*XXXIV*

1:30 P.M., Prosperity Avenue, Fairfax, 
Virginia
Fox Mulder's screams were faint and tinny. 
Skinner swirled stale, watery scotch over his 
tongue and stared at the screen, his glasses 
reflecting a pale body marked by dark 
bruises. 

He took another sip of alcohol and glanced 
dully at the phone in his hand. It was ringing 
again; it had been all day, off and on. Slowly 
and somewhat clumsily, he punched in the 
code that canceled call forwarding from the 
office.

Mulder was begging his captors to stop. The 
pleas drew Skinneršs eyes back to the screen 
to stare, unblinking, as no one listened to the 
naked victim on the bright white table. He 
threw down the phone and grabbed the 
remote. His finger traced the edges of the 
mute button, but he couldn't do that to 
Mulder, couldn't gag him like that.

They were raping Mulder with a huge black 
dildo when Skinner heard a car out on the 
drive. It stopped. There was a long silence as 
the glass was smooth against his lip and 
condensation dribbled down his hand and 
dropped to the carpet. The camera zoomed 
in on Mulder's eyes, glassy with pain and 
shock. Mulder couldn't believe what was 
happening to him, Skinner realized, and he 
shared in the feeling.

The car doors slammed. He swallowed and 
stood. 

The doorbell chimed and Skinner punched 
the stop button, hearing the television go to 
CNN as he turned and walked away. 

Scully's eyes widened when he opened the 
door, taking in his dirty sweats and stubbled 
chin. Skinner studied her in turn, seeing the 
circles under her eyes and the drawn, dull 
look of her skin. He stepped back and 
nodded, the minimal gesture inviting her and 
Hill in. "The living room's this way. Have a 
seat Scully...Hill."

Hill perched herself on the edge of one of 
Sharon's favorite chairs, but Scully stood 
twitching, her hands curling then relaxing. 
She looked towards the stairs in the hall, and 
he followed her eyes, confused, then 
understanding. "The Smoker's not here, 
Scully." 

She turned to stare at him balefully. "You 
seem a little out of it, sir." 

He took a sip from the glass that had stayed 
firmly in his hand. "I won't dispute the 
evidence, Agent Scully." He swallowed, his 
throat dry in spite of the scotch. The remote 
still sat on the couch where he'd dropped it. 
He reached out and took it, his thumb 
rubbing across smooth plastic and the 
friction of rubbery buttons. He paused for an 
instant on the play button then stabbed 
down on the mute to silence the plastic 
blonde newscaster. 

"Sir, what can you tell me about Carl 
Handford?" Her tone hinted of acid. He 
blinked. Finally nodded and had to think 
about each muscle he wanted to move. 

"What do you want to know?" 

"I'd like to know about his medical records." 
She took a brittle, stiff-legged step towards 
him. "About three years of medical records, 
two years of which have your signature. You 
let Handford be tortured, you goddamn 
fucking--" Hill was on her feet as Scully's 
voice spiraled up. Skinner watched the big 
black-haired woman grab Scully and pull her 
back towards the chair. Scully stumbled with 
the rigid tension in her body. "Let go, Tina!" 

"No. Sit!" Her sweater stretched across 
muscled shoulders as Hill forcibly planted 
Scully in the chair then stepped to the side so 
the smaller woman could glare across the 
room at Skinner. One large hand stayed 
firmly on Scully's shoulder. 

Skinner took another sip, studying them over 
the rim of the glass. His tongue was numb 
when he dragged it over his lips. "Carl 
Handford was an excellent agent. Still is, 
really. The man has a real gift for tracking 
paper, when the case is...normal. When the 
ASAC knows he has to fail, it's just 
coordinated sham." 

"Because he does what they tell him. Because 
they broke him," Scully added. 

"Broke. That's a good word for it, I suppose. I 
wish I'd met him before. In a way, I suppose I 
have." 

"Mulder." Scully spoke the name gently. "I 
know what they offered Mulder. They're 
doing the same thing to him and you knew 
about it and you didn't stop them." Her eyes 
were shining and her cheekbones were livid 
against her pale skin. Hill was watching her, 
frowning in worry and puzzled aggravation. 
When Tina looked up at Skinner, he read the 
uncertainty there. 

"I couldn't," Skinner sounded flat. "I can't 
stop them from hurting Carl, and I couldn't 
stop them from taking Mulder." 

"You're lying."

Both women flinched when he leaned 
forward to slam his glass on the table. "I 
knew they wanted Mulder to back off. You 
knew it. For God's sake, Scully! You've got a 
dead sister and his father was murdered, too! 
I've warned you two off so many times I can't 
count them. Get it through your head-- there 
was no way in hell I could stop Mulder." 

She shook her head. "If you'd told him-- told 
us-- I could have helped him walk away."

"He didn't want your help, Scully." Skinner's 
eyes trailed around the cold and dim living 
room. "He wanted what he's always wanted: 
his sister and the answers. And now he's 
paying the price." 

"He's paying the same price Handford paid, 
isn't he? And you never even warned him."

