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The Flood
by J. Millington [email protected]
Warning: The death of a major character is integral to this story.
Thanks to betas Sandy and Tesa.
* * * *
So this is what it feels like to come out on the winning side.
The sun cut through the cloud cover, warming the streets of Wallace, Idaho. Mulder stopped for a moment on the Shoshone County Courthouse steps and soaked up the warmth. Why shouldn't the sun dry up the rain and warm this gloomy mountain town? The way he felt right now, he welcomed the sun, wanted it to bake the dark out of the world.
He watched Scully's satisfied face as she went to retrieve their car. They had come all the way out here, testified against a particularly nasty criminal, and, for once, had their opinions held in high regard by both the press and a jury of twelve honest men and women.
Life for the murderer, reprieve for a town held hostage by fear, and a rare vindication of their work. Things were definitely looking up.
He mentally calculated the time difference with D.C. while he pulled out his cell phone. Six o'clock on a Wednesday evening. Walter was probably still at work. The day just kept getting better when a gravelly voice greeted him.
"Skinner."
"Life without possibility of parole."
"Agent Mulder, I take it that the outcome of the trial was favorable."
Mulder nodded to Scully as she drove up. "'Agent Mulder'? That's an awfully formal way to address a man who knows the intimate geography of your ass. Can't speak freely right now?"
"No, Agent Mulder."
Mulder's smile broadened. "Well, you must have a meeting going on there to keep up that hard ass routine past the first greeting. And here I thought we might have just a bit of fun."
Skinner's voice kept that tightness that only meant trouble. "Is Agent Scully there with you? This meeting concerns a situation, something that's developing out there in Idaho. We need every agent that we can get."
Damn. He'd been looking forward to sleeping in his own bed after two weeks in hotels. "Sir, Agent Scully has just pulled up. This doesn't, by any chance, have something to do with the Kaniksu Killers?"
"There's been a confirmed sighting within the past hour. Just outside of Wallace in Bearscove, Idaho, so the two of you are right there at ground zero. How did you know?"
"Lucky guess." Mulder sighed. "I caught America's Most Wanted last Saturday night. According to John Walsh, these are the guys we want the most right now."
"Well Walsh did us a big favor this time. A hiker who'd seen that show saw two men fitting their description at a cabin not far outside of Bearscove. Agents from the Coeur d'Alene and Lewiston offices are on their way." As Skinner talked, Mulder caught Scully's attention and waved for her to get out of the car. "John Stelzer out of Coeur d'Alene is in charge. You can meet him at the Bearscove Deputy Sheriff's Station. As soon as possible. We want to hit them before they get wind of what's going on."
"Yes, sir. I know Stelzer." Scully met him on the steps, raised her eyebrows in silent question. "He's a good man to work with."
"And Agent Mulder. Be careful."
Mulder hung up the phone and held it out to his partner. "You want to call and cancel our plane reservations while I drive?" He deftly caught the keys as she tossed them. "You know the two men who've been killing campers in the National Forests? The ones who got a Forest Ranger last weekend?"
"Raymond Billings and his unidentified accomplice? Nicknamed the Kaniksu Killers because their first victim was found in the Kaniksu National Forest."
"Yeah, that's them." Mulder fished a map out of the glove compartment, scanning it as he spoke. "Apparently about an hour ago the FBI got a confirmed tip that they were sighted about twenty miles from here around Bearscove. The Bureau's going to move quick on this and since we just happened to be in the area, we're joining the posse."
His partner gave him a grim smile. "Good. Maybe we can stop them cold."
Mulder wholeheartedly agreed. Vicious and aggressive, they had robbed and murdered campers and tourists across Washington, Idaho, and Montana. They were particularly fond of young adolescent girls and not above leaving behind dead family members to get at what they wanted. Thirteen deaths, so far. The father of one of the dead girls was still in a coma and not expected to survive.
* * * *
A steady rain beat down on Bearscove, a decaying village crammed into a tiny valley. It was wedged between a rapid, rocky river and a foreboding mountain wreathed in dark gray clouds. Only a handful of buildings flanked the highway, behind them, the hulks of old mining equipment. The mines must have played out decades ago, judging by the amount of rust that peeked out from the overgrown shrubbery. There were supposed to be five hundred people in this town. Mulder guessed that most of them must live somewhere up the narrow gravel roads the disappeared into the forest.
A half dozen cars were clustered around a small cinder block building. The structure was split in two; one half fronted by a red neon sign that simply said "Cafe," the other half was identified by the patrol cars parked in front of it and the small hand-painted sign that said "Sheriff."
Scully pulled their nondescript rental sedan next to a similar one bearing U.S. government license plates. Mulder frowned. If the suspects were in the area, he hoped they weren't keeping the town under surveillance.
The two agents dashed through the rain into the sheriff's office. They were greeted by the inviting aroma of coffee. A middle-aged woman sat at the desk, a tight smile on her face.
"You must be from the F.B.I." She stood and held out her hand. "Lorna Buchanan. Deputy Sheriff."
Mulder shook her hand. "Special Agent Fox Mulder." He stood back. "This is my partner, Dana Scully."
Deputy Buchanan turned her head and called back over her shoulder. "David, the agents from Wallace are here already."
Scully eyebrows rose. "You know who we are?"
Buchanan gave them a wry smile. "It might not have seemed like much to the two of you, but Wallace is the cultural hub around here and your investigation and the trial were big news. Everyone was grateful for what you two did. That man deserved everything he got. Maybe you can help us catch these Kaniksu animals."
"We're just here as back up this time." Mulder nodded at his partner. "Agent Scully and I are here to give Agent Stelzer a hand."
"And don't you forget it." A big-shouldered man with a broad smile came out of the back room. His suit and tie contrasted sharply with uniformed man beside him. "Agent Mulder, it's been a while, but I'm glad to have you here. This must be Agent Scully."
Scully shook his hand. "Agent Stelzer?"
He nodded. "And this is Sheriff David McNally."
The wiry man shook hands with each of them.
The rest of the team was assembling in the Cafe. Agents from Coeur d'Alene were already there, along with state police and sheriff's officers. Two deputies were keeping the suspects under surveillance. They were holed up in an abandoned cabin in a remote area, adjacent to the nearby National Forest. This matched what they knew of the Kaniksu Killers. The men were suspected of establishing a base of operations in a recreation area and striking out from there several times before moving on. The murders hadn't started in Bearscove yet. Maybe they never would.
