the nexus to kill - that's why they wanted me to kill one of my unit. They wanted to monitor the results, they wanted quantifiable evidence, so that they could repeat the process, duplicate it in whatever other goddamn nexuses they had set up. When I refused…they took Ritchie away to do some more tests on him - invasive procedures. We all felt it when he died. I should have just done it and saved them all the trouble, but I couldn't choose. How could I choose? Which man lives, which man dies. They were all part of the nexus, part of me. How could I?" Skinner felt the coffee mug tumble out of his nerveless grasp. Scully caught it before it spilled, and set it on the nightstand.

"You couldn't," Mulder told him firmly. Skinner felt his face taken between two long, slender hands, and held fast. "You couldn't," Mulder repeated urgently, but Skinner wasn't listening. He had failed his lost comrades, just as he had failed his father, his mother, his brother, Cressie, Nathan, Sharon, Mulder and Scully. He didn't know why he hadn't seen it before. An endless list of failure from a man who had always prided himself on…what was it Noy had pointed out - that he was a perfectionist? Oh yeah, he'd failed. He'd failed every single significant relationship in his entire life. He was a grade A fuck up.

Scully went home. Occasionally, at regular intervals, she returned but Skinner neither noticed nor cared. Days passed, maybe weeks, he couldn't be sure. Mulder and Scully occasionally managed to coax some food down his throat, but it was only just enough to keep him alive. His feet healed - as much as they were going to at least, although they were badly scarred, and he couldn't walk without relying heavily on a cane. He was never exactly going to be doing any boxing again. He sometimes spent an hour just getting dressed. Everything was too much effort. A whole day would pass as he sat watching the rain spiral down the windowpane. When he looked at himself in the mirror he saw a pale, gaunt stranger. He looked old, with dark rings under his eyes, and new lines on his forehead. His jaw was permanently clenched, his lips set in a hard, straight line. He paid no attention to the nexus, and the link faded into a gray, lifeless, barely pulsing shadow of what it had once been. Skinner knew it was still there, still haunting them all, but he found that by ignoring it, it almost went away.

Mulder more or less left him alone. They shared an apartment, but they rarely spoke. Skinner wasn't sure, but he thought Mulder was waiting for him to start talking. If that was the case, he'd have a long wait. There was nothing Skinner wanted to say. He was vaguely aware that the apartment was a mess: Mulder could never be bothered to buy groceries, and he had some habits that were downright irritating, including leaving the remains of his pizza dinners lying around until they developed a layer of furry, green mould, but none of this got under Skinner's skin, as it would have normally, so he just ignored it.

Life developed a routine. Mulder went to work, and came home, went to work, came home. Went to work…and didn’t come home. Skinner didn't blame him. He knew he wasn't exactly good company right now. He sat in the armchair, in the dark, watching out of the window, trying not to care. He resisted the urge to follow the link into Mulder's mind, to demand to know where the hell he was. It was better for all of them if they ignored the nexus, and pretended it wasn't there. That way, only stray thoughts and the strongest emotions made it through. Sometime later, he felt a streak of pain, and again, he fought down an impulse to find out what had happened. The pain had been mild - hardly life-threatening. Mulder had probably just stubbed his toe or something. It was five a.m. when Mulder rolled back home, dressed in a black sweater, and black pants.

"Oh, you're still up," Mulder turned the light on, and Skinner winced as it assaulted his eyes.

"Yeah. I wondered where you were."

"Did you? I'm surprised you even noticed."

"Hmm." Skinner watched as Mulder rolled up his sleeve to reveal a long graze to his elbow. "Well? Where were you?" he demanded.

"Out, pursuing my hobbies. Just like the old days," Mulder shrugged.

"Hobbies?" Skinner raised an eyebrow.

"I was breaking into a government building." Mulder looked at him, a challenge in his eyes.

"And did you get caught too, just like the old days?" Skinner asked, wincing as Mulder slapped some iodine onto the graze.

