Title: The Beginning of Sorrows
Author: Philiater
Category: Post colonization. AU.  
Spoilers:  This takes place sometime early in season 
9.  There is no William, and never was in this 
version. Also I’m not letting CC kill off some of the 
characters.  That was just cruel on his part.
Rating: PG13 I think      
My fanfic can be found at-- 
http://www.geocities.com/philiater1/
Feedback:philiater1@yahoo.com.          
Beta thanks as always to Keleka.  This is for her and 
CathGerm who’ve been asking for a long story.

‘And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars: see 
that ye be not troubled: for all these things must 
come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation shall 
rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: 
and there shall be famines and pestilences, and 
earthquakes, in diverse places. All these are the 
beginning of sorrows.’ Matt. 24:4-8.
****************************


I looked at the huddled form at my feet, shivering 
from cold and dressed like a scarecrow in filthy 
rags.  There was blood dried and caked on his skin 
and clothes. His face was hidden by a scarf and dirt 
so thick, I couldn’t tell how old he was. He’d been 
brought in by Childers and dumped 
unceremoniously in the snow outside my door.

“You found him where?”

“Out on the south perimeter fence.”  Childers was a 
big man of few words, and fewer friends.  He had a 
fierce reputation, but was always 
uncharacteristically gentle in my presence.

“ON the fence?”

“Yeah.”  He adopted a ‘fraidy cat’ stance; hands up 
like claws clinging to a wall. “Set off the alarm and 
I found him frozen like that.”

“Can you tell where he’s hurt?”  I wasn’t able to 
locate anything obvious, but couldn’t examine him 
properly out here while he was curled in a fetal 
position.  “Help me get him inside.”

Childers bent over and hauled him up like a sack of 
potatoes.  “Don’t trouble yourself, Dr. Scully.  He 
don’t weigh nothin’.”

The man groaned weakly as Childers brought him 
into the chilly infirmary.  I saw that one of his arms 
was bent at a sickening angle, and swung without 
any resistance. My breath puffed out in frosted 
clouds and I lit the small stove that attempted to 
warm the place. Childers placed him gingerly on a 
steel table.

The man was another in endless parade of pathetic 
humans who managed to make it to the outpost.  
Most that did were half dead and starving like this 
man.  I was the only doctor for hundreds of miles 
and they were generally brought to me first.  
Childers was a thoughtful man.  He never brought 
me anyone he considered an overt threat or who 
wasn’t in desperate need of medical care. Of all the 
guards in the compound I trusted him the most.

“What the hell?” I heard Childers’s startled voice 
behind me.  When I turned he was holding up a 
detached arm. His face was horrified.  “I—I think I 
pulled it off.”

Moving quickly, I retrieved the arm and felt a solid 
mass underneath.  “It’s artificial Childers.”  He 
looked grateful.  I, on the other hand felt my hair 
stand on end.  It couldn’t be----.

I walked quickly over to the chipped porcelain sink 
and ran water until most of the rust and chill was 
out.  Water here never got hot enough to use for 
anything unless you heated it on a stove first.  
Bathing, showering, washing dishes were all done 
with tepid water in the best of circumstances. I 
soaked several clean cloths in the sink with diluted 
soap.

“Help me turn him over.”

Childers turned the man’s bent torso until his back 
was flat on the table, and I straightened his legs as 
much as possible.  We began the grim task of 
removing his soiled clothing.  Like most who came 
here, this man had been living for days in the layers 
of malodorous rags that covered his body.  They 
were so dirty and smelly, it was impossible to tell 
what color they had been originally. Sweat, dirt, and 
blood made removal slow and painstaking.

I retrieved a cloth and gingerly washed his face.  It 
took several soakings to remove the grimy scarf 
covering his mouth and nose.  As I worked, I 
thought of my days as a pathologist.  I’d autopsied 
corpses in better condition than this man.  
Becoming a ‘real’ doctor here at the compound had 
been a harrowing experience. I hadn’t done 
hardcore ward medicine since rounds in medical 
school.  I worked by the seat of my pants and 
poured through old medical books in the decrepit 
military library to refresh my memory. Like 
everything else in this new world, I took it a day at 
a time.

Under my ministrations, the man’s face began to 
appear. Through his thick beard I could see that his 
features were sharp, Slavic, and beautiful.  By the 
time I lifted the eyelids and saw a flash of emerald, 
I knew who he was.  

“Krycek,” I said softly.

“You know this guy?”