Additional local officials were already heading to the site where the strike teams would be deployed. They needed to move fast. Everyone would assemble a mile from the cabin and walk in from there. Deputy Buchanan would stay behind and give the Lewiston agents directions when they arrived.
* * * *
There was barely enough room for the assorted SUV's and cars to park off the shoulder of the gravel road. Mulder stood under the shelter of a dripping pine tree and watched his colleagues trudge off through the rainy woods.
"Damn it." The sound of empty static beside him stopped as Scully switched off the two-way radio. "There's still no answer." Without waiting for comment, she walked to the car, opened the passenger door, and began rummaging through the glove compartment.
Mulder pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
"Skinner." The voice on the other end growled.
"Oh, grumpy and sleepy, this time. Two of my favorite dwarves rolled into one."
"Sorry, Mulder. I guess I dozed off waiting for you to call."
"Oh, and last night you said that you couldn't sleep without me there," Mulder purred.
Skinner laughed. "I'm an old man, Mulder. You better let me rest up so I'll be ready for you when you get back."
"Well then you should be good and ready by the time we get back."
"That doesn't sound good. How's it going?"
"I'm not sure at this point. Local sheriff had a couple of men watching the cabin where the suspects are hiding. But they didn't check in on time. That was about half an hour ago. There's still no answer from them on the radio. Stelzer decided not to risk waiting any longer for the team from Lewiston. I guess Scully and I are maintaining Command Base. Mainly waiting for the other guys to show up."
"I know it's selfish, but I'm glad you aren't on the front lines for once."
Mulder shook the water from his face. "Yeah, well, we didn't exactly pack for a night hike in the woodland downpour either. Next time I come out west I'm packing flannel shirts and hiking boots."
"Now that's a thought. Maybe I'll get you a plaid shirt and a big axe so we can play lumberjack."
"I've already got the big axe," Mulder laughed. "When I get home, I'll let you see it if you're good." Scully climbed out of the car and spread the laminated map across the hood. "Hey, I've got to go. We need to start coordinating the assault team."
"Just be careful."
"No problem. Must be karma for all the times I've plunged ahead without waiting for backup. We're backup this time, strictly behind the scenes."
As Mulder tucked the phone into his pocket he heard a sharp crack. Turning, he saw Scully's limp form slide off of the hood of the car onto the ground. Her head left a thick red trail in its wake.
"No!" Mulder screamed as he jumped across the clearing, pulling out his gun. Another crack and something hit him hard and sent him flying to the ground. He lay there and listened as another shot rang out. A miss this time, but it gave him a better idea of where the shooter was hiding. He rolled over and, aiming his shots into the underbrush, was rewarded with a grunt and a crashing sound.
Dragging his body across the clearing he reached out for his partner. She lay face down in the mud. He turned her over as gently as he could and brushed the matted hair away from her face. Dead eyes stared back at him, a gaping hole marred the side of her head. He lay there stunned. Too stunned to move. Too stunned to notice the sound of footsteps entering the clearing.
Her eyes had him pinned. Clear, blue, and perfect. He was unable to turn away until the pain exploded once again and black unconsciousness released him.
* * * *
Skinner clicked the button and sent the last message on its way. His inbox was cleared and all his meetings had been rescheduled. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to think past the stress headache that had gripped him all day. He needed room to lose the facade. He needed time to grieve.
The meeting with the Director had gone well enough, he supposed. He'd been offered congratulations on closing a high-profile case. As if he had had anything to do with that, other than assigning the agents to the team, a task that he regretted more than he could ever let on.
The funeral had been horrific. He'd sat beside Margaret Scully during the graveside services, each one of them playing a role. She had been the strong, but grieving, mother, offered condolences by all. Skinner had been strong and sympathetic supervisor, offering a few brief words about the courage of fallen warrior, how she had given her life in the noble pursuit of justice. No one had seen the cracks in his soul. No one knew that his heart was still in Idaho.
As Mulder's superior he was able to contact the hospital for details on his agent's condition. But the information they gave him wasn't enough. He knew that the first bullet had entered Mulder's right side from the front, careened off of the ribs and done no damage to any of the internal organs. The second had been worse. Fired from close range, it had smashed through from the back, taking a bite out of the liver, diaphragm, and one lung before leaving a huge exit wound on his abdomen. He knew that Mulder had been in critical condition for almost two weeks, but now was finally stable and had been upgraded to fair condition and moved from the ICU. But he needed to know more.
As a high-ranking officer in the nation's top law enforcement agency, he really should have been more concerned about the methods Mulder three friends employed to keep him informed on his lover's condition. Skinner didn't know if they had figured it out on their own or if Mulder had told them about the relationship, it didn't really matter at this point. They'd arrived on his doorstep with an offer to help and he'd leapt at the chance.
Patient confidentiality measures at the hospital were no problem for the three. Although the handwritten notes on the chart were out of their reach, they gleaned a wealth of useful information. Test results and procedures were all ordered electronically. Interpreting them was hard, but the internet held a wealth of diagnostic tools. Orders from the pharmacy were helpful, too. Increases or changes in antibiotics told them that infection was on the rise. Currently, the sedatives that let Mulder rest while his body healed had been decreased.
The official notification that he'd been given was that Mulder was doing as well as could be expected, but not yet able to speak to law enforcement officials or to give a statement about what had happened. The clandestine monitoring told him that his lover had probably been unconscious or delirious for days. Now it looked like he was going to wake up and Skinner was determined to be there when it happened.
They had been so careful to keep their relationship a secret. But none of that mattered, now.
His bag was packed; he could leave straight for the airport from work.
* * * *
He flatly refused to fidget. Instead, Skinner sat perfectly still and let his eyes wander around the doctor's office. Lush carpet, fine art prints, furniture crafted from fine hardwoods. Everything about the room said: This man is successful. He does his job well. Everything carefully planned to inspire confidence in those sitting where Skinner was now sitting.
When the door opened behind him, Skinner rose.
- Skinner supposed his casual dress and unexpected arrival did appear unprofessional.
"Actually, Agent Stelzer had no idea that I was coming. I stopped by Mulder's room, but he was sleeping. The nurse said that he had been awake earlier."
"Yes. As you know, he's had a bit of a rough time. Since his injury, there have been a number of complications. But he's stable now."
