By Michele (starshine24mc@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC17
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: M/Sk
Date: January 19, 2002
Beta: none
Spoilers: War of the Coprophages, Folie a Deux, Kitsunegari, who knows what else…
Boring but necessary disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I’m just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!
Summary:  Can you believe I'm back here? This chapter is for Lyrical Soul and the Dragon that both requested more, and for a certain smooth talking psychologist who shall remain nameless-turnabout is fair play, honey!

***
Grover's Mill
midnight

Skinner had a moment of concern for Scully. The car had barely come to a stop and she was already leaping out the door.  A moment was all the time he could spare her, though, as he shut off the car’s engine and rushed after her.

Detective Josan was standing on the side of the road, some distance from where they had found Mulder’s car, and as soon as the two of them reached him, he first pointed, then led them into the thick woods to the side of the car.

“We just found it,” he tossed over his shoulder at them. “Whether it’s your Agent Mulder or not, we can’t be sure—“

“Oh, god…” Skinner murmured. Scully reached back without looking and clasped his hand, and Detective Josan hastened to allay their fears, or multiply them, depending on how they looked at it.

“No body, if that’s what you’re thinkin’, but…well, here we are.” With that cryptic pronouncement, he stepped forward with a last shove at some errant branches. Skinner could just make out the disturbing swath of yellow police tape marking off a section of the woods.  Two more officers were standing nearby talking quietly, one in traditional
blues, the other in khakis and a field jacket.

The second officer moved forward at their approach, intercepting them slickly as they came near the cordoned off area.  He stuck out a hand, and said:

“Jackson McCormick—Forestry.” He smiled tightly and gave Skinner a politicians double-pump handshake, then turned to Scully and did the same, but added a little leer and “Or just Jackson, if you like.”

He kept his focus on Scully as he continued; “The local boys always call me out whenever someone wanders off the beaten path. Guess they figure I’m the expert—who am I to disabuse them?”

“That’s nice,” Scully, murmured, clearly meaning, “Who gives a fuck?”

“What have you found?” Skinner demanded impatiently, stepping towards the barrier.

“Whoa, big guy!” McCormick held out a hand, placing himself between Skinner and the area before the tape could be breached. Skinner glowered dangerously and silently demanded more information.

“We’ve got something here, definitely. Might be your boy, then again, might not. But if you go tramplin’ in there like some Pamplona bull, we’re gonna have a whole lot of nothing.”

“Sir,” Scully’s voice was quiet tonic to his frayed nerves, and he backed away from the terrible urge to pull the ranger’s lungs out through his nose. With a last dark glance at the man, and a grateful nod to Scully, he drew back, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets.

Scully gave McCormick her best dry clinical look, and he lifted the police tape for her, watched as she carefully slipped past him, then turned a look on Skinner as if to say, ‘see, that’s how it’s done.’

Skinner ignored him in favor of studying the tips of his shoes.

“Sir!” Same word, but not soothing at all as he was addressed in a harsh whisper that hissed through the brush like a snake. “Could you come over here?”

His throat was suddenly blocking the passage of air to his lungs, and Skinner stepped forward on legs made of blocks of wood.  He didn’t notice Josan lifting the tape for him, or McCormick glaring balefully at him, like a cantankerous housewife with a freshly waxed floor. He could only fixate on Scully’s slim back, seeing her down on one knee in front of a flat space on the forest floor.  The weeds, saplings and wild grasses were crushed in a rough oval, and Scully knelt in the center of it.  Skinner tried to focus on the scene, to look at it through the eyes that had brought him commendations in the field and finally earned him that fourth floor office, but at the first site of blood, which he noted was splashed and dripped on much of the plant life, something sick with worry dragged his gaze back to Scully and held it there.

As he hunkered down next to her and stilled the trembling that suddenly wanted to turn his large body’s smooth movements into something like a seizure, he noticed that she was holding something in one small latex-gloved hand.

“Wha--?” The word stuck. He cleared his throat, swallowed his heart and tried again. “What is it?”

“Sir?” she was giving him a frown that was more confusion than tears, though not by much, and holding out an evidence glove.  He took it as if from a distance and pulled it on, winced at the snap it made and thought he might throw up when she gingerly placed the small blue box in his protected hand.

“Aw, fuck…” Barely audible.  A small drop of blood on the top of the box, a second larger smear on the side. But he didn’t have to open the box to know it was Mulder’s blood, didn’t have to reveal the contents to the world when his heart already knew what was in there.  He’d bought the ring himself, after all. The simple gold ring; the plain gold band with the engraved inner wall, so reminiscent of his own first wedding ring.