"I did and Mulder wasn't ready to listen. Do 
you really think I didn't try, Scully? For God's 
sake, what do you think I am?" 

"One of those men--the Consortium, or 
whatever they call themselves." 

Skinner stared at her, almost reached for the 
glass and stopped. Hill was still looking back 
and forth, eyes slowly going wider and 
darker. Skinner could sense the hoops 
whirling in her mind. "You've trusted me 
before, Scully. Trust me now. I'm not one of 
them." 

"No." Scully glared. "Mulder's gone. And I've 
seen Handford's records. It fits too well." 

"Circumstantial." 

"We're not in court." 

"You're right. We're not. And I think they...I 
think they do want me to be one of them. But 
I won't." 

"Then what are you?"

"What I told Mulder. I'm the one on the line 
between them and you, trying to keep my 
balance." 

"But you knew about Carl. You knew who 
took Mulder. You damn well know where, 
too." 

Skinner gulped at the sudden bitterness in 
his mouth and looked over at the 
newscaster's earnest features. "I know 
generally. I don't know the specifics." 

"Bullshit." 

"Dana." The chair creaked as Hill shifted 
uneasily. 

"Tina, he knows." 

"He-- I dunno, you might be right. But you 
just don't know, so hear him out." Hill's tone 
was delicate and coaxing. Diplomatic, but 
something more.

Skinner felt a thin smile edge his lips. "Agent 
Hill, I think some powerful people made a big 
mistake in underestimating you." 

Hill looked up. "What are you talking about?" 

Scully's angry voice butted between them. 
"We don't have time for this!"

Skinner sighed. "Damn it, Scully, as God is 
my witness, I don't want to leave him in that 
Hell." He looked away-- no longer able to 
meet her eyes, hearing echoes of Mulder's 
screams. He drained the last of his scotch and 
sat turning the glass in his hands. 

"Oh my god. You know what they're doing to 
him, don't you?" 

Skinner's eyes lifted to Scully's white face. 
She loved Mulder and he knew it, had known 
it for a while, and was glad of it. No one else 
seemed to care much for the man, but 
Skinner had learned long ago that heroes 
were hard to love alive; it was easier to adore 
them in hindsight. The funny thing was that 
Skinner knew Fox Mulder didn't want to be a 
hero. The poor SOB just wanted the world to 
be the way it was before his little sister 
vanished into the star-lit sky. During his first 
screening of the gruesome video, Skinner had 
heard Mulder sob while the breaker 
restrained him, "Oh God, lemme go home!" 
But to Mulder, home wasn't Alexandria and 
the little hiding-hole apartment. Home was a 
house by the sea and a sister by his side in an 
era long borne away.

Skinner swallowed, decided that if he was not 
one of Them, then he was one with these 
women who cared about Mulder and each 
other. He was going to have to do more than 
feed Scully clues and avoid Cancerman to 
stop the screams he heard in his head. He 
was going to have to endanger himself, his 
job, maybe his wife. And that seemed like a 
fair trade just then. "Scully, listen to me. 
You're right--Mulder is being tortured. I knew 
about it and I couldn't stop it and I've only 
barely managed to keep your search in place. 
They tried to kill it. It's only because they 
assume you two will fail that they've let you 
keep going."

Scully looked away, out the front bay 
window. Hill was wide-eyed and flushed. The 
red light blinked on the VCR and Skinner's 
feet felt almost numb as he walked toward 
the television. He traced a finger over the top 
of the black metal machine then ejected the 
tape and threw it into his open briefcase.

"I've worked to make you two look like you 
were flailing around and going in circles." He 
smiled grimly at Scully and Hill. "Kinda like 
an X-files investigation usually looks, until 
you and Mulder pull the rabbit out of the hat 
when it's too late to stop you." 

Hill's black eyes flickered to the briefcase and 
back.

"Scully, I want Mulder out of there, too. 
There's nothing I can say to convince you, 
except that I haven't stopped you and I'm 
here, talking to you and...and well, I'm the 
one who made you the coffee and left the 
note. Either that's enough, or it isn't. So, you 
can either walk out the door or you can tell 
me what you have." Skinner steadied himself 
and held his breath. 

The silence hurt.

"There's so much to go through and Mulder 
doesn't have time," she finally said.

"They don't want him dead, Scully."

She shook her head and twitched, tossing up 
her hands. "They don't know him. You do-- a 
little more than they do, anyway. You think 
about it and tell me they won't end up killing 
him."

"Scully--"

"Tell me."

Skinner looked down at the pale carpet, 
seeing Mulder in his memory, smoldering yet 
sad, stubborn and resolute at a VC division 
meeting where his fed-up coworkers took him 
to task, told him he was insane, told him to 
change or get out. It had taken Skinner a lot 
of behind-the-scenes stroking to make the 
man take back his badge and gun. Scully was 
right. It would be all too easy for Mulder to 
dig in and chose to die, as he had 
symbolically in the briefing room that day. 
Frightened by the extrapolation, Skinner's 
voice jittered as he asked, "Just tell me, 
Scully, what do you have?"