"Stable enough to fly back home? I've been in contact with an air ambulance company and I just need to finalize the arrangements."
"Barring any unforeseen complications, he should be ready in a few days. There is one thing that I need to do first. While the pain and fever have kept him somewhat delirious, we have also been keeping him sedated to allow his body time to rest and heal. It has also put off dealing with his partner's death until today. I would have liked to have someone here when I break the news, but I understand that he has no remaining family."
"That's why I'm here. I didn't want him to have to deal with this on his own. There was so much to do, I was afraid I was cutting it too close."
"That's a bit surprising. Do you always take such a personal interest in the welfare of the agents under your supervision?"
Skinner leaned forward, making sure that he had the doctor's complete attention. "There is something that you need to understand. Can I trust that anything I tell you does not leave this room without my permission?"
Denny nodded.
Skinner pushed up his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose before continuing. "This isn't something I'm accustomed to talking about, so I'll just say it. Agent Mulder and I have been in a relationship for quite some time. He may not have any family left, but he has me."
Once again the doctor nodded. "Well, while I hadn't expected that, I'm glad. This isn't going to be easy for him and he'll need someone to help him it deal it."
"It may be even worse than you know. Mulder and guilt are more than well-acquainted."
"We'll just have to take it one step at a time."
* * * *
One thing that most people never understand is what a total bully pain can be. Mulder understood. The bully had such a hold on him that nothing else mattered outside of the incessant river of agony that swept over him. Other things clamored for his attention; overwhelming thirst, the fiery maelstrom of fever. But none of them were strong enough to stand up to pain.
Pain wasn't totally without mercy, though; it took advantage of his weakness and shoved him into unconsciousness.
Time had no place in Mulder's contest with the bully. When he finally was strong enough to push the pain aside and take notice of his surroundings, he had no idea what day it was. The sight of the man dozing in the chair beside his bed didn't help.
Skinner's head was tilted back against the wall, as he dozed. No suit or tie as outward manifestations of control or authority, instead the rumpled shirt was half untucked from his jeans. Totally unlike the man.
A nurse entered the room and gave Skinner a sad glance before checking on the contents of the IV bag hanging beside the bed. She turned to reposition the nasal cannula delivering his oxygen, but gave a startled "Oh" when Mulder blinked at her.
"I'm just going to check your IV site, Mr. Mulder," she whispered.
Skinner's head hit the wall with an audible crack as he jerked awake.
Mulder watched at his lover. Skinner was staring at him with such intensity, he felt as if he should say something, but speech seemed to be just a little beyond him right now. The nurse efficiently finished her business and quickly left the room, promising to let the doctor know that his patient was awake.
Skinner leaned closer, his arms draped over the bed rails. He sat there, eyes red-rimmed.
Mulder reached out his hand. "Hey."
Skinner took the hand and squeezed it. "Mulder, I was waiting for you to wake up again. I. . ." He closed his eyes and opened them again. "I'm so sorry."
About what? Before Mulder could ask the question, he remembered. He remembered the blood and the rain and Scully's cold blue eyes.
When the doctor came he found them, Mulder wrapped awkwardly in Skinner's arms, crying quietly. He cleared his throat and said, "I can come back in a minute, if you like."
Mulder pulled back, more out of habit that anything else, but Skinner was being surprisingly physical in such a public setting. He pulled a tissue from the box beside the bed and wiped Mulder's face. "That's okay, Dr. Denny."
"Fine, then," the doctor began. "I'm David Denny. I've been looking after you the past couple of weeks."
"Couple of weeks?" Mulder was stunned. That much time.
"You've been a very sick man, Mr. Mulder. But it looks like the tide has turned. Let's just get you checked out."
* * * *
* * * *
He was lucky, the doctor told him. Even though an infection and pneumonia had complicated his convalescence, he would recover. Mulder listened and nodded at what he supposed were the appropriate places, as Denny described his injuries and outlined the plan for his recovery. But he was stuck on that word lucky.
Scully was dead.
Other phrases did register from time to time. Liver damage. Loss of mobility. Sepsis. His mind kept spinning to the one that was important.
Scully was dead.
He let his guard down and Scully was dead and he had been shot twice and nearly died, but Doctor Denny said that he was lucky.
Either the doctor had said all that needed to be said or he finally noticed that he didn't have his patient's attention. He patted Mulder on the leg, saying, "I'll stop by later this afternoon," and left.
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Agent Stelzer came by to take a statement. Apparently Mulder's wild shots managed to take down one of the suspects, Raymond Billings. He'd been pronounced dead at the scene. Agents had cornered the remaining suspect in the woods and the man, knowing he was outnumbered and outgunned, had taken his own life rather than surrender. He had later been identified as Roy Billings, Raymond Billings' brother.
Mulder had listened to the recital without expression. As far as Stelzer was concerned, the case was all over but the paperwork. He kept looking in Skinner's direction from time to time and he had carefully avoided any mention of Scully until the end of the visit.
As he was getting ready to leave, his face brightened and he came to stand by the bed. "You know, America's Most Wanted did a piece on the capture of the Billings brothers that same week," Stelzer offered. "They do that when the tip comes from someone who saw their show. He called you and Agent Scully heroes. Brave and courageous, I think he said."
He looked from Mulder to Skinner. Skinner remained grimly silent. "Well," he said as he gave Mulder's shoulder a pat. "Take care of yourself. Shame about Agent Scully. I'm truly sorry for what happened."
And then he was gone, leaving Mulder and Skinner alone.
Mulder wiped his eyes with the hand that was free of IV tubing. "Brave and courageous? We just stood there and got slaughtered. I didn't even know they were there until Scully was already. . ."
The room fell silent. Mulder stared at the ceiling and Skinner stared at the floor.
Skinner startled when Mulder finally spoke. "It doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel right to go home without her."
Skinner took his hand. "She's dead, Mulder."
"I know that," he spat, pulling his hand away. I just spent the past half hour describing the incident in all its gory detail to Stelzer. It just feels wrong. Like I'm leaving her behind.' His voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't even get to go to her funeral."
* * * *
From where he was lying Mulder could see the tiny square of gray sky framed by the ambulance window. He was still amazed by Skinner's gesture.
The ambulance had arrived just after breakfast to take him to the airport for the flight back to Washington. He wasn't that excited about trading one hospital for another.
