By Michele (starshine24mc@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC17
Fandom: X-Files
Pairing: M/Sk
Date: February 12, 2002
Beta: none
Spoilers: War of the Coprophages, Paper Clip, various and sundry...
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: Well, this is either the happy bit, or he's dead...Dedicated to Ms Bunny S'Boi and Miss Olukma Dyksinja...  :)

***

A matched pair of paramedics crashed through the rough brush, ignoring the snags and stabs the surrounding forest was giving them and their equipment. Above the sound of their movements, the radios attached to their hips crackled and hissed and chattered at one another:

“…shots fired, two, or possibly three persons down…according to this you’re going to need to take in the stretchers…contact on the scene is one Walter Skinner…247, are you copying?”

The first man thumbed a switch on the radio and yelled “Got it!” without slowing his pace a fraction, or moving the radio.

Moments later they were bursting into a clearing, where Walter Skinner was standing, gun aimed at them. He realized their intent immediately, lowered his weapon, and waved them on, towards the small cabin behind him.

“Hurry!” he shouted, as if they were doing anything else. But, to his mind, they seemed to be moving impossibly slow, and it was all he could do to wait for them to cross the clearing. He shifted his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet, and, as soon as they were close enough, he nearly shoved them into the small dwelling. One of the collapsed stretchers got hung up in the doorway, and Skinner cursed it, then turned to the paramedics, saying, “Go, I’ll get this!” His tone, authoritarian yet somehow tinged with panic, didn’t allow for argument. Still toting one stretcher and their heavy metal kits, they moved into the house.

They paused in the living room, noting it was a sparsely furnished room and that nothing looked amiss.

“Not here—the other room,” Walter exclaimed behind them, still struggling with the stretcher. “Down the hall—go, dammit!” The force of his words seemed to add to his efforts, and the stretcher came into the cabin with a crash as it fell to the floor. The paramedics were already running down the short hallway, and Skinner dragged the stretcher behind them, catching up with them as they entered the room.

‘The lab’, thought Skinner. He couldn’t bring himself to consider it a bedroom.

The room was a masterpiece of chaos and disorder. Broken glass from the one large window glittered dangerously on the floor, beautifully inviting cuts. A mirror hung in jagged shards on one wall, adding it’s own sharp edges to the route. An overwide hospital bed stood in the center of the room, stripped to just a coversheet, and it’s white surface was mottled with red. The stench of gunsmoke and blood competed with the tang of disinfectant and industrial laundry soap, and someone was groaning quietly.

Skinner saw none of this, smelled none of it, heard nothing. He only had eyes for one person in the room, and he was fairly dancing with impatience as the paramedics took in the scene, and moved towards the victims.

The little girl was first, and she was so obviously dead that neither of the paramedics thought to check for a pulse. Unable to do anything for her, the first man moved to cover her with a blanket that they had brought with them, while the second man confirmed the casualty on the radio.  Clipping the radio back to his belt, he joined his partner at the second body.

A large man in khakis stained with blood gazed sightlessly up at the two men. One checked for a pulse, shrugged and noted the time on his watch, and the second one brushed the man’s eyes closed. A second blanket was draped over the dead man.

Skinner watched them performing their duties, barely able to restrain himself. He understood their need to be thorough and methodical, but at the same time he thought he could suggest a course of action just as thorough and methodical that involved a lot less checking of dead people, and a lot more checking of live ones.

The groaning grew fainter, and Skinner jumped when Scully called out his name. He nearly knocked over one of the paramedics as he rushed to her side.

She was kneeling on the floor, and looked up at him as he approached. He could see blood in her hair and on her forehead, where McCormick’s first wild shot had grazed her. A raised red knot on her cheek was going to bruise spectacularly, he could tell, and she held one arm close to her chest, the wrist turned awkwardly. Another bruise was already forming there, and the t-shirt was torn even more at the shoulder, as her arm had jerked back dramatically when McCormick had kicked the gun from her hand.

Much of the damage in the room had been the result of both Skinner and Scully trying to take out the man without posing any more danger to Mulder. The only shot McCormick had managed was the one that had blown the mirror apart, and in the process, nearly taken off the top of Scully’s head. After that he’d settled for pistol-whipping her across the face when she’d tried to grapple with him, tried to get between him and Mulder.

