A Few Good Men, by Scifinerdgrl (2/3)

CHAPTER 7

He came to on a cot. His head hurt but he was able to take in
sights and sounds again. He saw people lying on cots and others
rushing back and forth tending to them. A woman with jet-black
hair and green eyes, wearing an olive green jumpsuit, was holding
his hand. She squeezed his hand when she saw his eyes open. "Hi,
soldier. Feeling better?" 

He didn't answer for a few seconds, then said "Yes, I am." He
tried to get up but the woman said "Not so fast. You need to save
your strength." 

"For what?" he asked. 

"You're going back to your unit. We've done all we can for you
here. And we need your bed for the next wave." She had a wistful
look in her eyes. 

"What unit?" he asked. She laughed a gentle and sympathetic
laugh. "You have a concussion. I'm not surprised you're confused.
You managed to give us all the details a few minutes ago, but I
guess you don't remember that, either?" He shook his head. She
said, "I gave you some morphine, too. Maybe that has something to
do with it." He groaned. "So I'm going to feel worse again in an
hour?" She whispered "I'll give you another shot right before you
go." The corners of his lips turned up and he closed his eyes.
Yes, he thought. Morphine... 

He awoke on a stretcher, being carried toward a chopper. The
woman with the green eyes came running up behind them and stopped
the medics. She leaned over Skinner and said "Look me up after
the war." She put a piece of paper in his hand and folded his
fingers over it. He said "Wha---?" and she jabbed him in the arm
with a needle. The medics began running again and put Skinner in
the chopper. He could see his green-eyed nurse looking into the
chopper and as the chopper lifted she wiped away a tear.  

They took a short trip, and Skinner looked at the piece of paper
"Nurse Betty Stowe Fort Wayne, Indiana." The chopper pilot put
him into a basket and soon he was being lowered to the ground. On
the ground he was met by a single marine, who untied his harness
and helped him to his feet. "Welcome back, Walt" he said. 

Skinner squinted to look in the man's face. "Hank?" he asked in
surprise. "What are you doing h-- -" Skinner said. He stopped
mid-sentence when he realized where he was -- Arlington Cemetery. 
Then he said, "Am I dead?"

Hank laughed. "Old soldiers never die..." and Skinner finished,
"They just fade away? That's just a metaphor. I SAW you die -- in
Nam!" 

"You saw something, I'll grant you that." Hank started walking
and Skinner struggled to keep up.

Hank continued "Haven't you ever wondered why some soldiers
become heroes? or why some become the great leaders of history?"
Skinner said impatiently "What are you talking about?"  Hank
seemed not to hear the interruption. "Why one man rises to the
top? or commits that one remarkable act of heroism? Why THAT man?
What makes him different? All soldiers have what it takes --
patriotism, training, courage..."

Skinner thought for a moment then offered an answer. "I guess
it's partly being in the right place at the right time, or being
the right person for the particular challenge." Hank interrupted,
"Yes, but why was THIS man the one? How did he get to the right
place, or become the right person?"

Skinner stopped walking, and Hank had to turn around to face him.
Skinner said, "Is this a riddle? Because I'm not in the mood for
games."

Hank chuckled and shook his head slightly. "It is a mystery,
isn't it? Look around you, and you'll find the answer." Skinner
turned 360 degrees, and all around him all he saw were rows and
rows of white grave markers, dimly glowing in the starlight,
their edges blurred by a light mist. He turned to look at Hank,
exasperation and confusion on Skinner's face, compassion and
serenity on Hank's. Hank said, "There ARE no great men, no heroes
who single-handedly change the world. Behind every great soldier
there are the thousands of great soldiers who came before him. No
man is an island, and no soldier fights alone."

Annoyance crept into Skinner's voice as he said "Why are you
telling me this?"  Hank put his hand on Skinner's shoulder and
fixed his eyes on Skinner's. 