"Jesus Christ, Walter," he'd blurted out. "The flight doesn't leave for six hours." The thought of lying on a stretcher all day at the terminal waiting for the plane was definitely unappealing.
Skinner had surprised him by ignoring the other people in the room and sitting on the bed, asking quietly, "Did you mean what you said? About feeling like you were leaving her behind?"
Mulder merely nodded.
"I've arranged a side trip for you."
So here they were driving through the pouring rain, on their way to the place where he'd been gunned down. The last place he'd seen Scully. The weather had surely washed away all traces of evidence, but the sights and sounds and smells of that moment were firmly embedded in his mind.
The driver's name was Martin Wilson and the paramedic riding in the back was Mary Begay. A heavyset woman of middle years, she nevertheless moved about the vehicle with an unconscious grace and economy of motion that spoke of years of familiarity with the job.
Skinner was sitting stiffly in a jump seat pulled down in the rear. He was stone-faced, his eyes hidden behind his glasses. Mulder wondered if he'd cried at the funeral. Probably not. He wasn't an openly emotional man, always reserved in public and even slow to show his feelings when they were alone. People often believed that the rock-solid exterior Skinner's strength. Mulder knew better.
He knew he should feel guilty for clinging to that steadfastness. For not allowing his lover to grieve with him. But right now he needed that rock to keep from sinking.
Lulled by the monotonous journey, Mulder was just starting to drift off to sleep when the ambulance slowed down, eased onto the side road, and came to a halt. "This is it," Martin called, then backed the lumbering vehicle into place.
Mary reached into the front seat and retrieved a large bouquet of flowers. Skinner took them from her and turned to open the door.
"Wait." Mulder grabbed the edge of Skinner's coat and held his hand out toward the flowers.
Skinner dipped the arrangement closer, letting Mulder see them. Purple iris. He fingered a velvety petal. "Okay."
Skinner stepped out of the back, but left the door open so Mulder could see. He walked toward the edge of the clearing, head down to keep the rain off of his glasses.
Mulder concentrated on the peltering rain, the crunch of Skinner's steps on the gravel. Quiet sounds, soothing sounds. His gaze was riveted on Skinner, kneeling in the damp near a patch of blackberry brambles.
Mary watched with him, wordlessly handing him a tissue. She turned away as Mulder noisily blew his nose.
No one spoke as Skinner climbed back in. The engine rumbled to life and the ambulance slowly rolled back onto the road.
Mulder's eyes met Skinner's. "Why iris?"
"It's something my mother told me at Sharon's funeral." He gave Mulder a quiet smile. "There were a lot of flowers there, but Mom had this beautiful, simple arrangement of iris. Said that Iris was a Greek goddess, a messenger between earth and the realm of the gods. It was her job to lead the souls of dead women to the Elysian fields. I don't know how Scully would have felt about that, her religion was so important to her. But it seemed like something you might do. I just wanted you to believe that she's okay now. That it's okay for you to let go."
Mulder reached for his lover's hand and held him fast. Mary quietly settled into the jump seat in the rear.
* * * * *
For ten minutes they rode in peace, the only sounds were the steady slap of the windshield wipers and the drum of rain on the roof.
The peace was shattered by a crashing boom that cut through the silence and shook the road beneath them. Martin shouted, "Damn," as the vehicle skidded to a halt.
Both Skinner and Mary clamored to the front.
"Shit," Mary whispered.
"Yeah," Skinner added. "Good driving."
"What?" Mulder tried to sit up, but the pain in his gut forced him back down. "What is it?"
"Mud slide. Rock slide." Martin sounded shaken. "Whatever it was, it looks like half the mountain is sitting where the road used to be."
"Well we obviously can't get through here." Skinner pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What's back the other way?"
"Doesn't that end of the road loop back to hook up with the interstate just past Bearscove?" Mulder could see the map in his mind. "That's the way we came last time."
"He's right," Mary said. "We'll lose about an hour, but they'll hold the flight until we get there." She turned to fuss with her equipment, making sure that nothing had come unstowed in the sudden stop. "It'll be fine. Folks around here are used to this kind of thing. Par for the course when you live in the mountains."
* * * *
Par for the course she'd said when they turned around. Now, two hours later, Mulder was thinking about a number of other overused homilies. Like nothing is as easy as it looks. Or a short cut is the longest distance between two points. Or out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Or, simply, when it rains, it pours.
It had been raining in this part of Idaho off and on for weeks. They'd been met at the edge of town by Deputy Lorna Buchanan in the process of organizing a road block at the end of the street. The bridge between the town and the interstate had been washed away by the surging river. The few homes in town that were on the downhill side of the main highway were also in danger of being swept away.
Endangered families had evacuated to the homes of friends and relatives. The tiny motel was already full and any additional strangers in the area had to make do with the local community center. Schools in the area had consolidated several years previously leaving the handsome stone building empty. Now it served as a meeting place and center for town activities. In the back the former principal's office had been transformed into a health clinic. Twice a month a doctor came to give children their immunizations and care for the frail and elderly who found it difficult to make it to the doctor otherwise.
They'd situated Mulder in the clinic in one of the two old hospital beds. He didn't mind; at least the bed was more comfortable than the stretcher in the ambulance. And he wasn't in any particular hurry to get back to D.C. Everything was different now. Scully had been such an important part of his world for years. She'd been almost all his world until Walter.
He still had Walter, his anchor. That anchor was with Buchanan right now, offering his help if he was needed. Such a Boy Scout, one of the things that made him endearing. Skinner was out and Mary and Martin had gone to secure the ambulance and bring back the supplies that they would need. Mulder took the time to look over his quarters.
Two hospital beds with curtains to pull around for privacy. These were standard hospital items, but the decor gave hints of the rooms former life. The portrait of George Washington hanging on the wall. The gilt letters on the glass of the door spelling out "Principal." The old-fashioned slate blackboard at the back of the room. There was even a faint aroma to the room, one that hinted of chalk and old wood and books. It was actually a little comforting.
Martin's grinning face peeked through the glass door, which rattled as he pulled it open. "Hey, Mulder, I brought you something," He backed through the door, letting a slight, gray-haired woman come in behind him. When he turned around, Mulder saw he was carrying a television. "It's got a VCR built into it. I guess the reception out here sucks. Some tapes, too. Courtesy of Mrs. Mercer, here."
The woman held up her armload of tapes. "Where would you like me to put these?"