"Files." Hill answered for her. "A fucking 
trainload of corporate files. Articles of 
incorporation. Tax assessments. We've got a 
couple hundred names of assholes who are 
on the boards of directors of the companies 
that own the companies that pay the fucking 
phone bills for one little cheesy sex shop 
down in Norfolk, Virginia." 

"The one your field reports mentioned?" 

"Yeah, where--" 

"It's the switchboard for whoever has 
Mulder." Scully's lips twisted as if the words 
tasted foul. "Handford said he was pretty 
sure he was taken to rural Virginia in the 
vicinity of White's Ferry. And he said that he 
wasn't sure whether the people who had him 
were the same ones who have Mulder. When 
we looked, about six of the businesses had e-
mail addresses listed to that number. This is--
it's a cottage industry. Just how many people 
have been run through this mill?" 

"I can only tell you that I know of three at the 
FBI before Mulder. I can't begin to guess at 
other branches of government. I've wondered 
about a few whistle blowers who suddenly 
went silent." 

Hill frowned, then grimaced. "So, you're both 
sticking to this story that some bastards have 
this cabal and they're so powerful they can 
just snatch somebody and torture them and 
we can't stop them?" When no one answered, 
she asked, nearly plaintive, "What have they 
got, what has ANYONE got, that's so 
important that this is permitted to happen?"

"Power." Scully's voice was dull. "Power. 
Don't ask me where they got it. If you asked 
me, or Mulder, or the AD here, you'd 
probably get three different answers. If you 
asked what they do with it, you'd get 
nightmares. And it all comes down to power. 
They have it, they want to keep it, and it lets 
them do anything they want." 

"And there's no limit to what they want," 
Skinner kept his voice soft as he lowered 
himself back onto the leather couch. "So, 
you've got more than you know what to do 
with?" 

"God." Scully shuddered. "It'd take a team of 
accountants and lawyers a month to plow 
through this shit. And-- and it's just me and 
Tina."

"I have a name." He looked toward her. "Not 
a place, but I have a name." 

Scully fixed on him with wary hope. "Then 
you give it to me."

"It's Taylor. I don't have a first name, but 
look for Dr. Taylor in those lists of yours." 

"Dr. Taylor?" Scully scrabbled for her 
portfolio and a pen from her purse, as if she 
might forget that name, as if she couldn't 
afford even the slightest chance of doing 
that. "Oh God, that narrows it. That might 
just do it. We didn't have a chance with so 
many..." Hill crouched and fished out the pen 
Scully's search couldn't find. 

The big woman looked up at Skinner, eyes 
cold. "How did you know that name, sir?" 

"I know, Hill. Leave it at that." 

Suddenly Hill lunged up, but Skinner had 
seen it coming and slammed his briefcase 
shut. He held it with his weight as Hill, nose 
to nose with him, clawed to pull it open. 

"Tina, what are you doing?" Scully was 
shouting.

"They taped him, Dana! Mulder's on the tape 
he pulled out of his machine."

"What? Sir...?" 

Skinner glared at Hill as he responded. 
"Agent Scully, you don't want to see it. You 
don't need to see it. They're hurting him and 
they wanted me to know it...I--they said I'd 
given him too much rope. See, they want me 
to toe the line, too." He gave Hill a small 
shove and she backed off as he pulled the 
briefcase up into his lap. He curled his arms 
tight around the leather box, feeling the 
edges dig into his belly. "Scully, they only 
made one mistake. Said one name. The rest of 
it...don't ask me to let you see it. Don't ask 
me to do that to Mulder. I can't. I wish I'd 
never seen it." 

There was silence while Scully looked 
stunned, Hill crossed her arms on her chest, 
and Skinner wished he'd never been born. 
"Look," he finally managed, "Go through 
your files and bring me any information on 
Taylor and if we're very lucky, we'll get 
Mulder out of there." 

"Who's watching us, sir?" 

"I don't know for certain, but you're sure as 
hell under surveillance. You've got to be 
careful." 

"So we've gotta look incompetent while we 
get the answers?" Hill huffed. "Is that before 
or after we pull down the moon and invent 
the perfect fat-free potato chip?" 

"Preferably before." Skinner sighed. "Scully, 
you've got to be especially careful. They 
think Hill is untrained in anything but sitting 
in dark cars with binoculars. They've let you 
keep her on this because they assumed she 
was more of a liability than an asset." 

Tina snorted. "White men." 

"Maybe. But it means they don't watch you as 
closely as they do Scully. Agent Hill, can you 
do the file search?" 

"While I make a smokescreen?" Scully 
appended as she stood, glancing up at the 
tall woman. 

Skinner watched Hill gnaw on her lip. "What 
about you, Dana? If they're coming after 
you...?" 

"They won't touch me unless they think I'm 
onto something." She smiled sadly, but her 
shoulders had straightened and her chin 
came up. Skinner stood, watching them, 
feeling his own back straighten and the 
hollow, desperate sense of uselessness melt 
away. A slow, hesitant smile of anticipation 
tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You two 
have work to do. Agent Scully, I'll expect to 
see a report on where your investigation is 
going on my desk tomorrow morning. And 
make it good. Now both of you get the hell 
out of my house."