Iced
   By Daydreamer
   Daydream59@aol.com

   Rating: R - for violence and disturbing imagery
   Category: M/Sk friendship; wee scenes of MSR
   Archive: Yes, please
   Feedback: Yes! Please!
   Disclaimer: Mulder, Skinner, and the briefly present Scully
   are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television
   Network, etc.  They are wonderfully brought to life by
   David Duchovny, Mitch Pileggi, and Gillian Anderson.   I
   will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they
   sue me, for I am poor and have nothing material they can
   profit from.

   Comments:  This story took six months to write and another
   six months to proof.  Over the past year, it became my
   life! I thought about it when I was eating, working, playing,
   and especially when I was sleeping.  It came about because
   I was so frustrated with the lack of continuity in the whole
   alien mytharc, I felt compelled to try to make sense out of
   it.  I hope I did.
   This story is set before season seven.  I don't think there
   is really anything major that conflicts with what we've
   seen in season seven so far, but, obsessive-compulsive that
   I am, I figured I should be safe and set a time frame.
   It was originally 75 parts, each posting length,
   and my readers waited patiently as I worked each one
   up over the six months it took to tell this tale.  Talk
   about your WIP!  Due to the length however, I decided
   to consolidate it and just post it -- in 15 parts of about
   100K each -- on my web page.  I couldn't imagine
   trying to post that many pieces and I would be embarrassed
   to clog up the lists like that.
   Lastly, but most importantly, I want to thank all my
   wonderful readers who worked through this monster
   with me.  Many thanks to Susan, the best proofreader
   an author could ask for (though I have to admit I jumped
   the gun on posting this before she had a fair whack at
   it, so all errors are my own) and a true and lasting friend;
   to Judie, who has a wonderful eye for detail and
   continuity; to a friend in Florida who loves Skinner
   and helped keep me true to character; to Michelle,
   who kept up with me through the whole thing and
   gave prompt and immediate feedback and corrections;
   and to Dee, head cheerleader and ego booster, dependable
   and patient friend, who held my cyber-hand and walked
   me through many agonizings over the whole M/Sk
   relationship and how to label it.  Dee also gets credit
   for sharing the whole thing with three male friends,
   which gave me much valued insight into how men
   would perceive the tale.  <sigh>  I miss my male beta
   reader.  And finally, to Sue, who faithfully pre-reads
   all my Skinner tales and gives feedback worthy of
   publication, and Jen, a new friend, who read the
   whole thing three times in one weekend and still
   managed to write me after each and every part!
   I hope my new readers will find it as enjoyable as
   these folks tell me they did!


   Summary: After 22 months, Mulder is found at an abandoned
   research station in Antarctica.  Traumatized by the months
   alone, his memory gone,  Skinner comes to bring him home and
   the two men forge a new and different relationship.


   Iced 01/15


   There was a knock at the door and Skinner looked up,
   a frown just the right side of a scowl plastered to his
   face.  He hated budget meetings, and had been extremely
   specific with Kim that there were to be no interruptions.
   The sooner he got through this, the sooner he could move
   on to real business.


   "Excuse me," he said stiffly to the others at the conference
   table, as he rose and moved to the door.  Opening it, he
   peered out into the worried face of his assistant.

   "I know you didn't want to be disturbed, Sir," the woman
   said, "but she just won't take 'no' for an answer."  Kim reached
   up and pushed a piece of hair from her face, obviously
   distressed at her failure to protect her boss.

   "She?  Who won't take 'no' for an answer?"

   His question answered itself as Scully pushed into the
   anteroom from the hallway, eyes blazing.

   "I have to see you, *right now,*" she said breathlessly.

   "Agent Scully," he began, "I'm in a meeting."

   "This can't wait, Sir."

   Now that she had access to the AD, she was calming
   some, but Skinner could see the signs of worry
   and concern that still lined her face.  The past two
   years -- well, twenty-two months -- had been hard on
   them all.  Thinking that smoking bastard had won
   after all.  Wondering if -- no, *what* part Krycek had
   played in it.  Being unable to touch Fowley, and knowing
   she had to have been integral to the whole thing.

   But mostly, it had just the been the agony of not knowing,
   the incessant fear that he was in pain or torment, that
   he was suffering, feeling abandoned somewhere.  It
   would almost be better if they knew for sure he was
   dead.  At least then, they could mourn and move on.  The
   battle for justice could advance.  But with Mulder
   missing -- missing! -- for so long, with no word, no
   hint of his whereabouts, no clue to go on, neither he
   nor Scully were inclined to battle too hard.  There was
   always the possibility he was alive, and he would be
   made to pay for any waves they stirred up.

   It had been a nightmare.  The kind you always expect
   and try to prepare for, but a nightmare nevertheless.

   By tacit agreement, he and Scully saw very little of
   one another, afraid any contact between them could be
   construed as a liaison, and held against Mulder.  He
   couldn't remember the last time he had seen her.  Two?
   Three months ago?  When they met at a restaurant four
   hours away, arriving in separate cars, departing alone,
   but risking it for the sake of a few hours companionship,
   and shared grief over the fate of the one man that had
   brought them together.

   But she was here now, and there was one thing Walter
   Skinner knew -- she would never knowingly put Mulder
   at risk by coming here, unless it was an emergency.
   That she had so blatantly disregarded his curt "I'm in
   a meeting," uttered for the benefit of ears that may be
   listening, could only mean that something momentous
   had occurred.  He took one more look at the woman
   standing before him, then nodded. 

   "I'm going to step out for a bit, Kim," he said, his
   eyes never leaving Scully's.  "Make my excuses please,
   and reschedule this for another time, would you?"

   Without stopping for suit or topcoat, he took Scully's
   arm, and led her out of the office.  They walked in silence
   till they cleared the building, then she murmured, "Thank
   you."

   He nodded.  "Wait a bit more."

   They walked on, meandering seemingly aimlessly through
   DC's busy streets, until at last they reached Constitution.
   Another ten minutes walk brought them to Museum Row.
   When Scully opened her mouth to speak, Skinner shook
   his head quickly, and led her on to the Museum of American
   History, through the doors, and down to the cafeteria in
   the basement. 

   They waited in line, Scully growing increasingly impatient,
   but biding her time as Skinner required.  He bought sandwiches
   for them both, ham and cheese for her and roast beef for
   himself, then they threaded their way through the wire tables
   and metal chairs, eventually finding a small table for two
   tucked back by a wall.  Skinner looked at the trash left
   behind, sighed, then handed his meal to Scully as he grabbed
   a napkin and cleaned the table.  Once done, he motioned
   for her to sit and then joined her.

   "So," he began, "what happened?"  He took a big bite of
   the sandwich, relishing the opportunity to eat lunch, something
   he rarely did, even if the circumstances were unusual.  And
   if Scully had broken their agreed upon rule of avoidance and
   limited contact, then something unusual was certain to have
   occurred.

   "Sir," she whispered fiercely, ignoring the sandwich on
   her plate, "Mulder had these friends..."  Her voice trailed
   away and he could tell he was not the only one who had
   noticed her use of the past tense.  "He *has* these friends,"
   she corrected, "a little strange -- kinda on the lunatic fringe."

   "I remember.  I met them a couple times.  A long-hair, guy
   with a beard, and a little guy, older than the other two,
   right?"

   She nodded.  "Yeah.  Well, they're always tapping into
   things that maybe they shouldn't be ..."
   He cut her off.  "Do I want to know this?"

   The fierce whisper changed to a fierce look as she nodded
   and said, "Damn straight you do!  Now listen."  Her eyes
   slipped away and she quickly scanned the crowded room. 
   "They have this video they pulled from a satellite."

   "And?"

   "It's Mulder."

   Skinner froze, sandwich halfway to his mouth, and sat
   unmoving.  After two years -- twenty-two months -- a
   clue at last.  Shit!  More than a clue.  Proof he was
   alive.  A chance for rescue.  He dropped the sandwich,
   forgotten.

   "Where?"

   "They pulled it from a secured military frequency. 

   No one is supposed to know."

   "Where?"

   "They -- the military -- they're sending a team to retrieve
   him."

   "Agent Scully," Skinner gritted the words out through his
   teeth.  "Where.  Is.  He?"

   "Antarctica.  The South Pole.  Some top secret military
   research station that was supposed to have been abandoned."

   Skinner looked at his watch, checking the date.  "It's almost
   the equinox.  The window of opportunity for travel to the
   Pole closes when the sun sets down there.  How are they
   going to get him?"

   "There's a mixed bag of military and supposedly civilian
   researchers.  The researchers are going ostensibly to
   gather the data that has been collecting sporadically
   for the last eighteen months.  The word is it's gonna
   be fast and dirty, in and out, and I'm not too sure
   he'll live through the 'rescue.'"

   "Eighteen months?"  Skinner was appalled.  "Has he been
   there eighteen months?"

   "Apparently.  And the supposedly abandoned station
   has had some pretty strange things going on.  Things the
   military doesn't want to get out."

   "Such as?"

   "Why was it abandoned in the first place?  All that expensive
   equipment, the facilities, the whole shebang."  Scully
   shrugged.  "The guys can't get a handle on it.  A
   lot of the transmission is heavily encrypted.  They're
   working on it.  They do say they're taking a hell of a lot
   of people, equipment, vehicles for a simple close down
   procedure.  Retrieving Mulder seems to be an afterthought."

   She paused a moment, looking at him with determination. 

   "There's a slot for a doctor on the retrieval mission." 

   One small hand reached out, petite and delicate with
   neatly trimmed nails done in subtle French manicure.
   The hand touched his arm lightly, tracing up his
   sleeve almost teasingly, then halted at his bicep
   and dug in with a strength that surprised even him.

   "You've got to get me on that flight."


   ********************************************


   "It appeared in the mail, Sir.  Completely anonymous,
   wiped free of prints."

   Skinner restrained himself from fidgeting as he sat before
   the desk of the Deputy Director.  He'd never been sure
   where this man fit in the scheme of things.

   "You've had it checked for tampering?"

   "Yes, Sir.  It's the real deal.  I have no idea how, or where it
   came from, but it is definitely Agent Mulder."

   The DD looked appraisingly at the big man sitting there,
   trying to appear impassive. 

   "And what would you like me to do about it, Walter?" he
   asked. 

   "I'd like your backing to arrange a rescue attempt." 

   Skinner watched as the DD tensed, body tightening
   in reaction to his words.

   "You know the window is closing," he paused, scanning
   the calendar.  "Hell, it's practically closed.  The sun will
   set in six days, and there won't be a pilot to be found who
   will fly down there in the dark, the cold, the winter storms."

   First attempt at deflection.  Well, it was becoming clear
   where the DD stood now.  "All the more reason we need
   to act *now,* Sir," Skinner said emphatically.  "We need to
   move, before we lose that window."

   The Deputy Director leaned back in his chair, the video
   tape held in one hand as he looked up at the ceiling.  "You
   know, Walter," he said, his tone deliberately conversational,
   "I'm not completely clueless when it comes to some of the
   people Agent Mulder has crossed, the toes he's stepped on." 
   His head came back down and he gazed levelly at Skinner. 

   "I'm aware that you've had occasion to cross a few of those
   same people as well.  There's been some extremely sensitive
   political maneuvering, within the legislature, within the
   Bureau, within several other government organizations." 

   He sighed and ran a hand through thinning gray hair. 
   "CIA, NSA,  ATF, just to name a few.  Shit, after that
   fiasco out west a few summer ago, even FEMA is under
   scrutiny."  He paused again, the silence in the room broken
   only by a steady 'tap, tap, tap' as he rhythmically touched
   the tape to his desk.  "Have you considered that perhaps
   Agent Mulder is safer where he is, than he would be if
   you were to go 'rescue' him?"

   Skinner nodded.  He'd seen this coming.  He'd half expected
   it.  There was no telling who had been gotten to.  The trick
   to this was going to be getting out of here without tipping
   his hand, and without losing access to the Director.  "I
   have considered that, Sir.  However, we don't have enough
   information to risk leaving him there.  We don't know if
   he's ill, or injured, or how long he's been isolated down
   there.  We don't know what the power situation is like,
   if there's food, we don't even know if he could survive
   another winter alone."

   Now the DD was nodding, agreeing even as he planned the
   next assault.  "All valid concerns.  Still.  He seems to have
   survived all right for the past year or so.  It might be in
   *everyone's* best interest if Agent Mulder were to remain
   missing for the time being."  The man smiled, a charming,
   politically correct smile that transformed his face and yet,
   never reached his eyes.  "Do you understand what I'm saying,
   Walter?"

   "Yes, Sir," Skinner replied.  "I think I do."  His voice
   was cold, and he made no attempt to smile.  "I understand
   you are reluctant to make such a big decision, to commit
   so many Bureau resources in a rescue attempt like this."

   The man's eyes were warming.  Skinner could tell he
   thought he'd won.  That the AD was going to go home
   and forget everything, continue to be the good little
   soldier and follow orders.  Wasn't he going to be surprised?

   He leaned forward earnestly, the picture of understanding
   and cooperation.  "Your position is perfectly understandable,
   Sir, and I heartily applaud your decision."

   The other man took a deep breath, and Skinner almost
   laughed as the tension seeped from the man.

   "That's why I'm going to take my petition straight to the
   Director."  Skinner smiled now, and there was nothing
   comforting in the expression.  "I'm sure he'll understand
   your reluctance as well."  He pushed the chair back and
   rose, turning sharply and heading straight for J. Edgar's
   old office.

   **********************************************


   "Where did you say you got this, Walt?"  The Director
   was watching the monitor, staring in fascination at a
   scraggly, bearded, emaciatingly thin Mulder who paced
   wildly across the screen.

   "Anonymous, Sir.  Appeared on my desk."

   "And you've already spoken to Henderson."

   "Yes, Sir.  I was reluctant to bother you, Sir, but Deputy
   Director Henderson, quite rightly I am sure, seemed to
   feel the potential expenditure of Bureau resources
   involved in a rescue of this magnitude should be a
   decision made at the highest level."

   "It's gonna be expensive, that's for sure."  The Director
   looked at Skinner, then turned back to the monitor, his
   attention focused again on Mulder.  "Still.  He's one of
   ours.  We can hardly leave him there, now that we've
   found him, can we?"

   "No, Sir."

   "Do we know exactly where this is?"  The Director pointed
   at the screen. 

   "A research station in the Antarctic.  Military."

   "Military?  Really?  Now that's interesting.  I wonder if
   they are aware of Agent Mulder's presence." 

   "I have no way of knowing that, Sir."

   "Perhaps they have this same video, and ..."  His voice
   trailed away, then he turned and fixed Skinner with a
   serious look.  "I sincerely hope you're being straight
   with me on this, Walt.  I'd hate to come up with egg
   on my face."

   "Absolutely straight, Sir."  Skinner lied without moving
   a muscle.

   "Let me make a few phone calls, see what I can find out.
   Perhaps something is already in the works and we can
   send someone along to take Agent Mulder into protective
   custody."

   "I think that would be wise, Sir.  And I know just the
   person."

   "Who's that, Walt?"

   "His partner.  Dana Scully.  She's closer to him than anyone
   else, and she's a medical doctor to boot.  She'd be perfect
   for this operation."

   The Director stared at Skinner.  "You seem to have given
   this a great deal of thought, Walt.  Have your ducks in a
   row and your plans all made."  He paused a moment more.
   "You sure there isn't anything else you want to tell me?"

   "Nothing else to tell, Sir.  I'm just grateful for any assistance
   you can provide in helping me get my man back."

   "All right, then Walt.  We'll leave it at that.  I'll be in touch
   later, after I've had a chance to run down some information."

   "Don't forget the window, Sir."

   "No.  I won't."

   Skinner rose and extended his hand.  "Thank you, Sir, thank
   you very much," he said as the two shook.  "I hate losing
   one of my people."

   "So do I, Walt.  So do I."


   *************************************************

   "It should be me who's going."  Scully was pacing in his
   bedroom -- his bedroom! -- as he packed for the trip.  It
   was the third time she'd made the same comment.  He
   answered in the same way he had before.

   "I know it should be you who goes."  His concentration
   was split.  He and Scully had been having this 'discussion'
   for several hours now.  And she really was right.  She
   should be going.  But all that was out of his hands now.
   He stood staring at the bag on the bed, then looking into
   his sock drawer.  Two days down, two days there, two
   days back.  Six pair of socks?  He shook his head.  He was
   always at a loss when it came to things like this.  Sharon
   used to pack for him, and since she died, he never seemed
   to have the right number of socks, or skivvies, or ties
   whenever he went somewhere.  He was still staring at the
   socks, when he heard Scully sigh, and then she was beside
   him staring down into his sock drawer.

   She looked up.  "Where are your athletic socks?"

   "Huh?"

   "Athletic socks.  You don't want to take black dress
   socks to the South Pole, do you?"

   "Oh, no, not really.  I hadn't thought about that."  He pulled
   open another drawer, this one filled with white socks.  She
   reached in and grabbed a handful, then tucked them in the
   open bag on the bed.  "Should I take extras for Mulder, do
   you think?"

   She shook her head.  "I packed a bag for you to take for him.
   Socks, underwear, jeans and sweats.  He looks really bad in
   the video.  Like he may bathe, but maybe he has no way to
   wash his clothes.  Or maybe he just doesn't care."  She
   was back at his dresser now, and before his eyes, his
   underwear, and T-shirts were joining his socks in the
   bag.  "I can't tell if he's wearing the same clothes he
   disappeared in, but it could be.  They must be threadbare
   by now."

   She was at his closet now, pulling jeans from the hangars,
   and sweats from the shelf, and then tucking them neatly into
   his bag.  "I should be going.  He might be hurt.  Or sick."

   "I know." Skinner gave up and sat on the bed.  Let her pack
   if it made her feel better.  Lord knows, he was no good at
   it.  Packing or making her feel better.  "I tried to get you
   on the flight.  I pushed as hard as I could.  But the Director
   had to work with the military, and they didn't want *anyone*
   to go."  He'd told her all this before.  But he didn't mind
   repeating it.  "They were adamant that no one who didn't
   hold a top level clearance was getting on the plane."

   "And mine isn't high enough," she said bitterly, as she
   rearranged the clothes and made room for his shaving
   kit.

   "No.  Mine wasn't either, but the Director rushed an
   upgrade through.  That's the only reason *anyone*
   from the Bureau is even going to be there."

   "Well," she said, eyeing the full bag critically, then
   beginning to zip it up, "I guess you're better than no
   one."

   He had to laugh at that, and then he laughed again at her
   chagrined expression as she looked up.  "Sorry," she
   mumbled sheepishly, "it's just, you know ..."

   "You should be the one to go," he finished for her.  "I
   know.  I keep telling you I agree, but it's out of our hands."

   "Are we going to have any communication from down
   there?"

   "Well, from the plane, of course.  And the military is
   taking a bunch of equipment.  I'm sure some of it is comm
   gear.  And then, if we can get the equipment in the facility
   working, then we should be in good shape."  He paused,
   looking up at her from his seat on the bed.  "I assure you,
   as soon as we get there, I'll do whatever it takes to patch
   through to you.  He's gonna want to make contact as badly
   as you do."

   It was over.  All but the leaving, anyway.  Skinner picked
   up the two heavy bags -- his and Mulder's -- and carried
   them out to the living room.  "You coming to the base?"

   She shook her head.  "I don't want to give them anything
   they can use.  Just having you on the mission could be
   dangerous enough."  She pushed her hair back from her
   face and walked to the sliding glass door that led to his
   balcony.  "Take care of him, please?"

   "I will." 

   She walked over to her briefcase, tucked by the coat tree
   in his entry and bent to open it.  A few moments later,
   she closed it and rose, then came to him carrying a thick
   brown folder.  He looked at her quizzically as she held it
   out to him. 

   "His medical records."

   "Oh."

   "He's allergic to penicillin.  If he gets an infection, make
   sure they give him Keflex," she cocked her head, making
   sure he was paying attention, "or Bactrim."

   "Got it.  Keflex or Bactrim.  No penicillin."

   "Now, if he's injured and needs a narcotic -- Demoral, first,
   then morphine.  He gets really loopy on the Demoral, you
   have to watch him.  He's liable to say anything."  Her eyes
   filled suddenly and she turned away.  "He told me he loved
   me once, and I blew him off."

   Skinner reached out and brushed her arm.  "He understood."

   She swiped at her eyes, then faced him.  "The morphine
   makes him queasy; he takes Compazine to counteract it.
   He does OK on that."

   "Loopy on Demoral, Compazine if he needs morphine."

   "He won't tell you if he's in pain.  You have to watch him,
   look for signs.  He hates to take anything, so he tends to try
   to cover it up."

   "Watch for signs of pain."

   "There's more, but that hits the high points.  And you're
   only going to be gone a week, then he'll be home."

   "A week," he agreed.  He waited a moment, then cleared his
   throat awkwardly.  "Look, I hate to ask, but I need some things
   taken care of."  The papers had fallen and were barely
   visible from under the couch, but Skinner found them all.

   She had turned and was staring at him from across the
   room.  "I have some papers I need taken to my lawyer.
   Just some last minute stuff."

   She walked over and took the forms, scanning them briefly.
   Insurance policies, deed to the condo, power of attorney,
   his will.

   "Wonderful thoughts, Sir," she muttered.

   "I thought it might be wise."  He shrugged.  "It doesn't
   mean anything."

   "No, of course it doesn't."  She nodded, then lifted a
   business card he had paper clipped to the corner.  "This
   her?"

   "Yeah.  You'll make sure she gets everything?"

   "First thing."

   "All right, then."  Skinner looked up at Scully, then began
   to stand.

   She halted him with a jerky movement, then held out her
   hand.  "Give this to him."  The hand opened slowly and he
   saw a delicate gold cross on a fine chain laying there.  "He'll
   understand."

   He took it, wrapped it in a handkerchief and tucked it
   carefully into his pocket.  He rose, not looking at her,
   and said,  "Well.  I should get moving.  Flight leaves
   in just a couple hours."

   "They're picking you up?"

   "The car should be waiting.  Are you sure you don't want to
   come to the base?"

   She shook her head.  "No.  I probably shouldn't have even
   come here."  She folded her arms over her chest and shuddered
   slightly.  "I just wish it was me.  I'm gonna worry myself
   sick for the next week."  She smiled up at him, then laid
   a hand on his arm.  "If it can't be me, I'm glad it's you. 
   Mulder will be too."

   Skinner flushed, embarrassed at this overt display of trust.
   "I'll take care of him, Scully, I promise.  I won't let them
   do anything to him."

   "Take care of yourself, too, OK?  Mulder's not the only one
   I'm gonna be worrying about."  She reached up and wrapped
   one arm around him, then pulled his head down, and kissed
   him gently on the cheek.  "Thank you."

   His arms slipped around her and he held her, the
   embrace of survivors, who cling to one another in
   the face of the unspeakable.  At length, he pulled
   away, and she let him go.

   "No turning back."

   "Tell him I kept his damn fish alive."  Her lip quivered
   as she spoke, and before he could say anything, she turned
   her back and walked back to the window.  "I'll lock up
   for you."

   He took one last look around the condo, shook his head,
   and left. 


   *****************************************


   "Assistant Director?"

   "Yes?"  Skinner looked up from the laptop.   He was staring
   at the video of Mulder, pacing in the station.   It was the only
   clear transmission they had obtained, and it was brief.   It
   seemed as soon as they successfully sent a signal to trigger
   the remote startup of the station's equipment, Mulder went
   around and shut everything back down.  

   "Sir, we have an audio for you in the cabin, if you'd come
   up front please?"

   Skinner rose and followed the young man forward.  A kind,
   gray-haired man with smiling eyes looked up at him as he
   passed.  Aaron Scott, the group's doctor.  "Anxious to get
   there, eh, Mr. Skinner?" he asked.

   Skinner nodded.  "I'm worried about my man, Aaron," he
   replied.  The doctor was one of the few people who had
   bothered to cultivate conversation with him on the seemingly
   endless flight.  He'd told Skinner he was retired, fifteen
   years older than the AD, and had been activated under a
   little known or understood clause in his Naval Reserve
   commission.  Retired he might be, but the needs of the
   service still came first.  Fortunately, Aaron had a good
   attitude and looked at this mission as an adventure, not
   a hardship.  He'd worked in family medicine, doing a
   little research on the side, for thirty years, twenty of them
   in the Navy, and  was now partaking of his hard won
   retirement while he was still young enough to enjoy it. 
   Skinner had him tagged as a potential ally.

   "Your boy -- Mulder, is it?  Not Fox?"

   Skinner nodded.

   "Well, aside from a severe case of malnutrition, and one
   questionable looking patch on his forehead, he seems hardy
   enough.  We'll have the answers shortly, Walter."

   "I know.  Now, if you'll excuse me, they're paging me to
   the front."

   He moved on through the cavernous cargo plane.  The upper
   deck with its seats for passengers was an obvious
   afterthought and the seats themselves were placed in
   oddly configured groups, with tables in the center of each
   cluster.  It was almost amusing to see how the members
   of the mission had sorted themselves out.

   On the left and in front were the military.  Despite traveling
   in mufti, their bearing and the disdain they showed for the
   others gave them away.  The only two he'd been introduced
   to were an Army Colonel -- Frank Peters, who was approachable
   at times but seemed to be concerned over Skinner's presence,
   and a Marine Lieutenant Colonel -- Brian McMurray, who
   was *not* approachable at any time, and resented the hell out
   of Skinner's inclusion and made no secret of it.  Besides these
   two, there were the pilot and navigator, the only other ones
   who were open about their military affiliation.  There were
   six others, and they were all young men, all six foot tall,
   and all interchangeable as far as he was concerned.

   The scientists were in the back, more spread out, as comfortable
   as they could make themselves on the long, long flight.  Aside
   from Aaron, there was Katherine Vespi, an exobiologist.  He'd
   been shocked at her inclusion, and honestly wondered at the
   nature of her work, but she had proven herself to be open
   and interesting, an amusing woman with an ability to laugh
   at her own specialties and a self-deprecating way about her.

   She held several advanced degrees from several universities,
   and was triply certified in her profession of choice, as well as
   biochemistry and zoology.  He hoped it was the one of the
   latter two that led to her being here.  He'd spent several hours
   talking with her as well, and hoped she would prove to be an
   ally if needed.  She was his age, with graying hair and glasses,
   on a round, friendly face, and he felt she would be someone
   he wouldn't mind getting to know better, if circumstances
   were different.

   The only other female team leader on the trip -- Amanda
   Petit -- was a mousy young thing, small and quiet, and
   hardly appearing substantial enough to have been the
   head geologist at McMurdo for four years.  She was
   painfully shy, and stammered when she had to speak. 
   
   But she apparently knew her rocks, though she indicated
   she was at a loss as to what she had  to offer on this
   expedition.  He'd been astonished, when, after setting
   up a precarious satellite uplink through his laptop, it
   had almost immediately chimed that he had e-mail.
   Mail from Amanda.  He'd opened it, and read a
   note stating she was as confused as anyone as to the
   real purpose of their mission, then suggested things
   were not what they seemed and he be very careful
   and not trust anyone.  When he'd swiveled his head
   in disbelief, she was hunched over her own keyboard,
   blissfully unaware of his scrutiny as she worked at
   whatever project had caught her attention for the
   moment.

   Hector Sanchez was a meteorologist, specializing in cold
   weather phenomenon, and he was the only other one who
   had "wintered over" at the Pole before.  Hector had spent
   two seasons at McMurdo, studying the unpredictable and
   wild storms that seemed to blow up from nowhere, the fierce
   katabatic winds  that created swirling blizzards beneath
   clear skies, and the other weather patterns unique to this
   snowy desert.

   At thirty, Hector was the youngster in the group as far as
   team leaders went  -- and if you didn't  count the cold-eyed
   killing machines who sat up front.  Skinner was willing
   to bet they were Army Rangers, or Navy SEALS, or
   Marine Green Berets, some sort of special ops unit detailed
   to -- what?  Bring Mulder home safely?  Or make sure he
   never left the ice?  The whole military contingent would
   bear watching.

   Tom Hinton was the head mechanic, in charge of
   disconnecting and dismantling all the equipment at
   the facility.  There were also a number of surface
   exploration vehicles that were supposed to be salvaged
   and some equipment in storage in outlying buildings.
   Hinton seemed to be a nice enough guy, speaking politely
   when spoken to, but not bothering to mix with anyone.
   He seemed more comfortable with his mechanics, and
   for most of the flight, the grease monkeys had run a
   non-stop poker game.  Hinton lost steadily to his
   workers, laughed loudly about it, and Skinner watched
   with admiration as the man built a loyal and connected
   workforce out of people who hadn't even met before this
   flight took off.

   Each of these people, with the exception of Aaron, had a
   team of other scientists and techies who would be assisting
   them in their portion of the station's take-down.  There
   were over fifty of them all together, and it seemed like
   an awful lot of people to be bringing for a one week
   mission, at the end of the travel window.  Skinner was
   vaguely bothered by the number, the timing, and even
   more, by the document he had had to sign, agreeing to
   accept military jurisdiction in exchange for his inclusion
   on the team.  They were just two of the things that bothered
   him about this whole operation.

   He paused at the cockpit, then stuck his head in.  "You
   wanted me?"

   Jerry Borstein nodded, waved, then pointed at the navigator's
   seat.  "You can take it there.  Weaver went to the can."

   That would be Albert Weaver, the navigator.  Part of the
   military, an Army Captain, as was Borstein the pilot,
   Weaver was the only one who had bothered to talk to
   any of the civilians.  Skinner wasn't sure where the
   dark-skinned Weaver stood, but his willingness to
   socialize was a plus.  He took the indicated seat, then
   pulled on the head set.

   "Skinner."

   "This is General Hallowell.  You'll be arriving at the
   station in about four hours, Mr. Skinner."
   "Your point?"  The General had worked as aggressively
   behind the scenes to block Skinner as the Director had
   to enable him.  There was no love lost here.

   "You should be able to make radio contact very soon.
   The satellites are moving into position, and the remote
   for the station comm unit can be triggered in about an
   hour."

   "Why are you telling me this?"

   "I just want to remind you, Mr. Skinner, that you are
   there against my better judgment, and anything you
   hear, anything you see, is considered classified, eyes only. 
   Do you understand?"

   What the hell were they trying to hide down here, beside
   one long lost FBI agent?

   "I'm aware of the contents of the document I signed,
   General."

   "Good."  There was a deep, fat sigh from the other end.

   "Be very aware of it, Skinner," the general said, and the
   line went dead.


   ********************************************

   "Ah, Walter.  Just in time."  The beaming face of the
   doctor greeted Skinner as he sidled up to the cockpit
   again.  "Ready to try and talk to your boy?"

   "As ready as I'll ever be." Skinner smiled, more at the
   air of excitement from the old country doctor, than any
   true sense of pleasure on his part.  His anticipation was
   more nervous concern and fear.  Something told him
   that once contact was made, things were only going
   to get harder, not easier.

   "Any signal from the station yet?"

   "Negative."  Weaver looked up and smiled.  "It could be
   transmitting a response too weak for us to pick up."

   "If it's operating, that is."

   "The remotes indicate it's on.  Satellites should be in
   position."

   "Maybe we're not quite aligned." Skinner wanted
   desperately to provide himself with an excuse as to
   why Mulder wouldn't answer the damn "phone."

   "Doubtful.  Should be a go."  Weaver shrugged. 

   "Doesn't mean anything.  Maybe your guy's taking a
   leak."

   Skinner stood near the back of the pack, McMurray and
   Peters were crammed into the tiny cockpit, Aaron Scott
   and Katherine hovered in the doorway.  He stood
   behind Katherine, easily able to see over her five foot
   nothingness, watching the others and listening to Weaver
   repeat his call. 

   "Research Station -- Agent Mulder.  This is Polar Mission
   Bravo Zulu Six Niner Four calling FBI Agent Fox
   Mulder -- can you hear me, Agent?"  A pause.  "Please
   respond."

   There was no sound as everyone held their breath.  The
   hum of the engines, the shift of bodies, the mechanical
   click of instruments, all faded into silence as they waited
   in unison for a response.

   And then -- the air crackled and a burst of static filled
   the plane.

   "Nothing?  Any contact with the remote even?"

   "No, not yet.  The poor thing's probably gotten weaker
   without regular maintenance.  The technology is a couple
   years old, after all." Weaver shook his head and sighed. 
   "Not that ours is that much better, if we can't even get
   a response."

   "Could be looking at any number of scenarios down there."
   That was Peters, the Colonel.  "Perhaps the tape wasn't real
   time after all."  There was a hint of pleasure at that thought
   in the man's voice, and Skinner made a note to be doubly
   careful and watch him closely.

   "Or, of course," Skinner said sharply, "Agent Mulder has
   been marooned for so damn long, the thought of someone
   "calling" him is disconcerting.  He may be afraid to respond."

   "Well, I'm hoping your young agent is alive and well, and
   ready to be plucked from the rock, so to speak," the doctor said
   good-naturedly.  "And I'm ready to be off this plane, and walk
   on the earth again, even if it is freezing cold and snow up to
   my waist.  It'll make a nice change from this canned air."
   "I hope you don't regret your decision to join us, Doctor." 

   Peters turned to fix the doctor with an icy look. 

   The doctor laughed.  "My decision?" he asked jokingly. 

   "As if the Navy actually consulted me?"  He shook his
   head.  "Anyway, no regrets.  Not yet, anyway."

   Katherine laughed, then slapped Scott on the arm.  "That's
   the spirit, Aaron.  If you can't beat 'em, might as well be
   happy with 'em."  She dropped her voice conspiratorially,
   "They shanghaied me, as well, but if things shape up as
   anticipated, this could be quite exciting for all of us."

   Weaver interrupted.  "Colonel, the automated reports
   we requested are coming in."  He swiveled in his chair and
   looked up at the people assembled in and around the tiny
   cockpit.  "Looks like something is working on the station."

   Skinner maintained his position at the edge of the
   commotion, watching with interest as the monitors
   relayed data about their approach.  Scott kept him
   company, commenting on the high adrenaline levels
   among them all.  The reports were a hodge-podge
   of maintenance logs, weather surveys, automated
   samplings of snow and earth, and other things
   Skinner couldn't catch.  Amanda and Hector had
   come forward, chattering excitedly as papers were
   shoved into their hands and then hustling back to
   their seats to huddle over their laptops, the reports
   close at hand.  Skinner couldn't recall seeing scientists
   so excited about such a small amount of information
   before.  But then, Skinner's experience with the
   scientific community was rather limited, outside
   the nastier aspects of his job.

   On the whole, he found this group of scientists tolerable;
   the military people, with the exception of Weaver, were
   not.  And he had genuinely enjoyed the company of 
   Aaron Scott, and Katherine Vespi, both helping to
   pass the time on the long, boring flight.

   "I've got something else here!"
   Weaver's excited announcement drew Skinner out of his
   thoughts and back into the room where the navigator was
   pointing to a monitor.

   "It looks encrypted."

   Peters was trying to shut the door to the cockpit now,
   and Skinner shoved past Scott and Katherine and stopped
   him.  "No," he said in a deadly tone.  "I'm cleared for
   anything and you *will not* be keeping secrets from me
   on this mission."

   Peters stared at Skinner, obviously sizing him up, then
   stepped back reluctantly and turned his attention to Weaver.

   "Can you make anything of it?" The colonel leaned over the
   navigator's chair, peering at the readouts flashing across the
   screen. 

   "Not yet, I have to download it, then run it through our unit. 
   But it's working! The system is still functioning and sending
   us the data per orders."

   "What, exactly, did you ask for?"

   "General stuff.  Update records, reports an any automated
   experiments that were running, climate and weather info,
   status on the station and personnel."

   This was going to be interesting.  Skinner stepped closer,
   looking at the small screen in front of Weaver.  None of it
   was in order, and all the words flashed far too quickly to
   be read by any human eye, but something was causing the
   hairs on the back of Skinner's neck to tingle.  Maybe it was
   the anticipation after such a long wait, maybe it was
   something else.  Whatever it was made him run a hand
   over his head while the symbols flashed across the screen.
    

   *******************************************************


   An hour later, Skinner was seated in the forward portion
   of the cabin, gently tapping the rim of his coffee cup. 
   Surrounding him were Peters and McMurray, Weaver,
   Doctor Scott, and Katherine Vespi.  Skinner was puzzled
   at the exobiologist's continued inclusion in the top-level
   discussions.  Sheets of data lay strewn around a table
   while they all tried to digest what it meant. 

   "What does it say, exactly?" Skinner asked, glancing
   at Weaver, who looked at Peters, not speaking until
   there was an imperceptible nod. 

   "Word for word?  It says..." Weaver reached for the
   sheet and read it off.

   "Structure: Intact 
   Status:  Online.
   Assigned Station Complement: Forty.
   Current Station Complement: One."

    He sighed and set down the single piece of paper. 

   "So, er,  Mulder was not left here alone?"  Katherine
   asked for the fourth time since they'd gathered in the
   front of the plane.  "The station was staffed when he
   was left here?"

   "It says the station has a complement of one.  Someone
   had to change that.  Maybe the others thought he was a
   caretaker, assigned to keep things on line despite budget
   cut backs."  Scott was having a hard time with the
   thought that anyone could be purposefully left at the
   South Pole, isolated and alone. 


   "Or the entry was made when Mulder was abandoned
   here, by whoever took him."  Skinner held up a hand
   as he spoke, trying to maintain the level of moderate
   calm it had taken so long to achieve.

   "Then how do you explain this?" Katherine waved one
   of the sheets in the air.  "Reports of twelve deaths, just
   about two years ago."

   "Yes, yes, a fact that could have any number of causes."
   McMurray spoke up, quick to point out reasons for the
   deaths.  "Imagine being here, at the Pole, for just a moment. 
   You're one of  very few humans to spend time on what
   amounts to an alien world.  Your assignment is to
   explore, investigate, learn.  The variables are unknown:
   weather, landscape, even the tools they brought with
   them, many of which were newly developed or even
   prototypes.  It was a new station, a new crew."  McMurray
   glanced around the group.  "I would have expected some
   casualties at the beginning, due to the usual accidents that
   befall a new group."

   Aaron started to object, but McMurray waved him silent. 

   "I know, I know, it's a lot.  And it gets worse.  The numbers
   of deaths almost indicate something along the lines of a
   natural disaster.  They could have sent out an exploratory
   group that crashed, or simply disappeared.  Maybe there
   was an earthquake or hurricane, something of that nature."

   "Look, arguing about what may or may not have happened
   isn't going to get us anywhere." Skinner looked at each
   member of the group in turn.  He didn't really want to put
   himself into a leadership position with these people, but he
   was being left with little choice.  "We'll need time to
   examine the data, finish decrypting it.  We only have a
   few more hours till we land, then we can ask Mulder and
   all this discussion may be moot."

   "Skinner's right, people." Aaron slapped the table and
   stood, leaning forward.  "Nothing can change what
   happened.  We're here to do a job," -- he paused and
   eyed Skinner quickly then seemed to glance a warning
   at the others - "to salvage the research and bring
   home the Bureau's Agent Mulder.  Speculation doesn't
   help us do either."

   "Has the remote sent you everything it has?"  Skinner glanced
   at Weaver.  If he was the resident computer expert, and he
   couldn't decrypt a few files, he wasn't as up to date as
   Skinner thought he should be.  But unless it directly
   pertained to Mulder and his safety, Skinner could give
   a flying fuck about the rest of it. 

   Weaver shook his head.  "No.  I mean, yes, I think.  That
   unit's quirky, maybe it doesn't have the power it should
   have.  I dunno."

   "I tell you what," Skinner leaned closer, allowing the other
   members of the group to continue their conversations.  "Let
   me download the file to my portable.  I'll see if I can tweak
   it for you."

   Weaver looked around nervously, then looked back at
   Skinner.  "I really shouldn't, but ..."

   "I'm cleared, you know.  All the way to the top."

   "Yeah, well," Weaver was fidgeting, and Skinner was
   afraid the man was going to draw attention to them.  "I
   think some of the stuff may be your man's medical history."
   He took a deep breath, eyes darting to Peters, who was deep
   in discussion with McMurray, while Aaron and Katherine
   chatted about the climate, then he nodded.  "See what
   you can do, OK, then send it back to me."

   Skinner nodded.  "No problem."

   "All right, people." Colonel Peters stood and projected
   his voice to the immediate area.  "We land in two hours. 
   Let's get ready."

   The scientist and doctor rose and strolled leisurely back
   to the rear of the plane.  Skinner followed at an even
   slower pace.  He reached his seat, opened the laptop,
   and powered it up.  It took a few moments to establish
   the uplink, then the speaker chimed.  He had mail
   again.  The first was another note from Amanda.

   "While you were talking, the Colonel kept staring at
   you.  I didn't like the look in his eyes.  You should
   watch out for him.  I think he knows something you
   don't.  Maybe they all do."

   Skinner shook his head. 'Tell me something I *don't*
   know,' he thought as he deleted the message.

   The second message was the file from the surface. 

   He began to type.

   "Attached file encrypted.  May contain medical
   information on Mulder.  Get it back to me before
   we land in two hours."  He attached the file and
   hit send, hoping Mulder's friends were really as
   ingenious as they appeared to be.

   While he waited, he studied the portions of the file
   that weren't garbled.  Under normal circumstances,
   he would have ignored the scientific data he was
   viewing, but these were far from normal circumstances. 
   Knowing where he was going, what he could be facing,
   seemed important in some nebulous way he couldn't
   get a grip on.  His head told him 'two days down, two
   days there, two days home," but some finely-tuned
   sense of disaster told him 'be prepared.  And besides,
   he needed something to do while he waited on
   Mulder's magic friends.

   He scanned the files available, selecting one that
   was named "Education -- Overview" and began to
   read.  An hour and fifteen minutes later, he took
   off his glasses and sat back, rubbing his eyes and
   pinching the bridge of his nose in a useless effort
   to make his headache go away.  He still hadn't
   received a response to his request for help, but he
   did know far more than he'd ever wanted to know
   about Antarctica.

   Antarctica was the highest continent with an average
   elevation, including the ice cap, of 7,545 feet above
   sea level.  That meant breathing could present a
   problem.  The elevation of even the flat areas would
   be higher than he -- or Mulder -- were used to. 
   Though, he amended, if Mulder had been here as long
   as they suspected, he would have acclimated.

   Almost all of the continent was covered by a huge ice cap,
   or ice sheet, all year round. Only about 2% of the area in
   places near the coast was considered "ice free", that
   is, land that was exposed in summer.

   And they were here in winter, not summer, in darkness,
   no sun, and, he suspected, would be no where near the
   more populated coastal areas.  He was expecting extreme
   isolation at some interior point.

   The average ice cap thickness was almost two miles
   and the maximum depth is a little over three miles. 
   The Antarctic ice cap contained about 90% of the
   fresh water in the world. 

   The more he thought about things, the more he
   didn't like the direction his thoughts went.  From
   the moment Mulder had disappeared, almost two
   years ago, Skinner had been sure the younger man
   had found something, or figured something out that
   had made him a danger to the people who had sought
   to thwart him for so many years.  And now, with
   Mulder found, in the Antarctic, it brought up thoughts
   he'd rather not have to face.

   He was not unaware of the coincidence that so
   many of Mulder's more bizarre experiences seemed
   to happen in cold places.  The investigation, years
   ago, at another icy research station, where "worms"
   of unknown origin had been found.  Mulder's
   flight to the frozen north after that odd situation
   with the woman who had claimed to be his sister.

   And more recently, the events that had led Mulder
   to take off again, to this very continent, in search of
   Scully, and to bring her home against all odds.

   None of them ever spoke much of what had really
   occurred that summer, several years ago.  Mulder
   claimed to have seen something, something he was
   sure was an alien vessel.  Scully claimed not to
   remember anything, and it frustrated Mulder that
   she was so adamant.  Despite the events concerning
   that young boy, Gibson Praise -- still missing after
   years -- and Scully's own experiences with faceless
   men on a burning bridge, there were still too many
   questions.

   But a lot of those questions seemed to revolve around
   something in Antarctica.  Something in the cold.
   And Mulder was in Antarctica.  What did he know?    

   Skinner struggled to put things together, to make
   connections.  The ice cap was moving ever so slowly
   towards the sea as snow accumulated on it, anything
   buried in the ground would take years, perhaps as
   much as 50,000 years to reach the sea.  But what if
   something had been buried there 50,000 years ago?
   What if something had been waiting all this time,
   and was just now reaching the sea? 


   And reaching the sea meant more warmth, and a
   change in the environment. And access to the rest
   of the world. The Southern Ocean was the only ocean
   which circled  the globe without being blocked by any
   land.  The largest ocean current in the world, the
   Antarctic Circumpolar Current, was in the Southern
   Ocean. It carried more than 150 times the water around
   Antarctica than is carried by all the world's rivers.  

   Large tabular icebergs breaking off from the Antarctic
   glaciers and ice shelves can be 650 to a thousand feet
   thick, weigh 400 million tons, towering ten stories above
   the ocean surface, and contain enough fresh water to supply
   a city of 3 million people for a year.  One of the longest
   icebergs ever recorded, designated as B9, broke free from
   the Ross Ice Shelf in October 1987. Measuring 154 kilometers
   by 36 kilometers, this enormous berg contained an estimated
   1,000 billion tons of ice. B9 drifted 2,000 kilometers
   westward in its first 2 years, then split into three bergs
   which eventually grounded on shoals, and remained so.

   Could something else break off, drifting with a berg
   into warmer waters, and then spread, moving freely
   amongst the rest of the world?

   That had given Skinner pause.  There was a lot of
   meteor activity at the pole -- his reading had also
   revealed that over fourteen thousand had been found
   in Antarctica.  Many of the meteorites that hit, would
   flow along with the glaciers toward the sea, but thousands
   would 'wash' up against barriers such as mountain ridges
   where wind erodes the ice, just leaving the meteorites on
   the surface.  Scientists had theorized that Antarctic
   meteorites date back to the earliest formation of the
   Solar System and some have been conclusively traced
   back to the Moon and even Mars.

   It was a frightening thought to Skinner.  If little
   pieces of other worlds were just laying there, waiting
   to be picked up, who knows what else had arrived
   from places unknown, and even now lay waiting.
   And the military was going to great pains to keep
   something quiet, something secret down here in
   the frozen wilderness of Antarctica.

   It was not a thought Skinner cared to contemplate. 
   He'd never seriously considered this element of
   Mulder's obsession.  His interest in the paranormal,
   yes.  He'd had his own unusual experiences, unusual
   enough that while he didn't profess to be a believer,
   he kept an open mind.  But this -- this was different.

   And the files seemed to indicate it was something in
   the meteors, something in the warming climate, that
   was being studied.

   But study of any kind, exploration, tracking,
   experimentation, would be severely crippled by
   the climate.  Although the Antarctic ice cap is
   almost all fresh water ice, Antarctica is a cold
   desert because there is so little precipitation. 

   On average, snow equivalent to 5 inches of rain
   falls on the continent each year.  Very dry.

   And cold.  Antarctica is the coldest place on earth, with
   a temperature of  minus 129 degrees Fahrenheit being
   recorded at Vostok in the Australian Antarctic Territory.
   Winter temperatures -- which they would be dealing with
   in the interior -- where they were almost certainly headed --
   routinely ranged from minus 40 degrees to minus 94 degrees.

   Considering the temperature in a freezer is only about
   five degrees, and most people didn't enjoy spending time
   in a freezer, this place was going to be *cold.*
   And then there was the wind.  Antarctica held a lot of
   records.  Highest elevation, low precipitation, coldest
   temperature and the windiest place on earth. Wind
   speeds of 186 miles per hour were recorded on the
   coast -- twice the force of a hurricane.

   Skinner rubbed his eyes again, still trying to piece
   things together.  What had Mulder stumbled on?

   What had happened that he had been taken, and then
   isolated down here at the bottom of the earth?  And
   what the hell were they studying?  What was the piece
   he was missing?


   ********************************************

   The computer in front of him chimed, and he looked up,
   startled.  He had mail.  He used the track ball to move
   the cursor, then clicked, and a file began to down load
   immediately.  It finished, and a message appeared. 

   "Mulder's had some serious shit done to him.  If these
   records are accurate, then his memory is completely gone.
   His memory of events is definitely gone, and he may
   not even remember basics like interpersonal communication
   and appropriate social skills.  Not that Mulder was
   ever that great on social skills.  Can't tell specifically
   what was done, something about testing him and interaction
   with Test Subject Beta. 

   "It's all in the file we sent, what we could get, that is.
   Good luck, and bring him home soon."

   Skinner frowned.  No memory?  No communication?  No
   social skills?  What did that mean?  What the hell had
   they done to him?

   He clicked on the new file and the screen flickered once,
   then presented picture, an aerial photo of what Skinner
   could only assume was the station they were approaching.
   The screen showed several large buildings forming a crooked
   U, connected by makeshift walkways, with an open area of
   sorts in the center. 

   The buildings looked like standard military issue, designed
   to assemble in hours and last a lifetime.  Dull white with
   large windows of shatterproof plastic, and metal shutters
   built to withstand hurricane strength winds sustained for
   hours.  Standard assembly included trenching out
   subterranean levels for storage and shelter in extreme
   weather or unpredictable conditions.  Large rooms that
   could be partitioned off for privacy were designed for
   utilitarian uses, while banks of computer and diagnostic
   equipment built in made them desirable for scientific
   as well as military ventures. 

   All in all, very functional

   He studied it for a moment, then cleared the screen
   and went on.  A text file was waiting.

   Latitude 78.463

   Longitude 37.782

   Skinner grimaced. Right in the area he had learned from
   his reading that was called the Pole of Inaccessibility.

   Whatever the hell that meant.

   He scanned on.  More information on the original
   research contingent.  It was detailing the number of
   deaths, but not the cause.

   May 12:  Twelve deaths reported.
   Station Complement:  28

   May 26:  Eleven deaths reported. 
   Station Complement:  17

   June 11:  Seven deaths reported.
   Station Complement:  10

   June 27:  Nine deaths reported.
   Station Complement:  1

   Three clusters of deaths, roughly two weeks apart, and
   Mulder the only survivor.  But no mention of what had
   happened, why the researchers had died.  Or why Mulder
   had survived.

   Skinner glanced down, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
   He wanted to get up and stretch, but he didn't want to stop
   reading.  All the deaths were clustered.  That would go
   along with McMurray's theory of natural disaster, or some
   kind of accident.  He popped his back again and sighed
   with feeling.  The screen was frozen on a list of names,
   all followed by the same date.  Cause of death listed as
   accidental.  Could this have been some kind of
   environmental trauma?  Hurricane?  Earthquake, maybe?
   he muttered to himself.  Not earthquake, he corrected.