"Sorry, ma'am. Just set them on the bookcase under the TV. Mrs. Barbara Mercer, meet Agent Fox Mulder."
Mulder smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Mercer. I'm sure I'll appreciate it."
She stepped forward and held out her hand. "It's a pleasure, Agent Mulder. Please, call me Barbara."
He shook her hand. "Then it's just Mulder."
- It's just nice to know that there are people like you out there." She ran out of words, smiled shyly, and left.
"Looks like you have a fan." Martin looked back over his shoulder as he sorted through the stack of tapes.
Mulder stared at the ceiling and whispered, "We were just doing our jobs." He took a deep breath. "Hey, I hope that thing has a remote."
"Here." Martin tossed the remote control toward the bed.
"Oomph." Mulder groaned as he reached to pick it up. "Some health care worker you are."
"Hey, I've read your chart. Doctor said you were supposed to move around a bit more." He started washing his hands. "I need to check your dressings. Since we're going to be here for a while, I'm going to play nurse."
Martin helped Mulder turn so he could change the bandages on his back. When he rolled onto his back, Mulder watched as the paramedic pulled back the thick layers of gauze on his stomach. He stared, horrified, awed. That was going to be one hell of a scar.
"Okay, looking good." Martin finished taping him up, peeled off his gloves, and washed his hands once again. "No sign of infection, looks like it's healing nicely. Mary called Dr. Denny back in Coeur d'Alene to get some clarification on what we need to do. To tell you the truth, this is a little outside of our normal operations. We were just planning on hauling your sorry ass to the airport. She wants to make sure that we've got everything in the rig that you're going to need for the next couple of days. I was serious before, Dr. Denny wants you up and around a little more."
He gave Mulder a pat on the leg. "In light of your new exercise program, why don't we ditch the urinal in favor of the facilities down the hall. I'll be right outside when you decide you need to go."
"Thanks. I never intended to be any trouble."
"Like I said, no problem. In fact, it's almost a vacation. No car wrecks, heart attacks, or cantankerous old ladies."
"Hey, I can be cantankerous."
Martin laughed. "I'll bet you can. On the other hand, you may have to share us. Since this is an officially designated evacuation point we may be needed for first aid or whatever."
"And here I thought we were going steady."
* * * *
A short nap and he was ready to take that short walk. The old stone building was divided by a large hallway with three former classrooms on one side ending with the boys' and girls' bathrooms at the rear. On the other side of the hall another classroom near the front door was followed by a multipurpose room, the school kitchen, and the offices in the rear. Mulder knew what the offices were being used for, that clinic was his temporary refuge. From the smell coming from the kitchen, they were also putting that room to good use.
It was a little strange aiming toward the boy-sized urinal with the paramedic hanging at his elbow. It was also just a little weird to be walking around a school building in a hospital gown. He's have to ask Walter to find him some sweatpants or something. Something loose that he could wear low on his hips wouldn't rub the bandages too much.
* * * *
Walter returned dripping wet and cold. He glanced around the room, eying the frosted glass on the door and sighed.
"Guess I'll go down the hall and change."
"What, you think the boys' bathroom will give you more privacy than you'd get here?"
"I just wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea."
"Don't you mean the right idea?" Mulder shook his head. "We're thousands of miles from D.C. I think you should be able to let your hair down, so to speak."
"I don't know, Mulder."
"God, Walt, it's not like I'm asking you to climb into bed with me. Look, we're both from out of town, both federal agents. Friends, as far as anyone here knows. You could even take that unused bed on the other side of the room. I think people would think it was a little odd if you decided to bunk down with a bunch of strangers instead of with a friend." He patted the side of bed. "Besides, I missed you. You could at least fill me in on what's going on. If you're nice, I'll let you watch a movie."
Skinner glanced at the television. "I saw that. They've really got you set up in here."
"That's what I'm saying."
"After a warm shower, after a hot meal, I just might take you up on that." He glanced at the door before giving Mulder a quick peck on his forehead, then grabbed a change of clothes and left.
When Skinner came back he was loaded down with a tray containing bowls of soup and fragrant bread. They ate in companionable silence, watching the scratchy broadcast television of the local news.
It didn't take long for Mulder to eat all he wanted. He devoted himself to stirring the remainder of his soup around and surreptitiously watching Skinner eat. He cocked his head, taking in the new lines and creases on the other man's face.
Finally Skinner looked up from his tray. "What?"
"I was just noticing how tired you look."
"It's been a long day."
"I mean besides that. This hasn't been easy for you. Me. Scully."
"It's nothing." He grimaced and shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. It has been hard, but I'll get by. After all, I've still got you." He got up and stacked the trays. "It's worse for you. She meant so much. I hate to see you in so much pain."
"It hurts, Walt, but I'm an old hand at pain. Hell, I'm even getting to be an old hand at death. It's just that I know it's going to hurt almost more than I can imagine. But I also know it will get better. Whether I want to or not I will survive this." He moved over and made room for Skinner to sit down beside him. "But believe me on this, I do want to survive. I want to quit feeling like I'm going to fall apart at any moment. I've got no idea how I'm going to do it, but I want to get it together and go back to work and maybe catch some more bastards like the ones who. . ."
He shook his head and leaned back into the pillow, eyes closed. Felt Skinner sit down beside him. Felt an arm pull him to the side and leaned into the embrace.
They both feel asleep before popping a tape into the machine.
* * * *
Barbara Mercer strode into the community center the next morning, a woman with a mission, her arms loaded down with some of her late husband's old pajamas and a pair of slippers. The poor man shouldn't have to make his way down the halls in that unseemly hospital gown with just a draped blanket to keep the chill off and protect his modesty.
She passed the kitchen giving the ladies there a nod and hello. At the old Principal's office door she juggled her armload of clothes and just managed the door open with a minimum of noise and backed into the room. She wrestled with the pile, trying to keep the slippers from sliding to the floor, and started to smile for Agent Mulder.
The smile froze on her face. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, my." She deposited her load as quickly as possible and scurried back out of the room, her face shading to a bright crimson.
The two men nestled closely in the bed slept on.
* * * *
It seemed to Skinner that all the talking stopped when he entered the kitchen in search of coffee. Maybe Mulder's innate paranoia was rubbing off on him. Maybe all the women were just to busy to chat. He helped himself to a couple of styrofoam cups and savored the aroma as he filled them up. "Sure smells good in here."