"Oh yeah - and dragged in front of AD Kersh. I am now officially suspended for two weeks - without pay, and he's set OPC on my back too." Mulder made a face.

"You are so goddamn stupid!" Skinner erupted. The rage felt good. Damn good. It was the first time he'd actually felt anything for weeks.

Mulder tensed. "Yeah, I am. Why does that upset you? It's my life, my goddamn career. Don't you even care what information I was looking for?"

"Is it any different to what you usually look for? Evidence of ET? Proof of conspiracies?" Skinner couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice. Mulder was so close he filled his vision, and he could smell the blood from his wound, and the sweat on his clothes. Somehow, for no reason he could understand, both enraged him. He felt his anger spiraling out of control, unreasonable, uncontainable. He wanted to get hold of Mulder's shoulders, and shake some sense into him, to smash his fist into flesh, to seek comfort in violence, and allow the darkness full reign.

"What more proof do I need? I've got you. Living evidence of the conspiracies if nothing else. Or why else do you think they experimented on you?"

"To give them the edge in 'Nam. This has nothing to do with little green men, Mulder," Skinner growled.

"Yes it does." Mulder pulled a file out from under his jacket, and laid it on the table. "I went back to Thurmont, Walter."

"You did what?" Skinner felt a blind rage consume him. "You stupid bastard. After what happened last time? Supposing they'd used that weapon on you again?"

"Why would you care?" Mulder was standing close - too close.

"After all the goddamn trouble I went to last time to get you back? What do you think?" Skinner snarled, feeling the raw rage well up inside him.

"What trouble did you go to, Walter? You won't tell us. You never even speak to us." Mulder was so close Skinner could feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek. "Why not? We know about Jace, we know what you did to save our lives, and we know what it cost you. What's more you damn well know that we know. What the hell is the problem here? Why won't you let us in?"

"Drop it, Mulder," Skinner growled, stepping back.

"Or what?" Mulder kept moving forward, and Skinner found himself backed up against the wall. "Do you think I don't know what you want to do right now, Walter? You want to plant your fist in my face, and hurt me as much as you're hurting. Well do it. Go on. I won't stop you. Here…right here." He pointed at his chin. "Go on, big guy. Lay one on me."

"Don't fucking tempt me," Skinner flared.

"Do it!" Mulder's eyes sparked flames of angry hazel light, and Skinner couldn't stop himself. His fists flashed out, blazed streaks of pain into Mulder's flesh. One to his chin, another to his ribs. Skinner pummelled, lost in some dark angry place, that didn't know reason. He was so weak that the exertion wore him out, and his breath came in hard, fast gasps, but still he kept landing those blows, and still Mulder kept taking them. "Keep going…come on…hurt me…because it hurts you too, doesn't it?" Mulder pointed out, accurately enough. The nexus had sprung into life, glowing an angry red, pulsing into violent flares of light. Every blow from Skinner's fist hurt the big man as much as it hurt his agent. "Come on - that's not hard enough - you can do more than that. Or are you too weak? Is that it? Too damn useless? Is it just another thing you can't do right?"

Skinner felt the humming in his mind reach a crescendo. He stepped forward, and swung his arm back, wanting to silence Mulder forever, to cut out the fire of his words, imprinted as they were on his soul, but his wounded feet wouldn't hold him, and the movement toppled him sideways to the floor. He lay on the rug, winded, then saw Mulder loom over him. The other man pinned his hands above his head, and he was too weak from lack of food to dislodge him.

"What's the matter, Walter? Can't you even struggle, damn it?" Mulder's hand tightened around his wrists, and he turned his head away from the words, seeking the respite of oblivion. Mulder slapped his face - once, twice, making him angry again, keeping him angry, keeping him here, not allowing him to slip away, and it was too much. "How does it feel to be useless? Not to be able to do anything, out of control, Walter, a victim. How does it feel?"