   There were no earthquakes at the South Pole.

   A feeling Skinner had hoped never to experience again
   was creeping under his skin.  All the years of fighting an
   enemy he had no personal quarrel with, watching friends
   blown apart as payment for doing their duty.  All the pain
   and suffering on both sides for reasons known only to
   old men who formed governments.  He looked out the
   window, stating down at the pristine whiteness that flowed
   by beneath them  That sort of thing didn't belong here.  Not
   in this clean, pure place.  The one place on earth untouched
   by human pollution.   The one place where the only enemy
   should be Mother Nature and her cold, cruel climate. 

   But the feeling creeping over him and settling in his
   stomach was a reminder that these instincts never leave
   you.  They become you. 

   Skinner's attention focused again on the screen as he
   scanned the data appearing there.  "What the hell...?"
   He rose quickly and moved to the front of the plane,
   taking in the appearance of the occupants as he went. 
   Everyone seemed happy, more relaxed, now that the
   long flight was nearly over.  Katherine, Amanda, and
   Hector were talking softly in a group, while Aaron sat,
   humming contentedly.  Tom Hinton was studying a

   schematic of one of the large trackers that were stored
   in the belly of the plane.  Even the dead-eyed guard
   detail seemed alive, joking back and forth across the
   aisle from the seats they had occupied the entire trip. 
   He didn't have the whole story any more than these
   people did, but he probably had more common sense
   than all of them put together.  And if what he had
   learned shocked him, there was no way they were going
   to be prepared to handle what they were about to find out. 

   When he entered the cockpit, he hit a wall of bodies,
   Peters and McMurray jammed in with Weaver and
   Borstein.  All but the pilot were straining to see
   the small display screen in front of Weaver's position.

   Peters looked up, frowned, but said nothing at his intrusion.
   McMurray, however, glared at him, and Skinner mentally
   reversed the threat level between the two men.  He looked
   at the screen, saw only static and snow.

   "Peters, we have to talk."  Skinner put a hand on the
   colonel's shoulder, trying to pull him aside. 

   "Skinner."  The man shrugged his hand off violently,
   jerking away.  "You're here on sufferance -- don't try me."

   He turned away, oblivious to Skinner's urgency.  "We
   have a brief window of opportunity.  We're trying for
   contact again, before we lose the station to the magnetics."

   Skinner shook his head.  "Peters, there's something you
   need to know.  The station, there was --"

   A sudden burst of static blasted over the plane's speakers,
   cutting him off. 

   "You have reached Nihility.  This station is under quarantine.
   Turn back now."

   The silence that followed that auspicious announcement was
   broken only by the continued static of a blank screen. 

   Peters turned and looked at Skinner.

   "Your man?"

   The AD nodded.

   "What did he say?  Ni - Nihi -"

   "Nihility.  It means nothingness."  Skinner shrugged. 
   "Mulder's got something of a classical education." 

   Peters lifted a headset, holding only one piece to his ear
   speaking into the mike.  "This is Colonel Frank Peters,
   United States Army.  Identify yourself."

   The screen crackled again, but showed nothing more than
   gray fuzz.  "You have reached Nihility.  This station is
   under quarantine.  Turn back now."

   "Can't we get visual on this?"  McMurray glared at Weaver.

   "I'm trying, sir," the young navigator said as he moved
   slides and turned dials. 

   Skinner stared down.  He knew this equipment.  It was
   used by the Bureau in surveillance.  And he was never
   going to get any answers if he didn't gain a modicum of
   control of the situation.  "Let me have a look."  He
   motioned for the man in the seat before him to vacate,
   then took over the controls, fine-tuning the gain. 

   "Agent Mulder.  This is Assistant Director Skinner.  Please
   respond."  He was speaking to the snowing screen. 

   Skinner turned up the gain, but the fuzz only thinned out
   slightly.  "There's something wrong on the other end."

   "You have reached Nihility.  This station is under
   quarantine.  Turn back now."

   "It's a recording."  Skinner stared at the small screen
   before him, aware of all eyes in the room focused on his
   back.  The voice crackling over the speakers had brought
   a hush to the small cabin, and all were waiting for the
   AD to magically produce a picture they could focus on.

   "Agent Mulder."  He adjusted the volume.  "This is
   Walter Skinner.  We have received your recorded message
   but we need additional information.  We're trying to
   establish visual but there seems to be a problem on your
   end."  He paused, wondering if Mulder or the recording
   would respond.  The familiar feeling creeping over the
   back of his neck wasn't helping any. 

   "We're going to lose contact in a few minutes," Weaver
   whispered urgently over Skinner's shoulder, staring
   at the smaller screen now as if it would display something
   new.  In a few short minutes, the plane would enter an
   area of magnetic interference, and all communication would
   be impossible until they landed.

   "My name is Mulder."  A human voice this time, still heavy
   with static, but very urgent in its tone.  "Are you here for
   rescue?"

   "Rescue?"  Something inside Skinner broke at the sound
   of the voice.  So abandoned.  So alone.  So hopeless.  "Yes,"
   he said gently.  "I'm here to take you home, Agent."

   Through the speaker, they could hear the sound of
   someone swallowing, then a cracked and broken voice
   said, "I can't --"

   "Look!" That was McMurray, pointing out the obvious. 

   The screen before them filled with a brighter fuzz, then
   smoothed out to a clear picture.  First glance showed a
   room filled with banks of blinking lights and switches,
   exactly the same as any other prefabricated buildings
   used by so many organizations.  What made this one
   unique was the man standing in front of the screen.  It
   was a face Skinner was very familiar with.  A face he
   had begun to despair of over seeing again.  Though the
   man before them was not old, he had aged.  He was thin,
   frighteningly thin, and his face was lined.  He was
   unshaven, though not bearded, more the appearance of
   someone who only shaved when he had to -- or when he
   remembered.  His hair was long, and not all that clean,
   and Skinner felt something else in him crack at the
   broken appearance of this once proud, once arrogant
   young man.

   Skinner glanced at the men around him, then back to
   his screen.  Poor Mulder.  He was being bombarded by
   the image of a room full of curious strangers who
   themselves saw only one subject.  Mulder's eyes,
   normally bright and inquisitive, stared dully into the
   monitor, obviously having some trouble taking in
   what he was seeing.

   "Are you all right, Mulder?"  Peters had stepped forward,
   but Skinner waved him back, half-standing to keep him
   from wresting control of the microphone.  "Did you hear
   me, Mulder?" he asked again, still in a soothing, gentle
   tone.

   There were many kinds of fear a man could experience. 

   And just as many ways to express it.  But terror had only
   one look.  Behind those chameleon eyes, Skinner could
   see that look as clearly as the hand running through the
   long, shaggy hair. 

   "No."  The word was quietly breathed, directed below
   the screen, but the gain on each microphone picked it
   up clearly.  "You have to go back!"  His eyes widened as
   he looked up again.  "Can you turn back?"

   Skinner held up a hand again to silence the confusion
   spreading around the room.  "Mulder, we're landing. 
   Very soon."

   On the screen, Mulder shook his head again, searching
   the faces.  "You mustn't."

   Panic was bubbling up -- in the man on the ground and
   in the cockpit, though the military types hid it better. 
   Skinner could feel it in the room around him.

   "We're about to lose the signal," someone announced. 

   "All right, Mulder, just take it easy."  Skinner drew the
   younger man's attention and managed to get him focused
   on his eyes through the faces staring back at him.  The
   eyes that held terror inside changed slightly when they
   found his, but there was no spark of recognition.  Skinner
   attributed his calming affect to tone and command.  "We're
   going to lose contact any minute now.  I have the data on
   your situation.  There's nothing to be afraid of, trust me."

   Mulder's eyebrows knit together as he glanced down
   quickly, staring at something out of camera angle.  "You
   have the data?"

   "We retrieved it, yes."

   "All of it?!"

   Before anyone could reply, they lost all audio and visual
   contact with the station his agent had named Nihility.


   *************************************************** 


   "I have to apologize to you, Skinner.  I should have come
   here more prepared." Colonel Peters shook his head slowly
   as he gazed out the window onto the snow covered ground. 

   The plane had dropped below the cloud cover, and they would
   be landing soon.  "I didn't want you to come along.  I didn't
   think we needed outside help.  But you seem to be able to
   reach him when none of the rest of us can.  You have
   experience and a level head.  I just didn't realize you might
   be the only one among us who did."

   "You prepared as best you could with what you had, Colonel."
   Skinner was definitely revising his opinion of the mission
   head.  "No need to apologize for that."  Skinner shrugged,
   glancing at the others in the cabin room while speaking
   to Peters.

   "So."  Peters sighed, then looked at Skinner.  "What's your
   take on the situation?"

   "My biggest concern isn't what's waiting for us down there,
   but what we're bringing down to meet it."  Skinner turned
   from his people watching and met Peters' gaze as he
   spoke.  "There's more to this than you're telling me.  More
   than even you know, I'm willing to bet.  I bet that whatever
   briefing you received, whatever you know that I don't, you
   didn't know about the deaths."

   Peters shook his head, and Skinner went on.

   "So we didn't know what to expect once we got here,
   but we're here.  Humans adapt, it's what we do best." 

   He looked at the scientists and the doctor, huddled
   together around a laptop.  "We're only here for a week. 
   There's a man down there who's survived all this time,
   so whatever it is that we're facing, it isn't 100% fatal."

   "And that man should be able to tell us what happened."
   Peters' eyebrows arched as he glanced over at the AD.

   "He has to know something."

   Skinner shook his head slowly, looking over at Peters. 
   McMurray was still sitting quietly, taking things in,
   not commenting, glowering at anyone who looked his
   way.  "From what I can tell going over this data from
   the station, he just may be as much in the dark about
   what happened as we are."

   "How did you get the records?" McMurray exploded,
   coming out of his seat to stand menacingly over
   Skinner.  Peters stood quickly as well, one hand coming
   out to restrain the other man.

   "It doesn't matter, Brian.  We *have* to work together
   now.  The thrust of the mission has most probably changed,
   given this new information.  Perhaps from collection
   of existing data, to gathering the data for ourselves."

   There was an edge of bitterness to the Colonel's voice, and
   Skinner could empathize with a man who disliked being
   sent into situations, unprepared by his superiors. 

   "Sit down, Brian.  Let's see what the AD has for us."  He
   directed his attention back to Skinner.  "Explain."

   Peters shifted position, sitting next to Skinner, his
   eyebrows knitting together. 

   "Well, it took some research, but with some help, I think
   I've pieced some of the download together."  He indicated
   the printed sheets spread around the small table.  "There's a
   listing of station personnel, from a group assigned a little
   over two years ago.  Mulder was not with the original
   complement, but his name appears several months later.
   Shortly after he disappeared from the case in Albuquerque.

   "He was here before the first deaths?"

   "Yeah."

   "So, if your man has been here been since then, why is
   it he wouldn't know what happened?"  Peters asked,
   looking from McMurray to Skinner.

   "My friends were able to pull the station roster, and the
   entries on deaths."  Skinner shoved that piece of paper
   forward.  "Nothing on cause of death -- nothing specific
   anyway."

   "And?"

   Well, the data is heavily encrypted and very hard to put
   together, until this."  He shoved another sheet toward
   the Colonel. 

   "There were the first two clusters of deaths.  Then," Skinner
   leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.  "For reasons I
   can't explain, they stopped construction on the facility.  Stopped
   work on the various projects.  It's not exactly clear why, but
   I found a report of an attack inside the main research building."

   "An attack?  By whom?"  Peters was trying to scan the sheets,
   but there was too much information to absorb and not enough
   time. 

   "Are you saying someone inside the complex was doing this?"

   That was McMurray, a cold edge to his tone.

   "I don't know."  Skinner spoke to Peters, ignoring the
   light colonel.  "All I can find is a report of an attack,
   unspecified in nature, that resulted in seven deaths."

   "That doesn't explain why this guy wouldn't know."
   McMurray glared at Skinner, jaw clenching.  "This
   Mulder guy, you said he wouldn't know what happened."

"He might, he might not." Skinner rubbed tired eyes
with the fingers of one hand.  He felt weary, but he 
knew it wasn't from a lack of sleep. 

"There's a medical report, dated eighteen months ago ..." 
Skinner picked up the sheet and read aloud. 

"Subject: Fox William Mulder.  
Evaluation: Two weeks after final contact with experimental
subjects, memory of events still sporadic and inconsistent.  
Subject recalls name, but no other  personal information. 
Recollection of current events and other experiment details 
remains damaged.  
Diagnosis: Memory loss appears to be permanent
and compounded by physical and psychological trauma."

"Physical and psychological trauma?" 

Skinner passed over the sheets.  The details were 
committed to his memory.  "That's it, Colonel, that's 
all there is.  Like I said, the data is heavily encrypted 
in areas, making it impossible to decode." 

Peters shook his head and tossed the sheets onto the table, 
where he watched them slide quietly to a halt.  

"Which poses the question."  It was so obvious, Skinner was 
beginning to worry about having to mention it.  He looked 
at each one in turn, settling on Peters.  "If this mission
was designed to rescue Mulder, why is everything encrypted?
Who did the encryption?  And why did Mulder make the 
quarantine recording?" 

Peters nodded as if he'd already guessed the direction 
Skinner was going.  "It sounded to me like your man isn't
aware of any of this, encrypted or not.  And I don't know 
about the rest of you, but I saw fear in his eyes.

"No, I saw it too." Skinner sat back in his chair, gazing at 
the ceiling for a moment.  "Almost as if there was someone
in the room he was afraid of, but he was the only one there.  
He thought we were a rescue ship, so there's something down 
there he fears." 

"Wait.  Wait just a second here."  McMurray held up both hands, 
looking rather confused instead of hostile for a change.  "Are 
you two suggesting that there's a murderer down there?"  He 
shook his head vehemently.  "No, there's no way.  One man 
couldn't possibly knock off eleven  people in one night and 
not leave some clue, something.  Let alone get away with 
it again and then hide everything in the computer records.  
And if that's the case, it means the murderer, or murderers, 
are still there.  And the records indicate Mulder is alone, 
right?" 

"I didn't say I had all the answers," Skinner shook his head 
and held up a hand in defense.  "I'm just offering up 
another possibility."  He sighed.  "Hell, for I all know, 
man-eating monsters live in the ice." 

"Or that computer has been tampered with even more
than we suspect."  Peters shook his head. 

"Questions are something we're overflowing with," Skinner
interjected.  "It's answers that are in short supply.  And 
there's only one place we're going to find them." 

"I've got one more question for you."  McMurray looked 
around the cabin.  "What do we tell the rest of them?" 

It was the same everywhere.  Skinner was beginning to 
realize that, and he hated it.  When he first enlisted, he 
and his buddies would complain about being sent on 
missions without knowing why.  The brass almost never 
told the soldiers the story behind this or that raid or 
battle.  After enough promotions and medals, Skinner 
found himself in the position of knowing far more than 
he ever wanted, and withholding the full story from 
his men.  There were times when he craved that ignorance.  

"This is your mission, Colonel.  I'm just here to get my 
man, and get him out safely.  I won't interfere with 
whatever you're supposed to do, as long as it doesn't 
compromise my objective.  But I think, even though 
we're only here for a week, being up front can't hurt."

There was an odd look exchanged between Peters
and McMurray and Skinner had that disorienting 
feeling of having missed something important.  But
Peters was nodding, staring at the table to avoid
Skinner's eyes.

"Listen, Colonel, whatever did happen ... whatever Mulder 
faced, he's survived it for a year and a half.  We're only 
here for a week.  Your group is trained and ready."  He
gave a half nod at the young guards.  "Keep them informed.
Give them a chance.  We all ought to be able to hold it
together for a week." 

Peters laughed shortly.  "Yeah, well, a week or a year, I 
certainly hope so."  He stood, stretching slightly.  "We'd
all best get ready." 

"Pardon me, Colonel."  The intercom sparked to life.  "On
course for final approach, sir." 

"Affirmative.  On my way."  The colonel turned and vanished
into the cockpit.  

Skinner rose, ready to return to his seat in the rear,
once more amongst the civilians.  He paused when McMurray
cleared his throat and turned to look back at the man.

"If your man was responsible for what happened down there,
don't count on taking him home alive."

Skinner merely stared at the man, then turned and walked
slowly back to his seat.

'Oh, Mulder,' he thought sadly, 'all I want to do is take you
home.  Why doesn't that sound so simple anymore?'

********************************************

It was a nightmare.  Somewhere along the line, this vision
had gotten out of control.  It used to be something he longed 
for, even dreamed about.  One of those fantasies that you 
could replay in your mind, trying out new scenarios until 
you found one you enjoyed and revisited for comfort.  Only 
this time it was real, and it was out of his control.  They were 
coming.  People, and lots of them.  That longing for rescue, 
even human contact, had changed to fear of the unknown.  
They wouldn't be landing to take him away, and it was 
doubtful they'd be landing to secure his safety.  It was even 
more remote to dream these strange people would accept the
truth he had to present them.  

Such as it was.  

"So what the hell am I going to tell them?"  Mulder ran a 
hand through his long hair for the tenth time in the past 
five minutes.  He was fully aware his hands were shaking, 
but somehow the motion seemed to help.  And it helped to 
push away dark strands that kept curling down in front of 
his eyes.  The blip on his screen was getting larger as the 
plane headed for the ice outside, its motors warm and
humming with energy.

"Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth," the voice 
chanted in his mind.

"I don't know the truth!"  God, he was worried about his
sanity.  This piece of himself, split off to provide company,
it seems to be more real and more separate with each passing
day.   "What am I going to say when they ask?"  Mulder 
began to pace again in front of the screen, glancing at the 
display on each pass.  He needed to shut the machines
back down.  It wasn't safe to run them for this long.  The
remotes always triggered the generators.

"Explain you don't know.  Explain you can't remember.
Hell, you can explain about *me.*  That alone should
convince them you're nuts."  The voice was quiet, and 
Mulder clutched his head, fighting the familiar pain.  
"They pulled the data.  If they're who you think they 
are, they already know." 

"What does that mean?  If they're who you think they are?" 
Mulder's heart jumped in his chest.  He should be used to 
this -- the damned mind games he played with himself.  Like 
part of him knew the answers, but wouldn't tell.  But he 
wasn't.  Not this time, anyway.  And that one guy, the 
big one, the one with the compassionate eyes, he'd mentioned
having the data.  Surely he was able to figure it out?  It had
looked like he was trying to control the situation, as confused 
as it had been.  He'd said there was nothing to worry about, 
and something in his voice made Mulder want to believe he
was right.  

"You've got nothing to be afraid of."  The voice had changed.
No longer accusatory, it was soothing now.  Part of him
wondered what that meant.  "They're here to help you." 

Mulder shook his head as he paced.  "They'll want to know 
what happened." 

"And you'll tell them. It's all there in the medical files, as 
well as the station logs." 

"You don't remember either."  He stopped pacing and 
stared at the screen, willing himself back to sanity.  These
schizophrenic conversations had to stop if he was going 
to be with people again.  "*I* don't remember what
happened."  

"Your memory was affected by the accident." 

"Shut up," Mulder muttered under his breath.  "Just
shut up."
 
Why wasn't any of this like his dream?  He was supposed 
to be thrilled when the Rescue Team came.  Even the name 
was in capitals.  It always had been.  Two years of being
alone.  Two years without anything new to read, or a 
person to talk to.  Two years of not knowing who he was, 
what he'd done, why he was here.  Two years of dreaming 
about rescue, the companionship of other humans.  Two 
years,  waiting for this single moment when the plane 
would arrive and people would come to take him away.  
Dreams of no longer being alone were now churning in 
his stomach as the plane appeared in the sky above the 
mountains, then glided down slowly onto the ice.  

Mulder swallowed hard, then straightened up to his full 
height and walked toward the main door.  Panic washed 
over him the instant he stepped through the archway.  This 
time, it had nothing to do with what he was walking to 
meet.  

"I'll leave the doors open,"  he muttered under his breath. 
"I don't care about heat loss.  I'll leave the doors open." 
The plane was landing now, a hundred yards away from 
the main buildings. 

There was no reply.  Was that a good sign?  In an instant, 
too quick for him to hold onto, an image flashed through 
his mind.  An image of darkness, walls closing in all around, 
and gut wrenching fear.  

As quickly as the image appeared, it was gone.  Mulder had 
no time to try and get it back, but the impact left him 
breathless and cold.  And facing a plane that was opening,
a large sloping gangway already snaking down from the door 
on the upper level.  

"I'll leave the doors open."  Only the engines answered as
they powered down in front of him.  Good.  That was good.
Maybe these strangers knew more than he thought. 

Mulder swallowed again, wondering if any small part 
of his dream was going to work out.  There was little he 
could do about anything now.  The first of the new
arrivals was stepping through the door.  

It was the older man with the white hair, the one he 
remembered as being Colonel something-or-other.  
He paused at the door, then smiled down and began walking 
down the steep ramp.  Behind him was another man who was
glaring all around as he followed the first one down.  
Behind him came another man, different from the first two. 
Mulder suddenly recognized him as the man on the screen 
with the soft brown eyes, compassionate eyes that hid behind
wire-rim glasses.  The man who had told him everything 
was going to be OK.  What did he know?  

Still, as the three approached, Mulder felt drawn to him over 
the other two.  He had an air of control about him, an aura
self-awareness.  The other two faded as  Mulder stepped 
up to meet them.  He didn't have a clue as to what to say.  

"Mulder?"  The kind man, the strong man stepped up first, 
extending his glove-covered hand.  "This is Colonel Frank 
Peters and Lieutenant Colonel Brian McMurray.  

Mulder took the hand that was offered, praying his own 
wasn't shaking as much as he thought it was, and tried
to smile at the three arrivals.  His heart was racing so 
fast he could hear the blood rushing through his ears.  

"I'm Mulder." God, he couldn't think! He shook the 
first man's hand he gave him a puzzled glance. "I'm 
the only one here."  Were they going to believe him?  He 
started to pull his hand back, but the man held onto him,
meeting his eyes, and he felt slightly reassured.  There was 
something in his manner that spoke of calm control.  He 
must have seen right through the fear, since his hand held 
on firmly, giving Mulder the moment he needed to gain 
some composure.  The brown eyes met his with warmth and 
a kind sparkle.  

"We understand from the data the computer sent up that 
everyone else is dead."  The Colonel glanced around.  
"What happened?" 

Mulder looked at the man, then shook his head.  "I don't 
know."  His gaze fell instantly to the ground, but he 
recovered quickly.  "The data's in the system, but I
can't understand it." 

"You've seen the encrypted files, Agent Mulder?"  That 
was the big man, what was his name?  The one with the 
kind eyes.  His voice held something Mulder couldn't 
identify, but it was quiet and not accusing.  

"No, I don't -- I'm not sure."  This wasn't going well.  
His heart was racing again.  How much could he tell
these people?  How much should he tell them?  He 
looked up at the big man again.  "I'm not the Agent
of anything." 

The man shrugged, looking over his head at the 
barren landscape for a moment. The wind gusted, and
snow swirled between them.  "You're *my* agent," he
said, with a warning glance at one of the other men.   

Something was going on here, something Mulder didn't
understand.  The big man spoke warmly to him, but
there was an edge of warning in his tone, and an aura
of protectiveness that felt, somehow, right.  He nodded 
slightly and was about to reply when movement behind 
the group caught his eye.  He looked up and felt another 
surge of fear knot up his gut.  

"There's more of you?"

"Over fifty all together."  The colonel pointed to the 
group of people moving down the ramp." 

"I used to think you would come.  But then, it never happened, 
and I stopped believing." 

The big man moved forward, his hand coming out slowly
to gently rest on Mulder's shoulder.  "I'm so sorry, Mulder,"
he said softly.  "I didn't know where you were."  He sighed,
and Mulder instinctively moved closer to him when the other
man spoke.

"But we're here now, and I'm sorry but we're going to be 
invading your space while we get things organized."  There
was a covert glance at the man Mulder was standing
by, then the colonel went on.  "If you could just show 
us around?  Our people will  begin unloading their gear." 

Numbly, Mulder motioned toward the main building then 
led the group through the snow to the open doors.  They 
were invading his home, but a small voice inside was trying 
to convince him this had been the plan all along.  It wasn't 
really his home, after all.  It belonged to the others, the ones
who brought him, and had been planned as a temporary shelter. 
He didn't really have any rights to it.

Mulder felt the muscles in his jaw tighten and he looked away 
for a moment, glaring over his shoulder at one of the monitors 
in the wall.  When he looked back, the big man was watching 
him.  

"You must be Fox?"  A short man, with a friendly face, was 
speaking

"Mulder," he corrected without thinking.  Fox really was
his name -- why did he say that? 

"Well, Mulder, perhaps you could direct me to the Medical 
Unit?  I'm Aaron Scott, the doctor, and I'd like to give 
you a full examination."  He smiled, and lifted one eyebrow
in question.  "That is, if you don't mind?" 

Mind?  He wanted to run away.  Everything in his head was 
telling him to get the hell away from these strangers and 
crawl into one of the storage lockers.  But he couldn't.  
They were in his home.  And he'd waited all this time 
for them to come.  Nervously, Mulder shook his head.  
"No, I don't mind."  He was going to have to adapt to 
these people, and to do that he'd have to get to know them.  
At least, some of them.  He was perfectly willing to look 
on the bright side.  If only he could find it.  

Mulder couldn't help noticing the look the big man gave
the colonel as he allowed Doctor Scott to lead him out of 
the room.  He couldn't really interpret it, but there was 
something exchanged between the two men, and he got 
the feeling it wasn't about him.  Once through the first
hallway, he pointed toward the Medical area.  "It's right in 
there, but really, I'm fine." 

"I'm sure you are, young man.  But it's been a while since 
you've been examined by a doctor, hasn't it?"  When they 
entered the room the man's eyes darted immediately to the 
monitor in the far corner.  "We got your files, and I just 
wanted to check you out and have a talk, if you don't mind?" 

Was that the trick?  Separate him from the others while
they move in, leave him with this man so he can get him 
to reveal...reveal what?  "So you know about the accident?" 
What was he doing?  Scared to death, surrounded by 
strangers, and willingly he leans on the exam bench and 
starts talking?  

"I read the medical report, yes."  Doctor Scott smiled 
as he glanced around the room.  The man was staring 
around the room, looking for something, and he finally
found it.  The thermostat.  He reached out, turned it up,
then began to take his gloves off.  

Mulder thought his heart would stop.  "You -- wait, 
you can't -- you can't do that!"  Mulder had to fight to
keep from lunging across the room and flipping it back 
down.  Only the shock of what he'd done, and a small 
bit of resignation, kept him from it.  

"Mulder, it's all right."  His hands reached out for his 
shoulders, but he pulled back and Scott stopped in
front of him.  "I don't know what's been going on
here, but it's going to be fine." 

Fine?!  What the hell did he know from ... OK.  
Deep breath.  "You have to conserve the power."  He
had to understand that, right?  

"Mulder --" 

"You can't turn it up like that; it has to stay cool in 
the building."  Another deep breath still didn't stop his 
heart from racing.  

The doctor's eyes mirrored his confusion.  "It's OK.  
You don't have to worry about the power anymore.  We've
brought more generators, more batteries.  It's going to 
be all right, Mulder." 

He met his eyes and forced himself to relax.  This was 
too much all at one time.  It wouldn't do much good to 
prove himself a nut case in front of these people.  Not when 
they must already figure him for the bad guy.  "I'm sorry.  
I just -- I keep it cool.  It's better that way." 

"I understand."  The doctor pulled a stethoscope from a
bag he carried.  "What can you tell me about this accident?" 

Someone would be monitoring the building, right?  They said
they had the data.  He'd have to trust they knew what they were
talking about.  Besides, he'd be using all of his circuits
dealing with the doctor right now.  "Nothing.  I don't remember 
it." 

He held the stethoscope in front of his chest.  "Can you 
shed the parka, unbutton your shirt, please?"  The man was
smiling still.  "Nothing?" 

The light smattering of hair on Mulder's chest tingled as
the stethoscope slid over it.  "I remember waking up in 
here with a headache.  I read the files.  There had been
an accident." 

"There was no one else here who could help?"  Scott
motioned for the shirt to come all the way off, then 
moved around to listen to his back.  

"No, I was alone." His back had no hairs to tingle, but
the metal was surprisingly warm against his skin.  

"Was there anyone with you before the accident?"
Finished with his back, Scott put the steth down
and picked up a light, aiming at his eyes.  

"They were gone." 

"Who was gone?" 

"Everyone.  And the computer was damaged.  Some 
of the memory was erased."  The light shining in his eyes 
moved, then turned off.  "I couldn't read everything."

"Mulder, have you had any contact with anyone since
the accident?" 

They weren't buying it.  He knew the truth wasn't going 
to be believed.   "No, there isn't anyone.  They're all gone, 
all right?  They've been gone for years, and I don't know 
why or where!"  Quickly, Mulder pulled his shirt back on 
and pushed away from the exam table.  "I can't even remember 
what it was like when they were here!  And you -- you 
were just stories I made up -- people who would come and
take me home."  He was about to run out of the room when 
he realized there was nowhere to run to.  He was trapped, 
and not dealing with it very well, judging by the look on the 
Doctor's face.  Mulder took a deep breath and pushed some 
hair from his face.  "I'm sorry, Doctor.  I just -- " 

"No, don't apologize."  Scott held up a hand and smiled, 
almost sadly.  "And call me Aaron, OK?  Everyone who 
knows me calls me Aaron, not Doctor."  Slowly, he took a 
few steps toward him.  "And I assure you, Mulder, you'll 
get to know me.  You'll get to know all of us.  We're not 
planning on vanishing.  And we're not here to cause you 
any harm.  And we're not going to leave you." 

He supposed that was intended to make him feel better.  
"Yeah, well ... I'm sorry.  I can hardly remember the 
time right after the accident, and I can't remember 
anything before except little things."  Life is made 
of little things.  He'd heard that before, somewhere.  

"I realize this has to be hard for you, having been
alone for so long."  Aaron pointed toward a pair of
chairs near a desk in the far corner of the room.  "You
should never have been here alone like this."

Reluctantly, Mulder followed him to the chairs and 
sat down.  "Why did you come?" 

Aaron sat down with a sad sigh and turned toward the 
small table between them, folding his arms over the top 
so she could lean forward.  "It's a military venture.  I
got called up to come."  He sighed again and shook his 
head.  "All I know is, the station is closing down, and 
everyone, *everyone,* military, civilians, and your 
Bureau, want you out of here.  That's why Walter is 
here." 

Mulder nodded.  Walter.  That was the big man's name.

"So, what do you remember?" 

The tone was casual, but he couldn't help feel there was
more to it.  Why weren't they reading the files to find out
what happened?  The big man, Walter, said they had the
data.  Or were they, while they kept him in here? 

"It's not important."  Aaron smiled as if he sensed his 
uneasiness.  "That's not important right now.  There'll
be time for all that later."

"I have some food," Mulder offered, suddenly thinking 
these people might be hungry, but worried about his 
dwindling stores.

"That's all right.  We brought our own supplies.  After all,
we're the aliens here." 

Alien.  Mulder nearly laughed, hearing his world described
 like that, when it was these new arrivals who were alien 
to him.  Alien.  He turned the word around in his mind.
There was something there ...

"We'll take turns cooking, share the load."   Scott interrupted
his thoughts.

"And there's fifty of you?  Why so many?"  It was time to 
change the subject.  He hated it when he was talked to
like a child, when people were trying to get inside his 
head.  He had no choice but to let these people inside 
his world, but he be damned if he was going to let
them inside his head.  

"There's quite a bit of work to be done down here.
But don't worry, as soon as possible, we'll be out 
of here, on our way back to civilization."  He nodded 
around the small room.  "But for a bit, it might feel 
pretty crowded around here." 

Mulder nodded, then had to swallow to moisten a suddenly 
dry throat.  "I should move my things."  Not that he had 
much, but it was everything.  "To make room."  He stood, 
glancing around nervously.  

"Don't worry too much, Mulder."  Scott stood with him, 
reaching out a hand that stopped short of touching his arm.  
"We're all fully aware this is your home, I promise you 
that.  Anything you have in these buildings will remain 
yours, whether you want to move it or not." 

The man's smile seemed sincere, at least.  "Are you finished 
with me, then?" 

"Yes, certainly."  Aaron pulled back his hand, then nodded
a dismissal. 

As he turned to leave, the doctor stepped forward quickly. 
"Mulder, if you need anyone to talk to, if you need a friend 
while you get used to us being here, please feel free to come
to me." 

Mulder let a small movement of his head serve as an answer, 
leaving the doctor free to interpret its meaning as he left 
the exam room.  His heart had been racing the entire time, 
he was sure.  Whether Scott had been able to see right 
through him, he didn't know.  All he did know right now 
was confusion.  It was happening too fast, all around him.  
This dream that had become a nightmare was happening 
and he had no control over it.  His troubled thoughts took 
him down the hall, back into the meeting room of the main 
building, only it wasn't the same room he'd known for as
long as he could remember.  

When he had brought Aaron, the colonel, and the big
man -- Walter -- in here not long ago, it was as it had been
for as long as he could remember.  Large, mostly empty 
space, except for some built-in equipment lining the walls,
and monitored from one corner to the next by video cameras
that were never turned on.  The room he was in now 
resembled that one in size only.  Even size was deceptively 
lessened by the boxes, crates and stacks of equipment, tools, 
living supplies and computer terminals.  And people.  

They seemed to be everywhere, carrying boxes in from 
outside, examining the rooms of all the buildings that 
made up the complex, talking and pointing and adding more 
and more clutter to every corner there was.  And they all 
knew him.  Or at least, who he was.  Everywhere he went, 
people turned and nodded at him.  Some smiled, some 
whispered to their companions.  But they all knew who 
he was.  He couldn't get away from them.  

Mulder eased himself into the room where he'd been 
keeping the majority of his private things, checking first 
to see if anyone was inside.  It was empty of people, 
but boxes were strewn around the large room.  There 
were cots stacked against one wall, and his own bed had 
been pushed to the corner, with boxes piled on top.  

"Pardon me, coming through." 

Mulder nearly jumped out of his skin.  He'd been 
expecting -- hoping -- for a little privacy.  Instead, 
he found himself facing a short, Hispanic man in 
his late twenties, both arms full with more of the 
ubiquitous boxes as he squeezed through the door.  

"Oh, hey, you're the guy, aren't you?  Mulder, right?" 

Shaking himself out of his surprise, Mulder nodded.  
"Yes, I am." 

The boxes fell to the side with a clatter that was ignored 
by their depositor.  "I'm Hector."  The man extended a 
hand and smiled broadly.  "Hector Sanchez.  I'm the 
meteorologist, but they have us all doing grunt work right 
now." 

Mulder accepted the hand but he couldn't think of a word 
to say.  That, he quickly learned, would have been hard 
to do anyway.  

"Yeah, listen, I'm sorry about barging in like this and all, 
but we're kinda pressed for space right now.  You'd think
we could spread out, all this space and only you.  But the 
colonel wants everyone here, in the main building, and
within the rooms immediately circling the control room." 
He shrugged as if bewildered by the ways of military minds.
"But listen, none of your things have been moved."  Hector
 reached down and straightened up the boxes he dropped.  
"Well, moved, yeah.  But only to make more room, you
know?  I have boxes you can use, if you want to gather 
your stuff up so nobody touches it." 

"Boxes?"  Oh God, this wasn't happening!  A rush of panic 
washed over Mulder's face, then settled in his stomach.  His 
heart was racing again.  The air grew thick -- too thick.  He 
couldn't breathe!  "I need -- I --could you just --" 

"Hector, how about giving him something other than boxes, 
huh?" 

Mulder looked up, trying to focus through the strange wave 
of terror washing over his mind and body.  He found the 
big man standing in the hall.  

"Oh, right, sorry about that."  Hector turned back to Mulder.  
"I get a little caught up in the moment sometimes."  He 
shrugged and turned to leave.  "I'll leave you alone for a 
bit, OK?"  He moved toward the door, adding, "Hey, 
Skinner, you can bunk in here with me and Mulder
if you want."  

Mulder stared at the departing man's back, desperate to 
find something he could focus on long enough to get 
over this feeling before it took him over.  When his focal 
point rounded a corner, the only thing left to rest his 
gaze on was the big man -- Walter Skinner -- still standing 
in the doorway.  

"Hey, Mulder.  Hector's OK, really.  But he can talk 
you to death."  Skinner smiled apologetically.  "And 
don't get him started on weather."

"Yeah."  Numbly, Mulder nodded, looking away while
he tried to regain some sense.  He was alone now, except 
for Skinner who remained in the hall.  "I just -- I need to 
get this stuff out of the way."  He needed to hide, 
somewhere small and walled off, where they wouldn't find 
him.  

Skinner glanced around the room and shook his head slowly.  
"People can be pretty clueless sometimes.  But they don't do
it on purpose."   He looked over and caught Mulder's eye. 
"At least, not all the time." 

Swallowing hard, Mulder nodded.  "I guess I was a little 
spread out.  I'll just get some stuff together and --" 

"Listen, Mulder."  Skinner held out a hand but made no 
move to enter the room.  "This has been your home for 
some time now.  From what the records tell us, everything
you can remember is right here.  I guess, whether 
you want to be rescued or not, you're being invaded.  
But this is still your home.  You're not in anyone's 
way, and they can't muscle you out." 

Mulder turned and found an empty box, nodding back 
at Skinner.  He still couldn't think very straight, but he 
suddenly realized all of the boxes in the room were empty.  
Put there for his stuff to go into?  He cleared his throat and 
set a box on the bed.  "You talk about them like they're 
something you're not part of."  The man was still in the 
doorway.  As long as he stayed there, that claustrophobic
sensation wasn't returning.  And his voice was the only 
one so far that didn't have that tone.  The one that people 
used when they wanted to hide the meaning behind their 
words.  

"Technically, I'm not."  Skinner leaned on the door jamb
and shrugged.  "I'm just here for you."  He stared quietly
at Mulder, waiting patiently.

"But it's so far."  The box was filled too quickly, so he 
had to find another.  "Isn't it?"  As he reached for the 
second box, he caught Skinner's eyes.  Their dark 
brown was quiet, calming, and it was hard to draw 
away from the older man's gaze.  Fleetingly, Mulder 
wondered if he knew that.  

"Yeah, that it is." 

"So ... Why did you come?"  He stood there, feeling 
no return of the panic from earlier.  This guy was 
different from the rest of them, so far.  An air of 
control hovered around him, something Mulder was 
beginning to wish he could borrow, if only for
today.  

He shrugged.  "You're important to me.  I wanted to make 
sure nothing happened to you.  I wanted to make sure you
got home OK." 

"I used to think going home was a good thing."  Mulder 
turned back to his boxes and fought off the sensation
of hopelessness creeping over him.  Many more of these 
mood swings and he'd explode.  

"Look, Mulder, if you --" 

"Hey, Walter, Colonel's looking for you." 

Mulder looked up, dreading the return of the short man.  

"Right."  Skinner nodded, then glanced at Mulder before 
turning to Sanchez.  "Listen, Hector,  I want you to give 
Mulder here some time alone to get his things where he
wants them.  Go find another room to stuff your crap into, 
OK?" 

"Uh ...sure, Walter.  But I --" 

"No buts.  Give the guy a break, for Christ's sake." 

Mulder glanced away when Hector looked in, but he saw 
enough to catch a repentant look on the man's face as he 
nodded to Skinner before walking away.  When he was 
gone, Mulder looked up again.  "Thanks." 

Skinner looked at him for a moment before speaking.  
When he did, his voice was quiet, directed calmly into 
the room.  "Don't even try to take this all in right away, 
Mulder.  Things have a way of working out, if you give 
them enough time."  He smiled again, but didn't walk away 
until Mulder nodded in reply.  

"Yeah, we'll see," he whispered at the man's back as he 
left.  The room remained empty even though people 
were still walking by, so he closed the door and turned
back to the mess that had once been his own little space.  

It didn't take long to stuff everything he considered 
personal into the boxes left for his use, then carry it 
all down to a corner of the basement that hadn't been 
moved into.  The colonel may want them up here, up
close, but it was already getting way to warm for safety.
Every other room, corner, and storage bin had been 
occupied already, filled with equipment, supplies, boxes,
and people.  Below the main building was a basement of 
sorts, not very deep, used for storage and work space, 
spanning the entire length of the complex.  Mulder 
rarely went down there.  Living alone in such a large 
building had given him the freedom to gather that which 
he'd use most often and keep it as close as possible.  That 
way, he was free to lock doors and shrink the area he had 
to call home.  Now, all the doors and windows were 
unlocked, all the corners moved into, all the storage areas 
filling up.  But so far, while they had started to stack boxes 
and crates in the basement, Mulder was still able to find 
room in a far corner.  As far away from that the rest of them
as he could manage.  

It was mid-afternoon when he finished.  Each trip back 
upstairs revealed more and more activity, more and more
machines running and humming and generating heat to
add to the team's body heat.  Aaron caught his eye and 
smiled when he walked past, but he made no move to
join him and motioned for a few others to continue what 
they were doing.  He needed room!  Or time.  Or something.  
The only place he could find any peace, as temporary as it 
might be, turned out to be a familiar one.  

The storage building -- the one with only survival heat, 
no generators, no machines.  He'd spent long hours in 
it before -- it was his safe space.  He slipped inside, 
pulling the door shut behind him, then turned to stare 
through the small, triple-paned window.  From there 
the entire complex was visible, with its scurry of life 
dashing around like bugs.  To the plane, from the plane, 
arms full, snow churning up as people clomped heavily 
through its depths.  No one had seemed to notice 
him leave, or if they did, they were at least willing to
leave him alone for a few hours.  

He'd grabbed a container of water and a food packet for 
lunch, but they sat beside him untouched as his appetite 
failed to take interest.  A few minutes after he entered
the building, a new door on the bottom of the plane was 
opened.  Within an instant, people began to descend and 
carry out boxes and other things.   Soon, large vehicles
were being driven out and moved to the vehicles bay
at the far end of the complex.  From where he hid,
Mulder spotted Skinner walking in the snow, ignoring 
the commotion around him.  He shouted something to 
two men, who stepped up to the plane, then pointed 
toward the buildings.  One of the men nodded, and
Skinner moved away, giving the unloading process 
one glance over his shoulder before he walked to the 
complex.  That man might not be one of them, but 
they appeared to obey whatever it was he'd said.  
Mulder watched him walk to the corner of the building,
then lost him around the edge of the northern-most 
structure.  

The daylight shone unending, making the snow sparkle
in its light.  Mountains towered off in the horizons, and
there was a pristine cleanliness about everything.  It was
quiet, almost noiseless, the wind the only sound to be
heard in this peaceful place.  Soon the sun would set and
it would be dark, and the dark would last for days and days
and days, and there would never be enough light to chase
the darkness away.  

He hated this place.  

No sooner had he thought it, than his stomach clenched
and his gut twisted.  He hated this place and he wanted
out.  It looked like he was getting his wish.  So why
didn't he feel better about it?  

There was a tap on the window, and he jumped.  Mulder
hadn't seen Skinner come back out of the building, but 
now he stood there, patiently waiting to be offered entrance.
He held a bag in one hand, and his other hand he held a
thermos.  

Mulder unlatched the door, and motioned the older 
man in.  He entered, but kept his distance, not moving
too quickly or coming too close.

"I'll say one thing for this place, it's certainly cool."  He
smiled slightly, still remaining a polite distance away.

That helped.  When they weren't so close to him, he
could breathe.  

"I've -- It's got to stay cold."

Skinner shrugged.  "It's OK with me.  I brought my 
longjohns."  He took a drink, looked at the bottle in
his hand and shook his head.  "We're only here for a 
few days anyway."

"You're not one of them?"  So far, Mulder had felt no 
return of his panic from earlier.  Skinner was staying 
a few feet away, standing casually beside the door.  
His voice was calm, quieter than the others', and held 
none of that nervousness or hidden agenda feel.  

He shook his head, gazing out over the complex.  "No.
I'm FBI."  He turned back, gazing levelly at Mulder.   
"Like you. " 

"So you -- you're really not military, then?" 

"Nah, not me.  Well, before I was.  But not now."  
Skinner smiled slightly, cocking his head to one side as he
half-shrugged.  

"No."  Mulder looked up and met Skinner's eyes.  "You're
not what they are.  No more than I am."  Was that why 
he felt more comfortable around this man?  It could all be 
an elaborate trick to try to get some kind of information 
out of him.  If so, it wouldn't work.  He simply didn't have 
any.  

Skinner's eyes met his with an odd sort of understanding 
behind them.  "They're not all the same, Mulder.  Keep
that in mind when you're around them."  He smiled, 
stopping just short of a laugh.  

Mulder had expected questions, about the accident, 
about the station, but none came.  The man seemed 
content to stand there and watch all the people dashing 
around unpacking the plane.  He was just getting up the 
nerve to speak to him again when there was another tap
on the window.  It was one of the young guards.  That
was the only term Mulder could think of for the group
young men with the still, dead eyes. 

"Colonel wants you again, Sir." 

Skinner nodded, and turned back to Mulder.  "Duty calls."
He finished his drink and set the cap back on the thermos.  
"You take it easy, all right?  I'll see you later." 

He couldn't answer with more than a nod, couldn't make 
his mouth form anything coherent through the sudden 
sense of uneasiness that washed over him.  Skinner was 
walking back to the other building, making comments to 
a few people who were securing the doors on the lower 
level of the plane.  

Mulder glanced around the complex, wondering if he could
make it over to the other building, inside and down to 
the basement without anyone stopping him.  His heart 
felt five times heavier than it should, and was thudding 
in his chest in slow motion.  How long had it been?  How 
many hours had it taken for his peaceful, dead-quiet home 
to turn into this chaotic mass of strangers?  Just that 
morning his had been the only human footprints in the 
loose snow.  Just yesterday, he'd been working on the
door locks, without a thought of what might be coming. 
And now ... now he was going home. 

Wherever home was.  

There didn't appear to be a clear way inside, so Mulder 
remained where he was, watching the unloading proceed.
For people who were only going to stay a week, they sure
seemed to have a lot of stuff to unpack.  He looked for 
Skinner again, but couldn't make him out in the mass of 
parka-covered bodies that moved back and forth from
plane to building.  There was something about Walter 
Skinner that suggested he understood what Mulder was
feeling, how hard it was going to be for him to adjust to 
this sudden change.  Silently, he prayed he was right, 
that there was at least one person here who wasn't going 
to want something from him.  Who wasn't going to want
answers he couldn't give.  

**********************************************

"Mulder, there you are."  Katherine tugged open the door,
slightly out of breath from the walk through the snow.  "I 
was hoping you could show me a few things about some 
of the records I've found.  Perhaps help me with your filing
system?" 

Maybe if he answered other things, they'd forget the rest?  
He doubted that.  

"Yeah."  His seclusion invaded, Mulder unfolded his legs 
and got up off his spot on the floor of the storage building.
Maybe Skinner was right about not judging all of these people
alike?  This was, after all, the companionship he'd longed 
for all this time.  Being invaded so suddenly was a shock 
he'd have to get over, then maybe it would work out after all?
Maybe he could go home, and he would find a place where
he belonged.  

Mulder followed Katherine back to the main building, then
down to one of the labs.  He needed to get a printout from 
the computer, which was made more complicated than usual
because now that they were using all the power, his usual 
shortcuts didn't work.  Someone said the colonel and 
lieutenant colonel were working on the system, and 
didn't want it sharing resources, but Mulder wasn't 
convinced.  The fear of what was happening with all 
these machines running had to be pushed aside before 
it could consume him.  They couldn't be so foolish 
as to run them all the time.  And they wouldn't be
so crazy as to use the generators.  After all, they 
said they had the data.  

Once he produced the right printouts, Katherine 
was thrilled.  His readout had been compiled from 
the original records of the others, then amended 
every time something new was learned.  He'd puttered 
with the research during his time here; it was something 
to do to keep from going insane.

'As if anything could keep you sane,' the voice chimed.

"Shut up," he muttered, earning a strange look from the 
biologist.   She was happy just pouring over the data and 
asking him questions about this or that, some of which he
could answer, but most of which he could not.   Not once 
did she ask him who compiled the records, or where they 
were now.  The atmosphere of the room was so highly 
concentrated on one subject, Mulder found it easier to 
tolerate being in a room with someone else.  Maybe Walter 
Skinner was right?  

He heard the activity in other parts of the building, and 
once Skinner came into the lab to see what they were doing.  
Katherine -- well, everyone really -- seemed comfortable 
around him, treating him with the respect of an equal.  
Members of the groups milling around the complex were 
slowly beginning to fall into place as Mulder watched and 
listened.  So far, the only ones he judged to have complete 
authority were the colonel, the doctor, and Skinner.  The 
lieutenant colonel had some authority, mostly over the young
guards.  The scientists seemed to follow Katherine.  But 
everyone listened to Walter.  He had no experience with 
this, none he could remember.  With over fifty of them,
he figured it would take weeks to get their pecking order 
figured out.  Far longer than they would be here, 
according to Skinner.  And it would take even longer, 
he was sure, to figure out where he belonged.  

Right now, he belonged downstairs.  Someone had come 
inside asking about the light, and how long the sun would
be up,  and that was the last thing Mulder remembered 
clearly.  He must have made it down without anyone 
noticing, since he was now surrounded by boxes and 
crates in the basement, with no one else around.  The 
boxes formed an impromptu wall, creating the illusion
of privacy in the far corner.  He dug through one of his 
boxes, pulled out several tattered old blankets, wrapped
them around himself, then sat and gave himself up to 
thought.


**********************
Iced 02/15

"They've turned everything on."  It was the voice,
ringing in his ears, and his head began to pound. 

A strange, cold, almost white-out sensation froze 
the entire world in place.  Mulder had no real idea
how long he sat there, trying to catch his breath.  

"Everything?" 

Oh God, oh God, the -- how could -- what was he going to do?  

"The doors?"  His voice was no louder than a whisper, 
forced out through the lightheadedness.  

"There's nothing to worry about, you're secure." 

"But --"  He had to stop this.  He had to stop this talking 
to himself as if he were someone else.  He had to work
on reintegrating.  But right now, he was too busy panicking
to think about it.

"There's nothing to worry about, trust me.  The doors are 
secure." 

There was no way to know that, not without going out
among them and checking.  And he didn't have the
strength to face that now.  

He sorted through his things, the items he had claimed as 
personal, and produced a laptop.

"If they've turned everything on, then I can use this." 