"Remember those times in Nam when you should have died, yet you
survived?" Skinner looked at him skeptically and said "But..." 
Hank interrupted.  "And remember those times when you found
courage you never knew you had, strength you never had before,
reserves inside of you that you never knew were there?"  Walter
nodded, remembering the last time he saw Hank.  Hank continued,
"Your country needs you, Walter. Now more than ever. You have a
difficult fight ahead of you, but you will never be alone. Accept
help when it is offered. Your fellow marines will never let you
down." "But I'm not a marine anymore," Skinner objected. 

"Walt, you may have left the marines, but the marines have never
left you." With that he turned and walked quickly into the mist.
Skinner tried to follow him, but he seemed to have vanished. Out
of the corner of his eye, Skinner saw a thin beam of light
sweeping across the graveyard. The light approached, then shone
on Skinner's face. Instinctively, he put up his hand to shield
his eyes.  

"A.D. Skinner?" John Doggett said. "What the hell are you doing
here?" 

Skinner put his hand down and nearly smiled. "Doggett! Am I glad
to see you!" Doggett took a step backwards, as if afraid that
Skinner might hug him. "I'm glad to see you too, sir. Were you
looking for me?" 

"No, I assumed you were looking for me," Skinner replied. They
looked at each other for a second, as the light from Doggett's
flashlight fell on the nearest grave marker. It read "PFC Hank
Shelby. November 2, 1950 - August 27, 1969." 

CHAPTER 8

Scully buckled her seatbelt and absent-mindedly ran her hand up
and down the portion above her shoulder. Her mother started the
car and pulled out into traffic. They drove in silence for a few
minutes, then Scully's spine suddenly straightened. "Mom! Where
are we?! This isn't the way to your house!!" she cried out.  

"It's okay, Dana. I know what I"m doing," Mrs. Scully said
soothingly. Dana's response was to stare at her, wide-eyed. Mrs.
Scully looked at her casually. "You worry so much Dana." 

Dana Scully, new mother and loving daughter, disappeared, and
Dana Scully, FBI agent, took her place. In one smooth movement
she pulled her gun and put it to the driver's temple. She cocked
the gun and said coldly, "Stop the car..." She paused but the car
did not slow down. "NOW" she commanded. 

The driver pulled in to a vacant parking lot and said "Dana, put
the gun away." Dana's hand started shaking slightly. "Who are
you?" she said in the same stern tone. "And where are you taking
us?"  

The driver smiled a phony smile and said in a saccharine voice
"I'm your mother, silly." Scully's mouth hung slightly open as
she thought what her next move should be.  

Suddenly the baby started crying, and Dana looked at him. The
driver took this opportunity to grab the gun. With her other hand
she popped the latch on Scully's seatbelt. The passenger door
opened and a hand reached in. The hand grabbed Scully's arm. She
felt herself being jerked from the car and thrown onto the
ground. She landed hard on her backside, and before she could get
up, the man who had opened the door jumped in the car. Scully
thought she could hear the baby crying as the car sped away...

Mulder followed the flashlights of the soldiers posted along the
road. There were no other cars, and Mulder was beginning to
wonder where he was going. Even though he knew Arlington well, he
had become disoriented. 

Finally, he rounded a corner and saw the glow of the Pentagon in
the distance. Soldiers continued waving him forward. He pulled
out his cellphone and dialed home. The machine picked up, and
Mulder immediately became concerned. He left a message, saying
"Scully, I'm in Arlington. I'm going to the Pentagon, and..."
suddenly his cellphone cut out. He shook his head. Of course --
jammed this close to the Pentagon. 

An officer waved him to an entrance. He parked the car and got
out. He looked around and saw no one else, and no flashlights. He
couldn't help feeling flattered and a bit giddy. He was sure he
would get some answers to what had happened in Crystal City, and
maybe the answers to some of his old questions, too. 

The officer led him into the central courtyard and told him to
sit at a table. CSM appeared and sat across from him. Mulder said
sarcastically "How nice to see an old friend here." CSM took a
drag on his Morely but said nothing. "I thought you were dead"
Mulder said. CSM replied, "Who says I'm not?"