I nodded mutely.  I felt a jumble of emotions at the 
revelation: anger, pain, fear, and oddly hope.  If he 
had made it this far maybe---.

“Let’s finish this,” I said abruptly. I could feel 
Childers’s eyes follow me. He was curious, but his 
innate politeness kept him from asking more.

We worked in silence, removing rags and dirt.  
Krycek’s body told a long tale of suffering and pain.  
It was riddled with scars, deep bruises, and fresh 
wounds.  There seemed to be no place on his skin 
left untouched by some type of injury.  Starvation 
had left his flesh stretched and hollow. He shivered 
almost continuously, and made only occasional 
moans.  Whatever he was now, the Krycek I knew 
was not here.

Childers held him while I cleaned and dressed his 
wounds.  Supplies were scarce, so I treated only the 
most obvious places.  The upper arm stump was a 
mass of red welts that threatened to become 
abscesses. If it went much longer, the infection 
would spread to his blood. I risked that he wasn’t 
allergic and gave him a penicillin injection. Even 
Childers grimaced when I had to debride the 
wound.  Taking off the dead tissue would allow for 
better healing and lessen the infection.  Krycek 
barely made a sound.

We moved him to a cot with clean sheets and warm 
wool blankets.  His chance for recovery was slim 
even if he had been in good shape. It would take a 
great deal of vigilance on my part and some grace if 
he was to improve.

Childers’s shadow fell across us.  “You think I 
should tell the boss about him?”

He was obligated to inform his superiors about any 
new arrivals to the compound.  By asking, Childers 
was politely letting me know what he had to do.  I 
also realized that he was really asking if he should 
include my knowledge of who the new arrival was 
in his report.

I nodded wearily.  “Thank you for your help.  You 
should go and get something to eat.”

“What about you doc?”

“I’ll get something later.”  I was too distracted to 
think about eating, and was still fussing with his 
bandages.

“You sure?”  Childers was playing mother hen. He 
seemed to be worried about leaving me alone with 
Krycek. 

“Yes.  I’ll be fine.”

He turned and lumbered toward the door.  Before 
leaving he paused.  “You’re a good person, Dr. 
Scully.”

My head snapped up, but Childers was already 
gone.  He was a strange man.  I wondered whether 
he knew more than he was telling me.

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

It was mid-morning before I felt comfortable 
enough to leave Krycek.  My quarters consisted of a 
room, bed, and desk in back of the infirmary.  It was 
small, but serviceable, and a far cry from my cozy 
apartment back in D.C.  The bathroom had a toilet 
and non-functioning shower.  I generally heated 
pots of water and ‘bathed’ in a large galvanized tub 
I’d located after moving in.

I desperately needed a bath now.  Handling 
Krycek’s soiled body and clothing had left an 
unpleasant residue on my skin and clothes. After 
dragging several pots of heated water to the tub, I 
disrobed and stood in the middle. With a ratty 
washcloth and stony bar of soap, I washed my tired 
body.

I tried not to remember the ‘before’ times.  On most 
days I kept myself too busy to dwell on them, and 
let sleep drive the unbidden thoughts from my mind 
at the end of the day. But Krycek’s arrival had 
uncovered images and feelings I thought I’d 
exorcised long ago.

I’d last seen him nearly four years earlier during a 
terrorist bust.  He was--

“Scully!”  A booming voice interrupted my reverie.  
“Scully, what the hell do you think you’re doing—“

He stopped short at the door.  I’d just managed to 
pick up a towel to cover myself when he came 
barging in.  I’d been only partially successful.

“I—I—sorry, Scully”  he stammered as he hastily 
retreated.

I smiled to myself.  Skinner was a natural leader 
and the most fearless man I knew, but he quaked at 
the sight of a woman’s partially nude body.  
Correction.  My partially nude body.  His attraction 
to me was something I consciously ignored. Giving 
into that attraction had almost destroyed us both.

I dressed quickly.  There were several women at the 
compound who wouldn’t mind having Skinner 
interrupt their baths.  One, in particular, wouldn’t 
mind at all.  She was actively campaigning to have 
him interrupt her.  But he didn’t want Monica 
Reyes, at least not now.  If  I waited long enough, 
he might turn to her. It was an eventuality I knew 
she was hoping for, and something I refused to 
think about.

After making sure I was appropriately attired, I 
stepped out into the ward.  I found Skinner staring 
down at Krycek’s unconscious body.  The 
expression on his face was a mixture of hatred and 
rage.  His large hands were balled into tight fists at 
his side. I thought he might actually attack Krycek 
in his bed.