"Breakfast won't be ready until eight or so." The woman beating a bowl of eggs replied without even looking up.
Skinner gave the room another curious look and then headed back to Mulder's temporary quarters in the clinic.
Lorna Buchanan met him in the hallway. "Walter, I think the three of us need to have a talk."
"What about?"
"Not here," she said, opening the door and motioning him through.
Mary Begay was just finishing up. "I really don't think Mulder should be mixing regular coffee with all the medications he's taking."
Skinner passed by Mulder's outstretched hand and offered the cup to the paramedic. "I didn't bring it for him. Here you go, Mary."
"Thanks."
The deputy continued to hold the door open. "If you're done here, Ms. Begay, I have some things to talk over with Agent Mulder and Mr. Skinner."
As soon as the paramedic closed the door, Buchanan flipped the lock. "I don't want either of you to get the wrong impression. I think a man or woman has a right to conduct their personal life as they see fit and it's no one else's business. But this is a small town. My small town."
Mulder looked at Skinner for clarification, but his boss frowned and shook his head.
Buchanan continued. "This part of the country isn't exactly known for tolerance. Those who have lived here for generations value God and country, hard work and family. Anything outside that raises suspicion. And the some of the newer residents harbor a deep-seated suspicion of just about everyone, the Federal government in particular."
She shook her head. "Look, this isn't easy for me. Agent Mulder, I have nothing but respect for you and your work. You've done more good for these people that they will ever know and frankly, in my opinion, what goes on between two adults is nobody's business but their own. But tensions are high already and I don't need the stress. Just keep try to be discreet until you're out of here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get this show on the road. Mr. Skinner, I'd appreciate your help. We need to get a sand bag dike in place. That river's lapping the edges of the Peterson house and we need to stop it there if we can."
* * * *
The brim of Skinner's cap jutted out from the hood of the poncho keeping the worst of the water off of his glasses but the wind keep flipping the edges of the borrowed plastic rain gear, sending little rivulets of water inside his clothes. He looked at the crowd gathered around the sheriff's station. Every able-bodied person in the town was here, determined to keep the rising water from washing away the lower edge of the town.
A half dozen or so stranded out-of-towners had lined up to help, their bright-colored Goretex parkas in sharp contrast to the well-worn work clothes of the locals. The townspeople kept to themselves, shovels ready, eager to get to work.
Skinner found himself teamed with two plain but sturdy young women, Amy and Carol. The introductions were brief. FBI executive, college student, college student. Those lives outside the town of Bearscove seemed remote compared to the reality of the brown, swirling water that threatened to sweep away the few buildings that fronted the riverbank.
They found an easy rhythm. Amy took a burlap bag from the stack and held it open. Skinner shoveled sand into it. Carol tied the top closed and stacked it, ready for pick up. No small talk or chatter, just constant, mindless work.
The sun had reached the peak of its feeble attempt to shine through the clouds when they finally ran out of bags. The women collapsed on the diminished mound of sand, eyes closed in exhaustion. Skinner leaned on the shovel, suddenly aware of just how hard they had been working. For a middle-aged desk jockey, he had kept up a blistering pace for hours. A hot shower and some Tylenol might work wonders, but they were hours away.
He tossed the shovel to the side. "I'll go see if there are any more bags."
Amy propped herself up on one elbow. "I think I heard someone say they were back behind the sheriff's station."
With a nod, Skinner trudged off. For the first time in hours his thoughts turned to Mulder. Hoping he was doing all right this morning. Hoping no one was giving him a hard time. Preoccupied with exhaustion and thoughts of his lover, he didn't hear the footsteps of the person following him. He bent down to pick up an armload of scratchy bags when a shadow fell across him. Before he could turn around his head exploded into pain.
* * * *
Mulder knew he was getting better because he was getting bored. The morning's card game with Martin Wilson had been cut short when the paramedics had been called away. A pregnant woman living a few miles out of town, up the mountain, was in labor and the doctor and hospital were on the wrong side of the washed out bridge.
The videotapes were all Hollywood blockbusters that he'd already seen or romantic comedies he never planned to see. He was supposed to be getting some exercise. Surely he could handle that on his own as long as he took it slow and easy. At least with the borrowed pajamas he could shuffle down the hall without needing one hand to hold a hospital gown closed in back. He eased himself to the edge of the bed and toed on the loaned slippers.
The community center was quiet. In the kitchen a lone woman chopped apples into slices, head bent over the cutting board. He shuffled past, down the central hallway of the former school. The rooms on one side had been combined into a large meeting room. Chairs had been stacked along one wall and neat rows of cots stood empty. Only a few had backpacks or suitcases tucked underneath. Dying towns didn't hold much appeal for tourists and it was definitely the wrong season of the year even if they did.
On the other side of the hall the rooms had been converted to other use. Rows of books lined the walls of one of them; Bearscove's tiny lending library. Short bookcases lined the wall under the tall windows, large pillows on the floor offered an inviting place for kids to curl up and read. Taller shelves lined the other three walls, entertainment and advice for the adults of the community.
Mulder scanned the middle rows of shelves, not so low that he had to stoop and not so high that he had to stretch to retrieve a book. Nonfiction occupied the shelves nearest the door. He passed by books on fishing, quilting, home appliance repair, and home schooling. He had paused at the geography and history section and was eying a volume on the Elizabethan England when the front door opened with a bang.
Shouts echoed. Buchanan's "Where's the paramedics?" rose above the others.
Mulder peered around the corner too late to see Lorna Buchanan disappear down the hall. Four men followed her carrying a man slung between them. All he could see of the victim was the soles of his mud-caked boots. They disappeared into the infirmary leaving a trail of mud on the floor punctuated by an occasional drop of bright blood.
* * * *
Talk about your vicious circle. Each time he vomited it spiked the pain in his head which fueled his nausea and made him puke that much harder. If he wasn't so busy being sick, he would have told the person stroking his back to quit. Any movement made the pain that much worse which made him sick to his stomach which made him. . . .
* * * *
"Damn it, Mulder, just get in the bed. He's not going anywhere and you're about to drop." Whose voice was that? Oh yeah, Martin, the paramedic.
Skinner felt a hand on his forehead. "Why isn't he awake yet? How do you know it's just a concussion?" Typical, Mulder, ignore good advice and ignore your own well-being.
Skinner tried opening his eyes a crack. "If you don't lower your voice I'll give you a concussion."