Hooking into the connection to the station system,
he played with the machine until the screen flickered 
to life with images of various rooms throughout the 
building.  He could access the cameras through the device,
and after a few tries, the screen settled in on one room.  

Mulder watched the screen focus, displaying one of the 
conference rooms beside the main dining hall.  Inside the 
room were three people, all seated around the table, cups 
of steaming liquid in front of each.  "Audio," he mumbled
as he worked the machine's buttons. 

He watched the colonel and his second-in-command 
enter the room and join the other three with nods and 
smiles.  Around the table sat Skinner, with Aaron on 
his right, and Katherine next to him. 

"Audio, audio ..." 

"... a list of the experiments that were run, which I'm 
making copies of now."  Katherine's voice suddenly 
kicked in over the small unit's speaker.  "He's been 
extremely helpful, in my opinion." 

Mulder leaned forward, perched on a pile of bedding tucked 
close into the far corner of his hideaway.  

"Did you get anything out of him during your exam?"  Colonel
Peters pulled a chair out and joined those seated at the table.  

"Technically, no.  But I think I have an idea on how to get 
past his memory loss." 

The hairs on the back of Mulder's neck stood up as he
listened.  

"Is it physical, or psychological?"  Skinner leaned forward, 
resting his elbows on the table.  He appeared to be rolling 
his cup back and forth in both hands, savoring the smell of 
whatever was inside.  From the camera angle, it looked like 
coffee.  

"There's no denying he was injured."  Aaron reached up and 
pointed to his own forehead.  "He has a scar, quite deep, that 
hides up under the hairline.  And the medical records you 
managed to decipher are clear about the severity of the trauma." 

"But?"  The colonel sat down beside him, glancing around the 
room.  

"But, I'm also positive a good deal of what he can't recall 
is due to repression.  Possibly psychosomatic, some kind 
of emotional trauma." 

"I, for one, would like to know what could have happened 
out here to cause a man to forget where forty people went." 
McMurray spoke, standing behind Peters, arms crossed 
rigidly over his chest. 

Oh, God.  What were they going to do?  

"Just what are you proposing?"  Skinner asked, looking at 
the doctor.  

"Well, it's worked several times in the past.  I've never done 
it myself, but I've assisted with some of the procedures."  
He sat back, folding his arms in front of him.  "Regression 
therapy can bring out anything he can't recall, but there's 
a new treatment that has proven successful in revealing 
those memories repressed due to emotional or physical 
trauma.  They've even managed to --" 

"No." 

"Wait a second, how far back can this go?"  Peters' question 
overshadowed the objection raised by Skinner.  

What -- what were they doing? And how was he going to 
get away?  There was nowhere to go, nowhere he could -- 

"We can bring up anything relevant to the reason or cause
of his suppression.  Even have him recall things he wasn't 
consciously aware he'd known.  Things hidden by emotional 
upset or turmoil." 

"No."  Skinner objected again, only this time loud 
enough to get their attention.  

"Yes, I'm sure it will work."  Aaron unfolded his arms and 
glanced at the colonel.  

Skinner was shaking his head.  "I've seen this done and
I've seen the results." 

"Now, Walter, I'm sure you --" 

"No, Aaron.  No offense to you, but I've seen some of 
your colleagues' work."  He stood and walked to the end 
of the small room, then turned back to face the group.  Mulder 
couldn't help notice the way his jaw was clenching when he 
turned around.  "The human mind can take a lot of punishment, 
but sometimes it has to shut down to stay alive.  Am I right, 
doctor?" 

"Yes, of course.  That's the whole concept behind traumatic 
repression.  The patient has either seen or done something 
that is simply too painful to accept, so the mind pushes it 
away, hides it from the conscious, until it's able to deal with 
what occurred." 

"But sometimes it never deals with it.  Sometimes these 
people never remember what happened."  Colonel Peters 
looked from Aaron to Skinner.  

"That's my point."  Skinner held up a hand while he spoke.  
"I've seen good men, damn good men, completely ruined by 
this kind of therapy.  Men who had successfully managed to 
suppress or forget whatever the hell they saw and get on with 
their lives.  Until some doctor comes along and decides
it's best for everyone if these memories are forced out 
before the patient is ready." 

"Sometimes they're never ready," Katherine interjected.  

"Exactly."  Skinner nodded once, lowering his hand.  
"Sometimes they're never ready." 

"What happens then?"  The colonel turned to Aaron.  

The blood rushing through Mulder's ears was like thunder.  

"There are documented cases of patients going insane 
when the memories are forced back too soon.  Or worse." 

"I've seen the worse."  Skinner remained in the far corner 
of the room, jaw still clenching.  "I've seen more than one 
man take his own life after being forced to confront 
memories he'd successfully shielded himself from." 

"Yes, that is a possibility.  If we go with this option, 
it's --" 

"It's not an option.  You doctors always want to mess 
with something that's being dealt with naturally." 

"Skinner, making someone remember a trauma can be
a beneficial --" 

"That's bull and you know it! You're talking about 
taking something that this man has successfully found 
a way to deal with, and forcing it back on him." 

"I don't consider repression a successful way of dealing 
with something, do you?" 

"If it leaves the victim alive and dealing with it his own 
way, yes." 

"But we need answers!"  McMurray turned to the colonel. 
"That man knows what happened down here." 

He wanted to swallow, to moisten the sandpaper that 
lined his throat, but he had no spit.  And his hands 
were shaking too much to push the hair from his eyes.  

"So you're willing to sacrifice Mulder for a few answers?" 

"Skinner, what the hell do you care?" 

"I care," the AD said bluntly.  "He's mine and  I 
won't allow it." 

"This is a military matter, Skinner," McMurray snarled.

"This is a human matter, McMurray.  He's no more military 
than I am.  He didn't ask you to come any more than he asked 
to be brought here two years ago." 

"Gentlemen, please!"  The colonel tried to raise his voice 
over the argument.  "Brian, Skinner's right.  Mulder is not 
the enemy here.  In fact, Amanda and I think we found 
something in those computer files.  It took some digging, 
but we --" 

Both the screen and audio went blank, leaving Mulder 
alone and dizzy, with his head pounding in the cold, 
dark basement of what used to be his home.  The only 
home he could remember.  

God, what am I going to do?  How long could he stay 
here, if they were already discussing ways to force him 
to remember a past he couldn't even dream about?  Can 
they do that?  Can they force me to remember? 

He stared at the small computer in his hand, still 
feeling a little whitewashed and cold.  Outnumbered,
there was little he could do if it did come to that.  
Only Skinner had stood up to them, but how long 
would that last?  If he really wasn't one of them, how
long would his influence hold any weight?  

Without thought, Mulder shut the computer off 
and tossed it aside.  He felt so dizzy, even sitting 
down he feared he might pass out.  There was nowhere
 to hide, nowhere to move to, and he had no answers
to give these people.  They were the authority now by
sheer weight of numbers and they'd do whatever they 
wanted to do.  Nothing could stop them.  Not 
like -- like -- Another image flashed through his mind,
again too quickly to be understood, but this time not 
of darkness and walls closing in -- this time it was 
doors.  Large doors, slamming shut, closing off the 
screams.  

"Dammit!"  Mulder shoved up off his bed, fists clenched
and eyes closed tightly, trying to find that image again.  
This wasn't happening! He'd never had flashes like this 
before, never felt this kind of fear before.  Not since -- 
since -- since when?  

Something moved at the far end of the room, sliding 
over the floor.  Voices suddenly interrupted Mulder's 
thoughts, reaching him from the doorway.  

"Yeah, sorry, Skinner.  I'm pretty sure it's down in 
there somewhere.  You need help looking?" 

"No, thanks, Hector.  I can handle it." 

Mulder sat up quickly and took several deep breaths, 
hoping some blood would eventually find its way back
to his head.  The door closed again, but one man had 
come inside, moving around the crates near the far 
wall.  In a matter of minutes, he was spotted.  

"Hey, Mulder." Skinner approached his corner, 
smiling slightly.  He stopped several feet away from 
where Mulder sat leaning into the corner on a pile 
of bedding.  "Is this where they chased you off
to?" 

Mulder shrugged, swallowing to moisten his dry throat. 
"Seemed as good a place as any right now."  He nodded 
around the room.  "Are you looking for something?"  He 
wanted to ask about the meeting he'd seen, but he couldn't 
admit to having spied.  Not until he knew if this man was
really on his side or not.  Maybe not even then.  

"Yeah, I brought a bag for you.  Just some clothing and 
stuff.  I don't know what Hector thought it was.  He 
unpacked it from the plane by accident."  He looked 
around the room, taking in the huge amount of equipment 
piled all around him.  He shook his head and sighed.  
"If you don't mind, I think I'll give up for the night, 
though." 

"Are they all in here, now?"  It felt like there were 
five hundred people massing in the buildings,
not fifty.  

"Don't worry, that was the last of them a couple of 
hours ago."  Skinner moved around the area, looking 
at the crates and equipment surrounding them.  There
was even a partially-assembled SnowCat, left from 
the previous occupants.  "I'm a little sick of the 
crowds myself." 

Mulder watched him, afraid to look away.  Not out of 
a lack of trust, surprisingly, but he feared if he looked 
away the flashes would come back.  "It won't be this 
crowded for long."  His own words took him aback 
and brought a quizzical look from Skinner.  

"No, they'll complete the closure on the station and we'll
be gone in a week."  He glanced back toward the door, 
then turned to Mulder.  "You mind if I bunk down 
here tonight?  They've got me stuffed into a room 
with some of that garrison detail."  He gave an 
exaggerated shudder.  "Those guys make me nervous."
   
Mulder swallowed hard, but managed to shake his head.  
"No, I don't mind."  He had no illusions of sleeping tonight 
anyway, not with those people upstairs waiting for the 
chance to force his memories back.  If he had one ally in 
this confused world, it felt good to know he might be 
willing to stay close.  And if the only man he could trust 
did turn out to be Walter Skinner, well, at least he was a 
trained fighter, still commanding the authority he needed
to make people stand up and listen when he argued.  Even if
all that did was give Mulder time to run, it might be worth it.  

Skinner made a nest of sorts out of the bedding materials 
on the opposite side of a large crate, giving Mulder complete 
visual privacy in his corner.  There was no way he was going 
to fall asleep, but he did get more comfortable on his own 
mattress, moving the computer completely off the blanket 
and pushing his legs under it.  It was warm in the basement, 
too warm, and the thought made him shiver.  

Within minutes of getting the overhead lights off, he could 
hear quiet breathing coming from around the crate.  "What, 
what am I going to do?"  Mulder's whisper went unanswered 
by the voice in his head, and he was almost glad.  His only 
'companion' for as long as he could remember, that separate
part of himself had been his sole source for mental 
stimulation, instruction, help, and all too often, suspicion 
and fear.  Now he had other things to be afraid of, other 
things to suspect.  But no one to talk to about them.  

Though Skinner might be willing.  It was amazing how
the man seemed to show up when he was feeling the most
confused, the most threatened.  And how his simple presence
helped quell the confusion and calm the fears.  And he
appreciated that Skinner kept his distance.  He wasn't
sure why, but having these people touch him -- having
*anyone* touch him -- made his skin crawl and his gut
twist.  

The only way he could calm his troubled thoughts now was 
to find a focus.  And down there in the basement, the only 
thing he could find to focus on was the totally alien sound
of another person breathing.  So mesmerized by it, Mulder 
didn't notice when his eyes slid shut and he drifted into
an restless slumber.

*********************************************  

"Good morning."  Skinner was standing a few yards away, 
tucking a shirt into the waist of his khaki pants.  

Mulder sat up quickly, shocked that he'd been asleep. 
"Good morning."  He couldn't have slept very long, 
judging by the pounding of his head.  "Did you find the ..." 
What was it again?  

"The bag.  Yes, I did."  He nodded to a brown canvas
duffel on the floor near his feet.  "Listen, it's pretty 
chaotic up there today.  Everyone's getting settled, 
rushing around."  He ran a hand over his head, polishing
his bald pate, then picked up a shoe.  "I need to see what
the job assignments are.  This whole place has to be 
packed up and then the buildings themselves are to be
dismantled." 

Mulder nodded, climbing out of his impromptu bed.  
He'd figured this respite would be short; now he
was on his own against the ones who wanted to make 
him remember.  At least he had some warning,
now.  

"Part of my agreement in order to get to come along 
on this little venture, was that I would assist in the 
take-down.  I could use a hand, unless you have 
something you need to do." 

"What?"  The hand pushing long hair from his face 
stopped as he tried to understand what Skinner had 
just said.  

Skinner shrugged.  "OK, that's not entirely the truth.  
I can do my part myself, but to be honest, I could
use the company." 

Mulder weighed the options quickly in his mind while 
he looked for a clean shirt in the brown bag.  Nothing 
looked familiar, and everything seemed to be a bit big, 
but he *was* thin, and these *were* his clothes.  A link to
his past that wasn't threatening.  

So -- he could stay here, in the main building, and take 
his chances around people he now knew wanted to know 
the truth no matter what?  Or stay close to the only man 
so far who'd made any attempt to protect him?  

"Yeah, OK." 

Skinner smiled.  "Great.  They've got the kitchen going 
full force upstairs.  Let's grab some breakfast and get 
our assignment." 

The big man paused, then took several steps forward and
approached.  He watched Mulder closely for signs of panic,
then slowly reached out one hand, letting it come to rest on
his shoulder.  Mulder was amazed that this touch didn't
stir the feelings of blind panic and anxiety that others had.

"You don't remember me, Mulder, but I *know* you."  
The hand squeezed gently, and it was comforting, reassuring.
"I'm going to get you out of here and it's all going to be
all right."

Mulder swallowed hard, blinking back a sudden moisture
in his eyes, then turned and ducked into the small bathroom
in the far corner.  He'd deliberately chosen this corner of the
basement for this reason and he was glad now, as it gave him
an excuse to get away from this man whose kindness and
compassion threatened to undo him.

Once he had gathered his topsy-turvy emotions once more,
Mulder followed Skinner back upstairs, and into chaos.  There 
were people everywhere, some hurrying around with equipment 
in both arms, others walking slowly, studying stacks of printed 
sheets.  By the time they made their way slowly through the main 
building to the east wing where the kitchen and mess hall were, 
Mulder was sweating.  He'd never known claustrophobia before, 
not that he could remember, but when they rounded the corner 
and found the mess hall teeming with people, he'd had all he 
could stand.  

"I can't."  He stopped at the doorway, unable and unwilling to 
step into the room.  God, Skinner was going to think he was 
a child or something, but he couldn't go in there! "I just -- I --" 

Skinner turned and met his eyes.  "Do you want coffee?" 

Numbly, Mulder nodded.  The noise of so many conversations 
was deafening.  

"Go out the side door and meet me at that other building, 
all right?" 

He nodded again and didn't wait for another word before 
ducking through the side corridor and out.  Cold air hit his 
face like a slap, and he realized it was the heat, the heat in the
other building that was adding to his stress.  It was way too
hot.  They had to know that.  His heart didn't stop pounding 
until he was halfway to the other building.  He slowed and
looked around.  The cold air, the biting wind, and the still
bright sun made him feel safe for a change.  But still, there 
were people everywhere.  Parka-clad, heavy pants and boots,
they moved through the snowy areas between buildings and
the plane, talking, rushing, shouting, laughing.  

He reached the storage building and stopped at the door,
breathing deeply to try to steady his heart.  "Mulder, just 
get a grip!" 

"That's good advice."  Skinner was a few yards behind him, 
boots crunching the frozen snow as he approached.  "But
you'll have to give it time." 

"It wasn't supposed to be like this."  Mulder leaned against 
the door, using the hood of the parka to shield him from the 
sun so he could see Skinner approaching.  

Skinner only nodded as he came up beside him, then 
offered one of the cups of steaming coffee.  He carried
a small thermal bag, which Mulder assumed contained
their breakfast.  The coffee was cooling rapidly, so Mulder
opened the door and ducked in, followed by Skinner.

Bolstered by his silence, Mulder took a deep breath, 
feeling his heart rate finally settling back to a normal 
rhythm.  He didn't feel nervous around Skinner, though 
he wasn't sure why.  "I used to dream about this, about 
people coming."  He looked at the floor and shook his head.  
"But it was never like this." 

"Dreams rarely are." 

Mulder sighed quietly, fingering the edge of his cup.  "I 
should be happy to have people here again.  Being alone 
for so long.  But this ..."  He shook his head and took a 
drink.  "It's like I don't know people.  No, that's not right.
It's like I don't know how to be with people.  Like I've 
never been around people before.  I just ... "  Maybe 
Skinner didn't understand.  Maybe no one would.  

"It's a lot to ask of yourself, Mulder."  Skinner's voice was 
quiet.  "We still don't know what happened to you.  You've 
had some serious trauma, serious shock.  But you've survived.
You've had this place to yourself for two years, and you've 
made it safe, and even if you dreamed about having people 
around, it's never the same as having them." 

Mulder looked up, meeting Skinner's warm, brown eyes in 
the pale glow of a single light.  

"People are a strange lot."  Skinner sat back, leaning against 
the wall.  "Individually, they're OK.  You can get to know 
them, maybe predict what they might do or say.  But people, 
they're a whole other animal.  With people you get groups, 
cliques, sometimes even mobs."  He shook his head and 
gazed out over the complex beside them.  "The only way to 
deal with people is one at a time." 

The next twenty minutes were the calmest Mulder had known
in the past day and a half.  They spoke of nothing but the 
different kinds of food the team had brought -- things Mulder
remembered, but didn't.  Oranges were familiar, but he couldn't
remember seeing one before, and laughed when Skinner showed
him how to peel and eat one. 

They had just finished with their breakfast when a buzz 
emanated from one of the pockets in the leg of Skinner's
pants.  He reached down and retrieved a small, local use only,
portable phone, flipping it open as he pulled it out.  

"Skinner.  Yes, Peters, I know I'm on the take-down crew."
He listened a moment longer, then rolled his eyes at Mulder.

Mulder stacked their cups together and picked up the 
thermal bag, now empty of all but various rinds and 
crusts.  He didn't want to hear what the man who had 
just interrupted his good mood had to say, but he couldn't
really avoid it.  The sound from the phone carried in 
the quiet room.

"Have you seen Mulder, Walter?" 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.  Why?"  Skinner 
glanced at him, then looked back down at his feet.  

"We need to discuss what to do with him." 

Mulder's blood ran cold and he could feel himself
begin to sweat again.  

"What do you mean, 'what to do with him?'" 

"Now, I didn't mean that to sound cold, but you understand 
what I mean.  We'll need to assign him to a group, or 
give him a job, or something.  It's for his own safety as 
well as for the rest of us.  If we all have a place, we can 
can keep track of one another." 

Mulder felt his jaw muscles tighten.  He'd never been one
to clench his jaw before, and it was beginning to get sore.  
Keep track?  It sounded more like being corralled to him.  

"He's got a place, Peters." 

"Skinner, I'm --" 

"He's my agent; he can work with me."

"Work with you?"

"It's only for a fucking week, Peters.  Leave the man alone.  
I'll partner with him."  Skinner cast a glance at Mulder.  
"That is, if he decides to accept the offer.  I'll let you know 
when he makes up his mind." 

Skinner's words were echoing around in his head.  
Partner?  Did he say he needed a partner?  

"Skinner, did you say your partner?  That might not be 
a bad idea." 

The voice from the phone was thoughtful, as if considering 
the same words Mulder was trying to comprehend.  If he 
said no, what would they do with him?  Didn't he have any
say in the matter?  No, of course not.  These were the same 
people who wanted to force his memories back, regardless of
the cost.  

"Yes.  If he accepts."  Skinner looked up from the floor, 
eyebrows arched slightly.  "We used to work together all
the time.  I imagine we can do it again for a week." 

God, couldn't someone stop the ground from spinning?  It 
was too much, too fast.  The only thing he felt certain about 
was the danger he was in with these people.  Danger that 
might be lessened if he stayed on this man's side.  Out of 
everyone he'd met so far, Skinner was the only one yet he
wasn't terrified to be alone with.  

Unable to find his voice, he nodded.  

"I just got my answer, Peters.  Mulder is with me." Without 
waiting for a reply, he flipped the phone shut and put it
back into his pocket.  "Well, partner, what do you say we 
go get our assignment?" 

***************************************

"Did you mean that?"  Mulder looked up after securing himself in
his parka.  "About wanting a partner?" 

"Every word of it."  Skinner flipped the door-lock and secured 
it against the wind,  then glanced back at the younger man.  His 
face was the picture of conflict, trying hard not to show his 
feelings, but failing.

"I know you don't understand, but I had to fight some pretty
big bureaucratic bullshit to get on this mission."  He set out
for the main building, fighting the wind as he moved.   One 
hand reached back and grabbed Mulder's sleeve, pulling him 
up to walk beside him.   Mulder was watching the ground in 
front of him, but Skinner could tell he wasn't seeing anything.  
His eyes were unfocused, trying to comprehend a million new
things at once.  "In order to be here, I had to agree to follow
Peters' lead.   If he wants you assigned somewhere, I can't 
really buck him on that.   I figured having you as a partner 
would be the easiest way to do it.  Unless you have any 
objections." 

Mulder looked up quickly and shook his head.  "No.  No,
 I just -- I don't want you to do this because of them."
He face turned dark for a moment, and he added, "I can
take care of myself, you know." 

"Don't worry, Mulder."  Skinner pulled the younger man
closer to him, leaning in so his words wouldn't be stolen
by the wind.   "And I know you can take care of yourself.
You always could.   I just want to make sure nothing happens
that would interfere with you taking care of yourself." 

They reached the main building, again full of people moving
back and forth, carrying boxes and equipment as they hustled
to their assigned areas.   Shutting down the auto-experiments, 
closing down the continuing research, dismantling and 
packing the equipment would take everyone's effort for
the duration of their time here.

He kept a hand on Mulder arm, watching as the younger man
took in all the chaos quietly, and Skinner could see his attitude 
was one of ease, maybe even growing confidence.   He'd been 
through a whirlwind of changes overnight and so far had
come out pretty well, all things considered.  Couple that 
with what Skinner knew could only have been a few hours 
of uneasy sleep last night, and he wasn't surprised breakfast 
with all those strangers had been too difficult a challenge.  

But how his own view of things had changed so quickly, he
was still trying to understand.  Experience had taught him 
to not only expect the unexpected, but deal with it.  And 
deal with it he was.  But he hadn't counted on this needy 
Fox Mulder.  Skinner had never been one to take in strays, 
but if anyone ever needed a protector, Mulder qualified.  
He was obviously capable of surviving alone.  Even if he 
couldn't recall more than the last two years of his life, 
he'd been able to keep himself alive, keep the equipment 
in the complex functioning, maintain most of his sanity, 
and still relate to people when they finally came for him.
There was no telling at this point what the man had been 
through, but that scar on his forehead seemed to indicate
it hadn't been pretty.  And there were the claw marks on
his thigh, the ones the doctor had noticed, but not mentioned
because Mulder had seemed so uncomfortable.  Still, he 
was no match for a large group of uneasy people looking 
for answers.  It wasn't simply Skinner's sense of justice 
that compelled him to step in, but what exactly it was, he 
hadn't figured out yet.  

They reached McMurray, and he glared up at them.  "The
colonel says you two are to work in the storage building.
Alone."

Skinner nodded and reached out to accept the list of
printed instructions being thrust at him.

"Pack everything carefully,"  McMurray added.  "This is
delicate equipment."  

Skinner scowled back at the man, and Mulder was pleased
to see it seemed to affect the light colonel, as he drew back
then dropped his head.  The older man's hand on his arm 
was comforting.  As long as Skinner was touching him, he
seemed to be able to fight off the anxiety attacks and 
feelings of panic that kept threatening to boil over.

They went to the basement, grabbed empty boxes and
packing material and stacked it all by the stairs.  Then
they made several trips back and forth from the main
building to the storage building, trudging through snow
and wind until they were ready to begin work.

"It's safe over here," Mulder said, almost to himself,
one gloved hand reaching out to stroke the wall.  

Skinner looked up sharply, then said in a quiet tone,
"Safe?"

Mulder jumped, startled, then said,  "It's cold enough
here," as if that explained it all.

Mulder's statement brought Skinner out of his thoughts
and he realized the feeling of safety over here in the 
storage building was probably the reason behind 
Mulder's apparent lack of fear.  "Do you remember this
building?  From before?" 

"Some."  Mulder stepped away from the wall, walking 
toward the back as he waited for Skinner.  "I remember hallways. 
And my room -- I remember my bunk."  He ran a hand over 
his long dark hair and shook his head, gazing off into inner 
space while Skinner worked on the unused generator, getting
it to rumble to life at last.  He glanced down.  "We can't run
that very long.  You do know that?" 

Skinner smiled slightly and slipped the plate cover back over
the engine.  Maybe Mulder finally realized it was just the two 
of them here, and that there weren't all those people waiting 
on the other side of the door?  Being alone seemed to be 
relaxing him quite a bit.  He might even start to open up.  

Skinner rose and led the way deeper into the building.  They
were able to walk side by side as he surveyed the facility, 
making note of what would have to be dismantled, and 
what merely needed to be packed.  Several times along 
the way,  Mulder stopped and glanced around, almost 
as if he was looking for something.  

"Places like this can give you the creeps when they're empty 
and quiet."  Skinner stepped behind a wall of crates and was 
greeting with an unexpected sight -- a window.  It looked
out on the back of the complex, a never-ending plateau
of ice and snow that stretched out as far as the eye could 
see.  White, white, and more white.  It was the lack of
color that continued to surprise him. 

"I don't know, I kinda like it."  Mulder stepped closer 
to the glass and gazed at his world.  "I like the quiet."
He stopped and looked at Skinner.  "Have you ever 
been somewhere where it was quiet like this?  When the
wind stops and the air is still, you can hear your heart
beat, and you know you're alive.  You know you're
real." 

There was a loneliness in Mulder's voice, a poignant
cry for reassurance and Skinner was again amazed that
the younger man had survived so long alone.  He put the
box he was assembling down, then answered slowly.  
"Yeah, I think I have.

Reluctantly, he allowed his thoughts to drift back.  Feelings 
of cold isolation coursed over his spine, then in an instant 
they were gone, replaced by the sounds of screaming metal
flying past his head.  He shook himself to clear his mind 
and noticed Mulder watching him.  "Sometimes, there are
situations where sound seems to fade away.  It's perfectly 
silent.  You could be right beside a tank and not hear a 
thing."  Skinner cleared his throat and started to remove the 
tools he needed from the case.  "But that kind of silence
isn't always something you want to seek out." 

Mulder wasn't the only one with memories to deal
with.  Trouble was, Skinner wanted to forget his.  

He turned around and leaned on the console, watching 
Skinner go through the case.  "They're running the
machines too much."  The quiet words were directed 
at the floor.  

Skinner stopped what he was doing and met the 
younger man's eyes when he looked up again.  "That's
something we should talk about." 

Mulder nodded and looked down at his hands.  "It 
doesn't really matter." 

"No, Mulder, it does matter." Skinner reached up, 
instinctively wanting to place a reassuring hand on the
younger man's arm, when a slight but sudden flinch 
stopped him just short of touching.  "You had this
place fixed the way you felt safe, and a group of 
strangers just came in and took over.  It's got to be
a tough adjustment." 

"Yeah."  Mulder reached up and pushed a strand 
of hair from his face.  "We can talk about it later." 

Skinner glanced at the tools strewn around the 
bank of scopes Mulder was leaning against and 
shrugged slightly.  "If that's what you want." 

Mulder nodded and took a deep breath, the look 
of resignation in his shifting eyes changing just a 
bit.  "Listen, let's get this one set of scopes taken
down, then we can get some lunch., OK?"

Mulder reached out and picked up one of the tools.  
"I know how to use this.  You want me to start here?" 
He gestured at one end of the console.

"Yeah, that's as good a place as any." Skinner removed
a screwdriver and turned toward the cabinet that held the
measuring equipment.  "Where did you learn about this 
stuff?" 

Mulder examined the oscilloscope and shrugged.  "I don't 
know exactly.  I read a lot of the files in the computer, 
mostly useless stuff, trying to stay occupied, I guess." 

"Great.  You can give me a hand, then." Skinner smiled 
and pointed to the access panel.  "Pull that open and let's 
get to it." 

What Mulder had considered 'useless stuff', Skinner 
discovered was a gold mine of information.  He knew 
the equipment inside and out, when it was made, what
it was supposed to do.  He was even able to call up specs
on how it had been put together from his still formidable 
memory.  Skinner refrained from commenting on that
memory, sure any such comment would only make his
partner uncomfortable.  The younger man lacked hands-on 
experience, but his willingness to learn and quick mind 
got the job done in less than half the time it would have 
taken Skinner to do it alone.   When they finished, they 
walked the entire length of the massive console to check 
for anything left to salvage before breaking for lunch.  

As they worked, Mulder asked several questions about 
Skinner, curious about this man who affected him so. 
He avoided asking about the people Skinner had traveled 
with or what they had thought of Nihility when they 
arrived.  For the sake of Mulder's openness and good 
mood, Skinner willingly stayed on whatever subject he 
chose.  Now and then, he would lapse into a silence that
lasted until Skinner could find something casual to say 
or ask.  He didn't want to leave the younger man in 
his solitude for more than ten minutes at a time, for 
fear he'd withdraw back inside himself again.
During that time, he found Mulder to be the same
bright, highly intelligent man he remembered, and 
for the most part, unafraid.  Something he was sure 
would change again when they returned, if he was 
forced back into a corner of the basement for privacy.  

When they were done dismantling, it was almost one,
and  they had quite a bit of leftover wiring, circuit 
boards, panels and a few face plates that were still to 
be packed.  After stowing the last of the salvage
they found, Skinner glanced around, pleased with
the morning's work. 
 
"Mulder?"  Skinner turned to look at the other man.  "Are
you planning on staying in the basement this week?"

"Yeah.  I think so."  There was a hint of fear in the man's
face. 

Skinner smiled.  "I'm not trying to push or anything.  And
you can say no with no hard feelings."  He took a deep 
breath and plunged ahead.  "I was thinking maybe we
could share that space."

"We?"  Mulder followed him back to the front of the 
building.  

"There's plenty of room there.  I won't be on top of you.  
You'll have your privacy and your space.  But --"  He 
pause again, trying to gauge how to say this, "you 
wouldn't have to be alone."

Skinner stopped by the door, turning to look at Mulder.  
The other man still looked a little puzzled as he gazed 
around the storage area, but there was a definite look of hope
in his eyes.  And a small hint of fear.  Skinner sighed and 
took a step closer, shrugging slightly to help ease Mulder 
into accepting.  "I'm not much," he grinned, "but it
beats the hell out of being alone, don't you think?" 

Slowly, he nodded.  "Yeah, I guess I could handle that." 

"Good."  Skinner gestured to the door.  "Let's get lunch, 
then finish what we came to do." 

They walked back to the command center, discussing  the
team's various members.  Skinner was poking fun at some 
of them, trying to help put Mulder at ease when he looked 
up and saw all the color drain from Mulder's face.  

"What's wrong?"  Alarmed, he looked around the area
 for the source of panic.  

"How long has he been doing that?"  Mulder's voice was 
a whisper and he began to back up, staring at the plane.  

Skinner looked over at the impromptu landing field,
where Borstein had the plane's motor running, and 
had the engine exposed as he tinkered with something.
"Mulder, it's all right.  Jerry's just working on the plane,
probably to get out of having to help with the packing up." 
What the hell was upsetting him?  

Mulder swallowed hard, then looked away from the scene
with obvious difficulty.  He stared at the ground and 
nodded.  "We should get inside."  He looked up into the
sun, then stared at the man by the plane and shivered.
"It's light, but that's not always safe.  Just usually."

Skinner looked around again, still seeing nothing but 
the aptly named Nihility station, and the endless plains
of white on white.  He wanted to ask what he was missing 
out there that had the younger man so terrified, but he 
could see sweat beginning to bead up on Mulder's forehead. 
Whatever he was seeing, or imagining, was real enough 
to leave him pale and trembling.  He reached out an arm
for support, tugged gently to get the man moving, and
said, "Let's go." 

Mulder nodded, stepping into Skinner's touch, and he 
quickly shifted his hand from Mulder's arm to around 
his waist.  The man was shaking.  They walked together 
back to the main building in silence, Skinner trying to 
hurry, hoping their quick crossing would return Mulder's 
happier mood, while Mulder very obviously tried to 
keep himself from running back to the storage building.

They reached the main building, and Mulder immediately 
scuttled down to the basement, Skinner following in concern.  
He reached the sleeping area, and watched in silence as 
Mulder shed his parka.

"It's too hot in here," he complained.  "They shouldn't keep it
so hot."

"Why?"

Mulder paused, looking up in confusion.  "Why?"

"Yes, why?  You keep saying it's too hot, but it's barely sixty 
degrees.  That's hardly what most people would call too hot.
Why does it need to be so cool?"

The look of confusion changed to one of consternation, and
Mulder began to tremble.  "I -- I don't remember."  The 
trembling turned into full-blown shaking, and Skinner 
was afraid the man was going to fall down.  He quickly
shed his own parka, then stepped into Mulder's 'bedroom,'
and without thinking, wrapped his arms around the other
man.  

He could feel the heart race where he held Mulder against
his chest, the long limbs quaking.  He tugged gently, trying
to get Mulder to move, but he seemed rooted to the spot.
He pulled harder, dragging him to the bed, then sitting
down hard as Mulder seemed to collapse against him.  

"I just don't remember," the younger man moaned, his
head buried in Skinner's chest.  "I can't remember ..."

"Mulder, shhhh," Skinner soothed.  "It's all right, 
really.  It's not important.  I'm sorry I asked."

Mulder was rocking now, like a child who seeks to
calm itself, he rocked back and forth in Skinner's
arms, an eerie keening sound coming from him 
intermittently.  Skinner began to wonder if Mulder
had survived his ordeal as intact as he had first 
suspected.  He held the man, and soothed him,
spoke quiet words, and rubbed his back, pushing
at the long hair to keep it from his face.  It took
time, but eventually, Mulder began to settle.

And then he grew embarrassed.  When he came
back to himself, and realized where he was, who
was holding him, he flushed scarlet and pulled
away, jumping to his feet and moving to stand
by the wall.  Skinner wanted to run after him,
but he forced himself to stay, and remain motionless.
He didn't want to frighten the man more.

"You OK now?" he asked neutrally.

Mulder stared at him, eyes wide and confused.

"Mulder?"

No answer.

"Mulder?  You feeling OK?"

This time he got a tentative nod, and then a whispered,
"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Skinner said.  "I'm surprised
it hasn't happened sooner.  This must be terribly overwhelming
for you."  He smiled encouragingly, then patted the bed 
beside him.

Mulder remained still for a moment, then moved slowly to
sit beside Skinner.  "I'm not trying to be trouble," he
mumbled.  "I really can't remember.  I get these -- flashes --
sometimes, but they go so fast I can't grab onto them."

" 's OK," Skinner said quietly.  "When you're ready, it
will come.  You don't have to force it."

Mulder slid over a bit, a move that was designed to
be unobtrusive, but was blatantly obvious to Skinner.
He smiled up Skinner, nodding.  "Thanks -- uh, 
Walter?"

"Yeah -- Walter."  Skinner was inordinately pleased that
Mulder had taken this step and called him by his first name.
He knew Mulder couldn't remember how things were, but
for him, it represented a step forward in their friendship,
an outward acknowledgment that Skinner was important
to  this frightened man.

He was about to speak again, when one of the guards
appeared in the basement, out of breath and flushed from
running. 

Mulder's smile vanished immediately, and Skinner 
felt him stiffen.  He looked up and motioned for the 
guard to come back to where they had made their quarters.

"Mr. Skinner, sir," the man panted.

"Yes?"

"You better come quick, sir.  Something just came up out
of the ice and grabbed Borstein.  He's gone, sir, completely
gone."

Mulder was shaking again, trembling so hard Skinner was
worried he might be having a seizure.  He looked over at
the guard, nodded, and said, "Tell Peters I'm on my way."

"I'm to wait for you, sir," the young man said.

"Then wait outside," Skinner snapped as he turned his back
on him.

"Mulder?  C'mon, Mulder, talk to me."  All the good work 
of the last half hour was gone.  Mulder was falling apart 
again.

"They'll think I did it," he whispered, his head down, the 
long hair almost obscuring his face.

"No," Skinner said emphatically.  "They won't."  He reached
out to gently touch his friend's chin, to lift the pain-filled
face upward.  "You were with me, remember?"  

"They don't like me," Mulder muttered.  "They don't trust
me."

"Doesn't matter.  I like you, and I trust you.  When we get
home, none of these people will be around.  You'll go back
to your life, your work, your friends, and they'll be gone."
He looked down into eyes that were moist, but beginning to
have hope again.  "They'll be gone, but I won't.  I'll still be
there, Mulder.  I'll always be there.  As long as you need."
The other hand came up, and he held Mulder's face cupped
in his hands, large thumbs sweeping gently upward to wipe
away tears.  "And I trust you."  

Mulder trembled again, but nodded slowly and Skinner
asked, "Do you know what happened?"

The younger man's eyes grew wide and he shook his
head violently.  "No!  No!  NO!  I don't remember!"

"Shhh, Mulder, it's all right.  We can talk about this
later."  He waited, tempted to pull the younger man to 
him again, but he seemed to need some time, some distance 
to recover himself, so he released him, stood and stepped 
back.  "I have to go upstairs, Mulder, talk to McMurray 
and Peters."  He looked down at the man on the bed, trying 
to judge if he was strong enough to face the people upstairs.   
"Do you feel up to coming with me?"

"Do I have to?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to.  But
they are going to want to talk to you.  And I thought you
might not want to be alone."

Mulder thought about that, then rose to stand beside Skinner.
He stood close, very close, and Skinner found himself 
hoping he wouldn't trip over the man.  But if being close
gave him comfort, it was a small enough thing to offer.

They reached the main room, and were immediately met
with mass confusion.  People milled in the corridor and
throughout the room, some crying, some in shock, 
some storming furiously up and down the halls.    Mulder
stayed close to Skinner, seeming to shrink into himself
as he walked hunched over, almost hiding from the
eyes that followed his every move.  

They entered the main room to see Peters look up
grimly, then nod to one of the garrison detail.  The 
soldiers began to move people out of the room and
in short order, it was empty but for Peters and McMurray,
Weaver, the doctor, and Katherine Vespi, an unofficial
representative of the civilian contingent.

"All right, Peters," Skinner began, breaking the silence.
"We're here.  Tell me what happened to Borstein."

"I'll tell you what happened," McMurray said angrily.
"I'll tell you exactly what happened.  My man was working
on the plane, just tinkering to make sure it was in top
condition, and something -- *some thing* -- comes up
out of the ice, grabs him, and he disappears."  The man
advanced menacingly toward them, and Skinner felt
Mulder move behind him, his hand coming out to rest 
against his belt.  

He took a step backward, pushing up against Mulder,
then held his ground.  "I'm sorry about Borstein, Brian,
but that has nothing to do with me -- or *my* man."

"Like hell it doesn't!  You're telling me he's been here
all this time and he didn't know about these, these things?"
McMurray shook his head.  "No.  No way.  I won't accept
that.  He had to have known."

Skinner felt Mulder shudder behind him, then in a
small voice, he said, "I didn't know.  I don't remember."

"Fuck that!" McMurray sneered.  "That's mighty
convenient now, isn't it?"

"That's enough, Brian," Skinner ordered.  "Back off and
settle down.  This is getting us nowhere."  He turned his
attention to Peters.  "Is this how you maintain discipline?
Allow your people to run wild and intimidate civilians?"

Peters had the grace to be embarrassed and he flushed as
he said, "Sit down, Brian.  We've got other things we need
to worry about now."

"Other things?  What other things?"  Skinner was relaxing
somewhat now that McMurray had moved away, and behind
him he could feel the trembling in Mulder ease, though the
hand stayed fastened to his belt.

"Borstein was our only pilot," Peters said.  "We're stranded."

Skinner shrugged.  "Call for another plane.  It's not a big 
deal."

"Have you tried to make contact with anyone lately?" 
Katherine asked.

"No.  I've been occupied."  Skinner frowned.  "Why?"

"Nothing, and I mean *nothing* is going through."

"What?  Why?  I mean, what's the problem?"  Skinner was
more surprised by this revelation than by the pilot's 
sudden demise.  

"We're not sure."  Weaver spoke for the first time.  "I'm 
trying to get a handle on what's causing the interference, 
but so far, no luck."

"They'll send another plane, won't they?" Skinner asked.  
"I mean, it's not like no one knows where we are."

Peters cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "Well, Walt, 
actually, it is like that."

Skinner narrowed his eyes as he stared at the Colonel.  
"What the hell is going on here, Peters?"

"Well, as you know, this is a highly classified mission.  More
so than you realize.  We've been classified as expendable, as
was the group before us and the group before them.  We're 
in an area of no accessibility, and no one knows exactly 
where we are.  With the winter night coming, and the 
darktime storms, no one's going to come looking for us 
for at least six months."  He paused, surveying the faces 
in the room.  

"We aren't a rescue and recovery team any more.  
We're the new inhabitants of Nihility Station."

************************************************

"Thanks for coming down, Frank," Skinner said as he
led the colonel into the living area.  "Mulder's not
feeling real comfortable with being out and about
right now.  Between Jerry's disappearance and everyone's
reactions, he's feeling a little overwhelmed."

"I can understand that.  I'm a little overwhelmed myself."
Peters paused, looking around the open area before 
taking a seat.  "So, you're really going to live in the 
basement, then?" 

"Yes, we are."  Skinner stepped inside and began to unstrap 
the bundles he and Mulder had brought down, motioning for 
the other man to unhook the opposite side.  "It was designed 
to live in, you know.  Being underground helps with the 
insulation.  Once we get it into shape, we'll be fine here." 

"We?"  Peters looked at Skinner, then Mulder.  "Are you 
going to be living here, too?" 

"He's my agent, Peters," Skinner answered for him.  "Why 
do I have to keep reminding everyone of that?  This space 
is unwanted, plenty big enough for two, and gives Mulder 
the privacy he's become accustomed to." 

Peters glanced around the open area, nodding.  "Yes, I 
imagine it does." 

"Besides, if Mulder ever gets sick of me, he's free to kick 
me out."  Skinner slapped his partner on the arm and winked 
at the look he was given, then nodded to Peters and followed 
him out the door with an armload of  boxes.  Mulder was 
right behind them both with a load of his own.  Halfway
up the stairs, it dawned on him the younger man hadn't 
flinched away at being touched.  Now, if he could get him 
to relax in the presence of other people, they'd be making
real progress.  

One of the main rooms had been designated as a collection
point for all the excess equipment they were finding.  Since 
they would be staying for an indeterminate period now, they 
needed a complete inventory of what they had, and a detailed 
plan of how to stretch their resources had to be developed.  
They went out a side exit leading to the main hallway of the 
complex's southern building.  There, they found the surplus 
storage area and deposited their boxes.  

Peters held the doors open while they dropped their load.  
"Mulder, I have to compliment you on the lists you gave 
our quartermaster.  They're very detailed.  Did you put 
them together?" 

Mulder stood and pushed hair out of his eyes, glancing at
Skinner.  "No, not all of it.  A lot of it was already there." 
He swallowed, and Skinner could see his eyes dart to the 
now-dead monitor in the corner of the large storage room.  
"I tried to keep the files up, to keep busy, I suppose." 

"Well, it's been very helpful.  Saved us quite a lot of time." 

Skinner finished placing his armload on a shelf.  Mulder 
was standing right beside him, keeping an eye on the 
colonel.  It was almost as if he knew what Peters had 
been considering just the other night, and was keeping 
a wary distance.  But he couldn't, since he was in the 
basement at the time, and they had already disconnected 
the monitors.  Still, if it came down to it, Skinner would 
tell Mulder what the command staff had been discussing.  
Since it concerned his life, he had a right to know.  

"Well, Mulder, we'd better find some furniture and start
putting together real quarters." 

Peters interrupted, "Oh, before I forget, the kitchen's running 
full time.  We've got perishables we need to consume, and since
we don't know how long we'll be here, we can't afford to let 
anything go to waste.  Meals might be a little boring for while."
Peters smiled and stepped away from the door.  "And Mulder,
I would like to meet with you to discuss some of the other 
concerns, such as weather, terrain, equipment, things of that 
nature." 

"Yeah, OK."  Mulder nodded and fell into step very close 
behind Skinner as they proceeded down the hall farther into 
the complex.  

"That can wait a while, can't it, Peters?  We've got some work 
to do ourselves." 

"Oh, I'm sure it can."  Peters smiled, glancing over his shoulder 
at Mulder.  He stopped at a corridor and nodded toward a door 
at the end.  "I've got plenty to do myself.  None of these people
planned on being stranded here for months.  There's a lot of
emotional damage control that needs to be done, as well as
practical plans on how to keep us all protected against 
whatever that was that took Jerry.  And we need to see if 
we can get some sort of communications set up.  We'll 
talk later, then, when you two have your quarters straightened 
out.  It's going to be at least a week before anyone is ready to
accept reality." 

Skinner watched Peters for a moment as he walked down the 
hall, then turned to Mulder and pointed toward the back of the 
building .  "I think we can salvage some of the stuff from over
there, build some walls down in the basement, contain what
heat there is."  Mulder glanced down the hall and nodded 
willingly.  "This is going to be a few days of hard work, Mulder.  
You sure you don't mind?  You're not doing this because I 
talked you into it, are you?"  The last thing he wanted was to 
find out was that Mulder was too intimidated to say no.  

"No," Mulder replied immediately.  "No, it's fine, I don't 
mind."  He swallowed and glanced around at the various 
people coming and going down the wide corridor.  "Like you 
said, I don't think I could stay with all these people." 

Skinner smiled and nodded once.  "OK.  Let's get to work 
then." 

They found the tools next to stacks of crates and Skinner began 
to mark the items he was claiming for Mulder and himself. They 
carried metal panels and beds, chests and rugs, and other items
like lamps and chairs through the building and down into the 
area they had claimed as their own.  Mulder had no trouble at 
all with the tools Skinner gave him, so they quickly fell into a 
rhythm of assembling, bolting, attaching, and moving the 
various pieces of furniture and fixtures. 

During one trip out, Skinner made a stop in the mess hall to 
pick up lunch.  The room was as busy as Peters had said, 
with people milling in and out as they grew hungry.  Even 
with a constant flow of diners, the room was filled at any 
given moment.  He found a tray and stacked up an assortment
of meats, fruits and breads, snagged two large bottles of 
water, then squeezed through the corridor and out a side hall,
around to the back of the building, and back down to the 
basement.  


"Hey, Mulder?"  Skinner took the stairs down and found 
his partner trying to manhandle a large chest into the 'room' 
they had created for Skinner.  Sweat was beginning to soak 
Mulder's shirt, as it had his own, and as he watched, 
Mulder trembled with the effort of moving the heavy piece. 
"How about a break, huh?  I brought us a late lunch." 

Mulder pulled a chair up to a table in what would be their 
common space, or living area, then wiped his forehead and 
looked at Skinner.  "Oh, yeah."  He ran his hands through 
his shoulder-length hair while he walked to his 'bedroom,'
pulling it back into a ponytail.  "What time is it?"  From his 
pocket came a leather strap he used to tie the hair back.  

"A little after two o'clock."  Skinner set the food on the
table, then pulled off his shirt.  "We'll have to adjust the 
temperature controls down here.  We need to keep it cool,
right?"  He looked over at Mulder, who nodded.  "I do wish
we had some windows though."  He'd been trying to figure 
out a way to convert the air-tight windows he'd found in 
storage into something they could use, but he hadn't come 
up with anything yet.

"It's better that we don't."  Mulder reached out for a bottle 
of water and a piece of fruit, and sat down.  

Skinner tossed his shirt over one of the temporary seats and 
picked up the other bottle, twisting the cap off.  Mulder's face 
had gone dark again and he was studying the fruit in his hand.  
"It's probably too much work, anyway."  He sat on the chair 
next to his discarded shirt and took a long drink of the cool, 
clear water.  The feel of the cool liquid sliding down his 
parched throat was heaven. 

Mulder ate quietly and Skinner's tiredness made it easy to 
follow suit.  He made himself a sandwich out of the bread 
and meats, then sat back down and ate, occasionally glancing 
around the living quarters as another thought occurred to him.  
His partner was proving to be handy with tools and a very 
hard worker, willing to tackle the sweaty task of building 
their new home without complaint.  Getting him to agree to 
sharing his living space had been a stroke of luck.  Skinner 
half-expected the man to freak out and refuse, but he knew 
the only choice was either the basement corner he'd found 
last night, or one of the crowded, dormitory-style rooms 
the others were bunking down in.  

He'd come to the Pole to bring Mulder home, and had been 
willing to fight whatever battles needed to succeed at that 
task.  But this Mulder, confused and needy, vulnerable and 
hurting, was not something he had expected.  The degree 
to which he had taken Mulder in had surprised Skinner, 
more than anything else he'd done.  But it was the right 
thing to do, for both of them.  Alone, the younger man was 
no match for the people who would soon press the issue 
of his memory.  And having taken a stand against them 
on that issue, Skinner might soon find himself very
much alone.  It made sense that they be alone together.  

"Did they download all the data?" 

Skinner looked up, slightly surprised by the break in the 
silence.  Mulder was picking at the cap of the bottle in 
his hand, his voice quiet.  "Yes, they did."  This wasn't 
going to be easy, but Skinner couldn't help feeling good 
about him asking. 

"Even the personal stuff?  About me?"

"It wasn't necessary, Mulder.  We got the data while
we were still on approach, and found some ... problems." 

"It was damaged, wasn't it?"  Mulder looked up, meeting 
Skinner's gaze.  "I used to think I could figure it out if I
worked at it long enough, but I never could." 

Skinner sighed and leaned forward, setting his water bottle 
down.  "It was encrypted.  Using a very difficult code.  
Before we landed, I had some very good people working 
on it, and even they weren't able to pull everything out." 

Mulder nodded, and set his empty bottle on the step 
beside him.  "I always thought the memory was damaged.  
Was that true?"  Mulder's face took on a determined look.  
"Or was it all in there and I just couldn't see it?" 

"We think it's there."  Skinner shook his head with the 
remembered frustration of pouring over those files with
Weaver for so many hours.  "There's information on 
every day accounted for since the station opened, but
most of the information is scrambled.  Peters -- Colonel 
Peters -- and some of the others think it was done on 
purpose." 