“Sir?”  I tried to make my voice strong and 
authoritative.  He might be the leader of this 
compound, but he was invading my territory now.

He turned at the sound of my voice.  For once, the 
expression on his face didn’t soften when he spoke 
to me.  “What the hell is HE doing here?”

“Childers brought him here this morning.”

“I know that.  Why did you help him?”  Skinner’s 
past with Krycek was nearly as ugly as mine.   The 
nanocytes had been a constant reminder to him that 
Krycek could end his life on a whim.

“Because I didn’t know it was Krycek when he got 
here.”

“A one-armed man comes to your door and you 
don’t at least suspect it’s Krycek?”

I could feel his anger infecting me.  I had to hold 
my emotions in check.  One of us had to anyway. I 
ushered him outside and away from the source of 
our contention.

“Of course I suspected.  What did you want me to 
do?  Should I refuse to treat all one-armed men on 
the off-chance they’re Krycek?”

“You don’t have to keep giving him medical care,” 
Skinner said with a deadly quiet authority.  It never 
occurred to me that he might order me to stop 
treatment.

“Do you expect me to just stand by now and let him 
die?”  I was incredulous. 

“Yes.”

“Yes??”

“Yes.”

What he was asking me to do went against 
everything I was taught and believed in. I hated 
Krycek as much as he did; had as much right to hate 
him, but I had duty to him now. If he wanted 
Krycek dead, I was not going to allow Skinner to be 
a non-participant in his death.

I walked into my room and retrieved my FBI issue 
gun from under the bed.  I kept it cleaned, oiled and 
unused. With more courage than I felt, I held out the 
gun.

“You’re going to have to shoot him.”

“What?”  His eyes narrowed as he tried to 
understand the game I was playing.

“I’m not going to just let him lie in bed until he 
dies.  You’re going to have to shoot him or me.  If 
you shoot me, you’ll have to watch him die.  If you 
shoot him then you’ll get your way.  It’s your 
choice.”

Skinner wasn’t about to shoot me, but I could see 
him struggle with the idea of shooting Krycek.  If 
he did that, an old nemesis would be dead at last, 
and he could count one less enemy in the world.  
But he’d also lose any respect I’d ever had for him, 
and possibly the respect of the camp. By now, 
several people had gathered close by to watch us 
argue.

“If you think shooting an unarmed, sick, and 
defenseless man would make you safer then do it.”  
I shoved the gun toward him again and stood back.

Skinner looked at me and then briefly at the 
gathering crowd.  To my horror he took the gun and 
went inside.  I never thought he’d call my bluff. 
Never.

For a moment I wasn’t sure what to do—go inside 
and try to stop him, or stay put and trust he’s 
bluffing?  I chose the former and hoped I wasn’t 
going to be the intended target.

I found Skinner standing at the end of the bed with 
the gun raised.  His breathing was labored and I 
waited with raw nerves.  Please don’t do this, I 
begged silently. 

 Invasion and war had made Skinner a different 
man.  He was edgier, shorter tempered, and more 
likely to act than think.  It was behavior he’d 
learned in Vietnam and it had helped him survive a 
grueling period in his young life.  I could only 
believe that time and experience would temper that 
behavior now.

With a sudden shout he threw the gun away and I 
saw his shoulders slump in defeat. With more relief 
than I should have felt, I went to him and touched 
the hand that had tossed the gun away.  He flinched 
as if in pain, but didn’t let go.  I raised the palm to 
my face and rested it against my cheek.

For several seconds neither of us moved.  The 
sensation of his roughened skin on mine brought 
back old memories of his gentle touch.  The contact 
was thrilling, agonizing, and forbidden.  I was 
grateful he’d chosen me instead of himself, and it 
would be so easy to get lost in that touch again. I 
kissed the center of his hand, and he groaned in—
pleasure or pain?  I couldn’t be sure.

Without warning, he pulled his hand away and 
brushed past me.

“He’s your responsibility now,” he said over his 
shoulder.  

The whole building shook from the force he used to 
slam the door shut.  I shivered from the cold in his 
voice and turned to look at Krycek.

“What have I done?” I asked. 

 Krycek had no response.

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


My work day was light.  Very few people wanted to 
brave my presence after witnessing my fight with 
Skinner.  Skinner’s moods generally reflected mine, 
and his mood must be ugly indeed to warrant the 
scanty number of people I saw.

It was just as well.  Krycek was requiring most of 
my attention and energy anyway.

About two o’clock Monica arrived to help out, and I 
was grateful.  Before she came along I’d been 
through an endless number of ‘helpers’ in the past.  
Most couldn’t stand the long hours, grueling work, 
or the fact that I expected them to work as hard as I 
did.  Monica didn’t mind. She’d been my patient 
long before she was my helper.

She’d come in with a large group from the North 
that Skinner and his men liberated from the alien 
colonists.  I hadn’t seen her in months, and she’d 
been in nearly as bad a shape as Krycek was now. 
She was a fighter though, and daily visits from 
Skinner seemed to make her recovery even swifter.

Childers told me later that some of the men wanted 
to leave her behind, but Skinner wouldn’t even 
consider it. Skinner also apparently carried her a 
good part of the way himself when their lone truck 
broke down. With so much gallantry showered on 
her, how could she not fall in love with him?

“Hey,” she said pleasantly and handed me a 
sandwich. “I didn’t see you at breakfast or dinner so 
I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you. I am.” I bit greedily into the thin bread.

“Is there anything I can do?”  She looked pointedly 
at Krycek.  Of course she would have heard about 
his appearance and my subsequent argument.  
Gossip in the camp spread faster than any disease 
I’d ever treated.

“Can you change the dressing on his left arm and 
make sure his IV is running?”

“Of course.”

I watched her work with cool efficiency.  She’d 
never met Krycek in the ‘before’ time and it was 
strange to see them side by side now.  I felt a shiver 
crawl up my spine at the realization, almost like a 
premonition of something bad about to happen.

She turned just then and caught my expression.  I 
swung my head away quickly and returned to the 
paperwork on my desk.  Her eyes stayed on me a 
little longer than necessary, and I knew she was 
intensely curious about Krycek.

“He’s an old enemy,” I said without looking up.

“Skinner’s?”

“And mine, yes.”

Silence asked the question she wouldn’t.  Why are 
you helping him? I didn’t answer because I wasn’t 
sure myself. It was more complicated than simple 
doctor-patient duty.  Krycek symbolized so many 
things for me: evil, surprise, pathos, and a life 
wasted in pursuit of broken dreams. A part of me 
wanted him to get better so I could question him.  I 
wanted him to answer all the questions I’d never 
been able to ask.

Was he really there when Louis Cardinale killed 
Missy?  Why did he help Duane Barry kidnap me?  
He’d had the perfect chance to kill Skinner on two 
separate occasions, but hadn’t followed through.  
Why? Did he feel anything at all for the terrible 
things he’d done to us?  I knew I would never 
receive a straight answer. Some perverse part of me 
wanted to hear it anyway.  Make him better, make 
him talk, and then make him suffer. Wouldn’t 
Skinner be proud of that?

“Dana.” Monica’s voice interrupted the crooked 
path my mind had strayed down.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked what else you wanted me to do.”

I walked over to the bed.  The bandage was clean 
and expertly wrapped.  “Good job.  I’ll make a 
doctor out of you yet.”

Monica laughed, and I warmed to the sound.  “I’ll 
leave that to you, thanks.”

I watched as she reached to touch his long, dark 
hair.  It curled around her fingers, and the ends were 
almost the same reddish color as his beard. She 
seemed to be analyzing him, trying to see what it 
was in Krycek that had caused so much unease.

“He could use a shave and haircut.” 

“Yes,” I said absently. She had a knack for 
humanizing the people I tended to see as a 
collection of injuries and diseases.  I just tried to 
save their lives; Monica wanted to make them live.

“I could do that if you’d like.”

I almost said no. It made me queasy to think of 
Krycek becoming human under Monica’s care.  It 
would make it harder for me to hate him, to be 
objective about him. But the excess hair would be 
difficult to keep clean, and a chore to deal with in 
the long run.  I just nodded and sat back down at the 
desk.  

She started with his head, clipping the hair very 
short like a military cut.  The beard was snipped, 
and then shaved with a straight razor I’d found in a 
drawer, and used for wound preparation.

“What do you think?”  When I looked up she was 
standing back and admiring her handiwork.

It was a startling sight to behold.  The Krycek I’d 
seen at the terrorist raid was now lying in my 
infirmary.  The look made him appear younger, 
more vulnerable, and eminently more dangerous.

I was about to answer when Krycek opened his 
eyes.  He stared upward toward the ceiling, 
seemingly oblivious to our presence.

“What’s his first name?”

“Alex.”

Monica leaned forward and spoke softly.  “Alex can 
you hear me?  My name is Monica. You’re in a 
hospital.  You’re safe now.”

He didn’t answer, but started to groan and thrash 
around.  Reaching across the bed with his right 
hand, he began tearing at the bandages on his 
stump. A series of harsh Russian words came out of 
his mouth. I retrieved some of my precious supply 
of IV pain killer and injected enough to make him 
sleep again.

“Did—did he lose it here?”  Monica’s voice 
trembled slightly.

“No.  It’s a long story.  He lost it in Russia. Why 
don’t you go to dinner?”

“Coming with me?”  She always asked, and I 
always refused.

“No.  I need to watch him.”

“Is there anything you need?”

Yes, I thought, I needed more medical supplies, I 
needed a proper bath, and I needed Skinner.  Out 
loud I said, “No, but thank you.”

She left and I suddenly felt very lonely.

I fell asleep bent over my desk.  Krycek had woken 
repeatedly and thrashed around more, making it 
necessary to tie down his arm and legs.  It was too 
hard getting up every time he yelled, so I settled for 
a cot in the ward. I kept it warmer out here in any 
case. 

Sometime around four a.m., I gave up trying to 
sleep, and decided to tackle the files I was 
organizing.  Several of the refugees that came here 
had been suffering from a variety of strange 
illnesses.  They ranged from burns on the skin, to 
the inability to eat certain foods.  It spoke strongly 
of the possibility that the aliens were experimenting 
on humans, but no one could ever remember what 
happened to them.

Skinner thought they were trying a form of 
biological warfare.  That was a good possibility, but 
I also suspected they were trying to ‘integrate’ 
human and alien DNA.  I’d met too many women 
whose ova had been stolen, like mine, to dismiss the 
possibility easily.  

I kept a record of what I’d been seeing and trying to 
put the data into some coherent order. Despite 
categorizing and subcategorizing, I couldn’t make 
any sense of the symptoms, diseases, and injuries 
that paraded through my infirmary.  It was 
frustrating not being able to understand what they 
were doing to us.  It nagged at me that the aliens 
were preparing for something big, and we needed to 
know what that was in order to defeat it.

I woke to the sounds of the camp moving around 
outside my door.  Krycek was sleeping peacefully at 
last, and I reluctantly picked my head up off the 
desk.  To my surprise, someone had come in and 
placed a wool blanket around my shoulders.  I 
didn’t have to speculate who it had been.  I just 
wished that Skinner had woken me when he came 
in.  We needed to speak about Krycek before our 
relationship was permanently damaged. 

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

Krycek improved over the next few days.  He 
stopped thrashing around, but continued to 
dream/hallucinate in both English and Russian. 
Some of the English was garbled, but the part I 
could decipher had to do with the Smoking Man, 
and accusations of betrayal. Information linking the 
alien experimentation to humans didn’t slip through 
as I’d hoped.

Skinner stayed away, and the few times I’d 
glimpsed him across the compound or in the 
cafeteria he studiously kept his eyes from mine.  On 
the fifth day of this treatment, I’d had enough.

“Monica, could you hold down the fort for a few 
minutes?”

She looked up with surprise.  I never left her in 
charge in the afternoon.  I never left the infirmary at 
all in the afternoon.  Skinner knew that too.  It 
would be the perfect time to ambush him.

“Sure, Dana.”

I pulled my coat on, smoothed my hair, and strode 
out into the daylight. I could feel curious eyes 
follow me.  I chose to cross the front courtyard; the 
least direct, but most public of approaches to his 
office.  No reason to slink in the back door like a 
guilty woman.

The young sentry outside his door stood on my 
arrival.  A look of panic crossed his face when he 
saw the determination in mine.

“Dr. Scully, he’s not to be disturbed by anyone.  
Direct orders.”

In a move that would have made Mulder proud, I 
brushed past him and his automatic weapon.  
“Thank you, Mr. Warren, but I know he’s expecting 
me.”

My hand was on the door knob and the door was 
already partially open before he moved forward to 
block my progress.

In a voice designed to show Skinner that he was a 
tough little guard he said, “Dr. Scully, I said he was 
not to be disturbed.”

I looked past Warren through the crack in the door. 
Skinner was glaring up sharply to see who would 
dare try to invade his sanctuary against orders. I had 
a sudden feeling of nostalgia, of previous times I’d 
assaulted his refuge at the Hoover. He should have 
known it was me.  

“Thank you Mr. Warren, you can let her pass.”  
Skinner was using his ‘I’m most displeased with 
you’ voice.  It was not going to work this time, and 
really it never had.

He and his second in command stood when I 
entered, paying homage to military politeness.  I 
never knew whether they stood because I was a 
woman, or in deference to me as an equal.  I wasn’t 
sure I wanted to know.

“Sir.   Mr. Klein.”

“Dr. Scully.”  So formal.

Klein was softer.  “Good to see you, Dr. Scully.”

“Thank you, Mr. Klein.”  I gave him a rare smile.  I 
liked Klein immensely.  He was one of those rare 
people who could lead without crushing those 
beneath him. He was a true diplomat, but he could 
never lead the entire camp.  Only one man could.

“Sir, may I speak with you?”

“As you can see I’m busy—“

“We were just finishing.  I need to check on 
something at the motor pool in any case. Good day, 
sir.  Dr. Scully.”  Klein’s southern voice lilted softly 
as he moved out the door and closed it. I almost 
laughed.  The ‘motor pool’ consisted of a two 
temperamental jeeps and a sad truck. 

When I turned around, Skinner’s scowl had 
deepened if at all possible. He nodded his head for 
me to sit.

There was an uncomfortable pause.  Now that I was 
here, I was at a loss for words.  I usually avoided 
Skinner’s office.  He had it set up in a nearly 
identical fashion to the one at the Hoover building.  
The major difference, of course, was this old 
furniture that looked as if it’d come from a bad 
military garage sale. There was also only one chair 
in front of his desk, just one more reminder of 
Mulder’s absence.  It made me sad to be here.

Skinner cleared his throat, and shuffled papers, 
waiting patiently for me to begin.

“Why are you avoiding me?” I went to the heart of 
the matter.

Without looking up, he said, “I think you know 
why.”

“So you’re punishing me? You’re going to avoid 
me, try to make me feel like a criminal for doing 
what I think is right?”

“I’m not punishing you.  I don’t agree with what 
you’re doing.”  His eyes cut through me.

“It feels like a punishment,” I said softly. “I—I miss 
you.”

I don’t think he anticipated that.  It seemed we were 
both behaving in unexpected ways.

“He’s not Mulder.”

“What?”  Now it was my turn to be shocked.

“Curing Krycek won’t bring Mulder back.”

I could feel blind rage surge through me.  How dare 
he make that comparison?

“I do not think that treating Krycek will bring 
Mulder back.  I don’t think he’s going to come 
back.  Not after what we did.”

Skinner was up and around the desk in a flash. He 
grabbed my shoulders in a painful grip and hauled 
me to my feet. “And what is it exactly that we did?  
We made love.  I loved you, I still do.  I can’t help 
that Mulder decided to come out of hiding and find 
us on that day.  I can’t help that he saw in bed 
together.  I can’t help that he left again without 
talking with you about it first.”

He sighed deeply and rested his chin on my head. 
“I’m sorry, Scully.  I’m sorry for everything, and I 
know you’re sorry too. But being sorry and keeping 
me at arm’s length won’t bring him back.”

I was suddenly enfolded in his arms, my face 
pressed to his chest.  I was too shocked to fight him.  
I never suspected he knew, never suspected he 
thought I was still actively waiting for Mulder; I 
hadn’t mentioned him in months.

I felt tears come to my eyes.  I did love Skinner.  I 
loved Mulder too.  Somehow I hadn’t thought I 
could move forward with Skinner until I could see 
Mulder again and explain things.  Explain that his 
absence had created a hollow place in my heart.   
That Skinner had saved me, taken care of me, and 
brought me here to safety.  That he helped fill the 
void that Mulder had left behind.  Giving in and 
loving Skinner would mean closing the door on my 
former partner, a door I hadn’t wanted to shut.  
Until now.

I was about to say so, when loud knocking sounded 
through the door.

“What?”  Skinner’s angry voice rumbled against my 
ear. He let go abruptly when the door suddenly 
opened behind me.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s important.”  It was Childers.  
Only Childers was foolish enough, or brave enough 
to risk Skinner’s wrath.  “Dr. Scully is needed right 
away in the infirmary.”

Skinner frowned again.  I was going to have to 
leave him for Krycek.

“I’m coming—“ I began.

“Sir,” Childers said hurriedly, “I think you should 
come too. Miss Monica says to tell you Doggett is 
here.” 


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