Skinner didn't cry - he wasn't sure he even knew how to any more. He just keened, his whole body shaking from side to side, with a vicious trembling he couldn't stop. Mulder released the hold on his wrists, and laid down next to him on the hard floor, got hold of him as if he were a child, and pulled him into an embrace. Skinner made a perfunctory attempt to push him away, but Mulder brushed his protest aside, held him even tighter, and Skinner gave in. He put out his arms, blindly, and wrapped them around the other man's body, convulsed against him, needing the comfort of warm flesh. He felt every last vestige of his pride disappear. He had sunk to this; a useless, pathetic husk of humanity.

"It's okay, it's going to be okay," Mulder soothed; meaningless, mindless words, to someone too badly wounded to understand anything other than platitudes. "It's not a question of pride…it's sharing. You can be honest with us. You've seen the worst of us," Mulder told him.

"I can't stand being this," Skinner rasped, taking fistfuls of Mulder's shirt, another wave of revulsion, and self-loathing sending him into spasm.

"What?" Mulder still wouldn't let him rest. "What's so wrong with being you, Walter?"

"I fucked everything up. From the beginning. It was all my fault." Skinner kicked out, tried to reject Mulder's embrace, but the other man was too strong for him in his weakened condition. He gasped for air, unable to see, his mind buzzing with images from the past.

"What do you mean?" Mulder's hazel eyes were closer than he'd ever seen them before. Close enough to drown in. Skinner closed his own eyes, and clung onto sanity by his fingertips. "Tell me about the field, Walter. You're standing in a field. There's a dog," Mulder's voice was hypnotic, sending Skinner back in time, to a place he didn't want to go. He didn't ask how Mulder knew about it - somehow he wasn't surprised by that fact.

"Don't make me," he whispered.

"I have to." Mulder's voice was cool, hard, in control. He was holding Skinner tight, not allowing him to escape from the questions, from the unwanted comfort, not granting him any peace.

"The field…" Skinner could smell the grass, heard a dog barking, and the sound of a child playing, and knew he was sending the image down the link, as vivid as any picture on a TV screen. "My father. He told me to stay inside, but I didn't," he began, faltering. "I was playing with my dog." He saw the dog, leaping up, then running away, eagerly, and he followed it, laughing, calling out. He was so busy playing that he didn't see the tractor until it was too late. Then several images coalesced into one. His father's shout of surprise, the way he swerved to avoid his son, the wrenching of hard metal as it twisted and fell, the front tire slipping into a pothole, and then a ghostly silence, punctuated only by the sound of someone screaming. "Shit. I can see it, Mulder. I can see it." Skinner shivered. "My father's accident was my fault. I remember the way the tractor fell. There was this noise, and…my father just disappeared underneath it. I couldn't see him. No, that's not true. I was too scared to look. Like I was too scared to look at my OBE in 'Nam. I'm such a fucking coward, Mulder. I've hidden that fact for years, hidden from it for years, but that's the bottom line."

"You were five years old," Mulder's voice sounded strange, choked.

"I didn't even remember it, but it was always there, just out of reach. They never made me feel bad about it but…"

"But you kept paying for it anyway, huh? Oh shit, Walter, you and I have so much in common."
Skinner started to shiver, almost convulsing with the fears that kept him paralyzed. "What's behind the fear, Walter?" Mulder's voice was insistent, breaking into the silence, and darkness. "I've been feeling the fear since you woke up in the hospital, but I don't understand it. Tell me. How is it connected to your father's accident?"

Skinner shook his head, turned his face away, but Mulder turned it back.

"I'm not going to let you hide. This might be hard but you have to face it. I'm going to make you. Tell me what you're afraid of."

Skinner couldn't stop the image of his own crippled feet rising up in his mind. It crashed savagely through the link, making Mulder gasp as if he had been punched again, and then a wave of realization radiated between them as Mulder figured it out.

