Fox Mulder slumped back tiredly in the hard plastic waiting room chair and closed his eyes, worry for his lover and confusion over the manner in which he had been injured warring for space in his brain.  He was still cursing the doctors and nurses, albeit internally now, as opposed to the loud, angry words he had spoken earlier, who had  asked him, and not politely either, to leave Walter Skinner's hospital room so that more tests could be performed.

It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair, and Mulder selfishly resented the fact that to the staff, he was just another agent, even if he did seem more concerned about the health of the assistant director than most of the other FBI employees who had shown up here.  At the same time, however, he understood their behavior, and knew deep down that they were only trying to do their best for Walter.  They didn't know that he was Walter's lover, how could they? He and Walter had been as careful as they knew how.  It wasn't just about the Bureau, either, although both of them knew just how easy it would be for the OPR to find excuses for removing them if the nature of their relationship ever came into light, regardless of the new anti-discrimination policies slowly being put into effect in the office. No, the biggest concern for both of them was the organization that for all intensive purposes didn't exist, but which could exact the highest punishments nevertheless.  They'd both seen it happen, seen friends and loved ones threatened, hurt and killed, all in the name of secrecy.  And they'd both vowed not to let it happen to them.

Which meant Fox Mulder had been forced to carefully conceal the most important feelings he'd ever had, Even now, when Walter could be…the closet had never felt so small, and yet, the door was opening, and in a way he never could have expected.

Scully had flat out refused to let him see Kim Cooke.  Apparently, she was in five point restraints, still hysterical and screaming death threats.  That's all he got out of his partner before she demanded that he go back to Walter's room.

"You're too close to this, Mulder.  The guys are on it, and I'll talk to her doctor. Walter's, too. Go back and see Walter.  Talk to him. They say that hearing is seldom impaired in coma situations.  He'll probably be able to hear you."

At his protests, she gave him a gentle shove away from the room housing his lover's would-be assassin, promising him she'd get answers for him. He took a couple of steps away from her, then turned back, and, as if reading his mind, she gave him a fierce hug, long and uncomplicated, as only best friends can, then pulled away and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Mulder.  And Walter will be fine."

He didn't trust himself to answer as her words stirred up new visions of the extent of Skinner's wounds, so he just nodded and walked away.

He had only just sat down next to his lover when the parade of medical staff had entered and tossed him out of the room like a loitering vagrant.  After loudly and profanely voicing his protests, which achieved nothing but some angry looks and a threat to call security, he'd simply wandered away down the corridor until he came to the first of several small waiting rooms that littered the halls of the intensive care unit like dead ends in a maze, and he entered it when he determined it was empty.

Now, with nothing more to occupy his mind than a few generic paintings on the walls and a handful of Good Housekeeping magazines on the low table next to his chair, Mulder was able to turn his thoughts back to Walter's assistant, and wonder just what the hell had happened.

Kimberly had known about him and Walter from the start.  Just as Mulder had been adamant about telling Scully about their relationship as soon as they discovered it wasn't just a drunken aberration on his part or a mid-life crisis on Walter's, so, too had Walter insisted that Kim Cooke be informed of the situation.

"She can be trusted, Mulder," Walter had said, "and that's damned rare to find in these offices these days, as you well know.  We need someone to watch our backs, and I know she'll do that for us, as much as Scully would. She might even be better than Scully, since she's involved in everything that goes on in my office."

Mulder remembered agreeing with Walter, although in the first hot, hungry days of their relationship, if Walter Skinner had suggested dressing in drag, changing their names to Speed and Junior, and dancing the tango in Kersh's office, he probably would have agreed to that, too.

It turned out to be nothing that spectacular. 

"Thank you for telling me, sir," she'd said to Walter, and "Thank you for your trust, Agent Mulder," to him. Then she'd gone back to her desk and picked up her typing where she'd left off when Walter had called her into the inner office so that they could tell her.  She didn't mention the relationship again.  But she wasn't ignorant of it, nor was she hostile towards it.  She seemed to approve, almost, and she showed it in a myriad of subtle yet insistent ways that made Mulder curious on more than one occasion about the feelings she may have harbored for her boss.