Mulder looked down at his hands.  "I thought -- there were 
times I thought I knew, but I could never figure it all the 
way out."   He started shaking his head slowly, still looking 
down.  "Sometimes, I was afraid to know." 

Skinner sighed quietly and nodded.  He was taking this pretty 
well, but it seemed as if he had known it might come.  "The 
records are still there Mulder.  If it's important to figure them 
out, then we will." He paused, glancing over at the instrument 
panel on the wall of the basement. 

"Is there any way to find out what's still there?" Mulder 
glanced up, arching his eyebrows.  "Can't you make it 
decode it or something?" 

"No."  Skinner shook his head.  "The encryption is so thorough, 
only someone with the right code can interpret it.  And from 
what I understand, none of the codes the military tried has 
been even close.  Your friends did better, but they still didn't 
get all the way in." 

"So ... are they going to erase it?" 

Now for the tricky part.  "Not exactly."  This was going to be 
the equivalent of telling someone their whole life had 
disappeared and they might never get it back.  "They were 
downloading the files, preparing to shut the system down, 
when a self-extracting virus took over.  It all just disappeared."

Mulder's eyebrows creased in puzzlement.  "Disappeared?" 

"Completely.  I don't understand it myself.  Some kind of 
self-deletion or something.  Maybe it was a last chance to 
hide whatever it was they've been keeping from you, I'm 
not sure." Skinner stood and looked down at Mulder.  "If 
we still had access to the data, there might be a chance to 
decode it, but I doubt it." 

Mulder looked away for a moment, then picked up his 
water bottle and stood.  "I'm sorry.  You all came here 
expecting to find answers, and I --" 

"This isn't your fault, Mulder."  Skinner stepped over 
beside the stairwell and knelt down a few feet from
the younger man, trying to look him in the eyes.  "After 
all this time, you had every right to believe no one was 
coming.  The computer was programmed to record and 
release all information, that's what failed." He paused, 
hoping Mulder would understand.  This was too much 
responsibility for one man to take on his shoulders.  
"Listen to me."  Skinner waited until the younger man 
looked him in the eyes.  "Everything that happened 
since you were brought here has been out of your hands.  
The first group, that thing that grabbed Jerry, this new 
team being temporarily stranded, none of this is your 
fault, or your responsibility.  What happens from today 
on is the only thing you need to worry about." 

Reluctantly, Mulder nodded.  "I guess we'd better get back 
to work." 

"Yeah."  Skinner had to restrain himself from reaching out 
and giving his new partner a reassuring pat on the arm.  Too 
much adjustment in one day might just snap the man.  But 
deep down, he had really hoped he could have found something 
in those files, something that would give this man back some of
his life.  He'd unloaded the files from his own computer, put 
them on disks.  There would be plenty of time in the future 
to work on them.  He could decide later if he wanted to share
that fact with his wounded agent.  But right now, they had 
other concerns.  "We'd better get these rooms into shape, 
Mulder.  I don't fancy another night on the floor." 

The walls went up quickly and easily, and within a short time
they had their spaces.  He gave Mulder the far room, nestled 
against the wall of basement.  Between his door and the outer 
wall of their only bathroom, was an office-sized section with 
a small table, chair, and desk.  That area, he insisted, was to 
be Mulder's personal space, since the other work areas were 
open and less private.  Skinner could deal with sharing 
every inch of his work environment with others; his new 
roommate was going to have to take it slower, having been 
used to a life of privacy.  Their rooms were identically 
outfitted, and connected by a sliding door that could be 
secured from either side.  Bed frames snapped into place 
with the separating wall as a headboard for each, awaiting 
mattresses and blankets.  By the time they had the beds up, 
both men were exhausted.  

"Not bad for a half a day's work, eh?"  Skinner reached up 
and wiped sweat from his forehead, nodding at the 
transformation.  

"We haven't plumbed the shower yet."  Mulder set his 
wrench down and nodded toward the bathroom.  Long 
strands of loose hair were plastered to his sweat-soaked 
face, but his eyes were bright with willingness.  

Skinner shook his head.  "There's enough reserves to get 
us cleaned up, Mulder.  As much as I want that shower, 
it can wait till tomorrow." 

Mulder nodded, glancing around the room.  "I think you 
were right about this area.  It makes a pretty good place." 

"Yeah, not too bad." He was pleased out of all proportion 
that Mulder felt this way.  "Let's get cleaned up and get 
some bedding in those rooms before I fall asleep right 
here." 

Skinner found a change of clothes and carried them into 
the bathroom.  He checked the tank, then set the shower 
accordingly and stepped into the spray.  Moisture, barely 
heavy enough to bead up on his smooth skin, wafted over 
his head as he soaped and scrubbed.  Running the shower's
plumbing to this bathroom was going to be top priority, 
first thing tomorrow.  

When he stepped out of the shower, toweling off was
merely a formality.  He pulled on clean clothes, stuffed 
the dirty ones into a basket for later cleaning, and gave 
Mulder his turn in the bathroom.  There was a hot tub 
in the med center, used for warming anyone who was 
on the ice for too long.  It sounded inviting to Skinner, 
and to his sore muscles.  Trouble was, his muscles were 
just tired enough to keep him from wanting to trek up 
there for relief.  

After Mulder's shower, they headed up to retrieve some 
bedding and a few other things he wanted to claim for their
new home.  

"Hey, Mulder, how about some dinner?  I'm starving." 
Skinner pointed toward the corridor leading to the mess 
hall, then anticipated his partner's hesitation.  "Listen, just 
stay close, and you'll be fine.  OK?" 

Mulder looked down the hall, then back to Skinner and 
nodded slightly.  "Yeah, OK." 

The mess hall was crowded, but there was an order to the
madness.  Lines formed to the left, where various foods were
set out, moving down to a table holding several beverages.  
There were plenty of tables set up around the room, with 
diners coming and going often enough to ensure places to 
sit scattered all around.  Mulder followed Skinner's advice 
and stayed very close, almost bumping into Skinner any time 
he paused.  They filled two trays with mostly meats and 
vegetables, then Mulder pointed out the breads and desserts, 
an unknown luxury for him.  Finding a relatively empty table 
wasn't difficult, but avoiding the looks and questions shot to 
them from all around proved a bit more tricky.  


Mulder was known by everyone, but only a handful were
interested enough to ask him questions, most of which he 
politely answered with as little information as he could.  
Skinner managed to steer most of the conversations other 
people started, and took over whenever necessary.  Getting 
his partner into this crowd had been a major accomplishment, 
even if he was sitting so close it made using a fork difficult 
for Skinner to do without bumping him.  He wasn't about to 
let the misplaced emotions of thirty or more strangers ruin 
this step forward.  

By the time they finished eating, even Skinner was tired of 
the group.  He led Mulder out of the mess hall and back 
down to the basement where he'd stored all of the things 
he considered personal.  The large room had changed since 
that morning, grown more cluttered with crates and cartons 
and machinery, but the corner in the back was just as they 
had left it.  

"We'll find a way to do some meals down here soon, Mulder." 
Skinner glanced around at some of the crates while Mulder 
gathered up bedding and some clothes.  

"I can cook.  At least, I can prepare the MREs."  Mulder was
stuffing clothes into his chest, cheering up considerably 
now that they were away from the crowds.  "I don't mind, 
really.  I've had to cook every day anyway." 

Skinner laughed and shook his head.  "Relax, we can take 
turns or something.  I'm partial to quieter dining rooms, too." 
One of the crates he was next to was open, so he glanced 
at the contents.  "I didn't plan to be here all this time, and I
certainly don't want to eat every meal with all those people." 

"Yeah.  I never realized how hard that would be." Mulder 
stuffed a the last of his clothes into the chest, then pushed 
some hair from his face.  "Does it get easier, being around 
people all the time?" 

"It will."  Skinner smiled, then looked inside the crate again.  
"Are these books?"  Stunned, he reached inside the box and 
retrieved a large, heavy book.  He read the label, still 
disbelieving his eyes.  "The Annotated Sherlock Holmes." 

"Do you like to read?" 

"Whenever I get the chance, which isn't often enough." 
Skinner looked back inside the crate.  "Twain, Hawthorne, 
Steinbeck.  Have you read these?"  It was a gold mine, all
the volumes Skinner had wanted to read, but never got the 
chance to.  They were old but timeless works.  

"They were something to do, but I didn't have anyone to 
discuss them with."  Mulder pushed the worrisome hair 
back again, and shrugged.  "For some reason, I felt like
I needed to spend more time on the science manuals.  These
were pretty useless."

"Anything that makes you think isn't useless, Mulder." 
Skinner sighed, realizing just how many volumes were 
in the crate.  Holmes was still in his hand.  "Would you mind
if I borrowed this?" 

"No, help yourself." 

Skinner used to love an hour of reading before falling asleep, 
but it was a luxury he could rarely afford since he'd become
a director in the Bureau.  In the same way he had never imagined
he would be stranded here in this godforsaken station, never in 
his wildest dreams would he have considered the place to 
be so well stocked with reading material.  

They got both beds put to rights quickly.  Mulder assured him 
they could plumb the shower easily and quickly in the morning, 
then get a makeshift galley established.  Clothes washing would
present a bigger problem.  The washers and dryers were upstairs,
in the common areas, but Mulder didn't like to use them.  When
Skinner asked him why, he got that haunted look again, and Skinner
let it drop.  By the time they had their next day planned out, they
were both exhausted.  

Skinner went upstairs to secure the door and create a bit more of 
a safe haven for his charge.  Book still in hand, he returned to 
the living quarters and flipped off most of the interior lights.  
Mulder stepped out of the bathroom, looking for all the world 
to be asleep on his feet.  It had been a busy day for both of them.  

"I'll see you in the morning."  Skinner held up the book, still 
intending to get one chapter read before he fell asleep himself.  

Mulder nodded, then leaned against the wall and looked at 
the towel in his hands for a moment.  "Listen, I wanted 
to -- I mean ..."  He sighed and met Skinner's gaze.  
"Thanks.  For this."  Both hands gestured at the room.  
"You didn't have to, but --" 

"You're welcome."  Skinner smiled.  

"Well, good night." 

"Good night."  He waited until Mulder was in his room, 
then flipped off the last light and took the book into his 
room.  Sir Arthur's tales of the inveterate detective usually 
challenged him, making him think and testing his own 
reasoning abilities.  

But tonight, the master couldn't even carry him through 
an hour.  

*****************************************

Skinner woke with the book still on his chest.  Judging by 
the stiffness in his back and neck, he hadn't so much as 
rolled over all night.  With a slight groan, he rolled onto 
his side and swung both legs off the bed.  Sounds reached 
his ears, coming from the bathroom, as his bare feet hit the 
cold, metal floor.  He was beginning to regret not having 
stayed up to get the some sort of makeshift galley working
last night.  If he couldn't have a real shower this morning, 
at least a cup of coffee would have been nice.  

He pulled on a clean pair of sweats and opened his door 
just as Mulder was coming out of the bathroom.  "Morning," 
he said, stretching, trying to pop his stiff back.  His partner 
nodded, yawning, then leaned against the bathroom door 
and pushed long hair from his face.  Dressed in shorts and a 
T-shirt, he shivered in the chill temperatures and Skinner noted
that he looked more tired than he had the night before.  

"Good morning." 

"Whoa, don't take this wrong, but you don't look so good." 
Skinner stepped closer, blinking the sleep from his eyes.  
"Are you feeling OK?" 

"Yeah, I just didn't sleep much last night."  Mulder nodded, 
then pulled his hair back and tied it into a pony tail using 
a strip of leather he retrieved from his shirt pocket.  "I had 
a headache." 

Skinner studied his face for a moment, then eyed
the long hair.  "You like your hair like that?" he asked
cautiously, not wanting to offend.

"It gets in the way," Mulder said, reaching up to touch
the ponytail.  "But when I tried to cut it once, I butchered
it."  He tilted his head and looked up at Skinner.  "How 
do I usually wear it?"

"A lot shorter.  Neat and trim."

Mulder smiled.  "You prefer that, don't you?" he asked
in a teasing voice.  

Skinner mock-scowled back at him. "It's not what
I prefer."  He smiled then, and added, "I can cut it for
you, but only if you really want it cut."  He dropped the
light tone, saying, "No one's going to force you to do
anything you don't want.  Not as long as I have a say 
in things.  Understand?"

Mulder swallowed, fighting emotion again, then nodded.

"Did you take something for your head?"

The younger man nodded again.

"We should probably take it slower today.  It's been a while 
since I've had a chance to work out like that myself."  He 
waited  for Mulder to nod his agreement, then stepped 
over to the bathroom door.  "Hey, I heard there's a hot
tub up in medical.  Whaddaya say we go have a good 
soak this morning?" 

That idea seemed to perk the younger man up immediately. 
"OK, yeah.  I do that sometimes.  That's safe." 

"Just give me a minute."  Skinner walked into the bathroom 
and shut the door.  Mulder's unthinking comments, categorizing
things as safe and unsafe had him baffled, but he wasn't ready 
push the man on it yet.  Besides, he wasn't up to pushing 
anything if his stiff muscles were any indication.  Some rest
time in the hot tub was just what he needed. 

Energized by the promise of a long soak in hot water, he 
hurried through his morning wash-up, found a clean pair 
of pants and shirt, then followed Mulder up the stairs and 
out their 'front' door.   The complex was beginning to 
buzz with morning activity, including a trail of breakfast 
seekers snaking their way through the corridors and drifting
into the kitchen.

Mulder waited in a hallway nook while he darted in and 
secured food to break their fast, then he followed his new 
partner down to the deserted medical bay.  In an alcove, 
off to one side, almost in a private room, was a large, 
deep tub.  Not a recreational hot tub, this was a therapeutic
water bath, but plenty big enough for the two of them.

"Your own private bath?"  Skinner grinned, watching as 
Mulder manipulated the controls and the tub began to fill. 

"The water is no problem.  You just melt the snow.  Heating 
it is OK, too, if you don't do it too much."   Mulder gestured 
around the sickbay.  "It's safe here." 

Whether he meant safe from the others or from some hidden 
danger, Skinner didn't know.  Right now, the only thing that 
mattered was getting into that water.  Mulder was already 
peeling off his clothes so Skinner followed suit, then eased 
into the hot water slowly, savoring the feel of so much 
wetness all over his body.   The water shimmered in the light,
almost luminous in the heat.   

"Oh, man.   This alone was worth all that work yesterday." 
Skinner slid down onto a low ledge, resting his bare cheeks 
on the flat surface.   From that position, only his head and 
neck were above water, free to rest on the padded edge as he 
leaned back.   

Mulder stepped in on the opposite side of the tub and 
found a ledge of his own, adjusting its height so that he, 
too, could rest against the edge.   "Is this all right?" he
asked, and Skinner heard a plaintive note of desire to please
in the man's voice.  It both heartened him and saddened 
him at the same time.  

Skinner nodded, closing his eyes to relish the feel of the 
heat massaging tired muscles.  He sighed, wondering how 
safe it would be to fall asleep in this position.   He could 
probably trust Mulder to pull him up if he went under, 
unless the man fell asleep himself.   "I love a soak like this."
He opened one eye and said, "You never knew this before,
but I have a tub at my place.  It's one of my vices." 

"I don't remember ..." 

Skinner looked up when Mulder's voice trailed off and 
found him gazing at the swirling water.  His eyebrows knit
together, then a moment later both hands came up and pushed 
the hair away from his face.   It was a habit Skinner was 
beginning to associate with the younger man's uncertainty, 
and he began to rethink his offer to cut it for him.  It was a 
clue to Mulder's inner state of mind.

"I'm sorry.  I must sound like an idiot or something, always 
saying how I don't remember."  Mulder shook his head and 
quickly glanced at Skinner, then down at the bubbling water, 
while his hands brushed nervously at his hair. 

"No, Mulder, you don't."  Skinner sat up straighter and 
found a nook he could grab with his toes for support while 
his arms floated freely under the surface.  "I said it before:
you've had a serious shock, serious trauma.  You were
alone for a long, long time.  Suddenly a bunch of strangers 
show up and start running the show, telling you it's for your
own good."  He shook his head and Mulder looked up.  "To 
tell you the truth, I don't know many people who could have 
handled this as well as you are." 

"Yeah." 

"I'm serious.   This is only your third day, give it some time." 

Mulder nodded, then leaned back again, resting his head on 
the edge.   "There's a shower right over there," he pointed 
toward a small door that Skinner had assumed led to a closet,
"if you get too hot." 

Skinner glanced at the door, then turned back to watch
the water lap about him.   With a great sigh, he 
leaned back again, nestled his neck into the softly
padded edge and closed his eyes.   Warm bubbles
gurgled against his neck and shoulders, adding to the 
quiet sound of Mulder's steady breathing and his
own heart beat.  He could see why Mulder enjoyed
this place, even without the crowd massing in the main 
building.   There was solitude here, a peace and quiet 
that would be hard to find elsewhere.  A man could get 
lost in his thoughts in a place like this, suspended in the
warm water, almost suspended in time.   

Skinner had just decided each and every muscle in his 
entire body had died and gone to heaven, when he 
heard splashing to his left.   He turned and found 
Mulder standing in the tub, red-faced and breathing
heavily.    

"You OK, Mulder?" Skinner sat up when he noticed 
Mulder swaying.   Alarmed, he rose and wrapped an arm 
around the younger man.   "Hey!" 

Mulder nodded weakly.   "I just -- got a little too hot, I think." 

"Yeah, I think so." Skinner reached out and took Mulder 
by the shoulders, ignoring the man's small reflex that 
tried to avoid physical contact, and moved him to the shower.
"You're tired and you haven't eaten, just sit down."  He tugged
a chair over, then gently forced the man to sit while he turned 
the shower on to lukewarm.

"I'll be OK."  Mulder stopped resisting and let himself be 
helped into the cooling shower.  Skinner stood with him
one arm wrapped tightly around his waist, and waited 
until the flush of fever seemed to leave and his skin was
cooled.  He helped him out and reseated him, then hurried 
to his pile of clothes, grabbed his shirt and handed it to him.  
"Here, dry off and rest a minute.   We'll get you back down 
and eat that breakfast I snagged earlier." 

Mulder nodded again and took the shirt, holding it to his 
face for a minute while Skinner retrieved the rest of their 
clothes and began to get dressed.   

"What does the middle S stand for?" 

Zipping his pants, Skinner looked up.   Mulder was looking 
at the label sticking out of his impromptu towel.   "Sergei.
Walter Sergei Skinner." 

Mulder looked thoughtful for a moment, then handed the 
shirt back to its owner.   "Sergei?  Are you Russian?" 

"Not for a long time." Skinner shook his head, then pulled 
on the damp shirt and handed Mulder his clothes.   "It was
my father's name, and his father's and his father's and so
on for a long way back.  I'm named after my father. Like you."

Mulder stopped pulling on his pants and looked up, puzzled.   

Skinner waved it off.   "It's OK, Mulder.  It'll come when it's
time to come.   Are you feeling better?"  There was still a look of
exhaustion around the younger man's face, something that might
improve with breakfast as long as it was taken far from the crowds.   

"Yeah, I think so."  Mulder stood in order to finish with his 
pants, then pulled his shirt on and took a deep breath.  "We 
can get some canned juice on the way down if we go this way." 

Nodding for him to lead the way, Skinner followed his 
partner closely, keeping an eye on his steadiness.   The stress 
was probably catching up to him, even with Skinner's efforts 
to make the rescue turned residency easier 

When they got back to the basement,  Skinner left Mulder to 
prepare the meal while he retrieved coffee and several bottles 
of water from the complex.   By that afternoon, he vowed to 
have their new home completely hooked into the station 
plumbing from the shower to the galley.   They ate breakfast 
standing over the counter, and the food and rest seemed to 
help Mulder catch up to himself, but Skinner wasn't overly 
impressed with his color.   

"Listen, Mulder, why don't you just work on your room and 
take it easy today, huh?  I'm going to tap into the water lines
above us and get us hooked up for shower and a sink we can
use in our kitchen." 

Mulder rubbed his forehead, then shrugged slightly.   "I'm 
OK, it's just a headache." 

"That's a good enough reason for me."  Skinner finished 
his water and nodded to the staircase.   "Let's get
your boxes over here and you can do what you want 
with them." 

Mulder only agreed to stay there and work on his own 
unpacking after Skinner agreed that making lunch and 
dinner would be payment for his inactivity.  Skinner made
a note to make sure he brought down some of the prepared
foods so that Mulder wouldn't have to face the upper levels
alone.  After tracking down some piping, he took some tools 
and joined a few of the garrison boys who were working 
on adding taps to the fresh water supply.   With a little help 
and some borrowed fittings, he had the basement sink and
shower hooked up in less than an hour.   

By the time he realized how hungry he was, Mulder had 
lunch prepared.   

"Perfect timing, I'm starved."  Skinner came down the 
stairs and into their kitchen, sniffing the plate of
meats and cheese appreciatively.   

Mulder set some breads on the platter, then picked up a
sandwich he'd already made and walked to the table, now 
that they had one. 

Skinner nodded, making himself a sandwich.   

"We can keep some food down here you know.  Refrigeration 
is not a problem."  He took a drink from a large glass of water 
while Skinner poured one of his own. 

"Whoa, hold on, Mulder  Skinner carried his lunch to the 
table and sat down opposite his roommate.  "There's plenty 
of time for all of that.   We're not going to starve."  It suddenly 
dawned on him that he'd forgotten his promise to make the 
trip up to the mess hall for Mulder.  "Where did you get this?" 

Mulder looked down at his food and his voice got quieter for 
a moment.  "I had to go up there." 

Skinner knew instantly what he meant by 'up there' and nodded 
at the younger man's show of courage.   

"There's a side door, right next to the big oven.   I went in 
that way."  He shrugged.  "I don't think they missed any of it." 

"Nah, that's what it's there for.  For now, things will be pretty 
open, but once the perishables are gone, it might get a little 
tighter.  We can stock up from what they have stored, just to 
get us going.  After all, what they're dipping into was yours 
as well as what they brought."  Skinner bit into his sandwich, 
savoring the taste of real meat and cheese.  The cheese was 
aged, with a strong, robust flavor that complimented the meat 
perfectly, blending with its juices instead of overpowering 
them.   He'd added a thick slice of tomato and a crisp leaf of 
lettuce.     

Mulder had finished his sandwich and was leaning back in the 
chair, holding his half empty glass of water in one hand and 
rubbing his temples with the fingers of the other.  "Those big 
vehicles they're putting together out there ... are they going to 
use them to start exploring soon?" 

Skinner swallowed the last bite of the sandwich and nodded 
while he wiped his hands on a small towel.  "It'll take them 
another week or more to get everything ready, but yes, they'll 
be exploring soon.  Peters isn't going to be content to wait for
six months or more for someone to come looking for us."

Mulder nodded, looking down at the table.  "They're going 
to look for the others, aren't they?" 

With a quiet sigh, Skinner sat forward, resting both arms on 
the table.   The full extent of what those two years of isolation 
must have been like were clearly displayed on the younger man's 
face, showing through his attempts to hide them.   "If there's 
anyone out there to find, I'm sure someone will, eventually." 
Mulder's jaw clenched as he stared at the table, refusing to 
meet Skinner's gaze.   His own wish to find the answers to 
this mystery were outweighed by the pain apparent on his 
new partner's face.  "Mulder, in all that time, did you ever 
see anything, anything at all, that made you think there was
anyone -- anything -- around?" 

"No."  Mulder glanced up and shook his head.   "Nothing." 

"And you never traveled around, never left the complex for 
a few weeks to explore?" 

Another shake of his head, this time more determined and 
quick.   "No.   It was too dangerous.  The vehicle got too
hot.  It -- rumbled."   His voice trailed off as he looked 
away.   

"So, you don't know if the other team left?  Even some of
them?  When, or why they did?" 

"No.  But if they didn't die, then they must have left." 
Mulder's eyebrows creased and his face grew puzzled.  
"They had to leave, it's the only explanation."  He 
looked up suddenly, meeting Skinner's gaze with a 
look of anger and pain.  "But why?  Why would they?  
Everything they had is still here!  Everything they needed,
everything they had.   It's all still here!"  He swallowed 
and looked away, pushing some hair from his face.   

"Mulder..."  Skinner leaned closer, keeping his voice quiet in 
the hope that his friend would calm down.  "It's possible they 
had to leave because of whatever that was that got Borstein." 

"No, they left me."  Mulder shook his head, but looked 
helplessly at Skinner.   "They could have taken me, but they 
left.  They left me." 

"Listen to me, Mulder, they didn't leave you.   Whatever the 
reason, it couldn't have been personal, not like that."  God, 
he felt so helpless!  No one should ever be left alone like this.   
"I -- we don't even know what happened.  So far we're all 
guessing, and it's getting us nowhere." 

Mulder closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath, 
nodding once.   When he opened them again, he looked 
tired.  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get angry.  I just -- I 
don't understand, that's all.  I've never understood what
happened." 

Skinner sighed, feeling completely helpless.  He could 
no more guarantee they'd find the truth than he could 
fly through solid rock.  Even if they did, the reasons for 
Mulder's memory loss could turn out to be fatal.  What 
if the truth couldn't be handled?  Where Scott and Peters
and the others saw a puzzle with a piece they could make 
fit, Skinner saw a war-wound.   A near fatal hit that needed 
time, and protection, to heal.   

"I wish I could promise you we'll find all the answers, 
Mulder.  But I can't." 

Mulder shook his head slowly.  "It's OK.  You didn't 
come down here to solve someone else's problems."  He 
shrugged very slightly and looked up at Skinner.   

Skinner swallowed, fighting the tightening of his jaw 
muscles at the memory of his meeting the other night.
"And you didn't wake up two years ago and expect to 
disappear from everything you've known your whole 
life, but you're adapting.   It's what we humans do." 
He smiled and picked up the plates.  "Now, let's concentrate
on getting this place unpacked, and let the rest worry about 
itself." 

With the basement now plumbed for water from above,  
Mulder  was able to wash their lunch dishes in the double 
sink while Skinner drained the last of the reserve tank into
storage bins.  Back downstairs, Mulder's mood had 
brightened considerably.  He helped Skinner move furniture
and get it into place in the temporarily crowded living quarters.
Two couches formed a cozy seating area with a low, square 
table in the U they formed.  Off to one side, resting against 
the wall that formed Skinner's room, was the chair Mulder 
had brought down, one he'd claimed as his over the last 
two years.  Skinner had scrounged a few more tables and 
lamps, adding to the overhead lighting that was kept 
slightly dimmed in order to conserve energy.

Opposite their seating area was a work table large enough
for both of them, with chairs Skinner had also scavenged.  
It had helped, in the sudden mad scramble for more 
permanent beds and chairs and tables and lamps, that
Mulder knew where everything was.  They had two 
spare tables, perfect for desks, that Skinner placed in 
the area just outside Mulder's room, making him a 
semi-private work space.  He wasn't exactly sure what
they would be working on, but he intended to split his
time between the communications problem, and the
encrypted files that held so many of the answers they
were seeking. 

The beds in each room were standard double, a bit on
the small side for Skinner's six foot two bulk, but tolerable.
Despite the rooms' size, they left plenty of space for small
tables, dressers, storage units and a comfortable chair in 
each one.  

Most of Mulder's belongings were generic, things he had
worn when he disappeared, things he had made or found
since his exile.  The one exception was an abstract statuette
of some sort of gray metal.  Hard, but soft at the same time,
cold, but generating heat.  Skinner had never seen anything 
like it.  It was vaguely man-shaped, with an exaggerated head,
and had he ever seen it before, he would have assumed it was
one of Mulder's alien trinkets.  

"I've always had it."  Mulder shrugged, holding the silver 
metal between two fingers.  "I think it was given to me, 
because I can remember someone's voice, an older man's 
I think, telling me never to lose it." 

Skinner nodded, studying the piece.  It was intricately fashioned 
out of a silvery-gray metal, shaped in tall thin form that did
resemble a human if you looked at it just right. 

They finished rearranging all the large furniture and shelves 
just before sunset.  As badly as he wanted to sit and relax,
maybe read for a bit, Skinner's desire for a long, indulgent shower 
won over.  Mulder found what he said he'd need to make 
dinner, so Skinner gave in to his desire, peeling off his clothes 
before he was even in the bathroom.   

Skinner turned on the taps before stepping inside, and 
adjusted the temperature to suit his needs.   Liquid, thick 
and wet, shot out of a shower head and he waited until it
was nice and warm and the heat from the water began 
to mist the room.  After a few adjustments to the 
pressure, Skinner stepped inside and positioned himself
so the spray slammed into the top of his head, sending 
water cascading down his entire body.   Rivers of clear,
clean water ran down his smooth chest, over his stomach, 
then parted at his crotch to race down both muscular legs.   
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, enjoying the feel
of the water running over him, and he didn't care.   It 
was an incredible sensation, right now on an even par 
with sex.   

After some time standing there watching the water run 
over his legs and off his feet, Skinner turned around and 
let the spray hit him between the shoulders to massage 
out some residual stiffness.   He grabbed a bar of soap
from the corner shelf, watching it bubble as the water
hit it, sending a white, pleasant-smelling foam down 
the side of the shower.   He ran the slick cleanser over
his chest, feeling the lather on the lightly furred surface.   

By the time he reluctantly ended the experience, Skinner 
was quite sure he'd just taken the longest shower of his 
entire life.  Only the promise of another trip to the hot tub,
or another long shower, gave him the strength of will
needed to turn the water off and get himself toweled dry.   
When he came out of the bathroom, dressed in his towel, 
his nose picked up a delectable scent.  Mulder was still 
in the galley, stirring something in a large pot over the 
heating unit, so Skinner went into his room to put some 
clean clothes on.  He hadn't fully unpacked everything, 
but a comfortable pair of loose pants and one of his old
shirts were easily found. He gave a silent prayer of thanks

for Scully's fortuitous choices.

When he came back out, two places were set at opposite 
sides of the dining room table.   

"Hey, Mulder, what smells so good?"  Skinner sampled
 the air again appreciatively.   

Mulder carried a large bowl to the table and shrugged.   
"Just soup.  I can't remember what it's called."  He 
returned to the galley and pulled a large pitcher of water
from the refrigeration unit, carrying that to the table 
before he sat down.  "I don't know if it had a name, or
if I invented it." 

Skinner filled his bowl with the thick soup and felt
his stomach rumble.  "What's in a name, anyway,
when something smells this good?"  The meal 
consisted of a dark meat with the same consistency of
the beef from lunch, but with a spicier, almost hot taste 
to it.  Complimenting the meat were several different 
legumes of various shapes and colors, and small, red 
potatoes.   

"Yeah, I guess.  When you have no one to talk to,
names are pretty useless."  Mulder filled his own bowl
only half way, then poured a large glass of water.  "But 
I can just see myself trying to explain what everything 
is without being able to call it something." 

Skinner nearly laughed as he swallowed a mouthful of 
the succulent meal.  That was something he'd never 
considered.  "I guess that could be confusing.  You'll just 
have to get used to names again." 

"The soap, did you find that?" 

The complete change in subject took Skinner a second 
to register.   "Oh, yeah, I did." 

"I forgot to tell you where I put it."  Mulder's eyebrows 
arched apologetically.   "It's kinda rough, but it's all there
is for bathing." 

"Hey, I could have rubbed myself with sand in there and 
not cared." Skinner smiled with the memory of all that 
water, running over his body.   "You don't know what a 
luxury that is."  He stretched, an almost feline move despite
his size, and added, "I'm a water-slut."

Mulder laughed shortly, shaking his head.   "I believe
you, now." 

OK, so maybe he had taken a very long time in the 
shower, but he could be forgiven for indulging. 

Skinner helped himself to a second bowl of soup and 
noticed Mulder hadn't eaten very much.   He still
looked tired and a little pale, and was gazing into 
his water glass with a vacant look.  "Are you feeling
OK?" 

Mulder shook himself a little and looked up. "Yeah, 
I'm fine."  One hand came up to move some hair
from front to back.  "I'm just tired, that's all.  Things 
are catching up." 

"I'm sure they are."  Most people Skinner knew would 
have cracked under these conditions; this man just
got tired.  "Leave those, I'll take care of it."  He held 
out a hand to prevent Mulder from clearing the table.   

Reluctantly, he stepped back from the table and nodded.   
"I think I'm gonna turn in, then, if you don't mind." 

"No, that's a good idea."  Skinner reached for his water 
and glanced around their new living room.  "I'm pretty 
beat myself, actually.  I'll try to keep it down out here." 

Mulder stopped at the bathroom door and turned around.   
"No, that's OK.   I mean ..."  He looked away for a moment 
as if trying to find the right words.  "I don't mind.  In fact, 
I kinda like hearing someone else making noise.  You know?" 

Skinner smiled a little, understanding what he meant.   
"Yeah, I think I do."  There could never be a silence
as silent as the sound of being alone.   

He waited until his partner was in the bathroom, then 
gathered up the dishes and washed them, making short
work of them in their new galley sink.  He cleaned 
up, stored the leftover soup, then checked the door
before calling it a night himself.  Aware of Mulder's 
new-found security, he tried not to be completely silent 
in his round of the doors and monitors.  After a quick 
wash in the bathroom, he turned off the last light and 
went into his room, pushing past the unopened boxes 
till he reached the bed.  A small lamp and night table 
were set up and working, so he turned off the bright 
overhead light, took off everything but his boxers, and
climbed gratefully into bed with the book he'd wanted 
to read last night.   

Skinner set his pillow against the wall that served as 
a headboard and leaned back, scanning the titles.  He 
flipped the pages to the first chapter and began to read
of  'a train of circumstances so unusual, it could not be
left from the series' -- The Resident Patient.    

Skinner was two pages in when he heard the shout.   

****************************************

"No!" 

He tossed the book aside and was off the bed in a flash.
"Mulder?" 

"They're coming!" 

"Mulder!"  The door between their rooms was closed,
and wouldn't open to his first touch, but with one hard 
shove, the metal twisted and the door slid open.  
Skinner burst into the room and found his agent
sitting up in bed, staring at him with wide, panic-stricken
eyes.  "Are you all right?" 

Mulder nodded quickly and leaned forward, running 
a shaking hand over his hair.  "I'm sorry, it was
just a nightmare." 

Skinner sighed, giving his heart time to slow down as t
he adrenaline peaked.  "It sounded pretty serious." 
The younger man glanced up and shook his head a 
little, smiling apologetically.  He was very pale.  

"I don't even remember it."  Mulder shrugged, then 
coughed.  

"You don't look too good, my friend."  Skinner reached
out and put a hand on Mulder's forehead.  

Startled, the younger man pulled back.  "I'm fine." 
He started to say more, but another round of coughs 
stopped him.  

"You're burning up."  Skinner put a hand on Mulder's 
shoulder, ignoring his attempts to flinch away, then
placed a hand on the fevered head again.  "Damn, I 
should have seen this sooner." 

"It's nothing."  Mulder's voice was losing some volume.  
A shiver coursed over him and he cleared his throat.  

"It *is* something, Mulder."  Skinner straightened up.  
"I'm going to call up to Dr. Scott, then get you to
the med lab."  He went back into his room for some pants.  

"No, I'm fine." 

His pants and a shirt were draped over one of the unpacked 
boxes.  "Mulder, you're running a fever.  I should have 
seen this coming."  Scott should have, too.  "It makes sense.
You haven't been exposed to anything in a couple of years." 
He fastened the pants as he walked back to his partner's room.  

Mulder was still on the bed, hugging the blanket up to 
his shoulders as he shivered, still shaking his head.  "I'll 
be fine." 

"Yes, you will.  Once we get you up to sickbay and let 
the doctor have a look at you."  It was just going to add 
to the stress of being sick, forcing Mulder back up 
there among all those strangers.  At least the majority of 
them would be asleep by now.  "I'll be right back."  Ignoring
Mulder's quiet protests, Skinner left through his door into 
the hall, then maneuvered his way around the mess of crates
and stacks of things still waiting to be put away, until he 
reached the intercom.  It took only minutes to contact
the man on duty and arrange for him to have Aaron 
meet them in the med lab.  When he returned to Mulder's
room, he found a pair of pants on the floor near the chair.  

"I'm all right.  It's just a cold or something."  Mulder 
sighed, swaying slightly on the bed.  

"Yes, I'm sure it is."  Skinner reached out for the blanket
 he was clutching and pulled it away gently.  "But your 
body hasn't had a cold in a long time, has it?"  Reluctantly, 
the blanket was let go and Mulder reached out for the pants.  
"I'm sure, thanks to that, you'll react well to some antibiotics
and get over this in no time." 

With the pants on, Mulder reached for the blanket again 
and Skinner helped wrap it around his shoulders.  Since 
he'd been sleeping in shorts and a shirt, that should be 
warm enough for the brief walk from the basement to
the medical unit.  It would be warmer upstairs anyway,
since he had been keeping the temperature in the basement
down, in deference to Mulder's vague concerns over too
much heat.  He took his partner by the arms and helped 
him upstairs, feeling only a slight resistance now to 
being touched.  But when they reached the empty 
hallways of the main building, he froze.  

"It's OK, we'll be there in a minute."  Even in the 
dimmed lights, Skinner could see Mulder's face drain 
of all color.  He put an arm around his friend and 
hurried them both down the corridor and through the
main meeting and work rooms to the door to the sickbay.
Mulder nearly collapsed when they entered the hall.  

"Skinner, what's the matter?"  Aaron was there, rushing 
down the corridor to meet them.  

"He has a fever, chills, a slight cough."  Skinner nodded 
for him to walk ahead and lead them to the med lab 
instead of taking Mulder's other arm.  The man was 
leaning into him now, almost pressing his face into 
his chest, the blanket held tightly around him.  "I should 
have seen this sooner." 

They entered the medical lab and Aaron pointed to a 
side exam room.  "Of course, I wasn't even thinking.  
We've exposed him to things he hasn't been around in 
a long time.  Even without any of us experiencing 
symptoms right now." 

Skinner helped Mulder onto the exam table, but as he 
straightened up, the younger man grabbed his shirt.  
"I'm not sick, I'll be fine." 

"Mulder, just let him check you out, OK?"  There was a 
flash of fear in those hazel eyes that knotted Skinner's 
stomach.  "I'll be right out here." 

The hand clutching his shirt let go reluctantly, and Skinner
allowed Aaron to usher him out of the room and into the
main laboratory area.  "He's allergic to penicillin, Aaron.
Give him Keflex or Bactrim, OK?"  The doctor nodded as
he turned back to his patient.

"He'll be fine, I'm sure." 

Skinner turned to find Peters standing at the door, Brian
McMurray beside him.  "Yeah."  He stepped closer to the 
doorway and nodded at Brian, feeling his jaw muscles tighten.
"He'll be fine." 

"Has he said anything yet?" 

"Brian, the man's only been with Skinner for two days. 
Give it time, for Christ's sake." 

Skinner looked from Peters to McMurray, trying to unclench 
his jaw.  "If Mulder has anything to tell me that needs sharing, 
I'll let you know.  Anything else we talk about is between my 
agent and me." 

"We have a right to know what the hell happened here, 
Skinner."  McMurray shot an angry look over Skinner's 
shoulder.  "He was here, so he knows.  One way or the other.  
How do you know it wasn't him who encrypted all that data?  
He could have even forged the medical records, making us 
fall for that amnesia bit." 

Anger flared through Skinner's entire body, but he held 
it in check with practiced skill, letting his voice take on 
an edge.  "Whatever happened to him, whatever happened
here at the station, we've only had the one incident with
Borstein and the unknown predator.  And that was out in
the open.  It hasn't happened in the complex, inside.  
I should think you have more important things  on your 
mind now that we're all stuck here." 

"Yet.  Hasn't happened yet."  Brian made sure both men 
heard the distinction.  

"Brian, there could be a thousand explanations for the 
disappearance of the original scientists.  We've been
over this already."  Peters quietly tried to inject some reason.  

"The answer is right in front of us, and you two refuse to 
see it!"  Brian made little attempt to control the volume of 
his voice in the quiet room.  "Have you forgotten your oath,
Peters?  Forgotten our prime objective in this mission?  It's 
our job to investigate what happened, what's down here,
and use any means available to find the answers.  This place,
whether you want to call it Research Station Delta Six or 
Nihility Station, belongs to the United States government.  
We work for them, remember, Colonel?  We have a responsibility 
to the people who sent us here, and the people who might 
come after us, to find out all we can." 

Skinner's control did an immediate about-face.  "You people 
make me sick!"  Though his voice was under some control, his 
anger came shining through.  "You preach about being concerned 
with the preservation of American security, the protection of
American life, yet you're ready to destroy a life -- a life that is
very
important to me, by the way -- in an attempt to find answers that
*may not be there!*" 

"Skinner..." 

"No,"  Skinner shook off Peters' restraining hand and held 
up an accusing finger.  "You came here to play soldier and
fight some unknown enemy.  That's fine.  But you're forgetting,
Mulder isn't the enemy, just because he was here when you 
came down.  You think you get to play around with and study 
everything to your heart's content, but you keep wanting to 
include him.  Well, I've got news for you, McMurray, he's not
a mystery for you to solve or a puzzle piece you can try to
make fit!"  Skinner's voice was shaking, his hands clenched
by his side.  "You say you work for the American government?
Well -- so do I!  And in case you've forgotten -- so does he!
He's one of us!" 

"He's not one of us, Skinner, any more than you are." 

Incredulous, Skinner rolled his eyes, trying to find some 
hint of sanity in the room.  "So you think that somehow 
gives you power?   Some kind of right to do whatever you 
deem appropriate in the name of almighty government?" 

"If he was loyal to his country, he'd see he has a duty, 
to us and the people who were here.  Hiding behind 
whatever the hell's keeping him from remembering isn't 
a good enough excuse!" 

"That's pretty cold, McMurray.  Why don't you put yourself 
in his place for just a minute, huh?  I bet you can't even imagine, 
for one instant, what it must feel like.  You can't, can you?" 
Skinner paused, daring Brian to answer.  "Well, I can." 

"Stop this."  Peters stepped between the two men, glaring first
at Brian, then at Skinner.  "We've had this discussion before, 
and I'm not changing my mind about it.  Brian, we all agreed 
to leave this issue alone for now." 

"For now."  Brian shot a look of finality at Skinner, then 
turned and stormed down the hallway.  

"Don't be too hard on him, Walter."  Peters sighed, shaking 
his head.  "We found some pretty strange things today, and Jerry
was one of his men.  The tension is running a little high tonight." 

"Strange things?" 

"Yes, in the south wing, where Katherine is setting up shop, 
we --" 

"Excuse me," Aaron stepped out of the exam room and marched 
to the two men.  "If you two are quite finished, I have a patient 
who needs some rest."  He gave them both a disapproving stare.  
"We're both tired of listening to you argue." 

Skinner quickly glanced back at the room, with its heavy 
curtain drawn.  He'd tried to keep his voice down, but McMurray
had made no such effort.  Even whispering, in that room sounds 
were sure to have traveled.  The last thing he wanted to do was 
add to Mulder's fear of these people, but right now he couldn't 
help feeling he shouldn't leave the man alone around them.  

"How is he?" 

"You were right, he has the flu." Aaron sighed, shoving a 
thermometer into his pocket.  

"I'll leave you two alone."  Peters nodded into the room.  
"Skinner, if you have a few minutes, I'd like to show you 
what we found in the south wing's lab." 

"Yeah, OK."  Skinner agreed for the sake of getting the 
colonel to leave, then turned back to Aaron.  "Is he going to
be OK?" 

"Yes, he will.  Mulder hasn't been exposed to the average 
viruses and germs that plague us all in a long time, though 
he has had them in the past.  His body remembers the usual 
influenza virus and what to do about it, but it's taking quite 
a toll."  He sighed, then smiled reassuringly.  "He needs rest 
and some antibiotics to help muster up his immune system."

"No penicillin," Skinner warned.

"No, no penicillin.  I'll be happier when that fever goes 
down, but I don't see any cause for serious worry right now." 

"Good.  That's good."  Skinner felt the anger wash out of his
body, replaced by a large sense of relief.  "I should have seen 
this earlier, but I thought it was just all this stress catching up." 

"He appears to be adjusting pretty well.  How is he taking this
new situation with you?" 

"Better than I thought he might.  It helps to be away from the 
others, to have time to adjust to it all." 

"Has he said anything?  Does he talk to you about what
happened ?" 

Skinner stared at his, disbelieving.  "You're still on 
McMurray's side, aren't you?" 

"No, I just---" 

"I used to think you were one of the good guys, Aaron." 
He'd always felt doctors were the last of them, the knights 
in white who held life above all else as sacred.  

"Don't, Walter.  You know I don't want that any more 
than you do." Aaron lowered his voice, shooting a glance 
over Skinner's shoulder.  "We all know why you took him 
on; it's just hard to be patient." 

Skinner shook his head, puzzled.  "You all know what?" 

"You're loyal to your man, Walter.  That's commendable.  
But everything we were given, the briefings we had, indicate
that you weren't particularly close to him -- no more so than
any other person who reports to you.   And you're not gay,
so keeping Mulder with you isn't sexual, and that leaves only 
one other conclusion.  And it makes sense, befriending him 
like this.  I'm sure in time it will work and some of his 
memory will come back as he begins to trust --" 

"Wait a minute."  Skinner raised both hands, then for a 
moment couldn't find the words to express his irritation.  
"What makes you think these are only two possible 
reasons for my wanting this man around?  I -- what about 
friendship?"  Aaron sighed and took a pose Skinner knew 
all too well.  He hated condescension.  "Look, this is my
agent -- my man.  Yes, I'm loyal.  But he is my *friend*
as well.  I don't care what briefing you read, what files they
have on me or on Mulder.  I won't tolerate him being hurt
more than he already has been.  What you see as some 
subject you can dig into and mess around with, I see as a
human being.  Someone with more knowledge about this
place than any of us.  I see a man who's been the victim 
of some pretty lousy circumstances, who has information, 
talent and skills that will make being marooned in this 
godforsaken station a bit more bearable." 

Aaron's attitude wasn't changing, and Skinner could feel 
his frustration level bubbling up.  His voice darkened and 
grew more quiet.  "And if you think, for one minute, I'm 
going to let you or your Nazi army buddies try to get 
inside his head and pry loose whatever demons he's 
managed to lock up, you'd better think again." 

"No, I told you, I don't agree with that method any 
longer."  Aaron looked away, his face reddening slightly.  
"I'm ashamed to admit I ever thought of it in the first 
place.  It goes against everything I stand for as a 
doctor.  In fact, just seeing people again might stimulate 
his memories over the next few weeks." 

Skinner took a deep breath, trying to force his anger back 
down.  He hoped Mulder couldn't hear them from behind 
the heavy curtain.  Maybe he was even sleeping now?  

"I'm sorry, Walter.  I had no right to assume anything 
without speaking to you about it.  It's just -- I feel so 
helpless right now.  In spite of the briefings we
were given, knowing that -- ah, hell -- we all expected
to be here more than a week.  But we didn't expect
to be stranded, to have our only pilot killed.  Some
of the folks are figuring they didn't sign on for all
of this ... " He shrugged helplessly.

"You are more involved in this project, whatever it is,
than you let me believe."  Skinner's voice held a note
of resignation.  He should have expected something like
this, considering the people they were dealing with.

Aaron shrugged again.  "What I do, I do for my own
reasons."  He looked past Skinner toward the exam 
room.  "That night -- after Jerry died and we knew they
were real -- I let it all get to me and almost became the 
thing we all fear most.  And, as much as I would still 
like to know what happened, I -- none of us -- has any 
right to sacrifice a life to find the answers." 

Skinner swallowed, accepting his apology.  "Can I
talk to him?" 

"Yes." Aaron took a deep breath and nodded.  "He 
seems very uncomfortable here, emotionally.  I can't 
say that I blame him."  They began walking toward 
the curtained room.  "Just give him a few hours to rest, 
let me see if I can get that fever down, then you can 
take him back.  I'm sure he'll be much more comfortable 
away from here." 

The curtain pulled back in response to their approach, 
revealing an exam table and two walls of medical 
instruments.  Mulder was on the bed, still wrapped in 
his blanket, with a IV pump attached to his left forearm, 
feeding him intravenous fluids.  He was still pale, and 
his hair was damp with sweat.  

"Hey, Mulder.  I told you this wouldn't be all that 
bad, huh?"  Skinner smiled down at his friend, hoping 
he hadn't been able to hear what taken place.  

"Can we go back now?"  Mulder turned to Skinner, 
his voice barely a whisper, but made no move to sit
up.  "Please?"  

Skinner sat on the bed, one hand resting lightly on
Mulder's arm.  "Listen, I want you to relax here for 
a few hours, OK?  I have to go talk to the colonel about
some things, then we'll go back." 

"You could at least rest here until morning," Aaron added.  

Mulder sighed heavily and closed his eyes.  He seemed 
about to argue, then nodded.  "OK." 

Skinner put a hand on the younger man's forehead, then 
turned to Aaron.  "I have to go meet Peters in the south wing.
Will you ...?" 

"I'll stay right here."  Aaron smiled and patted Skinner's arm.  
"Trust me, he'll be fine." 

He didn't, really, but he'd have to.  At least for now.  Aaron
had, after all, admitted his mistake.  He could earn a second 
chance, but he had some proving to do.  "I don't want Brian 
anywhere near him." 

"Don't worry, Skinner.  It's after midnight, no one else even 
knows you two are here and they wouldn't care if they did.  
It's just McMurray doing all the complaining right now, 
and he's in the south wing with Peters." 

Skinner nodded once, then quietly left the med lab after 
one last look at Mulder.  He was asleep, somewhat 
uneasily, and might not even know Skinner wasn't 
right there until he got back.  The south wing lab was 
a ways away, through the wing he was in, down a 
large corridor that spanned the entire main building, 
then into the adjacent section and all the way to the end.  
The complex was quiet, with only every third corridor 
light on for the night.  Now and again, he passed a
room with people still busily working over something 
they'd found or needed to assemble, quiet voices 
discussing this or that possibility or placement.  

When he arrived at his destination, he found McMurray
and Peters inside the main area, conferring with their 
exobiologist, Katherine Vespi -- another person whose 
inclusion on the team was making more sense now.
She was the first to see him come inside.  

"So, Walter, how's Mulder?" 

"He's fine, Katherine.  Just the flu."  Skinner shot 
a glance at McMurray, but the man said nothing.  
"What is it you wanted to show me?" 

"It's over here."  Katherine motioned to the far wall 
and led the way.  "I was having these tables and crates 
moved, so I could get this lab set up, when we found 
them." 

Skinner followed her and Peters to the end of the laboratory,
then peered over the table.  Deep in the specially constructed,
titanium wall, three ragged gashes ripped through the metal 
in yard long marks.  