"Your father couldn't handle his disability, but you're not him, Walter." Mulder's fingers were so gentle as they caressed his face. They were at odds with the younger man's hard muscled body that was holding Skinner tight, keeping him trapped, keeping him safe. "You think that your frustrations with your disability will cause you to treat Scully and me the way your father treated his family?" Mulder asked, holding Skinner's face between his hands. Skinner nodded, blindly. "That won't happen. You're not him."  Mulder seemed so sure, but Skinner wasn't.

"You don't understand," he croaked. "It's worse for you two. I could escape - and I did, when I upped and enlisted for 'Nam. There's no escape for you and Dana."

"We don't need an escape. We do need you," Mulder said simply. His voice was warm now, and soothing. Skinner wondered just how damn stupid they must look, lying on the hard floor in a tangle of limbs. He opened his eyes, and winced when he saw the damage he'd done. Mulder's jaw was bruised, and he had a cut under his eye. "I'll live," Mulder told him softly, as Skinner's thoughts tumbled transparently through the nexus. "Thank god you gave up eating, or I don't think I'd be saying that right now! I'll live, Walter, and you know what? So will you, my friend. So will you."

*****

Mulder got up, hauled Skinner to his feet, and deposited him on the couch. Then he sat down beside him, still panting.

"You look like shit," Skinner commented, sprawled untidily on the couch, too exhausted to move.

"Yeah, but you should see what the other guy looks like," Mulder grinned.

"Bad, huh?" Skinner winced.

"Oh yeah." Mulder shook his head. "I always knew you were a stubborn SOB, Walter, but I never thought it would take you this long to finally give in."

"Give in to what?" Skinner frowned.

"Me!" Mulder laughed.

The light dawned visibly on Skinner's face. "You were trying to get me angry on purpose?"

"Trying! Shit - yeah! I've been trying to get some kind of reaction out of you for weeks, Walter, doing all kinds of stuff I thought would piss you off. I thought something would make you snap, and start yelling - I really needed a glimmer of an opening to get my foot in, so to speak. In the beginning you were flaring up all over the place, but you wouldn't talk. Then, just when it was clear you were ready to talk, you just closed down completely. I didn't much like you angry, but I sure as hell hated you being a zombie."

"Did you really go back to Thurmont? You didn't just say that to get a reaction out of me?"

"No. I did go up to Thurmont, and before you hit me again, I had a very good reason. One of the things I found in those files, is that your friend Doctor Lubecker made an urgent visit to Thurmont while we were all in cloud cuckoo land. Coincidence? I don't think so." Mulder shook his head.

"You never do," Skinner muttered wryly.

"Now that's my Skinner," Mulder beamed. "I haven't figured out the connection yet - I was caught too soon - but I'm sure I'll figure out the answers in time. It's not important right now - you are. Hell, I kept putting off going to Thurmont because of you. I should have known that worrying about one of us would be more likely to get your emotions going again than any other stupid shit I could think of. It fits the profile."

"You did a profile on me?" Skinner asked incredulously, his head lolling back wearily on the couch.

"Yeah." Mulder dug a piece of paper out of his pocket, and handed it over. "Stubborn, pig-headed, close-mouthed, kind-hearted, control freak. Sound like anyone you recognize?"

"Hell, no." Skinner gave the ghost of an ironic smile.

"Hold still." Mulder got up. Skinner looked at him in surprise. "We're going into Mulder shutdown mode. I don't want to get up again unless I have to." Mulder went to the cupboard and pulled out a bag of tortilla chips and some salsa, then searched around under a dresser for a bottle of whisky.

"Interesting choice of drinks cabinet," Skinner remarked. The other man looked like shit, Mulder thought, but at least this was a break-through, of sorts.

"I don't drink much," Mulder shrugged.

"And you hid what you did have so I wouldn't get my hands on it," Skinner guessed, accurately enough.

"Yeah. Well, you were bad enough sober. I shudder to think what you'd have been like drunk off your ass," Mulder replied. He sat back down on the sofa, and handed Skinner the bottle. "Now, I intend to find out," he grinned. "I want to get you totally smashed, Walter."