Mulder often found himself scheduled for meetings with the A.D. that had little more to do with the bureau other than the fact that they were held in his office, and that were greeted with nothing but a mysterious smile when Walter would inquire of her exactly when he had scheduled said meetings, since he himself had no recollection of doing so.  She would hold phone calls, keep other agents waiting in the outer office and send in take-out lunches for two, all without being asked.  Sometimes she'd call Mulder down in the basement and, without identifying herself, or explaining how she came to the conclusions she did, she would suggest that Mulder take the time to buy a bouquet of flowers, a box of candy, or maybe rent a new release video that he'd never even heard of.  Mulder came to understand that Kim was in constant contact with her boss, his lover, and that she was even better at reading his changing feelings than he himself was.  He was jealous for a moment, but a moment was all he allowed himself, thinking about the relationship he had with Scully, and how tolerant Walter was of it. 

Of course it didn't hurt that whenever Kim suggested one of these little gifts, she was proven right every time, as Walter enthusiastically thanked him for each of them. (Point of fact, he'd been so enthusiastic in his thanks once that the resulting ache had made it impossible for Mulder to sit properly for two days)

The tiniest of smiles flitted across Mulder's features at the memory, the first since Scully's phone call.  An instant later it was gone, and he put a hand to his temples, trying to massage away the headache he could feel wanting to make it's home there while simultaneously wondering what was happening back at the bureau.

Obviously, Kim Cooke had been quite out of her mind when she went on her shooting spree.  But, according to Scully, anyway, there'd been something of the truth there in her homophobic announcement at the end of her crazed gun-toting charade.  So, the question now was how many people had heard her call Walter Skinner a fag, and how many people were going to be inclined to believe it.

He didn't think many of them would.  It wasn't like Kim had outed him.  He had a nasty reputation with most of his peers and supervisors anyway, and he didn't think that many of them would balk at the addition of another lousy nickname to the list: Crazy Mulder, Spooky Mulder, Fairy Mulder…

He didn't think anyone had ever called Walter Skinner a fairy.  If there was anyone in the bureau that Mulder never could have guessed about, it was Walter. Surly, butch Walter S. Skinner, with his ex-wife, past military career and penchance for dead hookers, was, for all appearances, about as gay as a Republican Wives prayer meeting. 

So, maybe the truth wasn't out there, as it were, just yet.  Maybe Kim's rant would be mistaken for just more crazy talk from the crazy woman with the gun, and no one would be any the wiser.

Mulder didn't know how he felt about that.

He sighed loudly, blowing out stale hospital air, and shut his eyes, wondering if the doctors were finished with their tests, wondering if Scully had any news, wondering if the Gunmen had come up with anything. He found his mind going around in circles, and he thought he would probably be able to think more clearly with a cup or two of coffee in him.  He thought he should probably head down to the cafeteria and get something, and fell asleep still trying to convince his legs to move.

***

He opened his eyes, wakened by the sound of his mother crying.  That couldn't be right, though.  His mother wasn't here.  He hadn't called her about Walter…

The room was dark, and at first he couldn't get his bearings.  He sat up and realized he was curled up in the black leather recliner that had been his father's favourite chair.  He could still hear his mother's voice, coming from somewhere behind him, words forming through the tears, but sounding faded and far away.

"…how can you say that…he's your…blame…how do you know that? Was it him? Let him…No…please…"

For some reason, the words made Mulder want to curl up in the chair and disappear.  He felt like a child about to be punished, and he looked down at himself, sure that he would see a boy's body, and surprised to see he was still himself, still in the rumpled shirt and pants he'd been wearing at the hospital-

The hospital.  He was confused, but one thing was certain.  Wherever he was, whatever was happening, he had to get back to Walter.  He jumped up from the chair and immediately fell to the floor, his body feeling heavy and sluggish.  He couldn't understand what was happening.

Looking up, he discovered his mother and father staring down at him, his mother's face tear-stained, his father's grim and scowling.

"What-what is it? M-mom? Dad?" He winced as he heard the tremor in his voice, recognizing it for the fear that it was, and despising it for the weakness it made him feel.  He struggled to get to his feet, failed miserably, and his father leaned in closer.

"What did you do, Fox? Answer me!" Bill Mulder demanded in a harsh tone.

"I-I don't understand.  You can't be here. Where am I?" The copper taste of fear was strong in his mouth, and he thought he smelled cigarette smoke.