He remembered the salesgirl asking him if he wanted his gift boxed, and nodding without much thought, his mind still on the engraving. He had wondered what Mulder was going to think when he saw the words etched into that band.

Even now, at this terrible moment, he thought of those words, and wondered if they had been enough, or too much. He wondered if Mulder had understood what lay in those two simple words: Love, Forever…

*Forever, Walter? Are you drunk?

*Not likely. Are you?

*Not any more. Christ, Walter, this is a hell of a thing to spring on a guy.

*I didn’t come by this decision lightly, Mulder. I hope you know that.

*Have you ever noticed that there are no plants in my apartment?

*Excuse me?

*None, zip, nada. Not a spider plant, no wandering Jews, no African violets. Not even a Boston fern

*And…?

*Oh, not for lack of trying. Scully’s a great one for bringing over some plant or another—says it’s good for the air, or some damn thing. It’s like lambs to the slaughter. I can’t tell you the number of green leafy things I’ve managed to kill over the years.

*Your point?

*Walter, listen to what I’m saying. If I can’t sustain a viable long-term relationship with a houseplant, then what chance do we have?

*I’m willing to take that chance, Mulder. But if you’re not—if you’re not ready for this, then just say so.

*That’s not what I’m saying, Walter. I’m just—I mean—

*What?

*Walter…

*Fox, tell me—

*Walter, what if I can’t keep you alive?

“—alive.”

“What?” Skinner turned on the ranger with a growl, one that Scully immediately recognized for the naked anguish that it was. She realized that all the men were staring at her superior, and the situation had to be nipped in the bud, before the wrong conclusions could be drawn, before there was any more danger to Mulder, or to anyone. She jumped to her feet and interposed herself between the two large men, facing her boss.

“He’s right, sir. This is a good indication that Mulder is still alive. And we will find him.” She squeezed his arm briefly, then turned on McCormick and the other cop.

“Let’s get some more men in here, double time,” she snapped. “We’ve got a place to start here, but the trail’s going to go cold if we don’t get on it right now.” The men were still staring at Skinner, who was staring down at the blood spattered jewelry box and muttering something to himself.

“Am I talking to myself here?” Scully demanded.

A mumbled apology from the one cop greeted her words, along with some darker muttering from McCormick, and then they faded back into the woods, leaving Josan to bring Skinner and Scully out.

“Um, Agent, sir, I don’t know if you saw this, but there appears to be drag marks here. Looks like whoever stopped here was pulled this way.” Josan pointed to two deep furrows in the ground leading away from the space. Scully noted them with a nod, but Skinner was still focused on the item in his hand.

“Do you have an evidence bag, Agent Scully,” Skinner’s voice was thick with grief, and Scully pressed her hand to his arm again.

“I think your pocket will do, sir,” she replied quietly. He gave her a startled look, then shot a glance over at Detective Josan, who had suddenly discovered the answer to life the universe and everything in the sky overhead, and was carefully not looking at them.

“This is evidence, Agent,” Skinner said.

Josan began to whistle.

“Yes, sir, it is evidence. But not of any crime.” Scully tried on a careful understanding smile, and Skinner admired it, admired her, with a small worn grin of his own. He gently placed the jewelry box into the pocket of his coat, looked down at the tracks in the dirt, and then addressed Josan.

“What’s out there?” he asked, pointing in the direction the marks had made.

“More forest. Used to be a lake at one point, but it’s dried up now. Some abandoned cabins. Basically a whole lotta nothin’.”

“Let’s get some men to concentrate on the area west of here,” Scully said. When no one moved, she added “Daylight’s wasting, sirs; let’s go.” She started to push her way out of the brush when Skinner called her name. She stopped, turned.

“Dana, thank you,” he said simply.

“Now you both owe me,” she teased, and he followed her out of the woods.

*Now what the hell is going on here? How long have I been out of it? I don’t remember. I feel like hell. The last thing I saw was…was—oh, god, what did she do to me? I ache, oh man this is bad. I still can’t move. Got me trussed up here like a goddamned Christmas goose…God, it hurts! I think she rammed bamboo splints up my—why would she—okay, come on, here, Mulder, think. Don’t panic; just try to figure out---unh! Well, that didn’t work. Just made my balls ache. I wonder if the heat is a byproduct of the atmosphere or…am I delusional? I mean more delusional than usual. Am I sick? I asked Scully that once. That was right around the time that Walter thought I was nuts too.  Now I think…dammit, can’t think…hurts to think…
Ah! The light—too damned bright! I can’t see—who’s there? Please, what are you doing to me? No, please, don’t! What do you want from me? Please, oh please, just stop! I can’t-I need-I do—