"This is some kind of guy thing, isn't it?" Skinner almost smiled.

"Yeah. I thought that was what guys did when they hung out together. Not that I'd know." Mulder gave a self-deprecating shrug. "With the Lone Gunmen I just make geek talk, and with Richard…well…" Mulder shrugged, going red. "We weren't exactly regular guys hanging out," he finished lamely, knowing he'd just sent a particularly lurid image through the nexus of exactly what he and the Senator used to spend their time doing. "Sorry," he murmured. "You really have to tell me how to control this thought thing better. It's driving me crazy."

"You should be on the receiving end." Skinner managed a wry smile. "I used to wonder about you and Matheson."

"You did?" Mulder bit on his lip. "Why?"

"Well, Matheson is well-known in Washington circles for his, uh, predilection for young men, and he has a habit of helping out his ex-boyfriends in their careers. You were one of his proteges. There was gossip. You had to be aware of that." Skinner was looking at him keenly.

"There's always been gossip about me, one way or another. I never take much notice of it," Mulder shrugged. "Richard was my first great love, but not my last. He dumped me. You know all this. Here, drink," he ordered, steering the subject away from that difficult area. Skinner didn't need telling twice. He put the bottle to his lips, and took a swig. "And talk." Mulder took the bottle from him.

"About what?" Skinner put his head back, wincing as that movement pained him. Mulder could feel his total exhaustion, radiating through the nexus.

"Anything. Everything. Nam, your father, your wife. I don't mind. All of it. Any of it."

"It hurts." Skinner shrugged.

"I know. Walter," Mulder grabbed hold of Skinner's neck and pulled him down so that he was resting on his chest. "Just talk. Don't think." Mulder felt the other man fight it for a moment, but it was a token resistance. Skinner's body relaxed, and he remained with his back resting on Mulder's chest, both of them staring at the ceiling. "I know what it's like to have a…difficult relationship with a father. I know what it's like to carry guilt around for something that happened to you as a child. Who would have thought that Spooky Mulder and the buttoned up Assistant Director would have so much in common, huh?" He nudged Skinner.

"I identified with your quest more than you knew," Skinner admitted wryly. "That's why I created the nexus, Mulder. It wasn't to spy on you, or to betray you. I just…wanted to know that you and Scully were safe, to see what you were investigating. Didn't you ever wonder why I signed off on your cases for so many years? I knew what you'd seen, Mulder. I saw it too, through your eyes. I believed. I always believed. Maybe since I was 18-years-old, since the OBE. I don't know." Skinner shrugged, and took another swig of whisky.

"Walter - you need to stop feeling guilty about the nexus. I know I reacted badly when I first found out, but now…well, it fascinates me - and there are worse people to share thoughts and emotions with."

"Like Bill and Hillary Clinton?" Skinner suggested, idly.

"Well, I was thinking more of the torment that would be a nexus with AD Kersh, and Martha Stewart, but yeah, Bill and Hillary would be high on the list," Mulder smirked. "The entire cast of Friends spring to mind too."

"But presumably they're as nothing compared to the entire cast of The Waltons," Skinner pointed out.

"True." Mulder nodded sagely. "The entire cast of Star Trek: The Next Generation on the other hand, well, now you're talking." He was rewarded by a snort of laughter from the other man. "Walter," Mulder handed him back the whisky bottle. "You can't expect to repair the damage Noy did in one go. It'll take a while. Don't get frustrated with yourself because of that. There'll be good and bad days."

"Yeah. I know." Skinner drank again. "Are you drunk yet?" he asked.

"Nearly. How about you?"

"Yeah. Nearly. I don't remember when I last ate. Scully probably knows. She seems to be taking an unnatural interest in that subject. The liquor's gone straight to my head. Sharon used to hate it when I got drunk. Had to sleep on the couch. She was a teetotaller. Ever seen Scully drunk?"