"Those aren't the only ones."  Peters pointed to another wall.  
"We found two more over there, then some scraping marks 
in the floor near the exit." 

"So, they brought something in here that didn't want to stay." 
Skinner shrugged.  He fixed Katherine with a deep look.  
"I'm a little more competent in sorting you people out now.
Isn't that what this lab is for?" 

Katherine inhaled deeply, then let it out.  "Yes, that's what 
I've been trying to explain here.  This lab would have been 
used, and now, while we're stuck here, will be used, to 
study -- animals." 

"Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to gouge out 
the metal walls and floor.  And so far, we can't find anything 
in the records big enough to inflict this kind of damage." 
Peters gestured around the room.  "And over there, the 
computer terminal has been ripped into as well." 

Skinner shook his head and tried hard not to roll his 
eyes.  Instead, he rubbed them tiredly.  "Peters, you
know as well as I do those records are incomplete."
A sudden thought shot through him and he looked 
up, relaxing when he found Brian still in the room 
with them.  "Look, we've only been here for three 
days."  He paused, glaring at Brian, but got no rebuttal.  
"Now, if Katherine isn't overly concerned about this, 
then I don't see any reason for anyone else to be."  
Skinner looked at her and received a smile and a nod.  
"She's the expert when it comes to this sort of thing." 

"I've been trying to tell you, Colonel, this could have 
been caused by anything.  Even the most docile animal, 
when frightened, is capable of tremendous acts of violence." 

Peters nodded and looked at McMurray.  "Have you taken 
samples of the metal yet?" 

Skinner held up a hand, interrupting McMurray's response.  
"Listen, it's late.  I'm going to get some sleep."  He 
didn't wait for anyone's reaction.  

During the long trek back to the med lab, Skinner tried 
not to think about the marks.  Tried not to think about 
what kind of animal could gouge large chunks out of 
titanium walls.  Tried not to think about black monsters
that rose from the ice and carried grown men away.  
There were a few things he could remember, from 
childhood horror stories, capable of that kind of 
destruction.  But that was only fiction.  Nothing to
really fear in childhood tales.  

Besides, the only thing Walter Skinner ever really 
feared, was Man.


**********************
Iced 03/15

There were shadows on the walls, moving around the room,
scratching as they searched for a doorway.  He could see 
them.  Inky black -- the kind of black that sucks in the 
light and reaches out, hungry for more.  Black hole black.
Someone must have left a door unlocked and these crept 
in -- through a door, under a door, around a door.  Always
hungry, always cold; always seeking food and warmth.
There were people here now, and they didn't understand.
They just didn't understand.  He always locked the doors. 
Except for those times when -- Oh God!  They were hungry!  
Moving along the walls, fingers of darkness feeling around 
for a way inside.  A way out, he had to find a way out!  One 
small enough and cold enough that they couldn't follow 
through, eating everything in their path before moving on. 

Mulder reached behind him and felt a wall, but it was 
the wrong wall.  The way out was too far away, over by 
the hall, and the shadows were far too close.  He'd never
make it.  What little light there was that shone into 
the room slowly began to fade as the shadows crept closer. 
He was trapped!  How had they gotten in?  This hadn't 
happened before, not like this.  Now they were sucking 
out the air as they pulled in the light, making their own 
heat, making the room hot.  Mulder's skin was beginning 
to feel warm, and the air he pulled in felt hot against the 
back of his throat. 

"Help?"  Where were the others?  Why hadn't they turned
on the lights and locked the shadows out like he always
had before?  He'd tried to tell them, but they didn't listen.
He had to get away!  There had to be a way out!  But it
was too far away, and he was growing tired.  With effort, 
Mulder turned to face the doorway.  He'd have to get out
alone.  If they weren't going to answer him, if they 
weren't going to help him, he'd have to get out alone. 
But it was so far away! 

In a flash so bright it made him blink, the lights came 
on, shearing into the room like a knife that the shadows 
ran from with incredible speed.  Mulder breathed a sigh 
of relief, but his throat still scratched with the heat 
of the air.  He turned, searching the room for shadows, 
but found none. 

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. It couldn't 
have been one of them, they didn't know how to touch like
this.  Soft and gentle, strong, and firm, this touch
calmed him and something inside him began to unknot.  He
froze, not from fear, but to keep from frightening away 
the touch.  It was dark now, but not from the shadows.  
Just the quiet, comforting dark of sleep. Curious, and 
curiously unafraid, Mulder followed that sense of touch 
as it moved from his shoulder to his face. The hand was 
brushing some hair from his eyes, then it rested for a 
moment on his forehead. After that brief touch, the hand 
moved back to his shoulder and rested gently there. 

Mulder sighed. This must be part of the dream.  It was safe. 
It had been a nightmare, and now he was having a dream. 
It was the one where he wasn't alone anymore, only this
time it felt so much more real. This time he thought he 
could really feel the hand, really hear the breathing. 
And this time, he wasn't afraid. 

Slowly and with some reluctance, Mulder opened his eyes, 
blinking against the burning behind both eyelids.  His throat 
was hot and scratchy, and his head pounded a little.  He 
hadn't felt like this in so long, he'd forgotten how 
uncomfortable it was.  His vision cleared to reveal the 
stark white ceiling of the station's rudimentary medical
unit.  When he coughed to clear his throat, he heard 
movement beside him. 

"Hey, how do you feel?" 

It was Skinner, sitting beside the bed. It had been him 
during the night, keeping the nightmares at bay, Mulder 
knew. He swallowed back the automatic response of 'I'm fine,' 
which would have been a lie.  "Hot and achy." 

Skinner nodded.  "You've got a nasty case of the flu, but I 
think you'll be OK in a few days."  He glanced over his 
shoulder where a heavy white curtain separated them from 
the rest of the medical lab.  "I wanted you to stay here 
overnight, till you got over the worst of the fever.  It's
warmer here." 

Mulder nodded, swallowing again. The feeling in his throat 
seemed to be easing up with every other swallow, but his 
entire body ached and burned, and his head was pounding. 
"I'll be fine.  Can we go?"  He sat up slowly, hoping that 
the curtain wasn't going to pull back and reveal a room full of
those people, all waiting for something from him.  He knew, 
somehow, Skinner had stayed with him there all night.  He 
remembered overhearing the argument he'd had. 

Skinner looked at him for a moment with a very tolerant 
expression, then handed him the blanket he'd been wrapped 
in that night.  "Yeah, we can get you back now.  I told
them you wouldn't be comfortable here.  The doc gave me 
strict orders, and some antibiotics for you." 

"And I'm only trusting him because he's had some medical 
training."  The curtain moved with a swish as the doctor
walked to the bed, pulling the thermometer from his lab 
coat pocket. 

Mulder glanced at Skinner questioningly. 

"Military medical training, nothing fancy."  Skinner shrugged, 
wrapping the blanket around Mulder's shoulders.  "And it was
a long time ago.  I'm better with blood than viruses." 

Aaron listened to Mulder's chest, then took the thermometer 
from his mouth.  "You're to get plenty of sleep and rest, 
Agent Mulder.  Drink lots of water and other clear liquids.  
He peeled the thin cover from the thermometer, threw it
in a trash can and returned the unit to his pocket.  "I've given 
the AD here some pills for you to take, every four hours. 
And something else in case you feel nauseated."  Aaron's
eyes cut to Skinner as he added, "He seems very familiar
with your medical history." 

Mulder nodded at each sentence, anxious for him to reach 
the end so he could get out of this too warm, too mechanical
area and away from these people. Almost as if he could 
read minds, Skinner's arms came around Mulder's shoulders 
and helped him off the exam bed. 

"We'll be fine, Aaron." 

Willingly, if not a little weakly, Mulder let himself 
be led toward the exit. 

"Oh, and Mulder, on behalf of all of us -- " Aaron
stopped at the door. "I want to apologize for exposing 
you like this." 

With a simple nod of his head, and a wave of Skinner's arm, 
they were off down the corridor and around the corner. 

The rest was a blur. He wanted to thank Skinner for having 
stayed with him there all night, for not leaving him alone 
with them.  He was pretty sure he'd started to ask what 
time it was, to see if the sun was still up.  But all he 
remembered was a hot feeling, something really scratchy 
in the back of his throat, and his knees aching. By 
the time the shivering started, he realized he was in 
bed, wrapped in warm blankets in a softly lit room. 

"Walter?"  Mulder blinked, then turned his head to the side 
and found his new friend standing beside the bed.  Though
not really new.  Old friend, it just felt new to him  And that 
felt strange too, using a name. A real name, of a real person, 
right there. The concept, as well as the realization that
it was the first time he'd called Skinner by name, struck 
him as totally alien.  Or was it the first time?  Hadn't he
asked him something by name before?  It was as if his 
mind was suddenly exploding with a million questions 
and answering them all at the same instant.  Even the 
sound of his own voice seemed full of fascination. 

"Right here."  Skinner's hand reached out and rested on 
Mulder's forehead for a moment. "Your fever spiked up 
again." 

No kidding!  Spending six hours contemplating the meaning 
behind a name wasn't something you did while awake.  Or 
had it been a few minutes?  What was time, anyway?  It had 
never really mattered before.  Nothing had ever mattered 
before.  Names had certainly never mattered before.  Or
had they?  He couldn't remember.  Even that didn't matter. 
But Walter -- now that was a name!  More importantly, it
was someone's name!  Not something, like a book.  Not 
some title, like doctor or agent, which the others insisted 
on calling him, even though he had no memory of what an
agent did.  No, this was real.  He couldn't remember anyone's 
name from before, and the records never mentioned any 
names he should know.  No family, no friends, no one. 

Only now there was someone!  Now he had a name he could 
call out, and it meant something.  It meant trust, in a 
crowd of fear.  It meant he wasn't alone anymore.  It 
meant that some small part of that dream might possibly 
have come true.  Perhaps it still wasn't in his control, 
but it just might turn out better this way.  Walter.  Not 
a machine, or a half-conscious dream, but a name.  And
please God, not something he'd just been blathering in 
his sleep! 

As Mulder became aware of where he was and what had
just been spinning around in his head, he also became 
aware of someone else in the room with him.  Cautiously, 
he opened his eyes.  It was dark except for one small lamp 
on a table in the corner, next to a chair where Skinner 
was sitting, reading one of the books.  Reading, not 
looking up laughing, or creasing his eyebrows at the 
twit on the bed babbling nonsense in his sleep!
 
With a quiet sigh, Mulder closed his eyes again.  The 
aching in his knees was gone, as was the awful pounding 
between his eyes.  His skin no longer hurt, but his throat 
was still sore when he swallowed.  There was a blanket 
he didn't remember ever seeing before covering him up 
to his chest.  He rolled slightly to his side, testing his 
joints for more of the fevered pain.  When no discomfort 
ensued, he pulled the new blanket up and tucked it under 
his chin, then fell gratefully back into a more comfortable 
sleep. 

The relief of being fever-free was so profound that Mulder fell
into a deep, restful sleep.  Until he felt the touch on his 
shoulder, gently shaking him awake.  He opened his eyes and 
found Skinner standing beside the bed, looking apologetic as 
he placed a glass of water on the small table. 

"Sorry, doctor's orders, Mulder."  Skinner held up two small, 
pink pills. 

Mulder propped himself up on one elbow and reached for the 
tablets.  "How long was I asleep?"  He couldn't remember 
taking these before, but then, he couldn't remember much of 
anything. 

"A few hours. You've been in and out all day, but I don't 
imagine you remember."  Skinner handed him the glass of water, 
waiting for him to finish so he could take it again. 

The pills went down easily with a mouthful of water. Mulder 
handed back the glass, then sat up against the wall, pulling 
the unfamiliar blanket up over his stomach.  "All day?  I 
feel like I've been asleep for a week."  Skinner reached out 
and put a hand over Mulder's forehead.  It was an action that
should have scared him to death, but it was so quickly done, 
and so non-threatening, he had no time to flinch away.  The 
touch was even oddly familiar.  Mulder swallowed back his 
surprise. "Have you been in here all this time?" 

Skinner nodded, then moved his hand and reached for Mulder's
wrist, expertly taking his pulse.  "Pretty much, yeah."
Apparently satisfied with what he found, he let go, but the
hand traveled up to gently cup the younger man's cheek,
turning the head slightly so he looked into his eyes.  Mulder
unconsciously burrowed into that large hand, feeling strangely
secure for the first time in a long time.  "Are you hungry?" 

The thought, as fleeting as it was, stirred other feelings. 
"No, but I have to go to the bathroom."  Acknowledging
seemed to increase the urgency, making him fling the 
blanket away so he could swing his legs off the bed.  
Legs that wobbled dangerously when his feet found the 
floor. 

"Whoa, take it easy."  Skinner reached out, taking hold of 
Mulder's shoulders before he fell. 

"Oh, man."  He swayed into the support, his back coming
to rest against that broad chest, breathing deeply 
for a moment until his balance returned.  Wordlessly, 
Skinner helped him out of the room and through the 
little niche to the bathroom door.  "Thanks, I think I'm 
OK now."  Momentarily mortified that he wasn't going 
to be able to manage this simple task alone, Mulder 
paused at the bathroom door. 

"Just take deep breaths and move slowly, all right?"  Skinner
nodded toward the room, smiling slightly.  "And yell if you 
need help." 

"Right."  Grinning to hide his embarrassment, Mulder stepped 
inside and closed the door.  The toilet was just inside and 
to the left, close to the wall he was using for support. 
After relieving himself, he walked slowly to the sink and 
splashed cold water over his face, washing off the sweat and 
staleness of the fever.  When he straightened back up, he 
caught a reflection in the mirror.  A pale version of himself, 
wearing a clean T-shirt and shorts.  Just how sick had he been? 
If his lack of color and energy was any indication, pretty sick. 
Yet Skinner hadn't wanted to leave him in the complex with the
doctor.  Instead of farming him off to be sick and recuperate 
in the sick bay, he'd brought him back here and stayed up 
nursing him.  Apparently for no more reason than that he knew
how anxious it made Mulder to be so far from his safe place,
to be out where the machines hummed and the air was far too
warm for safety.  That was either a testament to the man's
character, or a statement of his lack of trust when it came 
to the very people who'd traveled here with him.  Or both. 

Either way, he'd saved Mulder from them yet again. And, 
apparently, kept him in clean clothes during the fever. 
That was something he wasn't ready to think about. 

"Are you OK, Mulder?" 

Mulder swallowed and glanced toward the door, judging the 
distance versus his current state of wobbliness.  "Yeah, 

I think so."  The door wasn't too far, luckily, and he made 
the trip without incident. 

"You should get back to bed."  Skinner was there waiting, 
reaching out to take Mulder's arm as he came through the 
door. 

"I'm not really tired anymore."  Nevertheless, he allowed 
himself to be led back into the room.  The bed had been 
changed, with fresh linen beckoning him to lie down for 
just a moment.  "Listen, if you have things to do, I'll 
be fine now."  He sat down, slowly and with some steadying 
help, then sighed at the cool feel of the clean sheets. 

Skinner gazed at him, then nodded his understanding.  "I'll 
leave you alone, then. But I'll be just out there."  One 
finger pointed to the rudimentary lab they were constructing.
"I've got more equipment to unpack, but I've rigged an 
intercom." 

Mulder glanced at the wall next to his bed, seeing for the 
first time the small box on the wall with its three buttons. 

"If you need anything, call me.  All right?" 

He was waiting for an answer.  "Yeah, I will."  Man, that was 
something he was going to have to get used to!  He'd been alone
so long, that split off part of his personality the only company.
That could be ignored, more or less.  But this guy wasn't like
that.  Still confused over social niceties, communication
etiquette seemed to have been lost in the black hole of his
memory.  And Skinner apparently expected his concerns to be 
acknowledged before he'd leave.  Mulder sighed and pushed some
hair out of his face while Skinner turned to leave.  This habit 
of his probably eliminated the whole issue of miscommunication. 
He'd have to try adopting this one. 

****************************************************

It took nearly ten minutes after Skinner went upstairs before 
Mulder's strength returned in sufficient quantity to stand 
up again. When he did, it was only to find the small portable 
laptop he'd hidden in the bottom drawer of his smaller dresser, 
then return to the bed.  The blanket he couldn't identify had
been folded up and draped over the foot of the mattress, 
looking nothing like the warm cocoon that had kept him safe 
all night long.  With one hand, Mulder reached out and felt 
an edge of the thin material.  It was metal grey, and alone
on the bed, it was cool to the touch.  Quite a contrast to
the warmth it had imparted last night -- even here in the 
cold part of the station, the only place he would stay now
that the others were running the equipment and making things
hum.  This must be Skinner's.  He'd didn't think he'd ever 
seen or felt anything quite like it before. 

"What the hell are you doing?  You don't talk to me 
anymore?  How can I keep you safe if you don't talk to me?" 

A throbbing between Mulder's eyes accompanied the sound of 
the other one -- the voice he was coming to dread.  He 
flipped on the computer.  "I've been sick."  And now I'm 
compounding it! Why had he felt the need for this -- what?
This what?  This technique?  This debate?  This conversation? 
He didn't need it -- he didn't!

"Sick?  You haven't been sick since -- It was them, wasn't it?" 
The voice chastised.  "They brought germs you haven't been 
around in too long.  You should have known." 

"They didn't do any of this on purpose." 

"Everything they do is on purpose.  Never make that mistake. 
They can't be trusted." 

Mulder swallowed, testing the back of his throat.  It was hardly 
scratchy at all now.  "Don't talk to me about trust."  He glanced
at the wall unit, suddenly afraid that unit was picking up his 
conversation.  The lights were all dark.  Skinner wasn't like 
them.  He wouldn't invade his privacy like that.  "Walter 
took care of me." 

"And why?  What does he want?  The same thing the others 
want?  What everyone wants from you?  How long will you 
be safe with them in control?" 

"Stop it!"  

A deep voice called from down the short hall.  "You OK?"

Mulder swallowed again, then answered.  "Yeah.  I'm  
all right."

He looked up as if in prayer, then lowered his voice.  "Tell me 
the truth. Do you know -- do *I* know -- what happened to 
the others?"  Sounds from down the hall told him his new 
roommate was still there, busily going about his business. 

"Have I ever lied to you?" 

God, here we go again! "Do you know what happened to 
the others?" 

"They're filling you with lies!" 

Why was he bothering?  He could simply shut down the
voice.  Reintegrate.  He didn't need someone to talk to 
now.  It couldn't be much harder than cutting off 
his own right hand, could it?  "You're not real.  You don't exist.  
You're just a defense mechanism I invented to help me cope." 

"I've shown you the data.  I've shown you all of the records, 
pointed out where the damage was, given you full access to 
the entire bank.  Everything that I know, you know." 

Mulder's fingers flashed across the keyboard, log records
and reports flying by.  He read the files he'd seen a thousand
times, garbage data, damaged or destroyed.  Or ...

His headache was getting worse. "He said the records are
encrypted.  Why can't I decode them?" 

"He?  Who is He?" 

"Skinner.  Walter Skinner.  He said he was my boss before.
Now he's my friend." 

"There's only us, Mulder.  It's been that way for years.  You 
know that.  Maybe none of this is real."

Mulder tugged the new blanket up, feeling its softness
against his cheek. 

"He's real."

"I see."  There was a pause while Mulder sat, unmoving. 
"What are we doing here now?  What place is this?  Why 
did you leave the upper levels and our space?" 

"It's safe here.  They run the equipment upstairs.  We took
this area and turned it into living quarters and an lab."  
Mulder sighed.  The pillow was beginning to call his name, he 
was sure of that. 

"And you're here because..." 

"You know damn well why I'm here."  He had to stop
this.  It wasn't healthy.  He knew it wasn't healthy, this 
conscious debating with part of his own mind.  "You saw 
what they were planning, what they were doing." 

"Skinner was in that room, too." 

"He stopped them.  He's not one of them.  Not like that." This 
conversation wasn't getting him anywhere, but it felt familiar, 
almost comforting, in a twisted way. 

"You've known him for five days."

"I've known him for seven years."

"Correction: You remember knowing him for five 
days.  Mulder, you're vulnerable.  You need human 
companionship, but don't forget what they want from 
you.  You know what they did to you.

"No!  I don't!  I don't remember what they did!"

"You don't need to remember.  It's too painful.  But you
should remember that what the others did, these, too, can
do." 

"They're not all the same." 

"Do you trust them?" 

"No, not all of them."  His energy was waning quickly. 

"But you trust this one -- this Skinner?" 

"Yes, I think so."  Something on the other side of the
partition fell to the floor with a clang that reverberated 
through the walls.  Mulder was about to reach for the 
intercom when he heard footsteps, then something being pushed
across the floor.  "He's given me no reason not to trust him." 

"And you've known him for five days. You've known me all 
your life, Mulder.  You are me." 

"Your point being?" He was definitely getting too tired to 
continue this argument, seeing as how he wasn't getting his
answers. 

"Were the files encrypted, Mulder?   Or were they simply
damaged?  If something was hidden, think about it.  Maybe
it needs to stay hidden.  Maybe it's so awful, it shouldn't
be seen.  If they say otherwise, they're lying." 

A chill coursed over Mulder's spine, making him long for 
the warmth of that blanket.  Only this time it wasn't the 
fever giving him the sensation, it was the tone of the 
other voice.  "So who am I supposed to believe?  You?  
Them?  Myself?" 

"Who kept you alive for twenty-two months?" 

Mulder inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. The backs of his 
lids were still hot and a little itchy. 

"Who knows what to do when the generators must run, 
and the hum draws them?" 

The chill shot through him again, causing his jaw to clench 
and his eyes to shoot wide open. "Stop this!"  Mulder shoved 
the laptop across the bed with what little energy he had left.
He'd update his personal log another time.  He ran a 
shaking hand over his hair while he forced back the 
fear. "Old fears!"  Effective even to this day.  "I won't 
be held hostage to fear!"

"Fear isn't why you're alone, Mulder.  It's why you're alive!  
*I'm* why your alive.  But I can't keep you safe if you don't
talk to me.  If you listen to them and not to me, I can't keep
you safe." 

"I'm safe enough here." He looked up, listening to the sound 
of Skinner moving around in the other room. 

"For now."  The voice in his head went on, strident and demanding.
 "But what about a few weeks from now?  What about when they 
decide they want those answers, and they don't want to wait any
longer?" 

"I don't have any answers. And Skinner said -- " 

"Skinner said!  How can you believe someone you hardly know? 
Mulder, he could be using you, just like the others.  For all you
know, they realized their plan wouldn't work, so they sent this 
Skinner person to get close to you." 

Mulder shook his head slowly and deliberately, trying not to 
aggravate the growing headache. "He wouldn't do that." 

"You don't know, Mulder." 

"No, he wouldn't."  He couldn't, not after all he'd done 
already!  "No, he had no reason to stop them before.  And 
when I was sick, he -- I heard him arguing again with some 
of them about it.  No, he didn't do that for my benefit."  He 
couldn't have.  "There was no way he could have known 
I was listening that night. You don't stick up for someone 
against everyone you know, if you don't mean it." 

"Mulder, you're ignoring the most important question." 

He swallowed, staring at the walls, the ceiling, begging the
voice to go away.  "Which is?" 

"Why?  Why would he?" 

Exhaustion swept over him like a wave from the hot spring 
on a windy day.  This had been a mistake.  He'd thought he 
needed to talk it out, but he was wrong.  He wasn't ready.  
"I don't know why."  Mulder reached for the computer and 
felt around the back for the power control.  "Yet."  As 
quickly as the screen went dark, he fell back against the 
pillow and into a deep, exhausted sleep. 

*************************************************

When the lights flicked on, he could tell he was in trouble. 
The corridor stretched on forever one moment, then became 
a maze of twists and turns the next.  Everywhere Mulder 
looked, another hallway appeared, curving around yet another 
corner and leading to another dead end.  He was running, 
but the corridors were moving with him, keeping him from 
gaining any ground no matter what direction he turned.  
Then the lights flicked off, and he froze in place, terrified 
of the shadows he knew must be there. 

Ahead of him, a light came on in the distance, and he heard 
the voice calling him to run toward it.  But when he started 
to move, the light flicked off.  Startled, he stopped, then saw 
the other light down to his right.  Skinner called out from a 
distance, urging him to hurry into the light, so he ran as fast
as he could.  Before he reached the end, the light flickered 
and went out.  The voice called from his right, commanding 
him to hurry, then went silent. 

In that sudden quiet, he heard footsteps.  Hundreds of them, 
clawed toes clacking on the metal floors, gouging deep into
the steel itself as they marched down the corridor toward him.
Mulder's heart raced as he heard the shadows walking to him. 
Another light came on in a room just ahead.  Without waiting 
to hear who was calling him, he ran to it, dashing through the 
door and into the well-lit room just as the footsteps reached the
entry.  He slammed the door shut against them and turned, 
scanning the room.  Skinner was standing there, next to a 
computer terminal. 

"I told you not to trust them."  The voice rang out clearly.  
"You don't listen to me, Mulder.  Now you'll know what 
that feels like." 

As if in slow motion, he heard the distinctive 'click' as 
the lights went down, sending the room into shadow. Just 
before the darkness claimed him, he caught a glimpse of 
Skinner, lunging for the switch on the wall. 

"I didn't mean to wake you." 

Mulder's eyes shot open with a start, immediately searching 
the room for lights. They were already on, but dimly in 
respect for the sleeping occupant of the room.  Or rather, 
formerly sleeping.  "No, it's all right."  Now that his heart 
was slowing back down to normal!  "What time is it?" 

"Almost 8:00." 

Skinner set something down on the chair in the corner and 
Mulder suddenly recognized his computer.  He must have 
tossed the laptop onto the floor, but had he shut the thing
down?  Was his personal log still on screen?  Did it 
matter?

"Are you hungry at all?  I made some soup that should be 
pretty mild on your system."  Skinner was standing near the 
bed, seemingly unconcerned with the presence of the computer 
he'd just placed on the chair. 

"Um, yeah, I think I could eat a little."  Compared to the 
past several hours, he felt almost good. 

"Do you want it in here?" 

"No, I'm OK."  Slowly and deliberately, Mulder moved the 
blanket aside and swung both legs out from under the cover, 
testing them for sturdiness.  "Just let me get some clothes on." 

Skinner stayed where he was while Mulder crossed the room 
to one of the dressers, then nodded.  "All right, then, whenever
you're ready." 

He found some clean boxers and a pair of loose fitting sweat 
pants, then changed his T-shirt and was pleasantly surprised 
to find his legs holding up through it all.  They weren't quite 
as steady after a trip to the bathroom, but they did manage to 
get him all the way to the galley and the table where two
places were set. He was sweating a little by the time he sat
down. 

"I hope I didn't keep you awake, banging around over there 
all day."  Skinner carried a large, delicious-smelling pot to the 
table. 

"No, I was too tired to hear much of anything."  What was 
that smell?  He leaned closer, sniffing the steam, then heard his 
stomach applaud what was to come.  Blushing at his body's 

declaration of hunger, he nodded toward the pot.  "What's this?" 

Skinner grinned and his brown eyes sparkled with obvious pride.
"One of my own inventions.  It's stone soup."   He waited for 
Mulder to laugh, but he didn't understand.  "Never mind," 
Skinner said easily.  "It's just a little of this and that, all mixed 
up together."  He dipped a large spoon into the pot and began 
to fill Mulder's bowl. "When you're sick, it's nice and mild and
easy on the stomach."  He stopped when the bowl was nearly 
full, then began to fill his own. "But when you're not, you 
add a few spices and seasoning, and you've got a great meal." 

Mild it may be, but the smells reaching Mulder's nose were
just the thing he needed to get him feeling more human again. 
Instinct told him to proceed with caution, so he let the first 
spoonful slide down slowly, then waited for his stomach's 
reaction.  As he'd hoped, it was a resounding call for more.
"This is fantastic."  The meat he recognized as beef, and all 
of the vegetables were familiar, but the combination was 
something he'd never tasted before. "Even if it is a mild 
version." 

"When you're feeling better, we'll try it a little more spiced
up."  Skinner smiled as he reached for his spoon.  "I like to
cook.  Before she died, I used to cook for my wife on the
nights we were both home.  But with my job, well, you 
know ..."

"What was it like?  Your life, I mean."  He sighed in 
frustration then added, "My life."  Mulder filled 
his spoon again but ignored his stomach's demand that he 
hurry.  "I've read a few books about cops and stuff.  Nothing
modern really.  The Holmes you've been reading, and Father
Brown."  He furrowed his brow.  "Oh, and there are some
Ed McBain 87th Precincts floating around here somewhere." 

Skinner sighed, looking off into the distance for a moment,
and Mulder wondered guiltily if he was mourning the person
that used to be Agent Mulder.  But then the big man shook 
himself and sank his spoon back into his soup bowl with 
some force. "Lots of deceit, lots of politics, lots of ..."  His 
voice trailed off and he looked at Mulder.  "I'm sorry, that 
was an honest question. I didn't mean to be short." 

"No, it's really none of my business."  What was he doing, 
prying into the man's private life?  It was clear by the look 
on Skinner's face that this wasn't something he wanted
to talk about.  He swallowed another spoonful of soup. 

"I was in the war, you know?" Skinner shook his head.  "No,
of course you don't know.  Anyway, there was this war, back
in the sixties.  I guess my being a cop started back then."
He took a long swallow of the water from his glass, then 
spoke again.  "I was just a kid when I went, barely eighteen
and idealistic as hell." 

Mulder glanced up and found Skinner's expression one 
of casual recollection now.  He was almost afraid to say 
anything, for fear he'd say the wrong thing.  Directing 
conversations wasn't something he had any experience 
in. Hell, having conversations wasn't something he had 
any experience in. But something in the tone of Skinner's 
voice invited him to try.  "Why did you join the military 
that young? Or is that young, for that kind of thing?" 

Skinner reached for a slice of the thick bread he'd brought 
out from the galley, tore a corner off, and shrugged. "Not 
really.  It was a very restless time, for lots of people."  He
dipped the bread into his soup. "Everyone wanted something 
other than what their families had.  It was sort of a quiet
revolution in the States, and the war in Viet Nam was a
catalyst to stir up a lot of what was brewing under the surface
anyhow."

Mulder reached for a slice of the bread after considering
 the state of his stomach. The soup was sitting very well, 
and the idea of soaking the soft crust in the beef broth 
was more than he could resist.  "I don't remember any of
this.  I was how old?  Eight?  Ten?"

"Something like that.  You were born in '61.  There was
activity in Nam in the fifties, but it became official that
year.  Went on until '75."  He turned and looked at 
Mulder.  "So, really, for your whole life, growing up,
the war was just there.  Probably didn't seem like a big
deal to you.  And you were too young to be involved in
the protests and the marches."

Mulder shrugged.  "I guess.  So, what was it all about,
and how did you get involved?  Somebody wanted something
somebody else had, right?"

"That's about it."  Skinner finished chewing his bread and tore 
off another corner.  "The standard Communist versus non-communist
ideological clashes of the Cold War.   It's complicated.  France was
involved and then they got out.  When they got out, part of their
withdrawal was an agreement to divide the country in half.  That
was only supposed to last for a little while, until Viet Nam's next
elections.  But then we -- the US -- got involved because it looked 
like the Communist party was going to take the election.  It started 
as series of covert operations to put a democratic government in
place, but before anyone knew it, it was a full-blown war."  He 
shrugged again and dunked the bread into the broth.  "It got
crazy.  Before anyone knew it, everyone was at war and the 
government had let it go too long to get out without some
sort of definitive conclusion.  Or so they thought." 

"But, if everyone was at war, how could anyone win?"  Mulder 
stuffed a soup-soaked bread chunk into his mouth and barely 
caught the juices that tried to run over his chin. He also caught 
the quick flash of amusement in Skinner's face. 

"I don't know.  No one did.  It just dragged on and on."  He 
dipped another piece of bread into the bowl. "By the time they 
looked around at what was happening, really looked, they 
were so deep in they couldn't get out.  They started a draft
because the war was just eating up bodies, but I enlisted right
out of high school."  He smiled, a sad, quirky little movement.
"I thought I was being patriotic.  None of that long-haired,
beatnik stuff for me."  He laughed when Mulder self-consciously
lifted a hand, and pushed his hair back.  

"And this made you a cop how?"

Skinner's face turned serious, and he frowned.  "There was a 
lot of stuff that went on over there that shouldn't have.  The kids
they sent were way too young, way too lonely, way too afraid. 
It led to abuses."

"Abuses?"

"Murders.  Rapes.  Mutilations.  Entire villages burned and 
occupants slaughtered."

"And the army did nothing?"  What little he'd read about 
government hadn't included state-sanctioned murders and
rapes. 

"They tried to control things, but the men were out of 
control.  When you're given a license to kill, it's hard
for some people to differentiate between who you can
kill and who's off limits."  Skinner sighed, then pushed 
his empty bowl aside and propped both elbows on the
table, looking at Mulder.  "By the time I got out, I was
determined to be one of the good guys.  I wanted to prevent
that kind of carnage." 

"So you became a cop?"

"That's part of the irony."  Skinner shook his head, then 
rubbed his eyes tiredly.  "I actually became a sociologist,
looking for ways to understand human behavior.  But there
aren't a lot of job vacancies for that particular field, so 
I joined the Bureau." 

"And why did I join the Bureau?" 

Skinner looked up as he was reaching for the empty bowls. 
It was the first time Mulder had come out and asked a direct
question about his former life.

"I mean, you wanted to understand people, right wrongs.  
What did I want to do?"

He stacked the bowls and shoved both spoons into the
top one. "Who knows why people do what they do?"  He 
carried the dishes into the galley and continued to speak 
over his shoulder toward the table.  "You were a genius.
You still are.  Your mind is incredible.  You went to 
Oxford, in England.  It's very prestigious, very exclusive." 
He returned to the table and picked up the serving bowl.
"You were recruited to work in Violent Crimes, catching
serial killers and other violent criminals.  And you were 
good at it."  

"But that's not what I do now?"  Mulder pushed his hair 
out of his face as he watched Skinner in the galley. He wanted 
this conversation to last forever, it being one of the first he 
could recall, but he was getting so tired! 

"No.  You wanted to find your sister."  Skinner returned from 
the galley and stood next to the table, assessing Mulder's 
condition.  "Anything else you want to know can wait till 
tomorrow." 

With a sigh, Mulder looked up and nodded. "Yeah, I guess
I am kinda tired." 

"That's an understatement." Skinner reached out and took 
Mulder by one arm, helping him stand.  "Aaron is going 
to want to check you out tomorrow.  He's called down here 
several times to ask how you were doing." 

Mulder just nodded in reply. He was too tired to even think 
about tomorrow, let alone what he was going to do when he 
had to visit the complex again and be surrounded by them. 
Willingly, he allowed himself to be helped back to his room, 
sparing a quick glance at the computer still resting in the chair
where Skinner had set it. 

"Your pills are on the table, and if you need anything, just 
call out, OK?"  Skinner nodded toward the small door that 
separated their rooms.  "I kinda broke it getting in here, but 
I can fix that later." 

"It's OK."  Mulder shrugged as he sat on the edge of the bed. 
"Listen, I want to thank you for -- you know, this and 
everything."  Great, that was just the way to thank someone 
for protecting you while you were delirious! 

Skinner stood at the door and smiled, nodding.  "You'll be 
fine now." 

"No, I mean really, thanks."  He had to find some way to 
pay this guy back, but he didn't even seem to understand 
what his help had meant.  How could he, when he still had 
no idea that Mulder knew what the others had been planning? 
"For letting me stay here.  I don't think I could have made it up
there.  You know, with them."  In fact, he knew he couldn't have. 

"You're welcome.  Now get some sleep."  Smiling, with nothing 
more than tolerance reflected in his face, Skinner backed out 
of the room and closed the door behind him. 

Great, Mulder. Just prove to him what a child you are.  He 
was going to sound doubly childish tomorrow when he asked 
Skinner to go with him to visit the doctor. 

Forcing all thoughts of what the next day might bring, Mulder 
fell back onto the bed and pushed off his pants, then wearily 
pulled both legs up and under the blanket.  As he pulled it up 
to his chin, he could feel the cloth grow warmer, and soon 
it reached the perfect temperature for his body in the room.  
It was nice having something new, something he hadn't
stared at for two years.  He dreaded having to give this blanket 
up, but tomorrow, when he was deemed well, he was sure 
Skinner would want it back. 

The only proof he had of having slept that night was waking 
up the next morning to the sound of the shower.  Mulder rolled 
onto his back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds 
of someone else.  It was strange, but oddly comforting, to be 
able to hear the familiar sounds of morning when he was
still lying motionless on the bed.  Funny how he was 
adapting to the presence of one other person, when the 
others only one floor above were too difficult to think 
about.  But then, it was only one so far who had shown he 
could be trusted, and at least four out of the others had
proven potentially hostile. 

Reluctantly, Mulder sat up and folded the borrowed 
blanket down to the foot of the bed.  His computer was
still there, on the chair in the corner, and he had to fight 
off the instinct to rush over and turn the machine on.  He 
was used to maintaining his log, keeping his thoughts
where he could see them.  But now, he had someone else
to talk to.

Mulder sighed and rubbed his eyes, then got off the bed 
and found some clean clothes.  Just when he thought he 
was making some progress, he realized he still had some 
major hurdles that he didn't look anywhere near clearing.
Right now, he had to worry about how foolish he was 
going to sound, asking Skinner to come with him to visit 
the doctor.  He could go alone, he was a grown man after 
all.  But he was just one man, against all those other people,
some of whom wanted to hurt him.  No, he had to ask.  
Or maybe just avoid the entire issue? 

"Hey, how are you feeling this morning?"  Skinner stepped 
out of the bathroom, wrapped in a large towel and smiling. 
His shower had lasted at least ten minutes. 

"Better."  In fact, he felt so much better he was pretty sure 
he could just skip the exam altogether. 

"Good.  Aaron wants to see you this morning, then you and 
I have a meeting with Peters."  Skinner ran a hand over hair 
so short it hardly looked wet, then started for his room while 
Mulder stepped into the bathroom. 

He should have asked then, Skinner was happy from his shower,
he seemed to be in a good mood.  Instead, Mulder stepped into
the bathroom and shut the door, deciding against that timing. 
After all, he didn't know Skinner was in a good mood. Just 
because he was smiling didn't really mean that much.  Hell, 
he hardly knew Skinner.  The voice was right in some respects, 
he'd only just met this guy, really.  And his ability to judge 
anyone was amateur at best.  Maybe after breakfast? 

Mulder had every intention of making breakfast, but the 
fact that he'd been second up, and was still weak enough 
to move a bit slowly, negated that. When he came out of 
his room, dressed and mentally preparing to ask for an 
escort, breakfast was already on the table. They ate fruit
and toast and spoke pleasantly of how their new home 
was coming together.  By the time Skinner was pouring 
the last cup of coffee, Mulder had decided his mood was 
good. He was pretty sure. 

"You said we had a meeting with the colonel?"  It never 
hurt to approach from the side.  It was at least a 
conversational tactic he knew.  Probably the only one. 

"He's got a group ready to scout the area and he wants your 
input."  Skinner cleared the table but left their coffee.  "We'll 
be mapping out what they find, and keeping a record of each 
group and where they go.  But, since this is the first foray 
out, we'll monitor it from the complex with Peters. That 
way, we can coordinate the procedures with him." 

A cold chill ran down Mulder's spine.  "Scout?"  That meant 
search, didn't it?  Suddenly the thought of a visit to the 
complex was a little more than he was ready for. 

Skinner stopped next to the table meeting Mulder's gaze as 
he looked up.  "As long as we're monitoring their progress, 
you'll be the first to know if they find anything." 

His voice was quiet, obviously trying to sound reassuring, 
only Mulder didn't feel very reassured. He felt terrified, 
and suspect, and ... 

He nodded anyway, then glanced at his cup. "You'll 
be there, today?" 

"I'll be right there with you." 

He nodded again, wondering if he was going to sound like 
a fool, or just a child. "Could you ... would you mind, since 
you'll be over there ..." Yeah, this was going well.  Mulder 
sighed heavily and spoke to his coffee.  "Could we stop at 
the med lab on the way?"  There, maybe that was good enough?
He looked up, raising both eyebrows casually. 

"You want me there while Aaron checks you out?" 

Skinner's eyes held a sparkle of understanding that Mulder 
had only dared hope for.  In his relief, he could manage just
a nod in reply. 

"No problem, Mulder.  Are you ready?" 

"Yeah."  Hastily, in case Skinner suddenly changed his 
mind, Mulder carried his coffee cup to the galley and 
rinsed it out, then followed his partner up the stairs. 

The complex was incredibly changed -- loud, and active,
and busy.  Full of equipment and machinery, and all of
it running and humming in tune.  The building was warm,
warm, warm, the temperature at least in the mid-seventies.
It was enough change to last a life time, and Mulder 
stumbled briefly as he followed Skinner through the halls.
He could feel the panic encroaching again, and he reached
out blindly, latching onto the big man's belt as they
moved swiftly through the crush of people.  He passed the
main doors and peered out into the snowy whiteness, then
slammed to a stop, pulling Skinner back into him.  

Big changes inside.  People, and lights, and machines,
and heat.  All big changes. 

But it was nothing compared to the changes he found 
outside. 

"How long was I sick?"  Mulder was frozen, staring out the 
window, almost oblivious to Skinner.  

"Three days.  Quite a change, isn't it?"  Skinner turned
 to look at him, then held up a hand and motioned
for Mulder to follow him down the hall.  "Come on, I'll 
explain what's going on." 

Numbly, Mulder followed, staying close.  The hallways of
the large, main building, once so quiet and empty, 
were buzzing with activity.  Boxes of machinery and
equipment he couldn't readily identify were stacked 
up by the walls, making it almost impossible to thread
their way through the throng of people that moved back
and forth, carrying the items out to the open area in 
the front of the facility, where two of the huge track-wheeled
exploration vehicles sat.  

Mulder nervously declined an invitation to inspect the
interior of the first tracker and had to concentrate on 
keeping his breathing at a normal level each time a 
new well-wisher approached to inquire as to his health.  
Some even went so far as to apologize for the spread 
of fresh germs.  

Skinner continued his tour, undaunted by the waves 
of people busily going about their business all around 
them.  By the time they reached the main room, Mulder 
had bumped into him five times in an effort to remain
as close as possible.  He remembered to apologize now 
and again, but what he really wanted to do was climb 
into the man's shirt and hide.  How many more ways 
these people could find to turn his world upside down, 
he wasn't sure.  

Skinner stopped suddenly in front of another window,
staring out at a smaller SnowCat, large enough for two.
"That's the one they want us to use."  

Stopping just short of ramming into the larger man's 
back, Mulder looked up and stared with growing concern
into Skinner's face. 

"Use?  What do you mean?" 

Somewhere behind him, someone dropped a box and a 
man cursed his clumsiness.  Mulder's heart leapt into 
his throat, and he would have leapt onto Skinner, had
the man not just that instant taken a step forward.  He 
recovered quickly and prayed the action had gone 
unnoticed.  It was bad enough he'd been the man's 
shadow ever since they left the basement.  At least 
shadows didn't bump into you every time you stopped. 

"To use.  To go out in." Skinner glanced at him, then 
pointed at the smaller vehicle.  "It's in my agreement.  
Military jurisdiction.  I'm convinced these bastards 
half-expected to be marooned here; they were way too
prepared for it.  And I had to agree to accept their 
jurisdiction in order to get on the damn plane.  But
I wouldn't agree to you being forced to go out in 
those huge things, lost in the crowd.  If we have to
participate in the little activities of this place, at least
we can limit our contact with the rest." 

"They're going to go out in those things?"

"Yes."

"Out in the snow?"

"Yes."

"Away from the buildings?"

"Yes."  Skinner was looking at him oddly.  "Mulder,
what's wrong?"  

"It's not safe out there."  Mulder was appalled that he even
had to point that out.

"The main thing to remember is your orientation."  Skinner 
answered.  "In all the white sameness, you can get turned 
around pretty easily.  You have to watch for that, and if
you get turned around, you just turn again until things are
right."

While he watched, one of the vehicles from the front of 
the compound lumbered by.   Mulder mumbled something
under his breath, his face ashen. 

"What's that, Mulder?"  Skinner's voice was quiet, right 
beside him.  

"How many times do you have to turn, before things 
are right again?"  There was a twisting in the pit of his 
stomach that had nothing to do with his recent flu.  

"I think we'd better get you checked out." 

Before Mulder could react, Skinner's hand was on his 
shoulder, guiding him toward the med lab.  He had
to force down the nervous reaction that made him 
want to pull away from the hand still holding him,
but once he did, he found it very reassuring.  Either 
Skinner could sense how confused he'd been feeling
just then, or he had grown tired of being slammed 
into and wanted to make sure Mulder's little shadow-habit 
adopted better manners.  Either way, it got him through 
the halls and sustained him through the medical exam.  

His nerves didn't hold up as well with Aaron.  

"I'm sorry, Mulder, I didn't mean to startle you." 

"It's all right, I just --" Deep breath! God, just calm down.  
"I'm not  used to people touching me."  Mulder glanced
apologetically at Skinner, who had consented to remain 
in the lab while the doctor performed his exam.  He was 
never going to get used to this.  Even with Skinner there, 
he felt uneasy around this man.  Couple that with the 
totally alien sensation of someone's hands touching his 
body, and he was sure his nerves were going to fail soon.  

"All done." Aaron backed up a few steps and put his small
light on the counter.  "I'd venture to say you've recovered 
nicely, Mulder.  You're immune system is in top condition." 

"Thank you." Quickly, he fastened his shirt and started to 
scoot off the exam table, when the man reached out and
touched his leg.  

He stopped, waiting.

"What are these scars from, Mulder?" Aaron asked in a 
deliberately neutral voice.  

Something big and black flashed before his eyes, and
the hand on his thigh turned into claws, ripping and
tearing, and it was hot, hot, hot, and ...

He opened his eyes, and found Skinner hovering over
him.  He was laying on the exam table again, the doctor
fussing in the background.

"I didn't *know* it was going to trigger a flashback,
Walter," the man said petulantly.  "It was an honest
mistake."

"Just stay the hell away from him."  Skinner looked 
down and saw Mulder staring at him.  "Hey," he said
softly, "how you feeling now?"

"I'm OK," he mumbled.  "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

Mulder thought for a moment, then shrugged, and Skinner
quickly patted him arm, saying, "It's all right, Mulder.  
It's not important."  He turned again and looked at 
Scott.  "I take it we can go now?"

The doctor nodded, uncomfortable, and said, "Just keep
an eye on him.  That was not flu-related."

"I know," Skinner said darkly.  

He was helping Mulder up, the younger man's strength
returning quickly, and he stayed between his partner
and the doctor.  It gave Mulder a sense of security, of
being cared for, and he was grateful.  

"We've got an appointment with Peters, if you don't 
need us anymore?" 

"No, everything's fine with him now.  Look, Walter, 
I'm sorry.  I didn't know."

Mulder stared confusedly between the two men and 
Skinner patted his arm again.  They were walking out
the door, Mulder back in shadow position, when the
doctor spoke again.  "Walter, how do you feel?" 

Puzzled, Mulder glanced at Aaron, then Skinner.  It 
hadn't even occurred to him that his new partner could
have caught the virus, too.  

"I feel fine."  Skinner shrugged.  "Never did get the flu 
all that often.  Come on, Mulder."  Without another thought, 
he pushed open the door and ushered Mulder into the hall.  

"Are you sure you're not going to get this?"  Mulder 
fumbled with the last button on his shirt as they
walked down the hallway.  

"Like I said, I don't get sick often."  Skinner pointed 
down an adjacent corridor they needed to take.  "Besides, 
I would have gotten it by now, judging by how sick you were." 

Mulder wanted to believe him, and he had no reason 
not to, so he said nothing.  He felt bad enough, owing 
so much to this man since the day they met.  Well, since
the day he remembered them meeting.  Giving him a 
horrendous case of the flu would have added quite a load 
to his already hefty feeling of debt.  A few yards down
the corridor, they entered a large office bustling with 
people all paying close attention to the various knobs, 
dials and screens on the rows of monitoring equipment 
Mulder had never seen before.  The once spacious room
felt cluttered now with bodies and machines.  He paused 
at the doorway, trying to gather enough nerve to walk 
into the room.  

"Oh, Skinner, perfect timing." The colonel noticed 
their entrance from across the room and waved them 
over.  "Mulder, you're just the man I wanted to talk to." 

He had to swallow hard and take a deep breath to move 
forward.  Even then, it took Skinner's hand on the small 
of his back giving a gentle push to get him all the way to 
where Peters was standing.  Behind him, Mulder could 
see a large view screen currently displaying the view 
from the compound yard, currently showing people still
hustling back and forth to the vehicles.  

"I wanted to ask you about this map."  He indicated a 
large, flat map on a table to his left, then walked 
around to the other side of it and leaned down.  

Hesitating just long enough to receive a reassuring 
nod from Skinner, Mulder stepped up to the table and
looked at the rendition of the complex and the area 
immediately surrounding it.  The majority of the
map was still blank, and just looking at it made his 
hands begin to sweat.  

"I was hoping you could fill us in a little more."  The 
colonel's arm swept over the paper, indicating the blank 
areas.  "This map only seems to cover about fifty
square miles in any given direction." 

"That's all there is." Mulder glanced up at Skinner, then 
looked at the colonel.  "I mean, that's as far as they 
recorded." 

"But that isn't very much ground to have covered."  The 
colonel frowned, staring down at the map.  "According 
to this date, they accomplished this much in the first 
month.  Didn't anyone record the rest?" 

Mulder shrugged.  "If there are other maps, I've never 
seen them." 

"Well, what about you?  Haven't you gone out at all?  You
had the tracker and the Snowcat.  You must have gotten
bored in here all that time." 

The sudden shudder that gripped him was quickly suppressed. 
"The vehicles won't go far enough on one charge to make
it to where people are.  It's not safe to go out.  There's ocean,"
he pointed in one direction on the map, "and mountains," he
touched another spot, "and everywhere else is ice and snow."
What more did they expect him to know?  He glanced at 
Skinner again.  "It's not safe out there" he repeated, "and
everything I needed was here." 

Skinner stared at colonel and said, "My man wasn't
part of the scientific team.  He wasn't here because 
he wanted to be, or *planned* to be."  His eyes narrowed,
and he added,  "Not like some others we could mention.
"I would imagine mapping the area was the last thing
on his mind." 

"Yes, yes of course."  The colonel sighed, then shrugged.  
"I'm sorry about all this subterfuge, Skinner.  You didn't
have to come, you know."   He looked at Mulder.  "We were
going to bring him back with us when the sun comes up again." 