For one grim moment, Skinner wished McCormick hadn’t given up his life with just a simple shoulder take down shot, and, when he’d aimed his gun at Mulder, the kill shot through the chest. This fresh look at Scully’s injuries made him want to shoot the man all over again. Never mind that his lover…

Mulder lay on his back, his face nearly as white as the sheet which was covering him from neck to feet. Once the smoke had cleared, and the medics were on their way, Scully had pulled a sheet from the bed, covering Mulder’s nakedness, while Skinner gently untied his lover’s wrists, wincing at the red welts the restraints had left. He had tried calling his name, softly at first, then louder, but the man remained unconscious. Scully had touched his brow briefly, then his groin, and then pulled the sheet over him with a sigh. Immediately, deadly blood-red flowers had bloomed on the sheet above his groin, and a groan had issued from between too pale lips.

The groaning had continued throughout the wait, but to Skinner, pained as the sound was, it was still a reason to hope. For one brief horrified moment he’d been absolutely sure that Mulder was dead, and he thought his heart might actually burst out of his chest, such was the pain there.

“Scully, is he--?” he couldn’t finish the thought.

“He’s unconscious, and needs both blood and oxygen. What the hell are those two playing at?”

He almost recoiled at the vehemence in her tone, then moved closer, a little ashamed that he had not taken her feelings into account, so wrapped up in his own fears that he had almost forgotten how important Mulder was to her, too…

*You’re important to her, Mulder.

*I know that, Walter, but she pulled a gun on you!

*It was understandable. She thought I had something to do with your death. That I was trying to kill her.

*How could she think that?

*How could she not. It’s not like we’d told her about us…and let’s face it, I haven’t always been your ally…

*you’ve always supported our work, in your own way, Walter.

*I could have done more. I’m going to do more.

*I’ve always known where you stand. Remember, you told me…that line…I won’t ask for more than you can give me…us…the work.

*You deserve my loyalty, Mulder. Scully does, too. I have to believe in you. I do believe.

*Wow, where’s a tape recorder when you need one? This moment should be recorded for posterity.

*Now, don’t get too excited there, Mulder. Just because I’m willing to support you and Scully in your work on the X-Files, don’t expect me to sign off on your travel requests every time you hear about some housewife seeing Riticulans in her refridgerator…

*Aw, and I was just about to ask!

*You know, for that smile, I’d just about offer to examine one of those fridges for you myself.

*That’d be great. Scully says she never can see the little footprints in the butter. I think she’s too skeptical sometimes.

*Sometimes Scully knows exactly where that line of ours is, hon. You’re lucky to have her.

*I know. We should take her out, I think. Soon. You know…

*You’re right. It’s your call, of course, but I’d like to be there to help…

“…help.”

Skinner jumped at the sound of Scully’s voice. The paramedics had finally gotten around to Mulder and Scully, and the latter was brushing off the attentions of them in order to focus their life saving efforts on Mulder. She had turned to Skinner and held out her hand.

Carefully, mindful of her injuries, Skinner helped her to her feet, just as two more medics came into the room. Orders and requests snapped back and forth between the four of them, while Skinner supported Scully with one arm around her slim waist.

Finally, the police arrived on the scene. Immediately the bedlam in the room doubled, then tripled. Skinner knew he should take control of the situation, find the man in charge and start issuing a formal statement. He knew he should get Scully some medical attention, even if she didn’t think she needed it. He knew that the two of them were the key witnesses to everything, and that there were questions that only they could answer.

Then he saw that Mulder had been loaded onto a stretcher, fitted with both an IV and an oxygen mask, and his eyes were open. And he knew exactly what he had to do.

Scully knew it too, and she disengaged herself from his hold gently, then nudged him as the paramedics wheeled Mulder past them, and Skinner caught the pained look in his lover’s hazel eyes.

“Go with him, sir. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

When he didn’t respond, she pushed him again.

“You need to be there.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, and a tired smile found it’s way onto Scully’s face as she watched him charge after Mulder.

***

I’m sorry, I will, I will, I promise, I do, I, Walter, I luh--