Mulder's face hovered above his. "How are you?'
Christ, what a stupid question. "I feel about like you look. Like crap. What the hell happened?"
"That's what we'd like to know. The girls you were working with said that you went to get more burlap bags. When you didn't come back they went to find you. You were out cold. One of them took a look at your bloody head and screamed. Practically the whole town came to see what was going on." Mulder's hand drifted to back of Skinner's head. "What was going on?"
Skinner placed his hand over Mulder's and felt the pad of bandages. "I'm not sure. I had just picked an armload of bags and then it felt like my head exploded."
Mulder's mouth twisted into a frown. "They found a shovel next to you. Traces of blood on it."
Eyes closed, Skinner tried to recall. "I had an armload of bags ready to load in the wheelbarrow. That's it. I don't remember hearing anything."
Mulder shook his head. "You've been riding a desk too long if you'd let someone sneak up from behind."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I was just tired and distracted. That river's rising too fast, I was afraid that were weren't going to keep ahead of it." He glanced at the window. The late afternoon light was dim, a faint orange glow seeping under the window shade. "How's that going, by the way?"
Mulder shrugged. "I've been a little preoccupied with the tragedy close at hand."
"Well, at least it's stopped raining," Martin supplied. "They haven't had to evacuate any more houses and the river hasn't risen any higher. But there's still runoff from further up the mountains, so it may not have crested yet. Now that you're awake and talking, I need to check you out a little more thoroughly."
Mulder sank back into his own bed and listened to the drill. Knew it by heart, having had his own hard head whacked from time to time over the years. Skinner's answers were reassuring. The big man wouldn't be feeling up to speed for a few days, but he would be fine.
Fine, that is, if he avoided getting conked on the head again, or worse. Buchanan's theory was some homophobic, antigovernment type from the surrounding area. On the face of it, her idea made some sense. This area was certainly a haven for white supremacists and other isolationist conspiracy theorists and if she advanced that particular theory she must have some particular individuals in mind.
In ordinary circumstances Mulder might have agreed. But the flood changed everything. People pulled together in crises. Feuds were set aside, quarrels forgotten under duress. Communities pulled together in extreme conditions, especially when it looked like they might be able to pull though. If failure was imminent, then it might degenerate into an every-man-for-himself situation. And when the crisis was over, then the old enmities and prejudices would bloom again full force. But the timing was off.
There was a another possibility. He and Skinner and Mary Begay and Martin Wilson weren't the only strangers in town. Let Deputy Buchanan investigate her friends and neighbors, Mulder needed to find out who else was sharing their refuge.
Buchanan felt strongly enough that they were both in danger that she had arranged a ride out for both Mulder and Skinner. The governor had promised to chopper in some food, sand bags and other relief supplies later in the evening. Buchanan wanted to put her FBI visitors on the empty helicopter as it left.
Trouble was, if they left now, Mulder wasn't sure that anyone would ever find Skinner's assailant.
* * * *
Whether she was just going along with him to keep him occupied or she really appreciated his help didn't matter. After supper Buchanan had dropped by with a list of all out-of-towners staying either in the community center or the very tiny motel just down the road.
The motel was simple, two groups of people. All but one room rented to a team of researchers from the EPA investigating the old mines and mills in the area for hazardous waste. Unlikely suspects. The other room housed John and Mary Ellen Krinke, a retired couple who had both grown up in the area and had returned to revisit the places of childhood. Also unlikely.
The community center was a little more promising. Three local families had needed evacuation from the rising river, they were now sharing in one of the former classrooms. Two of them were sharing one of the old classrooms. The other family shared a room with Larry Panarella, a truck driver for a large commercial bakery. He'd just made a delivery to the local convenience store and the tiny cafe when the bridge had washed out. Bearscove was near the beginning of his route so his truck had been mostly full of baked goods when he was stranded. At least they would have plenty of bread and danish to go around.
The remaining classroom was occupied by an interesting group of suspects. Amy Geerston and Carol Emerson, the college girls from Nebraska, had told Skinner that they were taking a semester off from school to see the country. Nothing inherently suspicious in that, but Bearscove was not exactly a prime tourist location. On the other hand, in contrast to the dusty towns on the Nebraska plains, the tiny mining town must seem almost exotic.
Bill and Anita Landro had been waylaid on their way from Boise to Missoula with the promise of new jobs. A plausible story, their rusty 1980's Ford truck had seen better days. They definitely looked like people who needed a new future.
Emmett Hanson was harder to figure out. He seemed friendly enough, willing enough to lend a hand in the sandbagging operations earlier in the day and quick enough with a smile when greeted. But he tended to keep to himself. Whether he was just modest or shy or had something to hide, he hadn't talked to anyone about where he was from or where he was going. Listening to his accent Buchanan suspected he was Canadian. Nothing wrong with that. But it wasn't something to hide, either, unless he was in the country illegally.
Nothing was overtly suspicious with any of the stranded out-of-towners.
Mulder shifted uncomfortably. He should probably move from the chair to the bed. If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he was exhausted. But he felt less vulnerable sitting up than lying down. Not that he would be able to move all that fast if the need arose.
"Mmmm. . . " Skinner rolled to his side, eyes slitted open and then squeezed tightly shut.
Mulder flipped off the lamp by his chair and slowly levered himself up and shuffled to his lover's bedside. "Hey," he whispered. "I've dimmed the lights a little. How are you feeling?"
"I might live, as long as I don't have to move." Skinner kept his eyes closed, but his face relaxed a little.
"How about thinking? Are you up to that? I've got the list from Buchanan and I wanted to give her an assessment before the National Guard chopper takes us out of here tonight. Since you've met most of these people and I haven't I wanted to get your impressions."
"Mulder, I didn't talk to any of them longer than it took to sort out work assignments."
"Just let me run the names by you. I've got a few ideas and I want to get your opinion. It's got to take more than a whack on the head to wipe out those finely tuned investigative instincts."
"Fine. On one condition. You get yourself back in your own bed instead of wearing yourself out sitting beside mine."
Mulder laughed. "How do you know what I've been doing? You've been snoring like a buzz saw for the last hour."
Skinner's mouth crinkled at the corners. "Let's just say that it takes more than a whack on the head to wipe out my finely tuned instincts about Fox Mulder."
It would have been hard to tell if Skinner was listening or not, he lay unmoving with his eyes closed, but from time to time he would ask a question or comment on Mulder's assessment of the situation.