Without warning, his father's hand snaked out from behind him and dealt him a vicious slap across the top of his head that rocked him. He tried to bring his hands up defensively, but none of his limbs seemed to be responding to the frantic signals from his brain, and the second blow came across his cheek, branding hot pain into his face and making his eyes water.

"Be a man, Fox, for god's sake!"

"Dad, no!" Again he was awash with full body memory, thinking he was 12 again, his sister recently missing, maybe dead, and it was entirely his fault.

"Let him alone, you bastard!" His mother's scream dragged his attention away from his father, and he saw his mother, as she had been all those years ago, young and beautiful and now so awash with pain that he cried out for her.

"Mom!"

The sound of glass breaking, and suddenly his arms were free and he threw them up to shield his face, but when he felt nothing like shards on his skin, he brought them down and saw his mother staring horrified at the cracks that had appeared all over her, holding cracked hands up to her cracked face.  Then, with a wail of anguish, the pieces fell apart, and his mother crashed into a million tiny bugs onto the floor, where they skittered away into the dark corners of the room.

"Look what you've done, Fox.  How could you?"

Crying now, and looking up at his father, who was shaking his head as if he couldn't quite rectify the picture of the man lying on the floor with the son he thought he was raising.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Mulder shouted.

"I think you do-you and that-that-" The first cracks appeared in Bill Mulder's face.

"No!" father and son cried in unison, and then his father was gone, too, and more bugs fell, not just on the floor, but on him, in his hair, on his arms, on his upturned face.  He brushed at himself furiously, feeling like he might vomit, and when he looked up, he was facing a trio of familiar faces.

"Mulder, don't let this happen," Scully said in a clear voice.

"Fox, it's happening again." Walter held a hand out to him.

"Please help me, Agent Mulder.Help me...Please...Please... Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-" Kimberly's voice rose higher and higher until she was reduced to a mindless shriek that made Mulder clap his hands over his ears to drown it out.

Three shotgun blasts in quick succession made him cry out in terror, and the three people in front of him disappeared with a flash of light. The smell of smoke was heavier, and for a moment Mulder thought the room might be on fire.  He forced himself up onto his knees, then to his feet, where he swayed drunkenly, trying to determine if he would be able to get out of this place.  Smoke was filling the room, and from it's swirling grey depths, Alex Krycek stepped forward.

"You!"

"It's always me, Mulder.  Always was, always will be.  You know that. There's no aliens, no conspiracy, no patsies here. It's me, just another part of the machinery that makes this country great." 

Mulder didn't even notice that Alex was holding the shotgun by the barrel until it was swooping down on him and the stock connected with the side of his head, driving him back to his knees and making him see stars.

"Just taking care of my business, Mulder.  And yours."

And he hit him again.

Consciousness held onto by the thinnest of threads, Mulder was dimly aware of blood trickling down the side of his face, and he thought one more blow might just kill him.

"Everybody knows what you are, Mulder. But not everybody cares."

Mulder cringed and put his hands up, trying to protect himself as Krycek brought the gun up for one last time…

***

"Mulder? Mulder it's me, Scully.  Wake up."  Scully touched her partner briefly and carefully on the arm, mindful of his re-occurring nightmares and the shock with which he awoke from them.  This time was no exception, as his eyes suddenly opened wide, and she backed away to avoid being hit by him as his hands came up in a defensive posture.

"Hey, it's okay, Mulder, it was just a dream."

"Oh! Oh, god! Scully.  Oh, hell." He scrubbed his hands across his face, closed his eyes for a moment, then suddenly jumped up and said. "Walter! Is he-I have to-"

Scully steadied him with a look, then touched him again gently, knowing he was still half-dreaming, and trying to ease him carefully into the here and now.

"There's no change, Mulder.  You haven't been asleep long. Good thing you picked someplace close to crash-it's a big hospital, you know."  She offered him a small smile, but he wasn't ready to be soothed.

"I need to talk to her, Scully." He said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I really do.  I think-" He put a hand to his head then pulled it away quickly. "I think I know where to start."

"Mulder-"

"I have to do this, Scully.  I need you to trust me."

"You know I do, Mulder, but it's like I said, you're too close-"

"No, I'm not close enough.  Not yet. But I think I know how to get there."  He took two steps away from her, towards the door, then turned and gave her a look of combined determination and helplessness.

"Are you coming with me?"

"Of course."

Scully took Mulder's proffered hand, and together they left the waiting room.