CHAPTER 9

PFC Walter Skinner couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes
he saw a series of images from his friend Hank's last day on
Earth. Opening his eyes wasn't much better. Everything he saw
reminded him of Hank. Pulling his blanket over his legs, he
thought of the body bag now warming the legless corpse of a great
friend and soldier. Even good memories were no comfort. The rifle
next to his cot reminded him of their infamous shooting contests.
He should have let Hank win one. Every time Hank challenged
Skinner's renowned eagle eye, the company set up a contest, even
though everybody knew Skinner was the best shot. Afterwards, Hank
vowed to get Skinner "next time," and everyone whooped as if
there was a chance he actually could. Now there would be no next
time. 

Skinner got out of bed, grabbed his rifle, and left his tent. He
walked around camp for a few minutes, until his eyes had become
so accustomed to the dark that it seemed like daylight to him. He
had taken this walk many times after the death of a comrade, but
this time he needed it more than ever. He stood "at ease," a pose
that was by now actually comfortable, and looked up at the stars.
Whenever times got difficult in Nam, he looked up at the stars
and named as many as he could. "Orion's belt" was just over the
Southwest horizon, shining more brightly than usual in the
moonless night. His father had taught him many of those names,
and it was a comfort to him to know that at least one thing in
his life was the same. This night, he couldn't help remembering
all the other lives he'd privately grieved under the stars, and
the accumulated grief of all his losses started to weigh on him.
After a few minutes he realized his cheeks were wet from a salty
stream that had sneaked there without his permission. "Geez,
Walter" he thought to himself. "You're a marine, for Pete's sake.
Get a grip." He took a deep breath, wiped away the tears, and
grasped his rifle a bit tighter. With a long sigh, he started
back to his tent. From the corner of his eye he saw a tall lanky
figure approaching. 

"Hank?" he whispered. 

The figure didn't answer, but put a finger to its lips and
beckoned him to follow. Wanting desperately to believe it was
Hank, Walter followed. The figure turned a corner and disappeared
behind a tent. Walter walked silently toward the tent, and as he
turned the corner he saw a much smaller figure. It was a child,
about twelve years old, pulling the pin on a hand grenade. As the
child's arm reached back for the wind-up, Skinner raised his gun
to his shoulder and fired. Through the sight, he saw the blood
and brains of the child splatter, glistening in the starlight. A
second later, the grenade exploded, still in the child's hand. 

Skinner stood mute and motionless as men rushed around him. His
c.o. walked up to him and asked, "Did you see what happened,
private?" although he knew from Skinner's expression that he had. 


"Yessir," Skinner answered mechanically. 

The c.o. waited for a moment then said, "Well...?" 

"I shot a child," he answered. 

"Was it a boy or a girl?" the c.o. asked. 

"Does it matter?" Skinner replied. He turned and walked back to
his tent, laid down and slept dreamlessly for twelve hours. 

"A.D. Skinner, sir..." John Doggett's voice penetrated his
consciousness and he opened his eyes. He was in a hospital
emergency room.  From the other side of the privacy curtain, John
Doggett said, "A.D. Skinner?"

"Yeah," Skinner said gruffly. 

"Agent Doggett here, sir. Do you mind if I come in?"

Skinner appreciated Doggett's courtesy. On the way to the
hospital Doggett had respected Skinner's reluctance to talk about
what had happened. He still wasn't ready to talk about it, but he
knew Doggett would not pressure him. Doggett glanced at Skinner,
and his cop's eye needed only a second to take in all the
bruises, contusions, and freshly stitched cuts on Skinner's body.
He quickly looked away, and found a chair. He sat down and said,
"Sir, I tried calling Agent Scully like you asked, but she ain't
home. I tried Mulder, too, but he ain't home either."  

Skinner said "Did you try their cellphones?" Doggett nodded.
Skinner grew agitated. "Scully was home when I called her to warn
her about what I believe to be a threat to her and her baby." 
Doggett's eyes widened at the mention of the baby he'd dedicated
months of his life to protect. 