"Your theory's fine, Mulder, but none of these people strike me as particularly suspicious."
"And we're due to head out of here in half an hour or so. I heard the helicopter land while you were sleeping. I keep expecting Martin or Mary to come in here any minute now to collect us." Mulder sighed. "I hate to leave without really checking these people out. Just to be safe we could suggest that Buchanan run them through the NCIS database in the morning. If the phone lines are still up."
Skinner gave his head the slightest of nods. "It's her problem now."
- "Except, damn it," Mulder whispered softly, "I take it personally when people try to kill the someone I love."
He stretched out on his bed, just to rest his eyes for a few minutes.
******
The light streaming in through the windows woke him the next morning. Mulder squinted against the glare. The large schoolhouse clock read 6:35.
"Hey." Mulder laid his hand gently on Skinner's shoulder. "Walt, can you wake up for me?"
Skinner sat up in bed for a moment before deciding that was a bad idea. Laying down again he took several deep breaths, trying to quell the nausea.
"Are you okay."
"I'll live," Skinner pried his eyes open, but winced against the daylight. "Looks like we missed the bus."
"Yeah, I see. Look, I'm going to see if I can find out what's going on."
He shrugged on a robe, stuffed his feet into his borrowed slippers and opened the door. He'd barely stepped out into the hall when three boys came barreling past, heading toward the bathrooms. Shrinking back to make room Mulder almost lost his balance, but a firm hand on his elbow kept him upright.
"Easy there, wouldn't due for a hero to fall flat on his ass."
Mulder craned his head and scanned the face of his helper for any trace of sarcasm, but what he saw was a broad, friendly face. A pleasant man in his mid-twenties with his hair pulled back into a scraggly ponytail. Gaining his balance, Mulder pulled away. "Thanks, I guess my half of the introduction isn't necessary."
The stranger let go of Mulder's arm to offer his hand. "Emmett Hanson, stranded wayfarer." He gave a firm handshake, then nodded toward the kitchen. "Once you're through with your trip down the all, why don't you join me in the dining room? Heard they were fixing muffins this morning."
* * * *
When Mulder made it to the dining room there was, indeed, a tray of fragrant muffins on a table next to an urn of coffee and pitchers of orange juice and milk. Hanson was seated at a table with the room's only other occupants, Deputy Buchanan and Martin Wilson.
"Agent Mulder." Buchanan rose as he entered. "I guess you've already figured out that you missed the flight out."
"Looks that way," he said. "What happened?"
"Remember that childbirth Mary and I went to yesterday?" Martin asked. "The newborn started showing signs of distress and needed to get to a hospital. Then Mr. Walters, the elderly man who runs the store started having chest pains last night. They needed to be medivaced to Coeur d'Alene and Mary went with them."
"We would have told you last night," Buchanan added, "but by the time we had everything sorted out you were both sound asleep."
"And I wouldn't let them wake you," Martin said. "You and Walter both needed the rest." Martin's cell phone chirped and he excused himself to take the call.
Conversation at the table lagged. Buchanan's head drooped over her breakfast, the exhaustion clearly etched on her face. Mulder picked at his muffin. Every time footsteps sounded in the hall outside he found himself tracking the sound to make sure the person was heading right towards the bathrooms and not left toward the infirmary. Hanson finally broke the silence, pushing back from the table and announcing, "I guess I'll go see about finding a work assignment this morning."
Mulder watched him go. When he turned around he found Buchanan watching him.
"Agent Mulder, it looks like we're going to be working together on finding out who attacked Assistant Director Skinner. In that case, I would really appreciate it if you would just call me Lorna. Only my boss insists on calling me Deputy Buchanan every day."
Mulder smiled, "I'll skip the Deputy if you'll skip the Agent. It's just Mulder."
"Not Fox?"
"You've got to be kidding. Even Scully never calls me by my first name." He stopped. "I mean called . . "
Lorna leaned closer. "Hey, it's going to take some time. "
Mulder took a deep breath and started over. "Have you had any luck on your investigation?"
"Not much," she said. "I've been able to account for those in the area who are usually outspoken against the government. You were right when you said yesterday that they would most likely band together until the worst is over. Everyone around here is so worried about losing everything they own that no one has time to exercise their favorite grudges right now.
"It looks like I'm going to be running hard all day. If you're feeling up to it, and if Martin Wilson okays it, I'd like for you to spend as much time as possible out here in the dining room. If you're right, if this is one of those people stranded here from out of town, this building is where most of them are sleeping and all of them are taking their meals in this room."
"And someone needs to keep an eye on them." He nodded. "Even if I'm not right, whoever it was who whacked Walter over the head may want to check up on his handiwork."
"Or they may want to finish the job and go for a matched pair. Just keep your eyes open and stay in the public area. I don't want either you or Mr. Skinner alone." Mulder started to protest but she continued. "Take the paramedic with you if you have to go down the hall. And whenever you and Martin both need to be gone from the infirmary I've going to have one of the ladies from the kitchen stay in the room with Skinner."
He nodded, not happy with the arrangements, but resigned to them. He drained the last drop from his coffee cup and eyed the pot halfway across the room, trying to decide if it was worth the effort of shuffling over to get a refill. He was just starting to get up when Buchanan snatched the cup from his hand.
"Hey, as long as I'm going to get another one, I might as well fill yours up, too."
"Thanks." He stood and looked around the room. It was starting to fill up, people eager to get a jump start on holding back the wrath of nature for one more day. He tried to stretch a little, but winced at the pain in his side. Time to sit down again.
Just as his butt hit the seat of the chair someone rammed into him, driving the edge of the table into his midsection. He gasped, trying to draw in a breath as a man's voice whispered into his ear, "Oh, sorry about that, Faggot."
Mulder finally got his breath and lifted his head to meet the man's face, eye-to-eye. It was the truck driver. "You better watch it, Panarella. This faggot normally packs a gun and isn't afraid to use it on cowardly rednecks."
Panarella met his state for a few seconds before Buchanan tore them apart. "Larry, what the hell are you up to? You okay, Mulder?"
He met Panarella's gaze again and held it until the truck driver flinched. "I'm fine, Lorna," Mulder said. "Mr. Panarella was just a little clumsy and he apologized."
"That so, Larry?"
"Yeah," he mumbled. "My fault, Agent Mulder. