Chapter 18: General Taylor

“What is this all about, Marita?” Mulder asked, his tone soft, almost thoughtful. As he spoke, he moved fractionally closer to Skinner. “This isn’t going to change anything. You know it, and I know it. This is no answer. Why—“

The flat crack of the gunshot made him jump as the bullet kicked up mud in front of him. It wasn’t a miss; it was a very deliberate warning.

“That’s far enough, Mister Mulder.” Her voice was even and cold but Mulder could hear the anger bubbling close to the surface of her words, threatening to crack the icy façade.

“Listen, Miss Covarrubias,” Skinner said, “I think I know—“

“Shut up!” Marita screamed out the words, making both men flinch. “You think you know? You know nothing! Killer! Murderer!” She did something with her left hand and Skinner clutched his head with a pained yelp.

“Walter!” Mulder stepped forward again and another shot rang out; this time Mulder was sure he felt the bullet nearly part his hair.

“Mister Skinner is not the only one here that can shoot someone between the eyes,” she warned. “And while it might be amusing to have him watch you die instead of the other way around, that would defeat the purpose of this little exercise.”

“You’re insane!” Mulder spat out, eyes blazing with the fury he was barely containing, and he knew that Marita wasn’t the only one approaching a total breakdown here.

“Fox,” Skinner hissed under his breath, massaging his throbbing temples and praying that his lover wouldn’t do something rash.

“Insane? That’s rich, coming from a man who stood idle while another man was executed right before his eyes.” Marita moved closer to them, still brandishing both her weapons. “Tell me, Mister Mulder, did you enjoy being jury and judge to your lover’s executioner?” Then, harsher: “Did you get off on it?”

“What?”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” A smile devoid of any warmth crossed her face, and Skinner yelled and clutched at his left arm. Though rain and encroaching darkness were conspiring to steal his vision, Mulder couldn’t miss the sudden gout of blood that shot from Skinner’s arm and then seeped through his fingers as he clapped a hand over the wound.

“No!” Mulder started towards Skinner again.

“Fox, no!” Skinner groaned, and “Stop!” Marita yelled.

Mulder froze in mid-step, torn more by Skinner’s concern than Marita’s threat.

“How is it, Mister Mulder?” Marita sneered. “Any familiar feelings?”

“Krycek was rabid,” Mulder snarled back at her. “He had to be put down and you know it.”

“Who are you to decide that?” Marita demanded. Her focus never left Mulder, while his own gaze kept moving frantically between enemy and lover. “Who gave you the right?”

Suddenly she shook her head. “No. No! No more talking!” She moved closer still and the gun was clearer and steady and very aimed at Mulder’s head.

“Fox,” Skinner’s jaw was clenched so tight the words could barely slip out. “Get out of here. I’ll cover you.”

“The hell!” Mulder retorted indignantly, stunned at the very notion of abandoning Skinner, and feeling the additional horror of knowing that for just one moment he wanted nothing more than to run and keep right on running.

“No one’s going anywhere,” Marita told them. “You never gave my Alex a chance; what makes you think you’ll get anything more from me?” She paused a moment, a blank look creeping into her face, as though she had forgotten where she was; it didn’t last.

“Now, where were we?” she said. “Ah, yes. Watching. And how watching made you feel, Mister Mulder. Remembering now? First was the shot to the arm, disabling an already disabled man. Making him vulnerable—“

“Vulnerable, my ass!” Mulder shouted. Skinner could see his lover growing more and more frantic, and he shuffled forward a step, still holding his arm and trying to ignore the pain there. It felt as if a troop of fire ants was marching from his temples through his body and tearing their way out through his bicep. He took another cautious step and Marita made an angry hissing noise and her hand moved again.

Skinner forgot all about the pain in his arm as fresh agony erupted in his leg, just above the knee, and he fell to the ground with a hoarse shout.

“No! Damn you!” Mulder couldn’t stop this time; he ignored Marita and all threats of imminent death and fell to the ground beside Skinner. Lightning flashed and Mulder didn’t notice the melodramatic coincidence of it as the sudden illumination made the blood stand out stark and black and wet; too much blood. Mulder pulled Skinner into his arms.

Marita approached them, grinning that not-happy-at-all grin. She circled them warily, but Skinner was too far into the pain to notice her and Mulder was too terrified for his lover to pay any heed.

“Now, this is cozy,” she fairly purred out the words. “I don’t seem to recall you getting all hugs and kisses with my Alex while the life poured out of him.”

“Walter? Walter! Can you hear me?” Mulder had no response for her; nothing registered beyond the limp groaning weight of his lover. “Come on, Walter, please…”

“I begged too, you know, “ Marita was talking more to herself than to Mulder. “I saw it all, you see. Was going to meet him; we were finally going to be out of it. Be gone, away from you, your drama, your mad, doomed quest. So I was there when Alex—when he—when…” Rain mingled with the tears falling from her eyes.

Without warning, she lashed out with her foot, leaving a muddy, bloody, size-seven heel mark above Mulder’s left eye as she kicked him in the head, knocking him onto his back.

His dying lover tumbled out of his arms.

“Time to end this,” Marita spat out the words and kicked Mulder again as he groggily crawled towards Skinner.

“Fox…” Skinner tried to move as well, with no success. The circuits in his brain seemed to have all been instantaneously rewired, and nothing was responding the way it should. “Fox…” His legs wouldn’t move, his arms felt like anvils had been tied to them, and his vision was blurred and red. “Fox, no…”

“Famous last words, killer!” Marita pressed a button on the palm pilot and aimed it at the back of Skinner’s head.

“Walter?”

Their eyes met, and suddenly Mulder was covered in blood and some black viscous fluid that burned his eyes and he screamed and Skinner fell face first into the mud.

“Freeze!” John Doggett yelled, brandishing a pistol and finding the kill zone on Marita’s chest with deadly precision.

“You’re too late!” Marita exclaimed triumphantly. “It’s too late for the killer, and too late for his accomplice!” She put her gun to Mulder’s head.

Scully heard the heavy bark of gunfire and saw Mulder fall over as she rushed up to where Doggett was standing. She screamed and sprinted towards him, medical kit banging her hip as she ran.

“Scully?” Weak voice from Mulder as he lay on his back looking up at the dark sky. Rain fell in his eyes and he didn’t notice. Scully quickly knelt beside him, her eyes scanning the length of his body, from legs crumpled awkwardly under him to arms askew in the wet grass. There was blood spray on his shirt and pants, and more blood formed a mask on his face. But the only wound she could see was the deep cut, almost a puncture that creased his brow. It was a scalp wound, and bleeding badly, but in an instant Scully could see that it wasn’t life threatening.

“I’m here, Mulder.” Even as she was tugging on Mulder’s arm to help him sit up, she looked around and took in the entire scene. Skinner lay just a few feet away, face down, so still that Scully feared the worst. And just to the side of him, Marita Covarrubias sat on the ground, both weapons still in her hands, but her focus was on the gaping hole in both rain slicker and sweater, and the bright red blood that was pumping through that ragged tear in her body. The gun and the palm pilot fell to the ground as she put her hands over her chest. It was a futile gesture, and she seemed to recognize that. Her head came up, and there was blood on her chin. Her eyes locked with Scully’s, and she whispered, “Alex…” then fell over on her side.

Doggett approached the bloody tableau, re-holstering his gun, and already regretting the accuracy of his shot even while part of him rejoiced in that same deadly targeting ability. He ignored the compliment from that dark part of him and knew that Marita was finished. She wasn’t going to be threatening his friends anymore, and he felt content that he had done right. Then he saw Skinner’s unmoving body.

“Skinner?” He rushed towards the man at the same time that Mulder was reacting to his realization that he was alive, and Skinner was—was—

“NO!” He shoved Scully aside and she went down on her ass with a yelp as her feet slid out from under her. Crab-like, half blind and crying he scrabbled across the grass on hands and knees, reaching Skinner just as Doggett was running to the same location. The collision was inevitable, and Doggett flailed his arms wildly as he tripped over Mulder. Only something akin to a quick possession by the ghost of some dearly departed tightrope walker kept Doggett on his feet, though he lurched badly, slipped, caught himself, and stumbled backwards, nearly falling on top of the woman he had just killed.

His foot came down on the palm pilot so hard the casing cracked and the wires shot out tiny angry sparks at the sudden introduction of rain and mud to their environment.

“Mulder! Mulder, let me help you.”

Mulder wasn’t hearing Scully. He had gathered Skinner up in his arms, and was trying to wipe away the blood and the mud from his lover’s face. His sobbing took on a keening, broken note as he cried out Skinner’s name again and again, and pressed kisses to the man’s brow, getting no response but blood on his lips. When Scully approached him, he turned on her with a snarl and clutched Skinner’s body tighter, great sobs wracking his body, stealing the words from him until all that was left was “nononononononononono…”

“Hello? Hello, can you hear me?” Scully had backed away and was yelling into her cell phone, trying desperately to get aid to them.

Doggett looked at the death around him and kicked the remains of the palm pilot viciously, scattering the pieces into the tall grass. “Shit…”

End 18/19