Skinner grabbed his shirt and said "I think I'm done here. Let's
go." He dressed as quickly as he could, considering his
condition, and the two men left the E.R. 
 
They pounded on Scully's door, and when there was no answer
Skinner nodded to the super to unlock it. Inside they found her
not to Mulder, but nothing seemed out of place. They called
Maggie Scully's house, but a mechanical voice said the line was
out of order. They immediately left for Maggie Scully's house,
and called Agent Reyes en route. 

When they arrived they found the house dark, but the door
unlocked. They went in, and with their flashlights were able to
see signs of trouble -- overturned furniture, broken glass,
papers all over the floor... At the back of the house they found
a bound, gagged, and unconscious Maggie Scully in a heap on the
floor. 

CHAPTER 10
 
Scully groaned and rolled onto her side. She could feel the blood
oozing from the stitches that had opened when she fell. She put
her hands on the ground and started to push herself up. She got
herself halfway there when she started feeling dizzy and her arms
started to collapse. As she started falling she suddenly felt
hands under her armpits lifting her up. She got to her feet and
looked to see who had helped her.

"Missy?! Daddy?!" Scully couldn't believe what she was seeing.
She was horrified yet also strangely comforted. Her father said,
"It's okay, Starbuck. We're here to help you."  

"But how?" Scully asked. 

Her father answered, "I've been watching out for you for years,
and now Missy has too. Couldn't you feel our presence?" 

"Well, maybe... there were a few times... but that was just
wishful thinking," Scully said.  

"So you got your wish" her father said cheerfully. "Who do you
think guided Mulder the night William was born?" 

Missy added "And who showed the rescue planes where to find you
and Mulder in Antarctica?" 

Scully nodded a grudging acceptance, and as she continued to lose
blood she was having trouble thinking of a rational explanation
for what was happening. They continued walking on the deserted
street until they found their way to a pay phone. "You'll be fine
now, hon" her father said. Melissa picked up the phone and dialed
911 as their father helped Scully to steady herself on the
phone's stand. Their father said "C'mon, Missy. Let's see how my
grandson in doing..." and they walked off into the night. 

Later, Scully lay in her recovery room, an I.V. in her arm and
oxygen tubes in each nostril. As she struggled to consciousness,
she could feel a hand over hers. She looked up, expecting to see
Mulder, but instead saw his mother. She closed her eyes, hoping
she was dreaming.  

"Dana," Teena Mulder said softly. "Don't go away." Scully
squeezed her eyes closed, as if doing this would block out sounds
as well. Mrs. Mulder continued, "We need to talk." 

Scully reluctantly opened her eyes. "Dana, I know you're worried
about William..." Tears came to Scully's eyes but she said
nothing. "I  worried about Samantha, too. But this is important
-- more important than any individual, even a baby." 

"The aliens," Scully said with resignation. 

"We can't let them win," Mrs. Mulder said firmly. "We have to
beat them, at any cost." Tears flowed freely down Scully's
cheeks, and Teena Mulder wiped them away. "A few of us must make
a great sacrifice, or else we will all be sacrificed. When you
understand what's at stake you can't be selfish." 

"I know," Scully whispered. "William's life has a purpose, and
he's fulfilling that purpose now." She paused and drew her chair
closer. "No child lives only to give their parents' lives
meaning. Each life has its own meaning and its own purpose."

Scully bit her lip then said, "And your purpose? Why are you
here?" 

Mrs. Mulder answered, "ALL of humanity has a stake in this. At
one time I stopped caring about my own life. But life itself? I
never stopped caring about that. You need help and I am here to
help you. For everybody's sake."

CHAPTER 11

Mulder looked at CSM with suspicion. "So, you ARE dead?" CSM
flicked an ash onto the ground and said, "Why would that be
difficult for you to accept? You've witnessed so many paranormal
events, why doubt this one?" 

Mulder seemed flustered. "Well, I... " He paused and mustered his
defiance. "I have no reason to trust you, for one." 