Skinner snorted.  "Yeah.  I believe you."

The use of Skinner's surname surprised Mulder for a second. 
And confused him.  There was shifting between first names
and surnames, and he hadn't caught all the nuances of when it
occurred.   When someone used a surname, it seemed to mean 
something, except for him.  They always called him Mulder.
Even Skinner.  But while he thought of the older man as
Skinner, he called him Walter. So far, the doctor, the
colonel, and he were the only ones to call the big man
Walter.  He liked that.  It was just one more wall in his 
line of defense, putting him in Skinner's corner..  

"So where are you heading out to?" Skinner asked
easily.

"The mountains, I would imagine.  They didn't show on
any of the aerials we had in advance.  Amanda is drooling
for samples, and that's the best bet." 

"Good point." 

The colonel smiled widely, glancing at Mulder, then
spoke to the room at large.  "Well, let's get going, then." 

Mulder looked up quickly as the room got suddenly 
busier.  Unconsciously, he moved sideways and felt 
himself bump up against Skinner's taller frame.  "What 
are they going to do?"  He kept his voice low, but it 
was hardly necessary.  Everyone was talking and flipping 
switches, telling other people what to do and getting 
their own instructions straight.  It took a concerted effort 
on his part to move far enough away so that Skinner's 
feet were no longer in danger of being stepped on.  
The thought of apologizing for his continued shadowing 
crossed his mind, but he let it go.  Unless he received a
complaint, he didn't think he could stop just yet.  

"That vehicle we saw is going to go do recon out 
towards the mountains."  He pointed to the large 
screen behind the colonel.  "We'll can watch from here,
and see exactly what they see, when they see it." 

Mulder had to swallow against a suddenly dry throat.  
"What do you think they'll see?"  His voice wasn't 
much more than a whisper, but he was still close 
enough to Skinner to make little difference.  

"That's what we're here to find out."  Skinner's voice 
was equally quiet, almost as if he understood the
stress Mulder was feeling.  "Don't worry, Mulder, 
it'll be fine." 

Mulder decided against running from the room as 
he saw -- along with the rest of the room's occupants --
the vehicle head straight out onto the ice plains, its
tracks the only mark in the unending whiteness.  He
had no idea of what they were looking for, or what they
expected to find, or what his part in all this was.  He
was just as much in the dark as they were.  But he 
couldn't help feeling he had more to lose.  

As the tracker moved slowly out of sight,  Mulder 
lost all sense of time.  Curiosity and nervous anticipation 
fought for control of his thoughts while he watched the
landscape slide by on the viewscreen, neverending, 
neverchanging.  The colonel had taken a seat in front 
of the large screen, and Skinner had somehow gotten 
them closer, giving the pair of them a better view.  Now
and then, he would realize he was trying to back up 
into Skinner, and he'd force himself to relax, but as 
the view from the screen went on without change, 
Mulder's attention stayed on the screen.  

He didn't know how long he was in that position, eyes 
fixed on the screen while fighting the urge to run out, 
but somewhere along the line he discovered a mug of 
coffee in his hands.  When he sipped it, the temperature 
told him it hadn't been there long.  Something moved 
beside him and he spared a quick glance at Skinner's 
hand, finding a similar cup steaming there.  The tracker's 
occupants were sending back a detailed report of what 
their scanners were confirming, and he heard a few 
results now and again, confirming much of what they 
could all see with their own eyes.  The Colonel -- Peters, 
as he kept insisting Mulder call him -- was involved in
the whole scouting mission, making notes, talking with
the team in the tracker, issuing orders to the others in
the main room here. 

Mulder was sure too much of this nervous anticipation 
was going to kill him.  He couldn't expect anyone to 
understand, perhaps not even Skinner, who  had seemed
to understand everything so far.  These people wanted to
explore this snowy hell, but he'd already seen all he 
wanted to see.  Whatever, or whoever, might be out 
there, had chosen to have nothing to do with him in 
the last eighteen months, so he couldn't fathom needing 
to have anything to do with them.  And wasn't the 
disappearance of the pilot enough to show them
it wasn't safe?  Mulder didn't understand these people
at all.  And that was the truth.

But what was the truth?  And what would Skinner 
think of him if they learned that the disappearance of
the first group had been his fault? And if it was his 
fault, how long would it be before these people did
the same? Mulder felt sickeningly torn between 
wanting to find someone, so he could ask them what
happened, and wanting to have it proven that he was, 
indeed, alone.  Neither option was pleasant.  If he 
was as alone as he'd always believed, then the others, 
all forty of them, had died, and only he had survived.  
If he wasn't alone, then they had in fact left him, and 
avoided giving any hint of their existence for almost
two years.  Not to him, and not to the people this 
group worked for.   

And if some were alive, then how many were there? 
And why did the computer record them as dead?  Had
these people listed their pilot -- Jerry? -- as dead?  He 
did have lists of deaths from the computer.  People
whose names meant nothing to him.  Had they added
another on to the list?  Was he a suspect in all the deaths
and disappearances?  He pushed his hair back again, in
a familiar, nervous gesture, and was gratified when
Skinner reached out and silently laid a hand on his arm.
It grounded him, and he began to breathe again, the
anxiety fading at the big man's touch.  

**************************************************

Sometime during the endless vigil, lunch was brought 
into the room.  No one really paid much attention 
aside from grabbing fruits and sandwiches to eat in front 
of their monitors and maps.  Mulder had just vaguely 
registered the smell of food when he felt Skinner's hands 
on his shoulders.  He turned and looked up.  

"Let's take a break, come on."  Skinner gripped Mulder's 
shoulder with one hand and gestured toward a table in 
the far corner of the room.  

He nodded, then spared the screen one more glance before 
allowing Skinner to lead him to where the food was 
waiting.  The table wasn't being used, since the others 
were too busy to pay much attention to their food, so they 
took advantage and commandeered the end near the wall 
to sit down and eat.  

"How you holdin' up, Mulder?"  Skinner's voice was low 
enough to be heard only by the younger man, even though
they were being ignored by the excited scientists in the room.  

"I'm fine."  It was a lie, and he was pretty sure Skinner 
knew it, but it was the easiest thing to say right now.  

He nodded, apparently accepting that answer for now.  
"Just a few more hours, and they'll be finished for the 
time being." 

They ate in silence, watching and listening to the 
excitement bubbling up in the room.  Now and then,
progress reports and results were sent out of the room 
so the news could be spread around to the others.  Samples
of ice, and snow, and air were being taken, ready to be
analyzed by Amanda and Hector's teams.  Maps were 
being created and printed out at regular intervals, while 
a couple of people poured over them and marked areas 
they wanted to study later.  

Mulder discovered his hands were shaking a couple of 
times and tried to hide it by running them through his 
hair, but it was a temporary distraction.  He was grateful 
for Skinner's presence, and his almost psychic sense of 
understanding.  None of them had been crowding Mulder 
or grilling him on the area the tracker was covering, but 
he was sure he'd have been unable to stay in that room 
if Skinner hadn't been right there with him the entire time.  
He hated to think what would have happened if he hadn't
forced his way onto the expedition roster.  Would anyone
else have gone to such lengths to protect him from this 
group's singlemindedness?  Would any one of these 
people have taken the steps Skinner had to help a scared, 
lost survivor adapt? 

Would anyone else be so tolerant of that guy standing 
so close to him that he couldn't even turn around without 
being bumped?  Mulder was pretty sure he could master 
the task of staying close without slamming into Skinner 
so often, if he just paid more attention to the man's 
movements.  But his attention was still too nervously 
drawn to the monitors right now.  So drawn, he was the 
first to realize the scouting party had just completed their 
pattern and were returning, six hours after starting.  

When it was over, Mulder couldn't get out of that room
fast enough.  But Skinner had been pulled into a discussion
on what the group should do tomorrow, where they should 
go next.  And there was concern over how long the communications
would hold out between the base and the mobile groups.  And
why they could communicate here, but not get a signal through
to the outside.   He was so relieved, and confused, by what they 
had and hadn't found, he needed some time alone to think.  

Mulder had to clear his throat before he was able to speak 
over the many conversations going on in the room.  "Do 
you need me for anything more?" 

Skinner straightened up from his exam of a printout.  "I'll be 
done in a few minutes.  You OK?" 

He nodded quickly.  "Yeah, I just need some air.  I'm going 
outside for a little bit, OK?" 

"Sure."  Skinner's eyes held his for a moment, then smiled 
slightly.  "You're still getting over the flu.  Button up."

After so long in the darkened room, staring at the monitors
and feeling the heat of so many people, the cold air hit 
Mulder like a slap in the face.  His heart was racing a little 
as he hurried away from the main building, and went to stand
in the lee of the storage building. 

With a heavy sigh, Mulder leaned against the wall and rested 
his head in both hands, rubbing his forehead.  He was 
relieved that they hadn't found anything, and terrified that 
tomorrow, or the next day, they would.  But he was 
disappointed at the same time.  If they had found others, 
there would at least be answers.  Bad news just might be 
better than a blank memory.  Unless it made this group 
leave him too.  

His head was spinning so badly, he might as well still 
have the flu.  "God, just stop thinking." 

"Sometimes that's good advice." 

Mulder nearly jumped out of his skin.  He hadn't 
heard anyone approaching, but he knew that shouldn't 
surprise him, in the state he was in.  "I don't know how 
much more of this I can take." 

"You don't have to do that again, Mulder.  I can juryrig 
something in our work area, and we can monitor their
activities from there."  Skinner leaned casually beside
him, close enough that he could feel the man's heat in 
the frigid air, but not touching. 

That was some small consolation.  At least, if they
found something, he'd have a head start if he had
to run, or hide.  "I don't know how to handle these 
people.  I'm not sure I ever will." Mulder looked
down at the snow, formerly so clean and pristine, 
and found a piece of metal, something broken off
one of the many crates that had moved between the
plane and the building.  He picked it up and began 
to run the smooth, flat surface back and forth between 
his gloved palms.  "I thought this would be so 
different.  I mean, I didn't really believe it would ever 
happen, you know?  I couldn't remember people, but
I knew what they were.  I knew I didn't like being
alone."  He glanced at Skinner, fleetingly wondering 
if anyone could really know.  The look in the older 
man's eyes suggested that, somehow, he could.  
Encouraged by the silent agreement, he continued.  
"But when I did think about it, it wasn't like this." 

"Our dreams rarely take on the little details." Skinner 
gazed out over the ice and shrugged a little.  "When I 
was a kid I used to play war.  Get to be a hero, fight for 
my county, kill the bad guys, make the world a safer
place.  Then, when I got there, I realized I hadn't 
dreamed the details.  How hard it would be, how the heat
would suck the energy right out of you, how the leeches
would latch on when you waded through the rivers.  How
your buddies would get on your nerves, and you'd never
have a moment to yourself.  But you'd never really *be*
with anyone else again.  And I never imagined
what a war would really be like."  He shrugged.  "But 
you get through it." 

"How?" Mulder stopped playing with his metal band
and looked at Skinner.  

"By taking it apart and figuring it all out." Skinner met 
his gaze.  "Take people, for example.  You'll never find a
more dangerous adversary than a large group of people.  
But if you break them down, take them on in small groups 
or one at a time, you can handle them." 

Mulder shook his head.  "I don't even know where to start." 

Skinner sighed a little and leaned back, supporting 
his weight with one hand behind him while he gestured 
with the other.  "You just need to understand what 
motivates a man.  Once you know that, you can predict 
his reactions to any given situation about ninety percent 
of the time.  Take Peters, for example.  He's motivated 
by curiosity.  The simple need to see and learn things 
drives everything he does.  Coming here, exploring this
place.  For a military man, he's got the soul of a scientist.
I can see why they put him in charge.  Anything that gets 
in his way and threatens that ability to learn will upset 
him, until he finds a way around it." He paused and 
waited for Mulder to nod his understanding.  

"Now Aaron, he's pretty easy to explain, too.  He has a
strong desire to fix things.  Anything that isn't in perfect 
condition will drive him crazy until he can find a way 
to repair it.  And if he can't fix something, it hits him 
pretty hard." 

Was that his reason for wanting to force him to remember, 
because the man had thought he was something broken? 

"The ones you want to watch out for are the people 
motivated by greed.  I don't mean currency, that's a 
greed you can predict with complete accuracy." He shrugged
a little.  "Besides, that's not something we have to worry 
about here.  The greed you wanna watch out for is the 
kind that makes a man -- or woman for that matter -- think 
they have to have anything worth having.  And have it first.
It's a greed of ego." 

Mulder's eyebrows creased as he looked out at the ice
for a moment.  "What do you mean? Like physical 
things, discoveries, that kind of greed?" 

Skinner nodded.  "Physical, theoretical, anything that 
can be possessed, like having your name on a new invention, 
or making an important discovery.  Trust me, there are more 
than a few of them here driven by this kind of greed."  His 
eyes narrowed and he frowned.  "This group knew what
was happening.  I don't think they expected their
pilot to disappear, but I am convinced they knew we
weren't going back in a week.  They have far too many
supplies and too much new equipment for that to have
been the plan.  To come here, under these conditions, in this
place, with no way out, no way to communicate -- these
are greedy people.  They become dangerous when 
something threatens their ability to be the first 
one, the only one, and the best one." 

All of these motivations sounded like something this 
group could use to blame Mulder for any given
situation.  

"Now, this is simplifying things a little bit." Skinner's 
teaching continued.  "Some people are more complicated 
than that, some aren't.  You'll relearn the ins and 
outs in time."  He cocked his head at he looked at Mulder.
"You were pretty good at this stuff, you know." 

Mulder nodded, gazing at the little metal band.  "What 
about me?" He turned and looked at Skinner, squinting 
slightly from the sun.  "What do you think motivates me?" 
Surely a man with his experience had him figured out already.  

Skinner inhaled deeply and looked up at the sky for a moment.  
When he found what he was looking for, he looked at Mulder.  
"You're motivated by survival." 

"Survival?"  Did that mean he was a coward, after all? 
Mulder swallowed and looked away, feeling an uncertainty 
wash over him.  

"It's more complicated than that, but basically, yeah." 
Skinner sat forward again and leaned on a raised knee.  
"It's an admirable quality, believe me.  You've managed to 
stay alive, against all odds, surviving whatever happened 
to you and the others.  You did that not only physically, 
but emotionally.  That's not such an easy thing.  That 
takes more than a little innate skill." 

Mulder clenched his jaw and controlled the urge to bolt. 
"How? How is surviving admirable, when everyone I 
ever knew didn't?" Or did they? 

Skinner sighed heavily and leaned closer.  His voice took 
on an even calmer tone.  "Because you kept a promise."

Confused, Mulder looked up, all thoughts of dashing 
away forgotten.  "Promise? What promise?" 

"The one you don't even remember making." Skinner 
shifted a little and changed his pose, gesturing with a 
hand as he spoke.  "Two really.  When you were twelve,
your sister disappeared and you promised you'd find her,
you'd never stop looking.  And then, some years back,
your partner," he looked up at Mulder's confused look
and corrected him, "no, not me.  I'm your partner here.
Scully, Dana Scully.  She's your partner in the real 
world.  You two were -- are -- very close.  She disappeared
too, but then she came back.  You promised to find out
what happened to her." 

"My partner is a woman?"

Skinner laughed.  "Don't sound so shocked.  She's wonderful.
You love her.  You two are great together."

Mulder was completely baffled.  "I love her?"

"Yeah.  She loves you too.  But you've never acted on it,
not that I'm aware of.  And Scully and I have gotten closer
over the time you've been gone.  I think she would have
told me."

"My partner."  Mulder shook his head, frustration evident.
"I just don't remember."

"It's OK, Mulder, really.  But look, she sent you something."
He turned and tugged Mulder back to the door to the storage
building, then inside.  Once there, he pulled of a glove and
dug into his pocket, producing a small gold cross on a 
delicate gold chain.  "She wanted you to have this."

"A cross?"  Mulder's face was a study in confusion.  "Am
I Christian?"

Skinner shrugged.  "I don't really know.  I don't think that's
the point.  It's a symbol of faith, of belief.  You never stop
believing, Mulder."  

"But I never really believed you'd be coming, after all 
that time." 

"Not consciously, no.  But somewhere deep inside, you 
knew you had to keep waiting, you couldn't give up. Now,
I don't know what happened to the others, and we might
never find out.  But after all that time, after everything 
you've been through, you stayed.  You survived, you kept 
the complex operational, and believe it or not, you stayed 
a hell of a lot saner than anyone I know could have.  
Myself included." 

Mulder shook his head.  There was no way he could picture 
himself being stronger at anything than this man who 
fought in a war all those years ago, and came home to wage
war against violence and crime, but his head was pounding 
too hard to think about it.  Those few days of being sick were 
beginning to look like a great vacation from all this input.  "And
you?"  Maybe if he changed the focus of the conversation.  
"What motivates you?" 

Skinner shrugged a little and gazed somewhere over 
Mulder's head.  "I guess if you had to put a name to it, 
I'd say justice.  I don't like to see anyone taking advantage 
of a bad situation.  Sometimes those greedy, curious types 
like to stack the decks in their favor, and I don't think that's 
right." 

"So you fix it?" 

"I help it fix itself." 

Mulder swallowed, feeling suddenly brave and curious. 
"Is that why you're doing this?" 

"Doing what?"  Skinner's gaze met his.  

"Is that --"  Mulder's bravery faltered, but he pressed on.  
"Is that why I'm here?  Why you're helping me with all 
of this?  Because you think I need help?" 

Skinner laughed slightly and shook his head.  "That's an 
awfully simple way of putting it, Mulder."  He smiled very 
tolerantly and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand.  
"Don't sell yourself short." 

Mulder stared at the cross in his hand and pushed some 
hair from his eyes, trying to bring himself to look 
Skinner in the eyes again.  

"Listen, this makes it sound simple and it's not.  But you're
my agent, my man.  One thing I brought home from the war --
you don't forget your men."  He paused and Mulder finally 
met his gaze.  "Yes, I was afraid they were going to overwhelm 
you and use that to their advantage, so I stepped in.  I'm not 
going to let them abuse you.  I won't.  But Mulder, I'm getting
to know you in a way I never did before, and my desire to have
you as my partner, to stay with you, to help you through this,
it's got an element of selfishness.  You've got a unique 
understanding of things that I can use to my own advantage.  
You've got technical know-how, skills, you learn fast.  Working
together, staying together, now that we're here indefinitely,
well, it's just the best idea for both of us." 

He paused and Mulder tried to catch up.  There were too 
many more questions this answer raised than he had time 
to ask, or even think about, right then.  He only wished he 
understood enough about body language and conversations 
to pick up on the things he thought he should already know.  
But he was pretty sure this was a good answer.  Either way, 
he felt willing to accept it for now.  

"Besides, you looked like you needed a friend.  And I know
I did."  This time it was Skinner who looked away, staring 
at a wall across the room.  "Don't let the presence of other 
people fool you, Mulder.  Some of them are as alone in a crowd
as you were a few days ago." 

Mulder considered that for a moment, watching the older
man as he stared at the wall.  He was definitely going to 
have to start paying more attention to what was going on 
around him now, just as soon as he caught up to it all.  
All this new information, the people, their personalities, 
how to keep from freaking out when someone approached him 
or asked a question.  It was all going to take a concerted 
effort on his part.  But if Skinner was right, then he was 
going to survive even this.  And if the best way to survive 
it was taking it all bit by bit, he'd start with this person who 
kept insisting he was going to make it.  If he could 
understand Skinner more, perhaps he could understand 
how he was expected to get through this latest assault.  

And maybe he'd learn how not to step on the man's toes.  

"I'm starved."  Skinner suddenly slapped his legs and 
stood up, looking up at the unchanging sky.  "We still 
have some of that stew left." 

"Yeah."  Mulder stood a moment, then opened the 
clasp on the little gold cross.  He put it around his
neck, then fumbled with the catch.  After a moment,
another pair of hands, larger, thicker, stronger, gently
pushed his away, and fastened it for him.  Once secured,
the hands didn't move.  They lifted the hair from the 
back of his neck, hefting it for a moment.

"You still want this cut?"

Mulder shrugged.  "It doesn't matter.  Maybe.  I don't
know."

The hands lingered a moment longer, then were gone
and Skinner said, "Whatever you decide is fine.  I'm
sorta getting used to seeing you like this."   

They walked back down the hill at a sedate pace, enjoying 
the cold air as a nice change from the heat of building, the
freedom from the press of bodies.  Mulder looked up at
the sun, and felt his face wash over with a sudden fear 
that he couldn't name.  

Skinner had noticed him looking at the sky, and said,
"The sun's setting soon.  Be dark for six months."

His voice was calm with simple curiosity, but the 
chills running over Mulder's body didn't stop.  "It'll
be dark soon.  Dark all the time."  His heart was racing 
and his palms began to sweat instantly.  They needed 
to get inside before Skinner asked anything more that 
he wouldn't be able to  explain.  How could he? There 
was no way he could explain a phobia and make any
sense.  Skinner wasn't going to understand the terror 
that kept Mulder in after dark and had no name or 
explanation.  

It just was.  

Thankfully, that was Skinner's only comment on the 
subject.  They went inside and enjoyed leftover stew 
for dinner, then Skinner hooked up his laptop, tapping
in to the monitors upstairs and establishing a way for
them to track the others activities from their lair in
the basement.  Skinner loaded in the data from the 
area explored today, and brought it up on the table.  

Mulder found it much easier to look at now that he 
knew it hadn't held any secrets.  Of course, it had 
been no big deal.  Just straight out and straight back.
Nothing to be found on the ice.  No, he was pretty 
sure if there were to be any discoveries, they'd be 
found in the mountains.  

That night, after an hour of a more relaxed 
examination of the maps, Mulder turned in for some
much needed sleep.  His world had been turned upside 
down, several times, he'd had a bad case of the flu 
after several  years of good health, and now these 
new people were exploring areas he'd been afraid to 
enter.  All in one week.  Perhaps Skinner was right, 
and he really would survive this.  

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed and yawned.  He
needed to update his personal log, talk about all that happened
today, make a record of what they were doing, and show how 
wrong the voice had  been about Skinner.  He needed to 
find out if his little laptop had any more data on the terrain 
that he hadn't shared before, any clues or opinions about 
what had happened to the others.  He yawned again and lay
down for a moment, trying to calm his thoughts for a few 
minutes.  He needed to confess to Skinner the fact that he 
still had files on his system, personal files, in case the man
needed to see them. But more than any of that, he needed
sleep.

The nightmares kept him from it.

**************************************

It was dark, with only the twinkling of distant stars 
high above the jungle trees to remind him he was
anywhere.  But he wasn't, really.  He was nowhere 
and fading fast.  A radio lay to his left, still strapped
to the back of what was left of Erdman.  A gauge 
declared the beacon was still active, but there was no 
response.  There wasn't anyone to respond.  They were 
all dead.  Bits of their bodies and brains and blood
covered the jungle floor, the trees, and Skinner
himself.  At least the body had -- Skinner closed his 
eyes tight, forcing the vision from his mind.  It was 
gone now, finally disappeared into the trees.  

But the silence was deafening! If only he could hear 
the annoying static of the radio, the call of one unit to
another, the order for mortar fire to be laid in a different
pattern.  A status report from the HQ, anything! Anything 
but this deadly silence.  

He reached up to rub his head, pounding in his skull and blood
rushing in his ears, but he knew even as he did that he wouldn't 
feel the touch.  Not with his helmet on.  When his  fingers did 
make contact, Skinner's eyes shot open with a start.  

"Oh, man."  Relieved, Skinner rolled over on the bed and 
forced his eyes to stay open, taking in the sight of his room's 
ceiling.  Not the green canopy of steamy jungle.  He hadn't 
had that nightmare in some time, but at least it had ended 
quicker this morning.  

Reluctantly, he sat up and stretched.  The sound of running 
water seeped through the thin walls, and he recognized it as
the shower.  Mulder must have beaten him this time.  He looked
at the walls, once again wishing for a way to put in a window,
to be able to see the panoply of stars that would be visible when 
the sun set later.  It was rather unnecessary, when he 
thought about it.  If he wanted to see the stars, there'd soon be 
an entire skyful right outside.  Since his arrival, he'd been 
busy, running almost nonstop from one crisis to another, but
when it was time, Skinner planned to be outside, watching 
the sun set below the horizon.  

That was something you didn't see anywhere else.  That 
magnificent, majestic orb sinking slowly below the horizon, 
not to reappear again until the earth had progessed halfway
around the sun.  He was an inveterate stargazer, and being
trapped here was going to pander to his weakness for
star watching.  Maybe he could get Mulder interested.  There
had to be a telescope around here somewhere.

But right now, he wanted a shower.  Noises in the hallway 
suggested the bathroom was free, so he got off the bed and 
stretched.  The noises had moved down the short hall and 
into Mulder's room when he reached the door.  There were 
small puddles of water on the floor just outside the shower
enclosure, and beads of moisture still running down one 
wall where a hand print showed vaguely above the towel 
rack.  Back at home, this would offend his sense of order,
and he had to remind himself that this was Mulder, and
he *always* was a little on the sloppy side.   

Skinner stepped into the shower and cranked on the spray.  
Water smacked into his chest and he ducked down a bit to
get his head wet before turning to reach for the soap.  
Closet hedonist that he was, he loved  the sensation of the 
smooth bar soaping his skin while clean water ran over 
him freely. 

Skinner took his time, soaping up every inch of himself, 
watching the water rinse the lather down his legs where it 
would pool up around his feet for a moment before sliding 
down the drain.  This was the closest thing to a normal 
morning he'd had since coming down here, six days ago.  
That first night in the basement hadn't been a restful one 
after the argument he'd had with Aaron and the others about
Mulder's memory loss.  Then, no sooner had they gotten
organized, the pilot disappeared and his new partner had 
become horribly sick.  Skinner had felt both guilty and 
strangely protective about Mulder being ill.  Consequently, 
he'd only managed a few hours' sleep off and on between 
his bouts of fever, and only the occasional shower when 
Mulder was deeply asleep.  This was definitely the way he
wanted his mornings to go from now on.  

With the exception of the nightmare.  

Once his skin was sufficiently clean, Skinner worked on 
his fringe of hair, then stood under the spray slightly 
bent forward so it hit him directly on the head.  He had 
a tinge of headache working around the edges.  Maybe 
breakfast would clear it up.  The group was sending out
another team, and he wanted to monitor their movements.
He still didn't trust any of them.  He could only imagine 
what was going through his partner's head, watching that 
vehicle, wondering if they were going to find any traces 
of the original group that had disappeared.   

Skinner had wondered the same thing.  It was hard to 
imagine the whole group dying, despite what the computer
records said.  And Mulder the only survivor.  But to his 
way of thinking, it was even harder to imagine them taking
off, and leaving him alone this way.  That kind of loneliness 
wasn't a punishment he could fathom anyone being heartless 
enough to impose.  And here at the South Pole, surrounded
by snow and ice, where would they have gone?

His shower reluctantly over, he dried off, then wrapped the 
towel around his waist.  When he stepped out of the bathroom, 
the smell of coffee became instantly clear.  

Skinner glanced toward the galley and found Mulder 
working busily over the heating unit.  "Good morning." 

"Breakfast is almost ready."  Mulder nodded toward the table.  

"Smells great."  He inhaled again and detected the odor of 
fresh eggs.  How the hell had they brought eggs to the Pole? 
But it was all the incentive needed to get him into his room 
and dressed quickly.  When he came out again, he found 
the table set with coffee, fruit juice, and scrambled eggs.  

"I hope you don't mind eggs, it was all I could get.  
We'll need to stock up soon."  Mulder set the last
plate on the table then took his place opposite Skinner.  

"Yeah, this is great."  Skinner's headache demanded the 
coffee as a first course. 

Skinner bit into a forkful of the scrambled eggs and 
found them mildly flavored with cheese.  A perfect 
breakfast.  A thought occurred to him.  "Are there
any animals here, Mulder?  Chickens or anything
for fresh food?"

Mulder shook his head, sipping his coffee.  

"You didn't have any fresh food while you were here?" 

"No.  You can't keep the livestock.  It's not safe." 

That answer brought a curious look to Mulder's face.  
Skinner set his fork down and poured more coffee.
"Why is that?" 

"You just can't."  Mulder looked away and shrugged, 
then played with his fork in the eggs for a second.  
"I think there were animals before.  Hens and geese,
and a couple dogs and cats.  There's a tank for fish
in one of the outbuildings.  The fish were easy to
catch, and I ate them all."   He shrugged again and 
set the fork down.  

Skinner nodded and drank his coffee.  He could see 
there was more to the answer than a simple lack of
animal husbandry, but he wasn't ready to push it.  
Not yet.  The man was still reeling from the changes
in his life, the flu, and a new partner he knew so little 
about.  Skinner smiled.  Not that he remembered anything
about Scully.  But he hoped that by referring to himself
as Mulder's partner, it would be familiar, something
comfortable, and maybe stir a memory.  

"Listen, they're going to be sending out two groups today."
Skinner tried to keep eye contact with the younger man to 
gauge his reactions, but Mulder kept nodding and looking 
away, one hand brushing almost constantly at the long hair
that fell in his eyes and obscured his face.  "I thought I'd 
leave one of the groups in your hands.  They've already got a
good idea of what's there." And what isn't.  "If you'll track
them, I'll watch the other group."  

He looked up, meeting Skinner's gaze with a spark of curiosity.  
"You want me to handle monitoring the first group?
You trust me?" 

Skinner hitched one shoulder in a casual shrug.  "You're 
the best man for the job.  And as it stands, you're the 
only man for the job." He grinned.  "Besides, you 
know this place better than anyone, and I don't want to
be kept out of the loop on what these people are doing.
I'm very aware I'm an unwanted hitchhiker.  I'm not sure
what your role in all this is, but I know I can trust you 
to keep me informed."  He smiled at his agent.  "You
haven't always been the best at that -- keeping me informed --
but you're always honest when you do talk to me." 

Mulder's eyebrows knit together as he contemplated the 
idea.  Slowly, he nodded.  "OK, I can do that." 

"They're scheduled to pull out in half an hour, and it'll take 
them a good two hours to reach their starting point, where
they left off yesterday.  I'll show you how to work the monitor
in the meantime so you'll have a heads-up as to where they're 
going and what they might run into."  Skinner stood and took 
the plates into the galley, followed by Mulder.  The man had 
perked up considerably, and he hoped it was going to last.  If 
he could keep his mind on what he had already seen, maybe he
wouldn't fret over the groups being out in the field.  These
people, Peters' team, seemed to feel that the first group hadn't
all died as the computer had indicated.  The whole reconnaissance
thing had a feel of a search for survivors to Skinner.  And one 
thing Skinner was sure of, if there were any survivors, he wanted
a few words with them.  

After the dishes got a quick wash, they went into the area set
up as Mulder's workspace.  It was private, but within calling
distance, as was anything in their small quarters.  Skinner 
showed Mulder how to use the system, setting up his 
laptop and quickly installing the software that let them
tap into the main system upstairs. 

"Give it a good look, you've still got over an hour before they get 
there.  I want you to follow their every move.  I don't want them
to do anything, stop anywhere, pick up anything, without us
being aware of it."  Skinner turned to go to his own system, 
then stopped and looked back at Mulder.  "You never liked
surveillance work, Mulder.  It bored you.  But we need to stay
on top of these people.  There are things happening here that
are beyond both of us.  Knowledge is power.  Learn what
they do.  Got it?" 

Mulder looked up and swallowed, then nodded.  "Got it." 
His attention returned immediately to the map.  

Skinner walked back out to the main work area, sat down 
behind the main terminal he commandeered, and typed in the
necessary commands to power up their screens.  After 
checking in with Peters in the command room upstairs, Skinner 
called up the video and sat back, watching the final preparations.  
Behind him, Mulder was poring over the map he'd laid out on
the bigger work table.  It looked as if his plan might work, 
keeping his partner so occupied with his task, he wouldn't fret 
so much about what they were looking for, what the search 
might or might not reveal.  

And it did.  For the next four hours, while Skinner followed 
the progress of the second group, Mulder kept a very close eye 
on the first.  There were a few times he had to suggest a break 
to get the younger man to move around a bit, his concentration 
was so single-minded.  But after watching the team round a 
severe ledge, narrowly avoiding dropping off into a void, he
seemed to become just as fascinated with the landscape as 
the people he was tracking.  

Skinner watched his team closely for any signs of life,
life of any kind, and stewed over the thought of survivors
hiding out anywhere on the ice.  Would it even be possible?
He'd looked at the manifest of what had been brought out
with the first group two years ago.  It had included some
experimental, light-weight heat-shielding habitats - shelters
that used an explosive charge to sink tethers deep into the
ice, then provided a space that recirculated and contained
a person's body heat.  Very new, very risky, but if they
had perfected the thing ...

He took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes, then pinching 
the bridge of his nose.  His headache hadn't dimmed any 
and showed no signs of leaving any time soon.  In fact, as 
he strained to focus on the screen, it felt like a migraine 
building.  God, he hadn't had one of those in nearly a year.  

By noon, he couldn't take any more without a break and 
a pot of coffee.  He was just about to suggest it when there
was a knock on the door.  Mulder nearly jumped out of his 
skin, but Skinner calmly stepped over and called, "Who is
it?"

"Frank and Amanda," Peters responded.

"Come on in." He unlocked the door, pulling it open, then
glanced at Mulder.  "That's Amanda Petit,  Mulder.  She's 
the head geologist.  Very nice lady, if you're into rocks
and metal."  He smiled, hoping his partner could recognize 
a completely harmless person when he met one.  He 
already seemed adept at shying away from the bad ones.  

"Skinner, hope you don't mind.  Hello, Mulder." Frank 
smiled widely at both men, then gestured to Amanda.  
"Amanda here is beside herself about something, and 
we thought you could give us some insight." 

"It's this metal."  Without waiting for a reply, or even a 
proper introduction, Amanda stepped forward, holding 
out both hands.  Skinner glanced at Mulder, then nodded 
toward their visitors and stepped over to where they were.  
In Amanda's hands was a chunk of gray metal, dull, and 
shapeless. "They brought this in yesterday, but I can't figure 
it out." 

Skinner motioned for everyone to go to the large table, 
now cleared of the maps, where they could examine 
Amanda's find.  When he stopped, he felt Mulder 
standing beside him, careful to keep to his left while 
Peters and Amanda were on his right.  

"It looks like silver." Skinner shrugged.  What he knew of 
metals was pretty basic, but it did look exactly like the 
metal the little sculpture of Mulder's was made of.  

"No, no, it's not silver.  Nothing like silver."  Amanda set 
the piece on the table and stared at it as if she'd never seen 
it before.  She ran a hand through wildly disheveled hair 
and nodded.  "The thing is, while it does have the a similar
molecular structure to silver, it's also like mercury.  And 
there are a few other elements there I can't identify." 

Amanda glanced at Mulder, and Skinner saw the quick flick 
of the younger man's eyes toward him before he nodded 
at the geologist.  

"I don't know what it is."  Mulder shrugged.  "It's not rare 
or anything." 

Skinner took a chance and stepped to one side, examining 
the chunk.  He was happy to see Mulder remain where he 
was, hopefully unafraid of their new visitor.  Amanda had 
nothing to do with the faction who had voted for a forced 
memory return of the sole survivor.  If it wasn't a rock or bit 
of metal, Amanda didn't much care what it did, or why.  
"What's the problem, then?" 

"I can't find a melting point.  Can't cut it with any of our 
tools, even the diamond laser, without completely shattering 
it beyond use."  She looked at Mulder, eyebrows raised.  
"Do you know how to make this stuff behave?" 

"They make it."  His answer was so matter-of-fact, but the
words were shocking nonetheless.  

"They who, Mulder?"  

"Them.  Them."  His voice was rising growing shrill.  "I
don't remember!"  Mulder glanced at Skinner then dashed
out of the room.

Skinner nodded, then motioned for the two visitors to sit 
down.  "Give him a few minutes, OK?"  He rubbed his
forehead, then asked, "How are the groups doing?"


"They're making good progress.  We should have the entire
 first sweep done by the end of this week.  But you know that." 
He gestured toward the computer set up, the monitor still 
displaying the view relayed from the second vehicle.  Frank 
sat down opposite Skinner and Amanda sat at the other 
side, still studying the rock.  "How's Mulder holding up?"

"He's fine."  Skinner glanced at Amanda and grinned.  The
woman was completely oblivious, unless the topic was rocks.
"I think every day we don't find any sign of the first group, 
he'll get calmer and calmer." 

"I can't even imagine what this must be like for him." 

Skinner was about to reply when he heard a door open, 
and the sound of wind, followed by an icy draft.  He rose,
torn between following the younger man, and giving him
some time.  He looked back at Peters, saw something
akin to compassion in the man's eyes, and sighed.  

"I guess he needs some time and space," Peters said.

Skinner nodded.  There were people in this group he 
was beginning to trust not to be so willing to sacrifice 
another man's sanity for a few elusive answers.  Peters 
it seemed, more scientist than military, was moving into
that category.  "How about some lunch?"  Skinner stood, 
rubbing his eyes.  The headache was still there, pounding 
against the back of his forehead with some regularity.  

"I think we could manage that.  Let's head upstairs."  Frank 
got up and nodded toward the door.  "There were some incredible
smells coming from the kitchens when Amanda and I headed
over here." 

"Great.  Let's take the long way.  I want to see this hole Mulder
bolted through."  

They followed the back wall, coming up to a small door, partially
obscured behind boxes that had been hastily shoved aside.  It 
opened to a short set of stairs that led up to the back side of
the facility.  The sun was shining outside through a magnificently 
blue sky.  Peters shielded his eyes from the brightness while they 
walked around to the front door, hustling in the icy air.  "Do 
you think anyone's out there after all this time?  Or did they
really die?" 

Skinner sighed heavily and reached for the building's side 
door.  "I don't know, Frank.  It's hard to understand anyone 
leaving a man so isolated -- and leaving all of this -- to live 
out there." 

"Yes.  But it's just as hard to fathom so many people 
dying in such a short time." He shook his head.  "If 
only we could read the records." 

"No progress translating what's left, I take it?" 

"Nothing.  There's a team working on it daily, but 
they're not getting anywhere."  He sighed in frustration.
"I do wish we still had the source documents to 
review."

They walked down the long corridor, following the 
smells of food that permeated that section of the
complex with delicious temptation.  Skinner knew 
Mulder had a personal log, had other records he
hadn't shared.  He'd seen the thing active just the 
other evening when he closed up the unit and put 
it on the chair.  But that was Mulder's business.  He
wasn't about to share it with the others, just as he 
hadn't mentioned Mulder's little statuette of the 
mysterious material..  

"I told them they might just as well give up."  Peters 
shrugged.  "But some of these people are like hungry 
dogs with a bone when it comes to a puzzle." 

Skinner laughed lightly.  "Oh, and you're not?  
You love a good mystery, Frank, that's why you do 
what you do."   They entered the dining hall and 
found it only half full.  Many of the group were eating
outside, or at their various work stations, too absorbed
in their discoveries to stop and eat in a social setting.  

"Yes, I admit it freely."  Frank smiled and reached for 
a tray, then began to load it up with enough fruit to 
feed four while Skinner did the same with the meats 
and breads.  "I love a mystery about as much as
you love a good, honest fight." 

Surprised, Skinner stopped mid-load.  "What's that 
supposed to mean?" 

"It means Mulder is very lucky you came along." 
Peters finished filling his tray and moved down to 
the beverage section.  

Skinner hurried to finish and join him, gathering up 
a few different selections he hadn't tried yet.  He knew 
Peters well enough to wait for him to finish this train of 
thought and elaborate.  

"You never lose sight of what's important, Skinner, 
like so many of us do sometimes.  Even I fell victim 
to the temptation of forcing Mulder to remember, 
regardless of the consequences to that young
man." He sighed and shook his head sadly.  "Thank 
God you talked some sense back into us." 

"I'm not so sure I did." 

"Oh, you did.  Not all of us, granted.  But that's why 
we're lucky to have you around.  You're never swayed 
by public opinion, or the mood of a group.  You have 
an uncanny ability to see things as either right or wrong, 
and stick to your convictions with impunity.  I admire that.  
And I can tell Mulder has come to depend on it, whether 
he really knows it or not." 

Skinner hefted his tray and followed the colonel through 
the dining room.  "He has no idea what Aaron and the 
others were thinking, and I'd rather it stayed that way." 

"Oh, I'm sure he does in a way.  Have you watched him 
closely?  That man never misses a move anyone makes.  
He's a survivor, that one.  And he's taken to you like a 
scared cat hiding under the couch." 

"He was pretty overwhelmed by all this.  He had a life.  He
had friends.  He was yanked out of all of that, and put here
with no frame of reference.  You can't blame him for having 
some trouble adjusting."  Skinner pushed the outside door open 
with his butt, letting Peters go through first.  

"No, but he can sense protection when he sees it.  I'd be willing 
to lay odds he could see something to trust in you the day 
we came." 

Skinner shook his head slowly, not sure if he could admit 
to thinking Peters was right or not.  "Mulder hasn't been 
around people in two years, Frank.  How could he know 
how to read a person so well, so quickly?" 

"The same thing that kept you alive in the war, got you 
where you are in the Bureau: Instinct." 


**********************
Iced 04/15

"Dammit, Mulder."  Skinner sighed and sat for a moment, trying 
to imagine where else his friend would be.  Something poked
him through his pocket and dug for a moment, pulling out
the little metal statuette that he'd found on the floor in Mulder's
room.  It looked as if the younger man had thrown it down
before he made his dash out the hidden door.  Through the 
triple-paned window,  the sun shone brightly for a moment, 
then faded again behind a cloud.  More bad weather.  
Skinner shoved the thing back into his pocket and 
looked up, scanning the sky.  He almost missed seeing the rise in 
the ice, a shift caused by the earth's movement,  and the man 
standing on it, but when he did, he knew right away it was Mulder.  

It didn't take more than ten minutes to climb the ridge, but it felt
like
hours.  Skinner had to fight against the chill of fear in his gut, and
the icy wind as he climbed, rounding a pile of loose snow just 
behind his agent.  When he was on the same plane, he paused, 
catching his breath.  Mulder was dangerously near the edge, 
looking out over the drop-off several hundred feet below.  How 
the hell had the ice shifted like this, so close to the station, and
not impacted them?  Skinner set the thermal blanket he was 
carrying on the rise of ice and took a few casual steps forward.  
He wanted to believe he was overreacting, and they'd both laugh 
about this in an hour.  But the clutch in his gut told him
otherwise.  

"Hey, Mulder.  I've been looking everywhere for you." Skinner 
stopped just two yards behind Mulder, afraid any more weight on 
the lip of the overhang would prove fatal.  

Mulder looked out at the horizon, but said nothing.  

"This is quite a view." 

"I can never do it."  Mulder's voice was cold, and barely 
loud enough to be heard.  

Skinner swallowed hard and risked another step closer. 
"Do what?" 

"I can't finish it."  Mulder nodded, still facing the drop. 
"Every time I come here, I can't do it." 

"That's because there's nothing you need to do here, Mulder."
Skinner had to force himself to stay where he was, not rush 
forward and pull his friend away from the edge.  The ledge 
they were on extended from the plane, and could crumble if 
stressed too much.  

Mulder looked up at the clouds.  "They'll all be gone soon, 
and I'll be alone again.  Just like before." 

"No, Mulder, not just like before."  Skinner shook his head.  
He wished the man would turn around and look at him, make
eye contact at least.  

"Yes, they will.  They're doing the same things, and they'll 
end the same way."  Mulder shook his head.  "They'll all be 
gone, then you'll be gone, and I'll be alone again." 

Skinner felt a twisting in his gut, reacting to the despair in
Mulder's voice.  "No, Mulder, I won't be gone."  He 
stepped closer, ignoring the danger until he was near enough 
to reach out and grab the younger man's arm if need be.  "I 
can't promise you these people aren't going to make mistakes, 
and get themselves killed.  I don't have any control over what 
they do or how they do it." 

Mulder turned slightly, looking at Skinner now but not facing him.  
The expression on his face was as bleak as the barren snowscape
before them, with eyes as lifeless as the ice itself.  

"But you have to believe me, no matter what happens to them,
I promise I'm not leaving you."  He had to know he wasn't the 
only one terrified of being alone.  Skinner was going to have to 
tell him.  He'd been unable to tell anyone before, but it had never 
been this important.  

Mulder finally made eye contact, searching Skinner's face 
desperately for a reassurance he was too afraid to believe.  
"I can't go through this again." 

"You don't have to.  You'll never be alone again, Mulder.  
Trust me."  Skinner held out a hand, tempted to grab Mulder's 
arm.  "You have to trust me, don't worry about anyone else, 
OK?  We can manage just fine without them, we did it for 
a week already." 

Mulder looked down and seemed to shrink inside himself
slightly.  He moved, and Skinner braced himself to lunge forward.  
"I just--I--I can't." 

Before Skinner could move, Mulder stepped toward him and all
but collapsed into his arms.  "You won't have to, Mulder."  Skinner 
pulled his friend close and held on.  They'd managed to move 
back from the ledge a few feet, so he stood there, no longer 
concerned with the drop, and held Mulder close.  

There were no tears, just an exhausted immobility that kept 
Mulder pressed against him.  By virtue of his height, the younger
man's head fit snugly under Skinner's chin.  He wrapped both 
arms around the slight, emaciated body, feeling incredible 
emotion conveyed in a simple touch.  In his arms Skinner held 
such utter despair it twisted his gut.  Twenty months of fear and 
confusion.  Two years of complete, painful solitude, with no 
memory of friends or family to accompany the long, torturous
hours.  The uncertainty of a new friendship, threatened by the 
foolish actions of others.  It was all there, wrapped tightly and 
tiredly inside one scared, exhausted, debilitated man.  

And it had nearly been too much.  Skinner said nothing while 
they stood there.  No words could give adequate comfort in the 
face of such confused emotion.  Mulder felt so small, he wondered 
why the wind hadn't blown him off the ledge.  If he'd had the 
slightest idea his friend was feeling this strongly, Skinner never 
would have let him out of his sight.  While he stood there, 
waiting for Mulder to feel better, he mentally reprimanded 
himself for not realizing how deeply the man's emotions were 
being hidden.  He'd know better, now.  Scully had warned
him Mulder hid his pain.  Obviously, he was good at 
hiding his deepest fears too, even repressing them 
until they overwhelmed him and threatened his life.  

A gust of wind rushed up from the valley, and Skinner felt
Mulder shiver in the cold.  He tightened his embrace, willing 
the cold and the wind and the entire station away for just 
a little while.  He'd wanted to keep his agent safe, from the 
people who wanted answers, the ones who didn't like what 
those answers were, and from the loneliness he'd known for 
so long.  What he really needed protection from, was himself.  
Skinner swore, right then, to every deity ever known, every 
god ever created, that he was appointing himself Mulder's 
protector.  Whether it be outside dangers or inner demons, 
he was never going to allow anything to harm the one true 
friendship he'd ever had.  If that meant leaving the others,
moving to one of the other buildings, to live protected and 
isolated from harm, then by GOD he was...  

"I'm sorry."  Mulder straightened, looking up at Skinner, 
but didn't pull out of the arms holding him safe.  

"It's OK, Mulder.  You just didn't know, that's all."  Skinner 
paused, moving his hands up to Mulder's shoulders.  One hand
reached up and pushed the long, shaggy hair back from his face,
tucking it into the hood of the parka.  He let his hand linger 
against the younger man's cheek.  "You didn't know you 
could trust me not to leave.  Now you do." 

Slowly, Mulder nodded, then reached up to place his hand
over Skinner's, holding it in place.  "When they went, they
took everything.  After a while, with nothing to prove anyone 
else was ever here, I thought I'd been alone forever."  He shook 
his head and looked away.  "I won't remember these people
when they're gone.  But I'll remember you."  He looked back at 
Skinner.  "I don't want those kinds of memories." 

Skinner inhaled deeply, gazing at the cloudy sky.  He gave 
Mulder's shoulders a squeeze, then turned and walked his 
friend back against the snow drifts.  "Put this on, it's cold 
up here."  He handed Mulder the blanket, then they both sat 
down, sheltered from the wind by a large snowdrift.  "I want 
to tell you something, Mulder."  Mulder sat close, and 
Skinner draped an arm over his shoulders, still not convinced 
he wouldn't dash forward and finish that leap.  And for what 
he was about to say, he needed some grounding of his own.  

"I've never told anyone about this before." 

*****************************************

It was cold on the ridge.  Mulder hadn't noticed the wind 
while he stood on the edge, wondering why he couldn't 
jump.  But now that he'd decided to stay, temperature 
became important again.  He was grateful for the blanket
Skinner handed him, for the way the fabric seemed to
warm in reaction to the cold.  It was almost as comforting 
as the embrace of true friendship that had saved him 
moments ago.  There was nothing he could do to repay 
that, not yet anyway.  All Mulder could offer in return 
was his complete, devoted attention.  

They sat side by side against a large section of the rise, 
shielding them from the worst of the wind.  Skinner
had an arm draped over Mulder's shoulder, and he 
leaned into that as an anchor against the emotions
that were still making him dizzy.  

"It happened a long time ago, when I was on a mission." 
Skinner gazed out at the dark sky as he spoke, his dark
brown eyes slightly unfocused behind the steel rim glasses.  
"We were about as far out in the jungle as you could get,
practically speaking.  Our squadron was sent out to stop 
a supply line that was sneaking weapons in from another 
area."  He focused and shook his head, gazing at Mulder 
for a moment.  "Anyway, to make a long story short, we 
failed.  Miserably." 

Mulder swallowed, meeting Skinner's eyes.  He felt he 
should say something, to somehow provide something 
along the way, but he had no idea what.  

"They attacked from their side, our rear fired back, we
were caught in the middle, and before I knew it, it was 
over."  Skinner's jaw clenched quickly and he looked away.  
"I remember a bright flash where my point man used to
be.  Then there was another blast, brilliant orange, and all
that was left of the radio man was a headless torso.  The
radio was undamaged." 

In his mind, Mulder tried desperately to visualize the 
action.  He had little to go on but stories he'd read, 
but it was enough to give him a sudden chill.  

Skinner closed his eyes, then shook his head very slowly.  
"It took me a little while to realize I was the only one 
alive, out of both sides that were fighting.  I was injured,
I'm not really sure what happened.  There was no one to 
call to for help." 

Someone from the complex called to someone by the plane,
then was answered.  The wind picked up, and a whirl of snow
danced by in front of them.  Skinner paused to watch it, and 
Mulder searched for something to say.  He couldn't find a word.  

"I assessed the damages, and calculated how long I had." 
Skinner swallowed and looked at the ground, then reached 
out with one hand and fashioned a crude snow ball.  "The 
radio worked but no one answered.  The automatic beacon 
was working, but I didn't know if there was anyone left to 
hear it.  I lay there for thirty-six hours, and it was totally 
silent.  Imagine, a jungle with no sound.  No birds, no 
animals, no sound of running water in the streams.  Just 
complete and utter silence."   He sighed and moved the 
arm out from around Mulder, then began to toss the
snow ball back and forth between his hands.  "There
was this woman, an old woman, she stood there and looked
at me.  Never said a word."  He shrugged.  "I was rescued, 
a routine intelligence sweep had miscalculated their direction, 
and found me by accident."  He tossed the snow ball toward 
the cliff edge.  "That's what the officials know."  Skinner 
turned his head to look at Mulder.  "It's what went on in here,"
he pointed to his head with one finger, "that I've never 
talked about." 

Mulder pulled his arms together, hugging himself against 
the cold.  He let both hands become swallowed by his long 
sleeves.  This was the part where he knew he should interrupt,
and assure his friend that any confession this personal wasn't 
necessary.  Only he couldn't.  He knew somehow that Skinner 
needed to be able to tell him as badly as he needed to hear it.  

"The worst part is the silence." Skinner tossed another chunk 
of snow.   "My communications system was completely out, 
it wasn't even throwing back static.  I could see things, watch 
bombs explode, see mortars burning.  But the only sound  I 
could hear, the only noise, was, well .  .  .  nothing."  Another 
bit of snow formed into another ball.  "There was nothing I 
could do, either, to occupy myself.  No survival procedures, 
no attempting to make contact with anyone.  Nothing.  All 
I could do was lay there, alone, and wait to die." 

Mulder looked away as a surge of emotion threatened to 
overcome him.  He couldn't help feeling surprised that 
this man who seemed so completely in charge could 
ever have been reduced to such a state of helplessness.  
When he looked back, he imagined he was seeing 
Skinner even more clearly than a moment ago.  

The snow in Skinner's hands was being mutilated.  He
formed a smooth ball, then gouged holes in it, and 
pulled it apart.  "My head was spinning, there was debris 
all around me.  Chunks of the equipment, pieces of bodies.
Everything was just laying there, totally silent.  I lost
my frame of reference.  There was no up or down.  The jungle
floor is green, the tree canopy is green, too.  And there
was blood everywhere.  And that total, eerie silence.  But 
at one point, as I was laying there, something .  .  .  someone
grabbed my arm." 

The snow ball disintegrated in his hands, and he tossed 
the loose snow aside.  Mulder swallowed, sensing the
emotions Skinner was holding in check.  

"It was a buddy of mine.  His legs were -- I don't know how 
he crawled over to me." 

Mulder struggled to understand the implication.  "You .  .  .  you 
mean he was .  .  .  ?" 

Skinner nodded, his jaw clenching.  "He was in pieces.  He had one
of his legs in his hand.  His chest was in shreds."  He shifted
against 
the ledge and looked out at the sky.   "War is no place for humans, 
Mulder.  It's violent and bloody and not at all worthwhile."  He
paused, shaking his head.   "He just looked at me, holding his 
goddamn leg in his goddamn hand, like I could do something 
about it." 

"My God." 

Skinner inhaled deeply and slowly, then turned to face Mulder.  
"I lay there, for another twenty hours.  With my arm clutched
in his death grip.  Alone.  The only thing I feared was slowly 
losing my mind.  That's what it felt like the whole time I was 
there.  Like my sanity was slipping away with each passing minute." 
He looked away again, gazing out at the clouds.  "After I was
rescued, 
I vowed never again to be alone.  That's when I met Sharon.  I 
thought she was what I needed, she thought I was what she wanted. 
And it worked out for a while.  Until I realized that wasn't what I 
was looking for.  She was sex, and that's about it.  There was no 
connection.  Sharon's idea of being there for someone was physical.  
But what I needed was a friend, someone I could count on."  He 
looked back at Mulder.  "It doesn't exactly compare to the last
two years for you, Mulder.  But in a small way, I do know how 
you feel.  I know what it is to be alone, even in a room full of 
people." 

Mulder felt his face flush slightly.  Suddenly everything that 
had brought him to this cliff seemed selfish and immature.  
He'd wanted to end the pain of losing a friendship, stop it 
before it could happen.  Not once had he considered what 
Skinner might have lost had he jumped.  

"I'm sorry.  I just ...  I've never had a friend I could trust 
before.  I don't even remember any at all."

"You have, Mulder, you have.  You don't remember, but 
you've had Scully for almost ten years.  And now," he
swallowed and put his arm back around the younger man's
shoulders, "you have me."

"It's just that, the thought of you -- like the others -- I 
couldn't go through that."  He shook his head, feeling 
helpless and foolish.  "I've been pretty selfish, I guess." 

"No, Mulder, not selfish."  Skinner turned a little so he was 
facing Mulder more.  "You've been through hell.  And here 
we are, making you go through it again, in reality and in 
memory.  It's not easy, but you can't let it win." 

A clap of thunder in the distance startled them, and there was
another call from the complex grounds.  Mulder saw the 
flash of lightning several miles away.  

"We both know what it's like to be alone, and neither one of 
us wants to go through that again.  That's what this friendship 
is all about.  I'll look after you, you'll look after me, and maybe 
together we can even protect the others from themselves." 

Mulder looked up and searched the dark eyes meeting his.  
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt 
hope.  Finally he had something to give back.  

"What do you say, agent?  Deal?" 

"Yeah, deal." 

Skinner's smile lit his eyes.  "Good.  Now, let's get
inside before this weather gets too wild."  They stood, 
startled suddenly by another clap of thunder in the distance,
growing louder. 

Standing gave Mulder another view off the cliff, and another 
wave of the emotions that had brought him up there in the 
first place.  As Skinner turned to lead the way down, he reached
out and grabbed the taller man's arm.  Overwhelmed, Mulder 
leaned into Skinner's chest and wrapped both arms around his
back.  Instantly he felt the hug reciprocated.  

"It's all right, Mulder."  Skinner's chin rested gently over the top 
of Mulder's head.  "It's all right now." 

Two years' worth of having no one flooded out in one instant.  
For so long, all he'd ever wanted was one moment when he 
didn't have to make the decision.  So many times he'd dreamed of
having someone he could lean on for support, or to just take over 
for one day.  Part of him was still wary, still afraid that if 
he cared too much, it would be gone.  But for right now 
he was willing to take that chance.  There was a chance, 
now that he knew Skinner needed him as much as he 
needed Skinner, that their fears of being alone would 
cancel each other out.  

At least for now, he had a friend.  And luckily, he was 
one who didn't seem to mind being leaned on.  

With a sigh, Mulder let go.  "Sorry, I just .  .  .  " 

Skinner reached one arm around Mulder's shoulder 
and turned them both toward the path.  "It's all right,
Mulder." 

They made it back to the complex as the snow began to 
fall.  Skinner stood in the doorway watching the flakes 
fall down around them.  Most of the people who'd
been working outside were dashing inside, complaining 
loudly about the storm, but a few hardy souls stood in the
snow, laughing and enjoying the new fall.  

"Does this happen often?"  Skinner had to raise his voice 
slightly to be heard over the wind.  

"Now and again, right before the darktime." Mulder shivered 
from the wind coming in through the door so Skinner closed 
it.  "The darktime storms are worse." 

Skinner was smiling like someone who had just 
discovered a new reason to admire an old piece of art.
"I like snow.  Always have." 

Mulder laughed shortly, then turned to go downstairs. 
"Well, you're in the right place.  It sounds like it's going to 
last a while." 

"Yeah, I'd better check up on Peters.  Then I'll get us 
some dinner.  You need to take a shower, get warmed up.  
You got quite a chill up there on that ledge." 

Even with the blanket around him, he knew Skinner was 
right.  Fearing another round of flu, Mulder didn't hesitate 
to get into the shower.  He stayed there, standing motionless 
under the hot spray until he felt thoroughly warmed.  After 
soaping up to clean off the sweat of intense emotions, he
stepped out of the shower and toweled off surrounded by 
steam.  The chill of the wind was gone from his bones, but 
the new found sense of security remained.  That man was 
amazing!  All that time alone, with the dead and dying
around him, with his buddy clinging to him as if waiting to 
take Skinner with him .  .  .  God, how had he survived that?  
Not only had Skinner survived it, he still remained in such 
complete control.  

Mulder was sure, memory or not, he'd never known a man 
like Walter Skinner.  And he could well imagine, living a 
lifetime around strangers, he'd never meet another like him.  
He had such a strong sense of who he was and how to control 
his environment, and never seemed afraid.  They were
qualities to be admired.  And with luck, in time, perhaps 
emulated in some small way.  

There was a sweatshirt waiting for him when he got out, 
draped over the edge of the sink.  With the storm raging 
on outside, and the heat from the shower rapidly dissipating, 
Mulder decided to put the warm shirt on.  He liked how 
how the fabric warmed him, made him feel protected.  He 
even liked how the sleeves fell down over his hands.  But 
mostly he liked the name, emblazoned across the side of 
his chest.  Skinner.  No longer was having a protector -- a 
friend -- just the dream of a lone survivor.  

On his way out to the living area, everything Skinner had 
said suddenly became clear.  That day, the past week, all
of it.  

"Hey, dinner's ready."  Skinner set a plate on the table and 
waved Mulder over.  "I cheated this time and used the 
MREs.  But it's hot and smells good." 

Mulder sat down while Skinner returned to the galley for 
another plate.  "You're really something, you know that?" 
He laughed shortly and ran a finger around the rim of his 
plate, shaking his head as he marveled over the skill 
Skinner had employed all this time.  

"What's that?" 

"You," Mulder continued, still looking at the plate.  "All 
that talk about how I was a survivor.  About how you 
admired that like it was some kind of skill you wished 
you had."  He looked up, watching Skinner walk around 
the counter.   "You know all about the guilt, the fear, and 
the nightmares.  All this time, you knew exactly what I've 
been going through." 

Skinner nodded, set the plate down, then sat.  "That's right
Mulder, I do.  I also know the only way to deal with it is 
to have a good friend to help.  But thirty-six hours hardly 
compares to two years." 

Mulder hitched one shoulder in a shrug and reached for 
a fork.  "Who helped you through it, Sharon?" 

"No."  Skinner shook his head and stabbed a chunk of meat.  
"I thought she could, but once I got to know her, I couldn't 
bring myself to tell her about it.  I don't think anyone can 
really help you if they haven't been there themselves." 

"Yeah." 

They ate accompanied by the storm raging outside.  Neither 
man spoke, even between the muffled claps of thunder, and 
Mulder found it quietly comforting.  It felt good to just be 
there, and not worry about what to say or what to do.  There 
was still so much he didn't understand, and so very much 
he wanted to ask.  But right now he was content to know 
there was plenty of time for everything.  By the time they'd 
finished dinner and cleaned up, the storm was directly above 
them.  Too curious about the weather, Skinner made a 
pot of coffee and took it up to a small room, deserted now,
on the upper level, where he could watch the storm from 
the large windows.  Mulder grabbed a cup and followed, 
settling into the a seat with both feet tucked under him.
Just watching the snow pound down in sheets made him 
pull deeper inside the warm sweatshirt, against a chill that 
wasn't there.  

"Here, try this."  Skinner reached for Mulder's cup and 
dropped a chunk of something brown into the coffee.  
"Another one of my vices.  Chocolate."  

Mulder looked at his cup dubiously.  He'd couldn't remember
this food, and it looked odd, brown and lumpish.  "In the coffee?" 

"Try it."  Skinner's face was alight with joy.  

So much so, Mulder felt compelled to taste it, just because it
brought such pleasure to his friend.  Cautiously, he sipped the 
steaming beverage.  The smell of it impressed him first, as the 
blending of deep, rich coffee mixed with sweet, heady chocolate.  
Then the taste, smooth and rich as it slid through his mouth and 
down his throat, lingering on his palate.  Both flavors remained 
identifiable, yet combined to form a unique taste unlike anything 
he'd tried before.  

"Not bad."  He couldn't help smiling, more at his friend's 
expression than his own appreciation of the new drink.  "I 
could get used to this." 

********************************************

"How about a visit to hot tub, Mulder?"  Skinner stretched 
tired muscles and flipped off the monitors.  His head was 
pounding and his back had a kink that needed some hot, bubbling 
water to work it loose.  

"What about them?  When are they coming back?  The sun sets 
soon."  Mulder motioned to the monitor he'd been watching 
his ground team on.  

"They'll stay out there, sleeping in the tracker, so they can keep
going without wasting time." 

Mulder stared at the blank screen, then looked at Skinner, 
eyebrows creased.  "They can't stay out, it's not safe." 

Skinner stretched again, noting the look of apprehension in 
his partner's face.  He shrugged.  "They'll be fine.  The tracker's
secure."  He paused, watching Mulder slowly lose the look of fear.  
"Come on, I'm dying for a good soak." 

Mulder hesitated for a moment, then followed Skinner to gather
some towels and then up the stairs and through the halls to the 
medical unit.  Skinner stripped quickly and slid under the 
bubbling water with a deep sigh, easily finding the shelf that
was just the right height for him to sit on.  With the water up to 
his neck, he leaned back and rested his head on the softly padded
edge gratefully.  Mulder shed his clothes and eased himself in 
from the opposite side, getting comfortable with practiced speed.  

"You did a good job today."  Skinner closed his eyes, telling 
his muscles to relax under the hot massage.  "Kept your eyes 
open, stayed alert." 

Mulder shrugged, dismissing that notion as nothing to be 
excited about.  "Will we be watching them all the time?  
That other group in the complex is still recording what they 
do." 

"Yes, they are.  We can ease up on the scrutiny in a few days." 
Skinner adjusted his position, sliding his butt slightly 
backwards on the smooth shelf supporting him.  "I wanted 
to get a feel for how things were going, let them get settled 
into their own routines and test the equipment.  In a few days, 
we can let the remote sensors record most of the data.  I don't
want to risk them cutting us out of the loop."  He sighed 
and reached up to massage his neck.  There was no denying 
the fact that this headache was trying to become a migraine.  
If he could just get more relaxed, he stood a chance of 
nipping it in the bud.  

He worked on that for the next hour, soaking in the bubbling 
water, occasionally cooling off in the corner shower. By the 
time they decided to head back down, Skinner felt 
completely relaxed.  Except for the pounding behind his eyes.  

As they walked past the main doors, with their windows onto
the open area, Skinner paused, thinking.  "I'm looking forward 
to sunset, Mulder.  It should be spectacular.  Three days from
now, I'm gonna be out there bundled to the max, watching
the day turn into night." 

"You can't.  It'll be dark."  Mulder stopped beside him and 
shook his head.  "It's not safe." 

"Why?"  Skinner looked at the younger man.  

Mulder shook his head again and Skinner could see fear 
in his eyes.  "It's not safe after dark, you can't stay out 
there." 

"Why isn't it safe, Mulder?"  The look that flashed over 
his partner's face should have kept him from pressing 
the question, but Skinner continued.  "Is there something 
that comes out in the dark here?  The thing that got the
pilot?" 

Terror.  It lasted an instant, but it was plain as day, 
screaming out from behind his eyes.  Without a word, 
Mulder turned to dash down the hall toward the basement.
Quicker than that, Skinner reached out and grabbed his 
arm.  When he spun around, terror changed to something 
else.  

"No!  Yes!  It's not safe, that's all!" 

Mulder tried to pull away, but Skinner held fast, stepped 
closer and took hold of the younger man's arms with 
both hands.  "Mulder, just tell me what it is.  Why isn't it 
safe outside in the dark?"  He kept his voice calm, trying 
not to frighten the man any more than he was.  "What is it?" 

"I--I don't..."  Mulder shook his head and looked down, then 
away.  "I don't know."  His eyes suddenly met Skinner's, 
trying desperately to convey a million things he apparently 
couldn't voice.  "I don't know.  It just isn't." 

"Is it something someone told you?  Have you ever seen 
anything?" 

"I don't know!"  He shook his head more violently, 
looking  down.  "I just -- it's not safe.  I don't know -- they 
said -- Please!" 

Skinner released his hold.  Whether imagined or not, 
Mulder honestly felt there was danger.  He couldn't
force reason on him without knowing what had happened 
to cause this.  "There's no record of any nocturnal 
predators, Mulder."

"Was there a record of that thing that took the other
man?"  Mulder couldn't meet Skinner's gaze.  He looked 
like he was waging a war of his own inside his head, and 
losing fast.  "I can't."  Slowly, he stepped away, shaking 
his head again.  "I don't know why, I just can't!" 

Before Skinner could reply, Mulder turned and ran for 
the basement.  "Dammit."  He watched the younger man 
reach the stairs and disappear from sight, then turned 
back to stare out over the glistening snow.  Rational or 
not, he shouldn't have let the man get that scared.  He 
should have picked a better time to confront him about 
this fear.  There was no telling what Mulder experienced
in the past two years, what had been done to him before
he showed up at the research station, what kind of fears 
and lies he'd been filled with.  Whatever it was, or 
might be, it was real enough to him.  

With a heavy sigh, Skinner watched the snow blow around
the compound for a few minutes, then walked back to the 
basement.  He secured the door and walked into the living 
area, his head pounding with every step.  Mulder was in 
the chair he'd brought over, a huge, overstuffed thing that 
he had made his own.  He fit completely inside it, 
with his legs curled up under him. 

"I'm sorry, Mulder.  I didn't mean to upset you up there." 
Skinner sank into one of the couches, facing his partner.  
He could see Mulder's jaw clench for a moment as he 
looked down, rubbing the back of one hand with the 
thumb of the other.  

"You were probably right." He shrugged and looked up.  
"It's just some stupid, childish fear or something." 

Skinner shook his head.  "No, it's not stupid.  Nothing 
that real to you can be stupid, Mulder.  I can tell you 
one thing, aside from the thing that got Borstein, which
I'm assuming all these people are here to look into, I 
don't see anything out there to fear.  And now that we 
know something like that exists, we can watch for it."  
Skinner stood and stretched, feeling the tension 
building in the back of his neck that signaled the 
inevitable approach of the migraine.  "I'm gonna 
turn in.  I'll see you in the morning, Mulder.  
Good night." 

"Good night." 

It wouldn't be, not with the headache from hell building.  
Skinner managed a few hours of sleep on and off, but 
by sunrise he couldn't fake it any longer.  It was time to 
admit to the misery he was in, and wait for it to fade 
away.  His shower was quick, just enough to get clean 
and washed.  There was no aura blurring his vision, but 
a few dizzy spells made dressing a challenge.  By the 
time he came out of his bedroom and managed to reach 
the kitchen table, his head was throbbing.  

Mulder set a pot of coffee on the table.  "Are you OK?" 

"I will be, in about eight hours."  Skinner reached for the 
coffee, hoping some of the stimulant would take the worst 
of the edge off.  

"Oh, God, you're not getting that flu, are you?" 

He shook his head slowly so as not to aggravate the pain.  
"No, it's just a headache.  A migraine, to be exact.  I'll be 
fine."  His hands were shaking too much to get a decent cup 
of coffee poured.  

"Here."  Mulder reached out quickly and took the cup, then
poured coffee into it and set it down.  

Skinner nodded his thanks, but Mulder had already left.  A 
few seconds later, the lights were dimmed, and footsteps 
could be heard softly moving around in the back bedroom. 
Well, at least Mulder understood a migraine needed darkness 
and quiet.  Maybe he had them, too?  God, his head was pounding! 
It was as if someone had his brain in a vise and was turning the 
screw slowly, squeezing the sides of his head inexorably 
toward the center, where he knew it would implode.  

And at this point, that would be a good thing.  

He had no concept of how much time had passed since getting 
out of bed, or how much time he'd been suffering.  Time no 
longer held meaning, only the pain in his head confirmed that 
he was alive, in hell.  There were sounds.  Faint, quiet ones 
coming from a few yards away it seemed.  And then there
was a smell.  Yes, definitely a smell, coming from the galley.  

Slowly and deliberately, Skinner turned his head far enough
 to see the galley.  He realized he was still sitting at the table, 
cradling his head in both hands.  From there he could see 
Mulder pouring something into a cup.  When Mulder returned 
the pot to the counter, he dipped a cloth into it, then wrung it
out.  

Skinner closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed, trying 
to muster enough energy to ask what his partner was up to.  
Before he could compose a single thought, the smell was 
right under his nose.  

"Sip that, slowly.  It's not too hot." 

"What's this?"  Skinner moved one hand from his forehead 
and lifted the cup, sniffing the steam.  The liquid was dark 
and thick, and smelled of musky spice.  

"It's tea." 

Before Skinner could taste the cup's contents, he felt a 
warm compress being pressed gently over the back 
of his neck.  

"Just sip it." 

Slightly stunned by the spread of warmth over his neck 
and head, Skinner brought the cup to his lips and sipped.  
The smell of spice intensified as he pulled the liquid into 
his mouth.  It was the perfect temperature, and tasted just 
sweet enough, without upsetting an uneasy stomach.  

"That's not bad."  Skinner leaned forward a bit, letting the 
warm compress cover his entire neck.  Small, soothing 
fingers of heat from the dampness crawled up his scalp.  
His surprise at Mulder's sudden willingness to touch him 
was almost as intense as the scented tea.  He took another 
sip and closed both eyes.  Something was happening within 
his tortured skull.  The vise grip seemed to slip ever so
slightly.  Another sip, and a wave of relief washed through 
his brain.  

"Oh, man!"  He took a deep breath, then another sip of tea.  
Unmistakable tendrils were snaking through his palate and 
into his head, immediately releasing the pain as they moved 
farther upward.  The feeling of relaxation that washed through 
his pain was overwhelming.  Skinner sighed deeply, then
sat up straighter, moving his head slowly from side to side.  

Mulder removed the compress.  "Is it better?" 

"It's wonderful!"  The gripping pain that had held him since 
yesterday had vanished without a trace, leaving behind the 
most relaxing feeling he'd ever known.  "I don't know what 
that was, Mulder, or how it worked, but I feel fantastic." 
Skinner stood, smiling.  "I've never been able to get any 
of the other migraine cures to work before."  He took a step 
forward, around the chair, then swayed as the floor moved 
in waves beneath him.  

"Wait, I forgot."  Mulder reached out and took hold of 
Skinner's arm, gripping as tightly as he could.  "This 
tea makes you want to sleep for a few hours." 

"Whoa."  Skinner reached out to steady himself on the
back of the chair, glad for the hands holding his other 
arm.  "I guess so." 

"Come on."  Mulder gave a gentle tug and walked toward the 
bedrooms.  

"No, I'll be fine.  Just give me a few minutes on the couch." 
Skinner leaned into his guide, directing him to the couches.  

"You'll be asleep." 

"I'll be fine.  Just a few minutes."  Somehow he managed to 
get there.  At least, it felt like the couch.  Cushions beneath 
him, and a few against his left side.  Yeah, it had to be the 
couch.  Skinner closed his eyes and sighed deeply, relishing 
the relief after such a long migraine.  Something light and 
slightly warm wrapped over, then around him.  It felt like 
a fog, lifting him off the couch and letting his mind float 
in uninterrupted peace.  Faint sounds reached his ears and 
kept him anchored to reality, but just barely.  

Skinner allowed himself to enjoy the drifting while it lasted, 
but when he felt himself returning to the couch, he willed 
himself awake.  It took a few moments to shake off the effects, 
but he felt well rested and completely free from the migraine 
that had tortured him for so long.  He was on one of the
couches, as he'd suspected, with the blanket he'd given 
Mulder tucked around him.  That had been the soft fog.  
He unwrapped himself, then folded the blanket and stood 
slowly, happy to find no lingering dizziness from the tea.  
One quick glance at his watch told him he'd slept for three
hours.  

He quickly returned the blanket to Mulder's bed, then 
glanced around the living quarters.  There was no sign 
of his roommate anywhere, but muffled voices were wafting 
out from Mulder's private work area.  Skinner went to
the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face to wipe 
away the last of the sedative effects, then went over to the
doorway to Mulder's area and looked in.    

Mulder sat before his computer, typing furiously, and
periodically muttering something half out loud.  When 
he realized Skinner was there, he jumped up, looking very
concerned.  

"Walter!  How do you feel?  You only slept a couple of hours." 

Mulder stepped around the table but Skinner waved him
off, then rested that hand on his partner's shoulder.  "I 
feel great, Mulder, don't worry.  I slept three hours, but it 
felt like eight."  He pointed to the computer, and the loose
papers that surrounded it.  "What's all this?" 

"Oh, I was just making some notes."  Mulder ran a hand 
through his long hair and shrugged, then pointed to the 
monitor.  "I've been following the teams that are out,
watching what they do.  I made maps of yesterday's 
paths, and they said they have another ground team 
prepping to go north tomorrow." 

"Great work, Mulder."  Skinner smiled as a feeling of 
pride washed over him.  He'd only shown Mulder what 
to do yesterday, and already he'd taken the initiative to 
handle things while his partner was incapacitated.  Not 
only handle it, but handle it all.  Skinner sat down at the 
table to examine one of the maps.  

"Are you hungry?"  Mulder nodded toward the stairs.  
"I brought in some stores this morning, I can fix lunch." 

"Yeah, I could eat."  Skinner watched his partner go into
the galley, then turned back to the computer.  It was
very tempting to open up the file marked 'me,' but he
restrained himself. 

He had to find out why the thought of sunset, the coming
darktime, upset Mulder so much.  

***********************************************

The next days  passed very pleasantly.  Skinner quickly 
realized he and his new partner had fallen into an 
easy rhythm of working together, much the same 
way he and a few small teams had worked together 
during the war and in the Bureau.  Once in a great 
while he'd find himself assigned to a group where the
people worked together like a well-oiled machine.  A 
group which he could blend into and command with an 
almost psychic clarity.  Inevitably, a member of the 
team would be lost in battle, and replaced by another.
Sometimes several at a time.  They'd find the new 
combination a struggle for many months, until each
found a new niche and the rhythm was born again.  

That was one lesson Skinner had learned early in life.  
No matter what was happening, it would change. 
Every high would be followed by a low, which in 
turn was followed by another high.  The only
variation on that theme was the depth and height.  
It had taught him a valuable lesson about not 
sweating the lows, but seeing them as the precursor 
to the next high that they were.  It also helped him 
greatly appreciate -- and never take for granted -- the 
highs.  

This was definitely a high.  Mulder was like a sponge, 
learning anything Skinner was willing to teach him with 
complete, quick comprehension.  And he learned a bit 
about Mulder's life on Nihility, as he got to know this new
and changed man.  Mulder began to come out of his shell 
bit by bit, and allowed visitors to come more and more 
without feeling the need to hide behind Skinner.  During 
the exceptions, he at least learned to match Skinner's 
movements, and didn't step on his heels quite as often.  Now 
and again -- depending on the number and individuals 
involved -- he noticed Mulder would vanish when they
were approached or visited.  Even those times they entered 
the complex for meetings or just to have a look around, 
Mulder would disappear without a trace, then reappear 
when the person he'd been hiding from, or the crowd itself, 
dispersed.  

Skinner never questioned that habit, he just started 
making note of who Mulder didn't want to be near,
and how many was his limit for a crowd.  At least 
it wasn't as baffling as his fear of the coming dark.  
That one, Skinner decided, would take a while to 
get over.  As the night of the setting sun drew near,
Mulder grew more anxious and more agitated.  Whenever
anyone would mention plans to watch the sun go down, 
Mulder would take off into the basement, shutting the 
doors.  And each evening when Skinner returned to their
home, he'd find his young friend agitated and anxious,
either sitting in that oversized chair of his, or pacing in 
his room.  

When he was in there, Skinner would hear talking,
more muttering really, that stopped when he approached.  
He knew Mulder was talking to himself, and it was a more
real conversation than perhaps it should be.  Part of him 
wanted to stop it.  He worried that Mulder's phobia of
the coming night was being perpetuated by all the conversation
he had with himself.  Though sometimes it sounded more
like arguments.  But it wasn't Skinner's place to take away
whatever coping mechanism had allowed Mulder to survive.  
If the man still needed to talk things out now and again, 
it wasn't right for him to try and make him stop.  A 
better tactic would be to keep Mulder from feeling he 
needed to do it.  

And he was making good progress.  Skinner and Mulder 
made a daily habit of visiting the hot tub after dinner and 
talking over the day, or more often simply enjoying
the bubbling hot water massage so wonderfully provided.  
Aaron had graciously allowed an exception to the 'medicinal
use only' rule concerning the big tub, and they both enjoyed
indulging in the warmth and relaxation it provided.

Some of the scientists were talking about taking the
experimental habitats out, setting up some semi-permanent 
camps in the areas already mapped out in order to further 
their range.  The mountains were rapidly becoming the focus
of both Amanda and Hector's teams. Amanda for the minerals,
Hector because some of the wild weather they were seeing 
seemed to originate from there.  Skinner quickly found any
discussions on that subject greatly agitated Mulder, to the 
point of him vanishing until hours after the topic, and the 
people doing the talking, were long gone.  

It was late one night, after one of those conversations, 
that Skinner's understanding of a lot of things clarified 
violently.  

"We'll work up a list of what materials we need to set up 
that camp in the morning." 

Peters stood and stretched and Skinner followed suit. 
"How many are you going to send?" 

"Just four I think, to start.  Let them set up some of the 
shelters and get a feel for the area."  He glanced around 
the room as everyone dispersed.  "I wish Mulder had been 
here, I've wanted to discuss the habitats with him for 
some time now.  It's obvious they've been used, and couple
have long gouge marks on them.  Where is he?" 

Skinner sighed, then raised one shoulder in a shrug.  
"Probably down in our quarters.  Or he will be before dark.  
I don't know why, Frank, but the subject of sending people 
out to establish other camps really gets to him."  That was 
understating the effect, but Skinner didn't want to give 
Frank details he didn't need.  

"Well, he's come out of his shell quite a bit in these past 
days.  But as Aaron keeps telling me, that man still has 
some extreme trauma he's got to work through." 

"Yeah."  Skinner glanced out the single window of the 
room.  "Look at that."  He nodded out the window to the 
open area and the horizon beyond.  The sun hung low in
the sky, ready to pass out of sight for six months. 

Frank glanced in the direction Skinner was looking 
and nodded.  "It's going to be a magnificent sight.  I've 
never witnessed sunset at the pole.  And the moon will
be full as well." 

"I suppose we should keep an eye out for odd behavior, 
then?" 

"Ah, yes."  Frank laughed, nodding dramatically.  
"Yes, I suppose the moon can have an effect on
people's moods, eh?  With luck, it will be a positive 
effect." 

"I'll see you, later, for the official lights out."  Skinner 
forced his gaze from the view and patted the colonel 
on the shoulder, leaving the room.  

It was nearly dark, which meant Mulder would be home 
from wherever he'd run off to.  In the short time they'd
been here, he'd had gone from suspected survivor to a
valuable -- if somewhat shy -- source of  information 
most of scientists had learned to tap.  At least the 
ones he could tolerate the company of.  Frank was 
one of the blessed few Mulder could tolerate, as long 
as Skinner was with him.  As was Aaron.  

"Walter, there you are."  Aaron altered his trajectory 
to intercept Skinner on his way to the basement.  "I was 
looking for you earlier." 

"I've been in meetings this afternoon."  Skinner stopped 
at the door to the small room down from their basement
door.  Through the window, he could seen the darkening
sky.  "What's up?" 

Aaron pointed behind him without looking.  "I wanted to 
talk to Mulder about that sunset.  Have you seen the moon
coming out? 

"The moon?  Yes, I have."  Skinner nodded toward the basement
door.  "I don't think he'll want to talk about it.  I haven't been 
able to get much from him about nightfall, or anything else
related to the dark." 

"Hmm.  There's something strange about that and it's beginning
to worry me." 

"How so?" 

"Well, this might sound far-fetched, but I found a sketchbook,
left by one of the first group.  A woman named Susan Mehta.  
She's quite good actually, but some of her subjects are 
a bit frightening.  Huge, garish monsters, with big teeth and
claws, large enormous eyes, and the moon always in the 
background." 

"You think it was what got Jerry?"

The doctor shrugged.  "Who knows?  Maybe it was an
exaggerated form of something that no one got a really
good look at. I mean, these pictures are right out of  a
kid's worst nightmares."  He paused, choosing his 
words.  "I'm actually surprised I found the book.  
There's so little left from any of that first group.  
Anyway, I did some research.  You know there are 
theories about the moon's effect on people in 
almost every culture and every generation.  The 
full moon affects moods, sending some people 
into bizarrely irrational states, causing accidents, 
even making normal citizens act like lunatics."  He 
laughed slightly.  "In fact, that's where the term 
comes from." 

"And you think the effects from the moon are going
to be more dramatic here at the Pole, is that it?" 

"Somewhat.  What I was thinking -- and I hope I'm 
wrong -- but what if some of the earlier group were 
affected by this moon?  Between the unknown predator,
an animal we've never seen and have no records of,
and the endless night and large moon.  I mean -- what
if they created a -- well, a cult of sorts.  There are reports 
of modern groups suddenly creating deities to worship 
and attribute all manner of omnipotence.  Scientists
aren't immune to wild notions or fringe behavior." 

Skinner took a deep breath and glanced over his head 
at the small, bright crescent brimming over the horizon.  
"And you think the first group had a run-in with that
predator, then went a little overboard with their moon 
worshipping, and somehow ... what?  Maybe they all 
sacrificed themselves?"  He turned and headed for the
basement, Aaron following at a slight trot.

Aaron sighed and shook his head.  "I know, it sounds 
ridiculous.  At least right now it does.  But if I could 
talk to Mulder, perhaps mention the subject?" 

"No." Skinner shook his head once.  "Not tonight.  He's 
been pretty upset about something these past three days.  
I'm not sure what yet, but I hope to find out." He reached 
for the door, pointedly not inviting the doctor in. 

Aaron nodded.  "Maybe tomorrow, if the two of you 
have some time?" 

"I'll let you know." 

Their eyes met and the doctor dropped his first.  "I 
won't push him, Walter," he sighed.

"Good."  Skinner let it go, then added, "Will I see you
outside for nightfall?"

"Of course!  This is going to be something."  Aaron waved 
and headed back  down the corridor to the main part of the
complex.  

"Yeah, something."  Skinner opened the door and went down
the stairs to their quarters.  The hands that gripped his shirt 
with desperation took him totally by surprise.  As did the 
terror-filled eyes.  

"Walter!  Walter, you have to stay inside tonight!  Oh God! 
Walter, you have to stay inside! You can't go out again 
tonight!"  Mulder's hands clutched the front of Skinner's 
shirt with a death grip, moving only to pull him farther into 
the room.  "It's happening again!" 

"Whoa, hold on, Mulder."  Concerned by the unusual display, 
Skinner took hold of his friend's shoulders, reaching around 
the hands still clinging to him.  "What's happening again?" 

Mulder's eyebrows creased and he looked down for an instant, 
shaking his head once.  "I don't -- I don't know.  I just -- you 
can't go out there! Please, don't go out there!" 

The terror in his voice was matched only by the panic in 
his eyes.  It was plain to see that whatever was wrong had 
been upsetting him for several hours now.  "Mulder, calm 
down."  Skinner brought his voice down a few levels, trying 
to use the tone to ease his partner's fear.  "What's wrong?  
Why don't you want me outside tonight?"  His only reply was 
a desperate shake of Mulder's head and a view of dark hair as 
he looked at the floor.  "Is it the full moon?"  The hands 
clutching his shirt began to shake.

"I don't know! I can't remember!" 

"Then how do you --?" 

"They're all dead!"  Instantly, Mulder pushed away from 
him, backing quickly into the corner near the stairs.  Anger 
flashed through his eyes, blazing through the redness.  
"They'll die outside!  Everyone!  It's going to happen again!" 

Skinner felt his heart begin to race slightly.  His concern for 
his friend far outweighed his inability to understand the 
problem.  "Why will they die, Mulder?  What's happening 
again?" 

"Please, don't go out there!"  Mulder pressed into the corner, 
eyes darting from Skinner to the door and back again.  "I 
don't know why -- I just know!" 

"OK, I understand."  Skinner approached Mulder slowly, 
hands outstretched, voice calm.  Whether real or imagined, 
something had him completely terrified.  "You're remembering 
feelings, but not details, right?" Mulder nodded, but his eyes 
were pleading for something Skinner hoped he could provide.  
"Is it the dark?  There's something about the darkness that's 
going to be harmful?" 

"They'll die."  Mulder's voice changed.  The full-on terror 
altered into an unmistakable, bone chilling sense of inevitability.  
"They'll all die outside." 

It sent a stab of ice through Skinner's stomach.  He swallowed.  
"Are they safe inside the buildings?"  Whatever this was, if it 
really was, it was rising as they spoke.  Mulder could only nod 
in response.  "All right.  I'll get everyone inside.  OK?" 

"NO!"  Instantly his terror returned.  Mulder grabbed Skinner's 
arms, pleading.  "No! You can't go out there! Please, Walter, 
don't go out there!" 

"Mulder," Skinner reached out and took hold of his friend's arms.  
"There are people out there.  If you say they're in danger, I have 
to get them inside." 

"You can't!" Mulder's hands gripped tighter.  

"Listen to me."  Skinner matched his intensity while trying not 
to hurt the younger man.  "If you can't help me understand 
what's happening, then I have to go out there and do what I can." 
He paused, searching his partner's face.  

Mulder's eyes met his, full of absolute fear and helpless 
confusion.  "I can't." 

Skinner nodded quickly, then pulled Mulder's hands from his 
arms gently but firmly.  "It's not your fault, Mulder.  Just 
stay here." 

"Please, don't." 

"I have to.  I'll be all right." 

Mulder threw his arms around Skinner, gripping him in a
hug that had all the nuances of a last good-bye.  Then he
thrust himself away, stared up at the larger man for a moment,
whirled, and vanished.  In a moment, Skinner heard the 
hidden door open, the wind blew, and then it slammed shut.

Mulder had fled to his safe place in the storage building.

He stared after him for moment, then mumbled,  "You'll 
be all right.  We both will."  

If this was nothing, the worst that would happen would
be some embarrassment.  Fine.  He could deal with that.  
Skinner rushed up the stairs and headed for the building's 
main door.  There were people milling about outside, almost
everyone had turned out to see the night fall. If he ran 
around warning each of them in turn, he'd be out there 
half the night.  The only sure way to get the message 
across was to use the PA and get everyone inside in a 
hurry.  Just what that message was, he hadn't figured 
out yet.  

"Aaron! I need your help."  Skinner found the doctor just 
inside the complex, slowly walking down the same 
corridor he was trying to run through.  

Startled, he stopped mid-stride.  "What's the matter?  Why 
are you running?" 

"I can't explain it right now, there's no time."  He grabbed 
the doctor's arm and began to run down the hall again,
pulling him along.  "We have to get everyone inside.  Now!" 

"Inside?  Why?  What's the matter?"  To his credit, 
Aaron ran alongside, keeping up even with his questions.  

"I don't know, not exactly.  Mulder is having some kind of 
flashback or something."  They reached the main 
communications office and found it empty for the night.  
The garrison detail had a weapons locker there, and
Skinner wasted no time breaking the lock and pulling
out a fully loaded rifle with extra ammunition.  

"What is it?  Do you need me to go talk to him?" 

"I need you to help me get everyone inside."  He turned
to the communications console, handed Aaron a 
microphone and dialed the unit to call out to the two 
groups still out in the trackers, miles away.  "There's 
something happening with nightfall tonight.  He says 
everyone outside will die." 

"What?! Die?  Walter, I don't understand." 

"Neither do I, but there's time for that later."  He grabbed 
a mike and turned on the speaker, cranking up the volume.  
"Attention!  Everyone, this is an emergency.  All personnel 
report to the complex immediately.  All personnel, report 
inside the complex immediately!" 

"What's this about?"  Peters rushed into the room, looking 
from Aaron to Skinner.  Brian McMurray followed behind 
him.  

"He says Mulder is remembering something.  We have to get 
everyone inside." 

Skinner repeated his announcement twice more, then turned 
to the colonel.  "I don't know, Frank.  All I know is Mulder is 
convinced that anyone outside during nightfall is going to 
be killed." 

"And you believe him?" McMurray snorted.  "Based on what?  
Did he tell you why they'd die?  Or how?" 

"Based on him, McMurray."  Skinner shot a fierce glance at 
the light colonel and had the satisfaction of seeing the man
visibly flinch away from it.  "I know terror when I see it." 
He turned back to Peters.  "Look, Frank, I don't know what 
it is, Mulder couldn't remember anything but the fear, and
the certainty that anyone outside tonight was going to die. 
That's enough for me." 

"Well, it isn't for me."  McMurray regained his attitude and 
shook his head.  

"Walter, do you believe we're in danger?" 

"Yes, Frank, I do.  And if you could have seen Mulder's 
face a few minutes ago, you'd believe it too." 

"And just where is he?"  McMurray raised his chin, trying 
to appear taller than his five-foot nine.  

Skinner ignored the insinuation.  "Look, we've got lives at 
risk here!  I don't know what's happening any more than you do, 
but I'm not willing to sit back and take a chance with innocent
lives!  If this is nothing, then no harm done.  I'll apologize to 
everyone personally."  He glared at McMurray, then turned to 
Peters and the doctor, taking note of the small crowd now gathered 
outside the room.  "You wanted answers to what happened to 
the first group.  Well, your answer just might be about to come
clear."

Aaron turned immediately to the comm unit and began calling
the ground crews.  Skinner returned to his announcement and 
was joined by several technicians who had entered the room 
during the exchange.  He handed his task over to one of them, 
then turned back to McMurray.  

"Where are your weapons qualified men?" 

McMurray stared at Skinner for a moment, then reached 
into the locker and got his own rifle.  

Skinner grabbed several men on the way, ordering them
to follow.  A commotion was building in the hallways as 
people came out of their rooms and in from the outdoors, 
wanting to know what was happening.  Several of the 
other garrison detail appeared, armed, and followed as
Skinner led the way toward the main doors out.

"I don't have a full clip," someone said.

"Me, either."

Skinner glared at McMurray.  "This is how you run security?"

The man flushed, then said angrily, "We haven't needed it
since we got here."

"They'll have to do." 

"Against what?" 

Skinner turned to face the man who had asked, trying to recall his
name.  He was a young kid, no more than twenty-five, and he was
about to go out and do battle against God knows what.  "I don't
know.  But I have a feeling we're about to find out." 

"You think whatever killed the first group is back?" 

"We don't know for a fact the first group all died." 

Skinner cradled his weapon in his arms, checked the clip once
more out of habit.  It felt familiar in his hand, even though he
hadn't fought like this in years.  Some things you never
forgot.  And some things you wished you could.  His 
group now armed, Skinner motioned for them to follow 
him down the main corridor to the front doors.  People 
filled the hallways now, confused and curious.  

Skinner barely heard the screams over the voices of 
the milling crowd.  Within seconds, the crowd became 
a terrified mob.  In a wave, they pressed back away from 
the door toward Skinner and his impromptu militia.  One 
or two screaming voices were joined by several more.  
Skinner didn't even try to shout above them.  He motioned 
for his group to continue toward the door, pushing through 
the chaos.  When he got closer, he saw several of the 
screamers rushing in from outside, some covered in 
blood, others helping the injured.  

Whatever Mulder had feared, it was real.  

"Get inside!" Skinner ordered.  "Get them inside!"  He 
reached the door after what seemed like hours, urging 
those he could still see outside to hurry up.  His order 
was barely heard over the screaming.  

"Oh my GOD! It's got her!" 

"Look out!" 

"I can't see them! I can't see them!" 

"HELP ME!" 

Skinner burst through the doors, followed by three 
of the men he'd armed.  Immediately, he crouched
down outside the entryway, scanning the moonlit 
darkness.  Three people were running down the ice, 
desperate stragglers trying to get indoors.  Skinner 
saw shapes on the ground.  Bloody, unmoving shapes.  
Then something brushed past his head.  

"There!" Brian shouted beside him, pointing to the left.  

Skinner spun, gun raised.  His trigger finger and eye
worked as one, identifying the body as non-human and 
firing in the same instant.  Something black and large fell,
then turned to face him.  Skinner's blood ran cold as an 
unearthly face screeched at him.  Large, almost glowing 
eyes glared in his direction, the body scaly and dark, while 
a deadly set of teeth were displayed in a eerie hiss.  He 
raised his weapon again and took careful aim, but before 
he could fire, another weapon did, a bullet seared the air 
past him, hitting the creature in the chest.  It screeched
again, this time looking at Brian.  Faster than either of 
them could have imagined, it leapt backwards, seemed
to melt, and disappeared into the ice.    

Skinner searched the area quickly, motioning for the three 
straggling runners to hurry inside.  "Do you see anyone 
else out here?!" 

"No!"  Someone shouted from Brian's other side.  

"Get inside!"  He continued scanning the sky, ground, 
and courtyard area for signs of survivors.  "These weapons 
aren't doing any good!".  

Someone hadn't listened, or heard.  Skinner saw movement 
on the other side of the building, and a gun was fired, hitting 
something large and black dead-on.  He saw the flash of teeth
 and heard a bone-chilling screech just before he was knocked 
to the ground.  

"Get back!"  Brian reached out for someone but Skinner 
couldn't see around him.  

He was on his feet in less than two seconds, just in time to 
see one of his armed men vanish into the ice, screaming.  

"Get inside, NOW!"  He shoved Brian and another man through 
the doors, then backed up, desperately searching for something 
to shoot.  Before he could even find the man he'd just lost, 
several hands pulled him inside, slamming the double doors 
in front of him.  

"Skinner!  There were three of them coming up from the ice
beside you." Peters let go of Skinner's shirt and pointed to
the closed doors.  "My God, what are they?!" 

"Is everyone inside?"  Skinner shoved his weapon aside 
and started pushing through the terrified crowd still 
clogging the corridors.  

"Yes." 

"Secure these buildings, now!  I want all the doors locked, 
every window secured!  No one goes outside or even looks 
out a vent until I say so!"  His orders effectively parted the 
mob enough to allow him an unimpeded trek back to the 
main communication center.  Aaron was no longer inside, 
but several technicians were.  "Bring on all the lights and 
get the cameras working.  I want to see what the hell's out 
there." 

"I can't raise the mobile units," someone declared.  

"Keep trying."  Skinner wiped sweat from his forehead and 
stopped in front of the main monitor.  "Get the lights on in 
the plane, too.  Frank, send someone around to make sure 
everyone stays calm." 

Peters motioned to one of the technicians.  "It looks 
like we're secure inside; make sure they know that.  
I don't want any more panic than we already have." 

Skinner took a deep breath and watched the monitors come 
on, one by one.  Frank and the technicians crowded around 
them, scanning the darkness outside for signs of movement.  
"Get some recordings, if you can."  Skinner stepped to the side 
and dialed the intercom to the storage building.  "Mulder, 
can you hear me?  Mulder?"  The intercom was out.  There
was a heat sensor, installed to monitor movement in the
event of a whiteout, and he turned it on, fiddling with 
the dials until he got a read out.  One heat source,
tucked in a corner of the storage building, unmoving.

He sighed in relief, then glanced at a monitor that had 
a view of the roof of the building.  "Look at that." 

Something black moved beside the sensors on the roof, stepping 
into the moonlight.  It was big, taller than Skinner when it 
stood upright, but the shape of the hind legs suggested that 
wouldn't be a natural position.  In fact, its entire shape was 
alien enough to give even Skinner a chill.  There were
fangs, razor-sharp, extending over the animal's lips, 
and each digit on the hands ended in six inch claws.  
It turned and nearly faced the camera, showing 
off an unearthly face with incredibly large, round, very 
wide eyes.

"My God."  Frank leaned closer to the monitor.  "Mulder's
demons, I presume?" 

Skinner's jaw was clenching as he examined the creature.  Its 
skin appeared scaled, so black it nearly absorbed the light.
A heavily muscled torso supported it easily, assisted by very
strong legs that ended in sharp, fully extended claws matching
those on the ends of each finger.  With one incredibly fast leap,
the animal vaulted into the air and was out of camera range
before anyone could gasp.  

"It's knocked down some of the sensors."  Skinner forced his 
jaw to relax and turned his attention back to the terminal in 
front of him.  He couldn't contact the storage building, 
couldn't raise Mulder.  "Get Katherine up here to have a 
look at those things."  He turned and stared at Peters.  "That
is what she's here for, isn't it?"  

He still couldn't raise Mulder.  "Any idea how many we lost?" 

"Fourteen."  Aaron stepped into the room, looking exhausted. 
"I've got three injured in med lab, they'll be fine."  He shook 
his head sadly.  "No one else made it inside." 

"I saw more than three wounded coming in."  Skinner's 
eyebrows creased as he mentally recalled his push 
through the corridors.  There had been many more than 
just three, he was sure.  

Aaron shook his head.  "There are quite a few in shock, 
about twelve needed medication to calm down.  They 
were covered in blood, but not their own." 

Skinner swallowed, trying to moisten a dry throat.  So 
many things were beginning to make sense.  Horrible, 
gut twisting sense.  He turned back to the monitor and 
took control of a mobile light, scanning the courtyard.  
Black shapes moved around the area, some flying, some 
sitting on the ground.  He could sense several people 
behind him, watching the monitor, as he zoomed the 
camera closer to one of the creatures.  

"Oh my God!" a woman exclaimed, then made a 
muffled sound as if she was going to be sick, echoing 
his own momentary revulsion.  "It -- it's eating them!" 

Skinner's jaw clenched again and he forced himself to 
relax enough to look over his shoulder, catching Frank's 
eye.  "I think we've just answered some pretty big 
questions." 

Frank stepped closer.  "The original group?" 

"I think so." 

"That would explain things."  He looked at the monitor 
again and swallowed hard.  "They're feeding.  We're 
just food to these things." 

"Having people back in these buildings again probably 
attracted them."  Aaron joined them, looking at the 
creature on the monitor with a forced clinical detachment.  
"They're certainly efficient.  No wonder there weren't 
bodies." 

"Do you think they only come out during the dark, for 
some reason?" 

Peters' question sparked a thought.  Though the one
had apparently braved the light to grab Borstein, they
hadn't seen any others since.  Skinner reached over to 
a control, then moved one of the outside lights closer 
to the creature, turning the beam quickly so that it 
shone directly into its eyes.  Immediately, the animal 
screeched and disappeared into the ice.  Seconds later, 
the light went out, having been smashed from the side 
by two other beasts.  