"Nah," Mulder felt warm, soothed by the alcohol, and the catharsis of Skinner's confidences. "She could probably drink both of us under the table though," he slurred.

"Yeah." Skinner nodded exuberantly. "That woman's something else. You in love with her?" He glanced up at Mulder.

"Yeah. You?" Mulder glanced down at him, his arm tightening protectively across Skinner's chest..

"Yeah." Skinner nodded again.

"She'd kill me if she knew I'd got you drunk in your condition," Mulder observed.

"What a way to die though," Skinner pointed out.

"Yeah." Both men smiled happily at the ceiling for a while, musing on that fantasy.

A day passed in drunken talk, interspersed with naps. Mulder felt sure he should be trying to get some food down Skinner's throat, but the company, and shared reminiscences were also what Skinner needed right now, and he didn't want to interrupt that. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but at some point Skinner hauled himself off to his bedroom, and a day or so later Mulder was sure he heard the other man in the bathroom, then pottering around the kitchen. He was therefore, all the more surprised when he finally got up, and glanced around the apartment, to find that it was empty. Skinner's bed had been made, and the bedroom was tidy and ordered, whereas before it had been a mess, but the other man had definitely gone. There was no note, nothing. Mulder could have cursed himself for his stupidity. Skinner was vulnerable right now - anything could have happened to him. He sent his mind along the link - Skinner was definitely still alive, but wherever he was, he wasn't answering. In desperation, Mulder called Scully, then got washed and dressed while he waited for her to arrive.

"He wasn't abducted again?" Scully demanded when she showed up, glancing around the apartment as if she expected to find Skinner hiding somewhere.

"No. I know I was drunk, but I wasn't that drunk. And besides, what kind of kidnappers tidy up someone's bedroom when they abduct them?" Mulder pointed out.

Scully frowned. "What frame of mind was he in? And what the hell happened to your face?" she asked, suddenly coming to a halt, and looking at him properly for the first time.

"We had a fight. And he was okay. I think." Mulder shrugged.

"A fight? That was what all that stuff was about a couple of days ago? I figured something big was going on from all the activity filtering through the nexus, but I didn't want to interfere." She looked suddenly vulnerable, and Mulder could have cursed himself for not calling her before. It must have been hell for her to glimpse half-seen thoughts and emotions through the nexus, and not understand what was going on.

"I'm sorry." He spread his arms in a gesture of contrition. "I was just concentrating on him. There was some big stuff going on inside his head, Scully."

"And fighting helped clear that up did it?" she remarked, waspishly. "No, don't tell me. It's clearly a guy thing. I don't want to know. You're sure he didn't leave a note?"

"Yeah. I'm sure." Mulder nodded. "I've tried contacting him, the other way… you know, but…"

"Nothing. I know. I tried too." Scully's blue eyes radiated her concern. "How long has he been gone? I mean, he didn't just go out to get some groceries, did he?"

"No. It's been several hours. Scully, he doesn't walk too well, and he's as weak as a kitten. I'm really worried."

"Me too, Mulder." Scully thought about it for a moment. "Do you think he went to Crystal City? Or to the Hoover Building? Maybe he wants to try and get his old life back."

"No." An idea suddenly occurred to Mulder, and he grabbed his keys from the coffee table with one hand, and Scully's arm with the other. "He's gone back further than that, Scully."

Lone Oak, Iowa.

May 2nd, 1999.

"Mulder, he isn't here." Scully glanced around the empty farmhouse. Mulder's shoulders slumped. He had been so certain. Damn, he'd look a fool if Skinner had just gone out shopping after all - but if he had, why was he blanking them through the nexus? A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Not here, Scully. Come on." He set off over the hill, towards the lake.

"Déjà vu. Who says it doesn't exist?" Scully mumbled under her breath.

It was a lot warmer this time than when they'd last been there. There was spring blossom on the branches, and birds were singing. It was a beautiful place, with an air of peace, and tranquillity but Muld