"On the contrary. You have every reason to trust me. What have I
got to gain from lying to you?" 

"What have you ever had to gain with your lies?" Mulder answered.
"You protected inhumane experiments on unwilling subjects. You
would sacrifice anyone or anything to further your goals." 

"As would you," CSM said smugly. He put out his cigarette and lit
another. 

Mulder said, "And another thing, ghosts don't smoke." 

CSM exhaled, sending a stream of smoke into Mulder's face. "No?
Then perhaps I'm not a ghost." 

"So what are you? A shadow? a spook? a ghoul? a specter? a
phantom? an incorporeal entity? a wandering spirit? a dybbuk?..." 

"So many questions. tsk tsk "CSM flicked his ash, then held his
cigarette vertically in front of him, studying it carefully.
"What happens when the light goes out of a life? Does it become
an ash or  an ember? Does it disappear completely?" He took
another drag, and spoke through the smoke he exhaled, "Or does it
get sucked up into a larger life form?"  

Mulder looked at him, wide-eyed. "But I can see you -- why?" 

"Why?" CSM took another drag and let the smoke come out slowly as
he spoke. "Because I want you too..." He smiled, "As it has
always been with us." 

CSM said, "You and I share a special bond, Fox. I watched you
grow up; I've watched your career, and I've guided you to the
answers you sought." 

Mulder said contemptuously, "What answers? All you ever guided me
to were lies."  CSM put out his cigarette, absently twisting it
in the ashtray long after it was out. His eyes bored into
Mulder's. "And how do you know they are lies?"  

Mulder clenched his teeth and stared back in defiance. CSM
continued, "If they have been lies, it is because you asked the
wrong questions." 

"What questions would you have preferred?" Mulder asked. 

CSM put the palms of his hands on the table, then turned his
hands over. "Like opening a book, a question defines its own
answer. Only when it is too late do you realize you were reading
the wrong book." 

"Okay, so what is the *right* book?" Mulder asked sarcastically. 

CSM stood up. "Come, let me take you to the library," and his arm
swept around in a grand arc, leading Mulder's eyes to all five
walls of the Pentagon courtyard. All the windows were lit, and in
each one a silhouetted figure was visible in the center. Mulder
stood up and the two entered the Pentagon. 

CHAPTER 12

Skinner and Doggett untied Maggie Scully and rolled her onto her
back. As Skinner took her pulse, Doggett called for help on his
cellphone. Skinner knelt next to Maggie Scully and looked up at
Doggett. "Check the rest of the house," he ordered. As Doggett
left the room, he used his left hand to open Mrs. Scully's eyes,
and his right to shine his flashlight into them. Her pupils were
equal and reactive, a good sign, and about as much as he knew
about first aid in this situation. Trying to fight off his
feelings of helplessness, he shone the  flashlight around the
kitchen, until he found a towel.  He ran cold water over it, then
placed it on Maggie's forehead, remembering the time years ago
someone special had done that for him. 

Maggie's eyes fluttered, then opened. She could see Skinner only
as a silhouette, and said "Daddy?" 

"Hardly!" he snorted, then caught himself and lowered his voice. 
"It's A.D. Skinner, Mrs. Scully.  How are you feeling?" he asked
tenderly. "Do you know where you are?" 

"Mmmmmmm... I'm not sure. I was having the strangest dream -- my
parents were here. They were telling me to hang on... that I had
something important to do." 

Goose bumps went up Skinner's spine. "I understand," he said,
trying to produce a smile and failing miserably.

Maggie sighed and reached for his hand, finding comfort in his
touch and in his voice. "Thank you," she said simply, looking
into his eyes.

He squeezed her hand gently and answered, "You're welcome." 

They shared an awkward moment of silence until Agent Doggett came
back and announced, "The rest of the house checks out. No
additional victims.  No perps.  No nothin. Phone line's been cut,
power was cut off." He reached out and flipped a light switch.
Bright flourescent lights flickered on, making Skinner and Maggie
Scully groan, shielding their eyes. Doggett continued "But I
switched it back on." 

When their eyes had adjusted to the light they saw that the floor
was smeared with a greenish fluid. 

CHAPTER 13

PFC Walter Skinner changed overnight from an able, sometimes
enthusiastic soldier, to a zombie-like drug user.  His buddies
understood.  They missed Hank, too. 

This night he patrolled the area on foot, sometimes shuffling,
sometimes stumbling. But despite his declining mental state, he
clung to his routine duties.  They gave him a sense of order in a
senseless world. He listened carefully for sounds of danger, and
hearing nothing, he took his opportunity to gaze up at the stars,
searching for the serenity they had once given him.  Suddenly he
felt as if he'd been punched in the back.  He lost his balance
and stumbled forward.

As his body fell forward, his spirit seemed to float upward.  He
looked down on his unconscious body, and found the peace he had
sought in the stars. 

Two weeks later he woke up in a Saigon hospital. He felt hot and
dry, and didn't want to move.  Muffled moans emanated from a
distant part of the hospital, and Walter was powerless to block
out the sounds. From another direction he could hear a radio
playing Led Zeppelin's "Dazed and Confused."  It was Walter's
favorite song.  He couldn't relate to most of the lyrics --
"Wanted a woman, never bargained for you" sounded downright
ungrateful to a lonely marine -- but the haunting, repetitive
descent of the bassline and the languid strain of the Robert
Plant's voice cried out as he never could.  He pressed the back
of his head against his pillow and closed his eyes. "Dazed and
Confused."  That was Walter Skinner.

He could hear efficient footsteps approaching, and he tried
desperately to feign sleeping.  But she was onto him.  "Walter,"
she said in a no-nonsense, yet compassionate tone.  He felt the
gentle press of her fingers on his wrist.  "I know you're awake." 

He opened his eyes.  She had long, jet-black hair and bright
green eyes.  She smiled down at him and placed a cold, wet cloth
on his forehead.  "It's about time, you goldbricker."  He tried
to smile, but his cracked lips had other ideas.

"You're very lucky, Walter.  They left you for dead, but they
underestimated your will to live."

Walter grimaced.  He hadn't felt the will to live in weeks.  He
looked up at her, and it seemed to him that there was a glow
surrounding her. A light shone from behind her, creating a golden
border at the edges of her hair.  He felt he'd never seen such a
beautiful creature.  He became instantly alert, and took in the
name on her badge.

"Nurse Stowe" he started.  She recognized the signs -- they all
did this -- and straightened her spine.

"Private," she said in a businesslike voice.  "I need to talk to
you."

Skinner nodded.  He suddenly realized he hadn't checked for all
of his limbs, and he forgot all about her beauty.

"Soldier, I've seen dozens come in here just like you.  Do you
know why you've been here two weeks?"  She took in the look of
surprise on his face.  "Yes, you've been here for two weeks.  It
took that long to get the drugs out of your system."  

Skinner closed his eyes, preparing himself for a lecture.  "I
know they're dangerous..." he said.  She cut him off.  "Soldier,
you have a job to do.  It isn't here.  You are needed at home. 
You MUST take care of yourself until your moment arrives."
Skinner looked confused.  "They're sending you home.  Your injury
is serious, but it won't stop you from serving your country. 
Only you can do that. You are your own worst enemy..." Skinner
sighed.  Yes, this was what he expected.  She continued, "You
will have a much more dangerous enemy to face later.  You need to
prepare yourself to battle this enemy."  Skinner looked confused. 
"Walter," she said firmly, "We're sending you home.  Stay clean. 
Prepare for the war to end all wars." 

"World War III?" he asked.  She shook her head.  "Bigger than
that.  Don't let us down."

She turned and walked away, leaving Walter to ponder what she'd
said.  In a few minutes another nurse approached his bed and took
his pulse.

"How are you feeling, soldier?" She asked.

"A... a little better," he answered.  "If you don't mind, could I
see Nurse Stowe for a minute."

The new nurse blanched.  "Betty Stowe?" she asked.  Skinner
nodded.

The nurse dropped his wrist and said with forced compassion, "She
died.  About three months ago."

CHAPTER 14

CSM held the door for Mulder as they entered the Pentagon's
interior corridors. He led him through a maze of hallways crowded
with military men and women in every type of uniform. They were
walking quickly and purposefully, as if to some important
assignment. CSM and Mulder were walking very slowly by
comparison. 

"You were never in the military, were you Fox?" CSM said calmly. 

"No, I wasn't," Mulder answered. 

"But you became a soldier in your own way, didn't you?" 

Mulder couldn't help wondering what CSM's agenda was. "I guess
you could say that," he answered reluctantly. 

I did say that," CSM said matter-of-factly as he lit a cigarette.
With the fresh cigarette in his lips, he said "You rather enjoy
fighting. It's in your nature." 

Mulder felt boxed in. If he agreed, he'd be saying he was a
fighter. If he denied it, he'd be arguing with CSM, and CSM would
use that against him to prove his point. He pursed his lips and
stopped walking. "Get to the point" he said sharply. 

CSM said, "That's my boy. Giving orders is much easier for you
than following them." He took a drag and continued walking. He
turned around and started walking backwards. "I was never much
for following orders myself."  And he turned around and continued
walking. Mulder waited a few seconds then ran to catch up to CSM.
"Okay, what do you want?" Mulder asked. 

CSM said "It's not what I want. It's what you want. You want to
defeat your enemy. I'm showing you how you can do just that."  

Mulder said sarcastically, "You lying SOB. You promised me
information, and now you're just leading me by the nose." CSM
took the cigarette out of his mouth. "Tsk tsk tsk. Such
impatience." They continued walking in silence for a few minutes,
until they came to an unmarked door. 

CSM nodded toward the door and said, "The truth is in there." 

Mulder put his hand on the knob and tried to turn it, but it was
locked. He looked at CSM in annoyance, but CSM ignored his look
and turned the doorknob. The door swung open noiselessly. 

CSM turned the light on in the room then held the door open for
Mulder. Mulder took a few tentative steps into the room. He
looked around and saw only cardboard boxes on metal storage
shelves. He walked up to one and pulled it off its shelf. It was
unmarked on all sides, and the top was sealed. 

"Go ahead, open it," CSM said with the pride of a father giving a
beloved child a birthday gift.  

He handed Mulder a letter opener, and Mulder slit the top seal.
He set the box on the floor and peered into it. 

Inside the box was a random pile of guns, strewn as if packed
quickly. They were different sizes, styles and colors. Mulder
looked back at CSM. "What th---?"  "I've offered you the Truth
you have sought, but there's one thing you must do first." CSM
said as he stamped out his cigarette. Mulder picked up one of the
guns and looked it over. CSM  continued "It's untraceable. No
serial number. No ballistics record. No record of it entering
this building, and there will be no record of it leaving." 

Mulder was irate. "Whatever it is you want me to do, you can
forget it. I'll not do your dirty work for you." He threw the gun
back into its box. 

"You won't be doing it for me," CSM said as he took a fresh
cigarette out of its pack. "You'll be doing it for your son." 

Mulder said "But I don't have a..." then suddenly realized what
CSM was saying. "You mean Scully's baby?" CSM raised his eyebrows
as he lit his cigarette. The pitch of Mulder's voice raised as he
said "What have you done with William?" 

"Nothing" CSM said as he exhaled his smoke. "Why, should I?"
Mulder dove for CSM, but CSM stepped aside casually, letting
Mulder hit his head on a wall. Mulder got up quickly and started
to grab for CSM, but CSM grabbed his wrist and stared into his
eyes. Mulder's body went limp, but he couldn't resist staring
back into CSM's eyes. "I understand," he said serenely. CSM held
out a gun for him and Mulder took it. 

Then Mulder put the barrel of the gun into his mouth and pulled
the trigger.