"Extreme light sensitivity.  That would account for the 
large eyes."  Katherine nodded, having entered the room 
in time to watch Skinner's experiment.  "They look like
monsters from a bad movie." 

"Yeah.  They do.  Only that would be fantasy.  These 
fellows are very, very real." 

"And very deadly."  Skinner sighed.  He knew it was a 
long shot, but he'd hoped the group's exobiologist would
would have recognized these creatures and known instantly 
how to control them.  Of course, that was ridiculous.  

"I'd have to get a closer look at one, but from what I can
tell, they have an incredibly thick, tough hide.  I saw
several take a full hit with no effect."  Peters was searching
for answers.

"It wasn't a full hit."  Skinner was the voice of reason.  
"They moved too fast to hit them head on. 

"No, Skinner, you did.  You hit the one in the chest.   And
still all it did was disappear into the ice." 

He shrugged.  "I'm not sure it was a clean hit, Frank.  
But I agree with Katherine, they're pretty tough." 

"But sensitive to light, right?" Aaron glanced from Frank 
to Katherine.  "So they'll be gone when the sun comes up?" 

"The sun isn't coming up for six months, Aaron!" 

"It explains a lot of things.  Like why the deaths were clustered
like that.  Why there were no bodies in storage for return to
the states.  Why the locks were all on timers, locking this 
place down at the solstice." 

"What?"  Skinner looked up, incredulous.   "Why didn't 
you tell me about the timers?"

"You're not on the 'need to know' list, Skinner," McMurray
sneered.

"Enough, Brian."  Peters turned to look at Skinner.  "I
should have told you.  I just thought you had your hands
full with your man, and all his adjustment problems."  He
shook his head.  "My God." 

Skinner sighed, rubbing his eyes.  It explained Mulder's 
fears well enough.  "No wonder Mulder couldn't remember 
what happened." 

"I can't imagine what it must have been like for him, 
watching this with no context." Aaron leaned against the
console.  "We had some warning, at least.  Thanks to 
him.  The first group must have been caught completely off 
guard." 

"Warning?  You call fourteen dead a warning?!"  McMurray 
stormed around the room, glaring at Aaron.  "He knew!  All 
this time, he knew!" 

"Brian! Calm down!" Frank commanded.  

"He didn't know anything."  Skinner kept his voice calm, 
almost cold.  "He had fears that even he didn't understand, 
with no memory or evidence to explain them." 

"And you believe that?" 

Skinner glared at McMurray.  He forced his jaw down 
hard, allowing the muscles on either side to bulge and
move as he ground his teeth together minutely.  He'd 
learned a long time ago that maneuver could set his 
opponent on guard, along with the pause the action 
provided.  Without comment, he turned to face Frank.  
"We're going to have to keep everyone inside, until we 
can work up some kind of defense." 

"We can't kill them." Katherine interjected.  "No more 
than is necessary for defense." 

"Wait a minute!"  McMurray stepped closer, interrupting.  
"That man caused fourteen deaths tonight." 

"That man," Skinner said, turning to look at McMurray, 
"saved the rest of you tonight.  You wanted answers, 
now you have them."  He pointed at the monitors, still 
showing dark shapes moving around the grounds.  "Let's 
see you live through that for two years, and see how 
well you deal with it." 

"McMurray, you've seen the reports.  Memory loss, 
compounded by that.  It's no wonder Mulder couldn't
recall anything.  Trying to force that trauma back on 
him ... I can't even ...  My God, when I think about
what we nearly did that first night ..."  Aaron shook his
head.  

"Katherine, how much can you learn by watching those
things?"  Skinner changed the subject.  He knew any 
further discussion with McMurray would bring him 
close to decking the guy, and if he didn't concentrate 
on something immediate ...  The revelation of what 
kind of life Mulder had endured was too intense to 
think about right now.  His respect and concern for 
the younger man had grown immensely in the span of 
a heartbeat.  

"Quite a bit, but eventually I'll have to get closer." 

"Not until we know more."  Skinner sat against the console 
and watched McMurray storm from the room, pushing 
through the small group listening to the group's leaders 
discuss tonight's horror.  

"Well, we have nothing else to do tonight, that's for sure." 
Peters turned back to the monitor and sighed.  

"Yeah."  Skinner forced his jaw to relax, then closed his 
eyes for a moment.  They were stuck.  

And Mulder was still over in the storage building.  Alone.
Unknowing.  Out of reach.  

Sometime during the night, chairs were brought in, 
and cups of hot coffee were handed out.  Every monitor 
in the complex was scanning the area, watching the 
movements outside, while rumors and vague theories 
spread through the group like wildfire.  Inside the 
control room, Skinner made a habit of checking the 
storage building's heat source every half hour, still 
unable to make audio contact until the sensors could 
be repaired.  

Skinner ordered Brian to make sure all weapons were
fully loaded at all times, ordering him to be responsible
for it permanently.  There were no more outbursts from 
McMurray or anyone else on the subject, and Skinner
marveled at how easily people relinquished command
in the heat of battle.  Several people murmured now 
and again about how even they would have willingly 
repressed memories such as the horrors they'd just 
witnessed.  Twice, Skinner had to force back the urge 
to dash through the night, out to the storage building,
and see for himself if Mulder was all right.  He felt 
guilty, and needed to apologize as much as he 
needed to reassure himself.  Unfounded fears, indeed! 

"You know something?"  Skinner looked up during 
a quiet moment when he and Katherine were the only 
two seated near the monitor.  "I am completely amazed
Mulder has survived as intact as he has."

"And not surprised the records are gone.  He may have
deleted, erased, encrypted them without realizing it,
just to keep the memory from inadvertently blindsiding
him.  It's a good coping skill."

Rubbing his forehead with the fingers of his right hand, 
Skinner nodded.  "Yeah, it is."  He sighed and reached 
down to pick up his coffee cup.  "It kept him alive for all
this time." 

"It has made him a little strange, though."

Skinner laughed.  "Mulder's always been strange.  This is
not so different for him.  You'd be amazed at the things
he's found, the things he's seen."

Skinner shrugged and Katherine sat back, pursing her 
lips thoughtfully.  "Right now, I don't care how or why he
did the things he did.  None of us would be alive without
him.  I'm just grateful." 

"So am I."  Skinner sighed deeply, then finished his coffee. 
"So am I."  

****************************************

He was in his bedroom and it wasn't a nightmare anymore.  
He was wide awake, eyes open, heart racing.  The shadows, 
screaming in the night.  The death.  Everyone leaving him.  
It was real, and it was happening again. 

"No."  This was a nightmare.  That's what it was.  
Mulder backed away from the door slowly.  When he
backed into the wall, his hand found something on the
night table and his fingers wrapped around it. "No!" 
He wasn't sure what it was, but he clutched it in his hand,
then spun around and stumbled out into the snow.

He ran through the quickly falling darkness, his chest
tight and lungs burning.  His throat was closed in panic
and he heard a high-pitched keening that seemed to be
the wind, crying for them all.  It wasn't until he was 
inside that he realized it was him, and unconscious 
sound of terror that echoed in the frigid air.  He swallowed
hard and stared at the door before backing slowly away. 

"You knew!"  Mulder spat the words into the air.  He was 
huddled in a corner of the storage building -- the one place
he knew was most secure.  With only one door, he could
be sure it was locked and barricaded, and nothing could 
get it.  "You knew exactly what was going to happen, 
all this time!" 

He crouched down into the corner, the blanket he'd
lifted from his bed wrapped around him.  It was Skinner's
blanket, brought from the real world and given to him
by the man when he was sick with flu.  Only anger and 
blind fear kept him from rushing out into the snow, into 
the dark, into the madness he knew waited for him there.  
His face felt cold, and he couldn't focus very well.  "You 
killed them."  They would all die now, just like the others.  
Mulder was sure they'd all died.  They would have found
survivors by now.  "You killed him." 

His head was pounding and the voice spoke up.

"I did nothing.  Their refusal to listen killed 
them.  We warned them, as best we could.  We can't 
help those people now, but we can keep them from 
getting back in if you hurry!" 

Mulder shook his head.  He could feel his heart 
dropping through the floor in slow motion, and a
moment later allowed his body to follow.  Sitting
against the wall, he closed his eyes and buried both
fists in his hair, still shaking his head.  "You could 
have stopped this." 

"Listen to me.  They're all over the complex by 
now.  For all we know, they got inside." 

He wasn't even sure what they were.  They were 
images, black and frightening, that never took on
any form in his nightmares.  

"They could get in here if you don't barricade the door." 

"No."  The word came from his mouth, but it sounded 
miles away.  Why did he feel so tired all of a sudden?  

"I can't protect you if you won't listen to me!  You have
to put the barricades up.  You have to make sure the door
is secure.  They could get in here." 

He didn't try to answer again.  It felt as if opening his 
mouth and forming the words would take the last speck
of strength he had.  Skinner was dead.  Reeling from 
that thought, Mulder closed both eyes tightly and pulled 
his legs up close.  Instantly, a vision of something large 
and black flashed against the back of his eyelids.  He heard 
a scream, high pitched and female, then another.  He knew, 
as vivid as this was, it wasn't happening in the room.  
These were his nightmares, come to life.  In his head and
outside.  

"Let them."  Mulder's voice sounded dead even to him.  It
was fitting, since everyone around him was dead.  He 
had nothing, all over again.  

"It's not safe!  Now get up, check the doors, before they 
get in!"   

"Let them!"  He exploded off the floor, desperate to stop the 
visions flashing through his mind.  "Let them get in.  I 
can't do this again."  He paced toward the doors, then away
again.  His hands were shaking when he tried to run them 
through his hair.  A million thoughts were slamming into his
consciousness at one time and it was getting too hard to think.  
"I can't go through this again!" 

"Listen to me!  If they get in here, it's over!  Do you 
understand?" 

Skinner was dead, and there was no telling how many of 
the others would die tonight.  Maybe all of them.  Had 
they all died before?  He wasn't sure.  The visions weren't 
exact.  Hell, they weren't even memories, just remembered 
still-frames from a terrified mind.  "God, I can't do this 
again."  Mulder stopped, leaning backward against a wall.  
In all his remembered life, such as it was, he couldn't 
recall this feeling of finality before.  It felt as if he weighed 
a thousand pounds, and gravity was pulling him down 
hard.  Not just his body, but his mind, thoughts, even 
his soul wanted to sink deeper into the earth.  

"Stop wasting time and get the doors secured!" 

Mulder could feel his mind let go.  It was twenty months
of drill-instructed response that made him walk back to 
the doors and reach for the metal bar he had fashioned
to secure this building.    

"Hurry, hurry!  Skinner is dead, you're alone again!" 

"Damn you!" What little control he had returned in 
time to stop him from dropping the bar.  Mulder's 
gut twisted at the reminder of his failure.  Skinner had 
been there, right there! And he'd failed to keep him safe.  
He deserved better.  The only one out of all of them
to show him any kindness, let alone respect.  After 
all he'd done, everything he'd ...  Dammit! 

Walter was dead because of him! 

"What are you doing?  There isn't time for this, they'll 
get in!" 

"Let them!  I don't care anymore!"  Mulder spun around.  
He could feel anger surging up through the guilt, feel 
his face burn with hatred.  Whether he hated them or 
himself, he wasn't sure.  Probably both.  "I can't do 
this anymore!  It's my fault he's dead!  I was nothing to 
him, nothing but inconvenience.  He never had to 
stick up for me, he never had to protect me from the 
others, but he did!  He didn't deserve this!" 

"So you'll do nothing?  You want to let them in so
they can end your suffering.  Is that what you want?" 

Mulder's jaw clamped shut and another image flashed 
through his mind's eye.  Death.  Why hadn't he had 
these visions before?  Why had they only been vague, 
uncertain nightmares?  If he'd known sooner -- if he'd 
only known.  "Yes."  God, he was tired!  More than he'd 
ever been before.  Tired of living with this uncertainty, 
not knowing what had happened or why.  Tired of living 
alone, hoping for company and fearing it at the same 
time.  He was tired of living.  

"You want them to kill you?" 

"I'm tired of this."  The images were flashing again, 
one after the other.  None of them solid enough to form 
a true memory, but all were filled with black, clawed
death.  And screams.  

"You're lying." 

Mulder pressed his eyes shut, trying to stop the flashes.  

"If you wanted to die, you'd walk out there and let them 
kill you." 

"You haven't even told me what they are."  His voice 
surprised him, being as calm as it was.  "You know."
He stopped, then said even more quietly.  "I know."

"You can't do it.  If you want to die, walk outside." 

"Did they kill everyone before, or did it take a long 
time?"  He felt like he was on the edge of a cliff, staring 
at clarity, but in order to find the answers, he'd have to 
jump.  

"You don't want to die.  You never did.  That's why 
you're alive.  Because you wanted to stay alive and 
you let me help you." 

He wasn't going to get any answers.  Not unless he 
took that leap.  

"What are they?"

"They're nothing, compared to what the others will 
do after they're gone." 

There was a sound at the door, claws scraping against 
metal.  Mulder looked up, barely hearing it through 
his mental torment.  "What?" 

"You didn't warn them in time.  If you'd told them 
what happens during the darktime, no one would 
have had to die." 

His twisting stomach suddenly chilled.  

"They won't all die this cycle, and they'll want revenge." 

"I didn't know!" 

"Will they believe you?" 

The visions stopped.  Everything stopped.  Mulder even
thought his heart had stopped.  

"He's dead, Mulder.  There's no one to protect you." 

"No."  This was a nightmare.  That's what it was.  
Mulder backed away from the door slowly.  He
backed into the wall, one hand clutching the blanket,
the other holding the small piece of oddly shaped metal
he'd brought with him.  "No!"  He wasn't sure what 
it was, but he clutched it in his hand, then spun 
around and stumbled deeper into the building.
He heard metal grind, and then there was a draft as the
door opened.  Blinded by fear and anger, he lurched 
forward, into another wall, then turned and moved 
further away, running from the thing that followed.    

The scream was in his head, but the black, snarling 
face pressed against his face, hot, moist breath mingling
with his own.  Mulder couldn't shout, or even yell.  He 
couldn't even remember finding the table, but he
slipped under it easily.  It felt heavy and solid and 
almost convinced him it would protect him from 
anything that came through that wall.  Some little 
part of his mind laughed at the notion, but the rest 
of him crouched under the table, huddled in Skinner's
blanket and cradling the smooth object in both hands.  
The monster was above him, staring down without 
moving, and he pulled the statuette to his stomach, 
pulled his knees up to his chin, and willed his mind 
to shut off.  

One clawed hand reached out and gently touched 
him, then stroked the gray sculpture he clutched 
in his hand before it turned and seemed to vanish
through the floor.

His entire world became the visions.  None of them 
were very clear, but they were flashing constantly
now.  There were the black shapes, appearing as if out 
of the night.  People, nameless people he thought he 
should know, vanishing into the ice.  Screams.  Mulder 
closed his eyes tight against the images of death.  The 
faces kept changing, but they all ended the same.  He 
started to rock back and forth, hugging the object he'd
picked up, flinching from the visions in his head.  He 
knew if he kept watching, he'd see Skinner.  One of 
these visions would be Skinner's death.  Mulder knew, 
somehow, that would be the last one he'd see.  That 
vision would end his torment, end his reason.  

But it never came.  He was left with nothing, again.  
Was he going to forget Skinner, forget the kindness
of this stranger who was becoming the first friend 
he could remember?  Would he be left with nothing?  

"There's nothing left."  His voice muffled against his 
raised knees as he rocked, watching the images like
a trapped animal, forced to watch the executioner 
sharpen his blade.  There was never anything left.  
No bones to bury, no clothes to retrieve.  Not even 
any blood.  "Nothing."  The records said his memory 
was gone because of an accident, but Mulder was 
beginning to think that was another lie, as well.
Questions he'd never dared ask before were cramming 
against the inside of his skull.  

Why were there no bodies?  Why was there nothing 
left behind?  Slowly, with as much detachment as
his failing mind could muster, Mulder scanned those 
flashing images.  There was never any blood.  The 
night came, screams, death, blackness.  But nothing 
left afterward.  

"There's nothing left."  It really was over now.  He knew
he couldn't survive this again, not without Skinner there 
to help.  He couldn't trust anyone.  And the others ... the 
others would kill him in the morning.  Either them, or the 
shadows.  Better the shadows finished their work.  They'd 
wanted him for as long as he could remember.  That's why 
they came back, to finish their work.  If he'd gone outside 
instead of Skinner, they would have finished and left.  Only 
he couldn't get off the floor.  He couldn't move!  He wasn't 
a survivor, he was a coward!  All he wanted now was to 
be part of the nothing.  

Mulder's rocking continued.  He could feel the motion slowly 
numbing his mind, blurring the images.  Images of nothing.  
"There's nothing left.  Nothing left." 

"Mulder!" 

"Never anything left."  Nothing to bury, nothing to remember. 

"Nothing." 

"Mulder!" 

He could hear the shouts again, over the screaming.  His 
visions were talking to him.  

"Mulder." 

Why they wanted him, he wasn't sure.  It was over now, 
there was nothing left.  "Nothing."  The voice was so real, 
just like the images.  Mulder wasn't sure if his eyes were 
open or closed anymore, the visions remained no matter 
what he did.  But now he felt something.  It was as if he 
wasn't alone, as if his dreams were moving around the 
room now.  Probably the final stages of his slip away 
from sanity.  He was sure he felt someone's hands gently 
removing the object he'd been cradling.  "There's nothing
left."  That was reality, there wasn't going to be anything 
left.  

Something came down over Mulder's head, quickly, 
then he felt his arms lifted one at a time.  Why his tortured 
imagination cared enough to put a warm shirt on him, he 
wasn't sure.  He couldn't really see much, through the 
blurred fog of disinterest.  But he definitely felt the 
long sleeved shirt being pulled down over his body.  
Then there was a prick at his neck, sharp and quick.  
Startled, he blinked, trying to send this vision away 
and wait for the next one.  

"Mulder, you're in shock." 

What did a vision care if he was in shock?  Numbly, 
Mulder glanced down, focusing on the shirt he was 
wearing.  It wasn't familiar.  Grey, soft, and warming 
up slightly against his chilled skin.  There was something 
on the chest, to the left.  It was hard to read upside down.  
W.  SKINNER.  Oh God! 

Mulder's head shot up.  He blinked rapidly, desperate to 
believe this was real.  "Walter!?" 

"Just take it easy, Mulder, you're in shock." 

No shit! 

"You're alive!" 

It was real!  It had to be real!  Skinner was kneeling in 
front of him, holding his arms, staring into his eyes.  

"I'm fine, it's all right.  I gave you something that should 
help." 

The eyes searching his were full of concern, and the arms 
he reached out and grabbed were real!  Those arms wrapped
around him, pulling him tight to a broad, warm chest, holding
him against the demons of the night.  

"But -- they came.  I saw them, here."  Mulder shut his 
eyes tight, wincing from the mental pain of that sight.  
"They came!"  His entire body was shaking from a cold that 
had nothing to do with temperature.  As he did so, he could 
feel warmth stealing into him again and the arms 
tightened.  

"Mulder, it's all right.  You have to focus, Mulder.  Stay with 
me."  Skinner's grip tightened over Mulder's arms.  "They're 
gone now, they're gone.  Everything is all right."  

"They came back."  He tried to shrink away, from the 
realization and the guilt, but Skinner wouldn't let
him.  

"Yes, they came.  And they're gone now.  Come on." 
Skinner pulled Mulder to his feet, then turned him
slightly and pushed down on his arms.  

He stumbled blindly out the doors and across to
the main building, Skinner almost carrying him.
His clutched at the older man, and he kept his head
buried him Skinner's shoulder.  They passed the open
area quickly, then moved through halls that were 
thankfully empty, down the stairs and into their
home.


Mulder sat on the bed, just then realizing he was 
in one of their rooms.  They had come.  They had really
come, and Skinner had been out there.  "Oh, God."  It 
was too hard to think about.  It was making him dizzy 
and tired.  Or was that the injection he'd felt?  

"It's OK, Mulder.  It makes sense now." 

He shook his head a little, then felt himself leaning 
forward, too exhausted both mentally and physically 
to sit up.  Skinner didn't flinch when his head pressed 
into the taller man's chest for support.  "There's nothing 
left." 

Mulder wasn't sure how long he sat like that, using Skinner 
for support.  Skinner's hand moved in a slow circle on his
back, and he murmured to him, nonsense sounds that were
meant to comfort, not inform.  By the time he realized where 
he was, the shaking had lessened considerably.  He sat up 
and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly ashamed of his 
cowardly behavior.  When he glanced up, Skinner was 
watching him, strong arm still supporting him.  

"I didn't know.  Not really."  Mulder swallowed hard, 
looking away.  He had no right to expect anyone
to believe him, or even understand.  

"It's OK." 

"No, it's not OK!"  Angry with himself, Mulder lashed out.  
"I never knew before now!  I never really knew!  And now, 
it's too late!" 

"Mulder, it's not your fault."  Skinner's voice remained 
perfectly calm, and despite Mulder's attempts to pull
away, his hands had never left their support.  

"Then who's fault is it?"  A wave of despair washed over 
him, taking away all of his heated frustration.  Mulder 
tried to avoid looking at Skinner again.  His eyes wandered 
around the part of the room he could see.  It wasn't his room.  
He remembered stumbling away from the building, running
to his safe place.  Skinner brought him home, but to his
own room.  Something on the bed beside him caught his 
eye and he picked it up.  

"It's no one's fault, it just is." 

Mulder shook his head and ran both hands over the smooth, 
carved figure he'd been holding onto most of the night.  Somehow 
he'd actually thought this thing could protect him.  "How many 
died?"  Skinner sighed, and Mulder could see the muscles on 
either side of his jaw flex.  

"Fourteen." 

It sounded like such a small number, considering.  Mulder 
nodded.  He could feel the wall coming up and he was ready 
to hide behind it.  The wall was going to have to protect him 
again.  "They'll all die, eventually." 

Skinner gripped Mulder's shoulders momentarily, then let 
go and took him by one arm.  "Come on, let's go sit down.  
I need some food to go with all the coffee I've had.  So do 
you." 

Mulder didn't argue.  He got up, still holding on to the 
sculpture, and allowed Skinner to lead him out of the 
room to the couches.  There wasn't much he could do.  
There wasn't much he wanted to do, other than end it.  

"I tried to contact you all night, but some of the sensors 
were knocked down." 

He sat down, pulling both legs up and under him on 
the couch, then cradled the statue in his lap again.  
He liked the weight of it, almost as if it could protect him.  

Skinner walked to the galley and opened a cupboard.  
"You saved a lot of people last night, Mulder." 

"Saved?"  That was a strange way of putting it.  

"Thanks to you, I was able to get almost everyone inside 
in time."  He opened the refrigeration unit and took some 
things out that Mulder couldn't see.  "Of course, they 
thought I was nuts for a while." 

Mulder laughed shortly, but there was no humor in it.  "I 
honestly didn't know before now, Walter.  I swear."  The 
images flashed by again with such intensity, he winced.  

"Drink this."  Skinner was suddenly right in front of him, 
holding out a glass of citrus juice.  

Reluctantly, he accepted the glass.  

"Drink it."  Skinner wasn't moving.  "We'll talk when 
you're a little less pale." 

Surprised, Mulder sipped the juice.  He didn't feel pale, he felt 
completely transparent.  How fruit juice was going to make it 
all better, he didn't know.  But he drank.  When he'd finished 
the glass, Skinner took it back to the galley.  Before he could 
return with another, the comm unit buzzed, scaring Mulder's 
heart into a leap.  

"Go ahead."  Skinner reached the unit on the wall just outside 
the galley.  

"Walter, it's Aaron.  How is he?" 

Mulder turned away, recognizing the doctor's voice.  He hadn't 
thought to ask who had been killed during the night.  

"In shock, but I think I've got a handle on it." 

"We're getting some data put together.  Peters will send it 
over for you to have a look at.  What about ...?" 

"I'll let you know." 

"One thing we found ... or rather haven't found ..." 

Mulder sighed a little and sat back against the couch 
cushions, listening to the conversation.  He was glad 
their comm system didn't include visual connections.  
He couldn't face anyone.  Not yet.  

"What's that?" 

"Nothing.  We can't find any sign of the victims." 

"There's nothing left."  Mulder heard himself say.  

"Keep me posted, Aaron.  I'll let you know what I 
find out.  Tell Peters we'll go ahead with that meeting as
planned." 

Mulder heard the unit click off and Skinner's footsteps 
as he returned to the couch.  This time he was carrying 
two plates of fruit slices and toast, as well as more juice.  
He set the plates on the low table between the couches, 
then sat down and handed Mulder another glass of the 
juice.  This time he wasn't so insistent that he drink it 
immediately.  

"You gave me quite a scare."  Skinner turned to face 
him on the couch.  "Took me a few minutes to find you." 

Mulder shrugged slightly and ran a hand over the smooth 
surface of the sculpture he was holding.  

"You kept saying there was nothing left.  What did you mean?" 

Skinner's tone was quiet, gently asking a question.  There 
was none of the angry accusation he had expected.  It 
surprised him as much as the answer.  "They take it all." 
Mulder's eyebrows creased as he realized he knew that.  
There was suddenly information there, in his mind, that 
hadn't been there just a few hours ago.  "There's no body 
to bury.  Not even any clothes." Another wave of complete 
despair washed through his body.  "There's never anything left.  
Nothing! Nothing to remember.  No proof someone had been 
there." The few minutes of relative bravery he'd enjoyed 
were gone.  Mulder's gaze fell to the statue in his hands.  
"They never leave anything behind, to remember." 

"It's all right."  Skinner's hand rested on Mulder's shoulder, 
and he waited until their eyes met again before he continued.  
"The memories can't hurt you, Mulder.  You can use them to 
help us." 

"No."  Mulder shook his head and swallowed hard.  "They're 
not memories.  I'm getting flashes.  Pictures I've seen before. 
That's all." 

"But you remembered they were coming.  And you remembered 
they'd leave no bones behind.  We've seen that.  Those -- things --
they -- they were feeding." This time it was Skinner who paused to
swallow.  "They're very efficient." 

Another gut-twisting fact popped into his mind and he closed 
his eyes against it.  "The blood goes away." 

"What?"  Skinner's hand left Mulder's shoulder, but he didn't 
move away.  

Mulder shook his head and looked at the glass of juice he was
holding.  "The ice drinks it or something."  He looked 
up and met Skinner's gaze.  "I know how that sounds, but it's 
true.  You can see the blood soak into the ice.  You'd think
it would stain red, but it doesn't." 

Skinner sighed and rubbed his eyes.  "What about them,
Mulder?  Do they only come out during the darktime?" 

"No."  He couldn't even remember what they looked like, 
"When they're really hungry, they come at other times.  
But it's like a cycle.  They're full now, they won't come 
back for a while.  They stay for a day or so, then don't come
back for two weeks."  One hand lifted to push his hair back,
but it was trembling so hard, he couldn't make it function.
Skinner enveloped the hand in his own, larger one, and 
gently tucked the strands of brown behind his ears.  "I 
think -- I think they can't see.  Except during the darktime.  
He swallowed again and looked back at his juice.  "They'll
come again.  Now that there's food here." 

"But not for a while, right?  Two weeks?" 

Mulder nodded.  

"OK.  So we should be OK for a bit, right?" Mulder 
nodded again.  "All right.  I want you to drink that."  Skinner 
reached out for one of the plates of fruit and toast.  "And 
eat some of this.  And try to relax for a bit.  You're still 
too pale, Mulder." 

There wasn't much difference.  Pale or not, they were
going to come again, and the visions would come back 
with them.  But drinking the juice and eating a few pieces 
of fruit seemed to make Skinner happy, so Mulder complied.  
He was grateful enough to have the man still alive, and 
apparently not in a hurry to kill him for what happened, 
that eating some fruit was an easy chore.  He'd probably
feel different in a few more hours, probably be ready to 
punish him for what happened.  Or at least blame him.  

But for now, an easy lassitude was slipping over him, 
and strong arms were wrapped around him.  His head
fell naturally into the hollow of a broad shoulder, and
there were soothing sounds being murmured by a deep
voice into his ear, telling him he wasn't alone, and it
wasn't his fault, and promising things were going to 
be all right.  

He sighed softly, and drifted off to sleep.

***************************************

It wasn't until he woke up that he recognized the spicy scent
had been in the second glass of juice.  

Mulder sat up quickly, before he'd even come fully awake, 
startled that he'd been asleep at all.  He was still on the 
couch, but leaning into Skinner's side, where a pillow had 
been propped.  Skinner's feet were on the table in front 
of them, and his own head was supported by another 
cushion.  The sculpture in his hands nearly fell to the 
floor when he sat up, but he caught it in time.  

Startled, Skinner jumped up to a sitting position and 
glanced around, then looked at Mulder.  "Feeling 
better?"
 
They'll want revenge.   The voice was back.

Mulder swallowed hard.  He could feel his face wash 
out with the sound of those words in his head.  Unable
to meet Skinner's gaze, he looked down at the object 
he'd been holding for so long.  "What's this?" 

Skinner rubbed his eyes.  He looked tired, almost
angry.  "That," he reached out and took the
metal, turning it over in his hands.  "is your statue." 
He examined the sculpture for a moment, then handed it
back.  "You had it when we got here, remember?
Amanda still hasn't broken the metal down." 

Mulder accepted the statue back and looked more 
closely at it.  The silver gray form seemed somehow
familiar, and safe.  "Did I have it when I came here?"
He looked up at Skinner.  "I mean, do you remember
seeing it with me -- from before?"  

Skinner sighed and moved some papers from where 
they'd slid between the couch cushions.  "I'm afraid 
not."  At Mulder's look of disappointment, he added,
"But we weren't close, Mulder, not like this."  He
gestured at their quarters, an all-encompassing
movement.  "I wouldn't necessarily know if you had
something like this or not."  He paused, then cocked
his head.  "Scully would, though."  

Mulder lifted a hand to finger the small cross that 
still hung around his neck.  It was fine and delicate,
definitely not a man's piece of jewelry, and he wondered
about the woman who would send this token of faith to him.
He set the statue on the table.  Instantly, thoughts of 
the unremembered woman fled as something else
flashed through his mind.  Men, with weapons, 
running through crowded corridors.  Some were running 
the other way, covered in blood and screaming.  Women, 
running past in a blind panic.  He bolted off the couch, 
nearly tripping over the table as he stumbled away, 
pressing the backs of his hands into his eyes to blot out
the sight.  

"Mulder, what is it?" 

Skinner stood just as Mulder spun back around.  "I 
didn't know!"  He didn't mean to shout, not really.  The
image was so vivid, and his voice's warning rang clear 
in his  ears.  They would want revenge.  Skinner would
want revenge!  And there wouldn't be a thing Mulder 
could do to stop it.  He could fight this man, but he'd 
never win.  At least it would rob them of the kill.  

"I know you didn't."  Skinner stopped where he was, 
rubbing his forehead.  "Just take it easy, we'll find a
way to deal with this." 

Mulder shook his head, clenching his teeth so hard 
they hurt.  "They didn't come afterwards!  I stayed
inside and they didn't come back!"  He'd either have 
to run, or fight.  Skinner was strong enough to kill
him without trying.  And there was nowhere to run to.  

"Mulder..." 

"Now there's food, and they'll come back."  Mulder 
backed up slowly.  Skinner wasn't coming after him,
but it could be a trick.  They'll want revenge.  Screams 
exploded inside his head, and flashes of blood splattering 
metal walls filled his mind's eye.  "And they'll keep 
coming back until everyone's gone!" 

Skinner moved around the table.  "Not if we take control." 

His voice was steady.  Those deep brown eyes trying to 
hold his gaze.  It was a trick.  All of this was a trick.  
Keep him alive long enough to find out what he knows?  
Was that why he hadn't killed him yet?  Why he hadn't 
sought revenge until now?  Mulder's heart was pounding 
in his chest.  He could feel sweat building on his forehead 
and chest.  The shirt he was wearing felt too hot, too
heavy.  It was weighing him down, keeping him here,
stopping him from getting away.

"You survived this long, so it's possible, isn't it?" 

Confused by the images and the tone of Skinner's voice, 
Mulder let his gaze slip away from the eyes behind the
steel rim glasses to his chest.  The shirt was changing, 

warm and thick and safe, holding him when no one else
was around. 

No, it was a trick! 

"You'll have to kill me." 

"What?"  Skinner stopped, his eyebrows knitting together 
for a moment.  

Mulder shook his head, determined.  His fear was fading 
into something blacker, something cold and final.  
"I've tried to go out before, but I can't.  You'll have to 
do it." 

"Mulder, no one's going to kill you." Skinner's face 
hardened as if he was giving an order.  

"They will."  He nodded toward the stairs.  He knew, 
even if Skinner wasn't going to admit it.  "They'll
want revenge." 

Skinner sighed heavily.  "There's nothing to revenge, 
Mulder.  You didn't kill anyone anymore than I did.
You didn't know." 

"Didn't I?"  Mulder's nerve threatened to fail, so he pushed 
it into anger.  "I've got images now I've never seen before, 
flashing through my head!  There's information in my mind 
that wasn't there eight hours ago!  I'm seeing faces of people 
I've never seen before, people I can't remember, all being 
killed right in front of me!  I was there!" 

"I know!" 

He hadn't realized in his ranting that Skinner had been 
approaching.  Now he was trapped, the taller man 
holding him by the arms.  

"Mulder, I know you were there.  I wish there was some 
way I could make those visions stop, but I can't."  Skinner's 
penetrating brown eyes were holding Mulder's gaze like 
a magnet.  "I'm sorry I wasn't here then.  I'm sorry no one 
was left, but it's over now." 

"No, it's all starting again."  Mulder shook his head, but he 
couldn't pull away from those eyes.  "They've come back, 
and everyone will leave again." 

"Not this time.  Not if I have anything to say about it." 

Mulder swallowed, blinking.  His mind trying to catch up 
through the anger and confusion.  "You will.  Everyone will, 
just like before." 

"Don't underestimate me, Mulder.  I survived a bad childhood, 
a terrible war, a not so good marriage, and years of Bureau
politics.  I can survive this."

"This isn't war or politics."  Mulder shook his head and looked 
into those brown eyes.  "This is hell." 

Skinner inhaled, quickly and shortly, then nodded and glanced 
up for a moment, as if he was considering some alternatives.  
When he looked at Mulder again, he shrugged.  "So, you'll teach 
me how." 

He didn't understand, why wasn't he angry?  Why didn't he hate
the only person who deserved to be hated?  

Before Mulder could ask, the intercom buzzed, signaling 
visitors at their door.  

"That would be Peters.  I asked him, Aaron, and Katherine
to meet with us this afternoon."  Skinner stepped to the 
comm unit and flipped the switch.  "We're coming."  He 
turned it off before waiting for a reply, then nodded toward 
the stairs and the locked door at the top of them.  "They're 
on our side, Mulder.  Trust me." 

Like he had a choice?  Mulder ran a hand through his 
hair, pushing some of it out of his face, then straightened 
his shirt.  He realized then he was still wearing the 
long-sleeved shirt Skinner had put on him that 
morning.  He'd seen the older man wearing these before, 
with his name written over the top left breast and the
FBI insignia on the back.  Each shirt was a different 
color, but all of them neutrals -- navy, gray, brown. 

Mulder followed Skinner to the door, mentally preparing
the wall he would need to survive this meeting, and 
everything afterwards.  He wondered why Skinner had
chosen to cover him with this FBI shirt that bore his
name, instead of one of his own.  What was he trying 
to say?  And to whom was he trying to say it?

When Skinner opened the door, Mulder was right 
behind him.  

"Skinner, we've got some trouble brewing."  Aaron 
stepped inside quickly, brushing past the two men as
he scurried down the stairs, pulling Katherine behind 
him.  "The colonel is trying to talk to them."  He stopped 
at the bottom and nodded up at them.  "It's Brian." 

Mulder glanced around Skinner and saw the small 
crowd gathered at the top of the stairs.  Peters
was in the doorway, facing the people.  

"I won't say this again, Brian.  We're working on it.  
Everyone is safe if they stay indoors.  When this crisis 
is over, we'll work on a solution." 

Mulder looked up at Skinner, who was scrutinizing 

the crowd.  When he looked back up the stairs, he
accidentally made eye contact with the ringleader.  

"He's responsible!"  McMurray pointed an accusing 
finger toward Mulder.  "He knew all along!" 

"We've been over this.  He didn't know.  Now everyone, 
please calm down!  We're working on the problem.  Just 
stay calm."  Peters turned his back on the mob and walked 
down the rest of the stairs, passed Skinner, and into the
FBI living quarters, effectively ending the conversation.  

Skinner remained in the doorway, glaring at the small 
group.  "Don't you have somewhere to be, McMurray?" 

"Bring him out here, let him tell us what he does and 
doesn't remember!" 

Mulder swallowed hard and glanced quickly up at Skinner.  
They were outnumbered, and some of the people up there 
were armed.  He was expecting this, after all.  Might as well 
end it.  "You can't fight them.  They'll get their revenge, no 
matter how you feel about it." 

Skinner turned slightly, the muscles on his jaw flexing as 
he ground his teeth slightly together.  The eyes Mulder 
caught a glimpse of were ice-cold brown rocks.  They 
focused somewhere over his head, and that quick sight 
was enough to make him glad they did.  

"Over my dead body."  Skinner's voice was steady, and 
very quiet, intended for Mulder only.  When he turned 
back to the group, Mulder turned his attention to Brian 
immediately, taking note of how the man flinched when 
those eyes hit his dead on.  "You people make me sick.  
You came here looking for exploration and challenge.  
You knew a hell of a lot more about what you were getting
into than either Mulder or I did.  You invent rules of scientific
ethics, high sounding platitudes.  But faced with living up 
to them or making a sacrifice, you fold."  Skinner's voice, 
full of distaste, included everyone gathered there, but Mulder 
could see his gaze was holding onto McMurray's.  "The instant
something doesn't go as planned, you're forced to find a scapegoat.  
Well -- that won't work here." 

"You have no right, Skinner! We came here expecting --" 

"You came here expecting all the work to be done! You came here 
thinking it would be a free ride.  All the research done, all the 
experiments complete.  Just pack up the equipment and results
and head back home, free to publish and propagate all the 
knowledge gained by the sacrifices of those who came before
you."  Skinner's voice barely raised in volume, but its tone 
of command grabbed everyone's attention.  "Well, you 
were wrong.  Now you have two choices; work and 
live ... or die." 

Mulder swallowed again, glancing inside their quarters 
for a moment to keep track of everyone.  If Skinner's
attentions were on the hallway outside, and he certainly 
seemed to have a handle on things, then he must believe 
the three inside were no threat.  

"Maybe that's what happened to the first group.  Maybe 
they had someone like you in charge."  There was a 
murmuring among the crowd, and three of them turned 
and left.  

"This isn't over."  McMurray spat down the stairs, then 
turned and pushed his way through the few people left.  

Skinner reached out and shut the door, then turned around.  
"He'll shut up for a few days now." 

Mulder forced his heart back down into his chest, then 
forced himself to look at Skinner.  That granite look 
that could bore through lead was gone, thank God.  

"He'll be back." 

"Not tonight."  Skinner put a hand on Mulder's shoulder.  
"Now, what do we know?" 

The other three sat at the mapping table, each with 
sheets of hard copy data they spread out.  Mulder
allowed Skinner to lead him to a seat, but made sure 
he could use the taller man as a buffer between Peters 
and the stairs behind him.  He might not have reason to 
fear these people yet, but he was going to have to stay 
guarded.  It was happening again.  Survival instincts 
he'd long thought dead were surfacing without warning.  
Fear had become a cold rock inside his gut that even 
Skinner's shirt couldn't warm.  Part of his consciousness 
was beginning to wall up, providing a safe haven that 
he'd need sooner or later.  Detachment was his most 
familiar weapon.  

"Mulder, I understand you're having flashes now?" 
Aaron leaned forward facing Mulder, his elbows
resting on the table.  

Mulder shot a glance at Skinner.  How long had he 
been asleep on the couch?  How much had Skinner
told these people?  "I don't --" He looked back
at Aaron, then quickly looked around the room.  

"It's all right, Mulder, I understand.  That's usually 
how these things work."  Aaron smiled gently.  "You'll
have images, mostly.  Sometimes realize you have 
information about something you never knew before.  
Remember the name of someone you see, but still have 
no memory of that person.  That's how it is." 

"This is normal?"  He swallowed, looking at the doctor.  
Skinner put a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle 
squeeze when he turned to face him again.  

"I told you, Mulder, they're on our side." Skinner moved 
his hand and reached for the papers in front of him.  
"None of us will pretend we know what it's like, but we 
do understand the process." 

Mulder nodded, slightly relieved and only a little less 
confused.  "I don't know how much help I can be."  He 
wasn't even sure what they were going to want from him.  
He was just glad that for now, Skinner hadn't sent him 
away.  In fact -- for a moment -- he could believe the 
man with the granite gaze who kept him from an angry 
mob, could protect him from just about anything.  

"We think we figured some things out from observing 
them last night."  Katherine pulled out a sheet and slid 
it across the table to Skinner.  "The cameras got a few 
good images and some video.  From what I can tell, 
the eyes have no corneal restriction.  That means they 
couldn't filter light by constricting the cornea, like we do.  
Given that I haven't had much time to study these creatures, 
and certainly haven't gotten close, I'd conclude right now 
that they can only see in the dark." 

"That's right."  The words were out before Mulder even 
realized everyone was looking to him for confirmation.  
It startled him.  "They'll only come out to feed for a day -
well, twenty-four to forty-eight hours, then they're gone." 

Peters nodded.  "Will they definitely come back?" 

"I don't know."  He sighed, trying to let himself search 
his memory for any information that hadn't been there 
before.  

"What draws them?"  Aaron sighed.  "Will they come back
tonight?" 

With the sun down for six months now, there really wasn't 
a "day" or "night," but they'd still be living on a twenty-four
hour clock, so the reference was accurate.

"They know, they come when --" Mulder fingered the edge 
of a printout, creasing his eyebrows.  "You have to  hide, then 
they go away for a while."  He flinched when his thoughts 
hit a new spot.  A black spot.  "That's why they weren't around 
for such a long time."  He looked up at Skinner.  "With no one 
to feed off, they hunt in other places." 

"Having people here again drew their attention."  Skinner 
nodded, leaning back in his chair.  He was holding a pen 
that Mulder had seen him use many times, along with a pad 
of lined paper. 

"They eat everything."  The black spot in his head grew 
larger, and Mulder felt himself falling into it.  Words came 
out of his mouth, but he heard from a distance.  "They'll eat 
the bones, and share with each other.  If they're full, 
they ignore you.  After feeding, you could walk out 
among them, and they'd leave you alone.  But if they're 
hungry, they eat it all.  What they don't finish, the 
ice takes.  At night, the blood seeps into the ice, 
and then it's gone.  They are the top of the food 
chain.  Nothing here eats them."  He looked at each 
of them in turn, ending with Skinner.  "Now that they
know you're here, they'll come back until you're all gone." 

"My God." Aaron breathed.  

"What about the clothes?" 

Peters' question startled Mulder into realizing what he'd 
just explained.  

"Mulder, what about the clothes?  The victims, last 
night ... there were no clothes left behind." 

"They take them." 

"They take the clothes?"  Katherine leaned forward, 
looking intensely curious.  "They take the clothes?" 

"Yeah." 

"Have you seen them used?  Could they be nesting, 
using cloth for nesting material?" 

"I don't -- I don't know."  Mulder shrugged and turned 
to Skinner.  "I don't know." 

Skinner nodded slightly.  "It's OK."  He looked at Peters.  
"So, the trick here is to stay inside until we figure out
their cycle."

"It sounds simple enough." 

He leaned forward and rested both elbows on the table.  
"Then what happened to the first group?" 

Mulder swallowed hard.  If those memories were there, 
he wasn't ready to look at them.  

"They must have gotten inside."  Katherine scanned her 
sheets, then pulled out one that had a close up image of 
the lab she was working in.  "That explains these 
claw marks in the walls and floor.  If they brought 
one in, or accidentally allowed some of them to get 
inside..." 

Peters was shaking his head.  "That could account for some, 
but those records showed they had groups of deaths, every 
two weeks or so.  No, I have to believe there was more to it 
than just these creatures."

"Maybe the records *were* altered.  Maybe something
happened when they abandoned Mulder, something they
didn't want to leave a record of."  Aaron was studying 
the table as he spoke, his fingers twining nervously around
each other.

"One or two people like McMurray and you've got the 
makings of a few good hysterical mobs."  Skinner ran 
a hand over his short hair.  "If these creatures are 
predictable, then they're easier to handle than
man." 

"Yes, I suppose you're right." 

"The locks were on a timer."  Mulder focused on a spot 
on the table, so he wouldn't have to meet anyone's eyes.  
"The system shut the complex up when they were coming."

"Do you think anyone was ever locked out, Mulder?" 
Skinner's question was quiet, but everyone heard.  

"I don't -- I'm not sure."  Mulder glanced up, then 
back at the table.  He shrugged.  "I can't remember." 

"But it's possible." 

He nodded.  

Peters stood and slowly began to pace the room.  "If
someone altered the system to lock up too early, that
could account for the clustered deaths.  It would explain 
the records, too." 

"But who?"  Aaron agreed, then looked at Mulder. 

Mulder's blood ran cold, but his face felt hot.  "You 
think I killed them, to protect myself?" 

Aaron shrugged, glancing at Skinner quickly.  "You, 
someone else.  It's possible." 

"But we don't know for sure," Skinner interjected.  
"The only thing we know for sure, is that we'll have 
to stay indoors for a while, until we get this worked
out." 

"Yes.  It's time we put some people to work securing 
the complex on a more permanent basis."  Peters stopped 
his pacing.  "We'll be filming them again, if they come
back, studying them as best we can from indoors.  Keeping 
everyone inside and the place looked up tight should do 
the trick.  Can't say that I'll be getting any sleep for a while.
Will you two be joining us?" 

"No."  Skinner stood.  "We'll be fine here.  Anything I want
to monitor, I can see on the computer."  He cast a compassionate
glance at Mulder, speaking more for his sake than the others, 
"We'll be safe here." 

Mulder breathed a sigh of relief, then stood to stand 
beside -- or rather, behind -- his friend.  Skinner had
been able to ward off the mob at the door, but he wasn't 
sure what would happen if they were forced out of
their lair.  

"Mulder, if you need to talk about anything -- about 
the things you're seeing in your head -- I'm here if
you need someone."  Aaron's smile was genuine, but 
there was a huge gap between tolerating the man's 
presence without freaking out, and confiding in him 
his most feared reality.  "I'll be fine." 

Skinner put a hand on Mulder's shoulder and nodded 
to the group.  "I'll keep the comm unit active tonight, 
now that the sensors are back up." 

"Right."  Peters opened the doors and left, with Aaron 
and Katherine following.  "That goes both ways, Skinner.  
If you need help, just shout." 

Skinner waved his acknowledgment, then shut the door
and turned to Mulder.  "We can take a few hours off.  
I think I'll take a shower, then make us something to eat." 
He flipped the door panel into the locked position.  

Mulder nodded and ran a hand through his hair.  He 
hadn't expected the meeting to go so calmly.  "They 
didn't react like I expected." 

"What were you expecting?"  Skinner motioned toward 
the back as he spoke, indicating he wanted to get ready 
for his shower.  

Mulder turned and led the way.  "I expected what 
they did, the ones before."  When he reached the galley, 
he stopped, sitting on one of two stools at the counter.  
He had to keep pushing the sleeves of his borrowed shirt 
up to keep his hands from vanishing.  

Skinner nodded once and walked into the galley, pulling 
out a small bottled juice from the refrigeration unit.  
After he took a drink, he leaned against the wall.  "McMurray 
is a good example of a bad reaction.  Most guys like him 
never joined the fighting, they just complained about each 
battle and spread as much discord as they could.  It's a 
classic case of fear."  He took another drink.  

"He could be dangerous, then." 

"Not really."  Skinner shrugged.  "He'll be easy to keep 
an eye on.  People like that always announce their plans, 
they make a lot of noise.  It's the quiet ones, the ones you 
never suspected, they're the ones you have to watch out for." 

It was getting confusing.  Either he had to be careful of the 
loud ones, or the quiet ones.  It was either the obvious 
enemies, or the ones he might have ignored, that would 
want revenge.  

"McMurray might cause some trouble here and there, but 
nothing we can't handle." 

No, it was going to be too complicated.  Mulder had already 
decided to trust no one.  If he only had to concern himself 
with one person, he stood a better chance.  So far, Skinner 
had proven himself far above and beyond what he had a 
right to expect.  "He's been after you since that first night, 
though."  Skinner had been ready to take another drink, 
but stopped with the bottle pressed to his lips.  Mulder
realized that instant, he'd just blown it.  

"What do you mean?" 

"Um ..." Great! The one thing he'd decided never to 
admit to -- the only secret he had -- and he just blew it! 
"We -- that is, he, I mean, I ..."  Mulder sighed.  It was 
no good.  Those brown eyes were looking right through 
his, right at the answer.  "I tapped into the video monitors 
remotely that night.  And I -- just for a few minutes, I was
watching the meeting you had."  Yeah, I was spying on 
you all.  Perfect. Spying, lying, keeping secrets.  This was 
fantastic! If the monsters hadn't cinched it, then this probably 
did.  Mulder broke away from the searching eyes and 
stared at his hands, what little he could see of them now 
that the sleeves had fallen down again.  

Slowly, Skinner nodded.  He finished his drink, then 
put the bottle in the trash and walked toward Mulder, 
passing him to exit the galley.  As he did, he put a hand 
on the younger man's shoulder and squeezed gently.  "Good.  
I've been feeling guilty, not telling you about that meeting.  
I hope you can understand why I didn't." 

Startled, Mulder looked up.  "Yeah, of course.  I -- I never 
should have been watching in the first place."  What did it 
take to piss this man off?  He prayed he never found out.  

Skinner shrugged, hitching one shoulder up for an instant, 
then patted Mulder on the back, a quick movement that turned
into a semi-hug as he moved out of the galley.  "You were 
surviving, Mulder.  Taking stock of the situation, sizing up 
the enemy.  It was good work." 

Bolstered by Skinner's approval, and by his recent return 
from the cold detachment he'd known so long, Mulder 
finished his confession.  "And finding an ally." 

Skinner stopped and turned, facing Mulder.  For an instant, 
he merely smiled, saying nothing.  It was the longest instant 
Mulder had ever known.  

"Believe it."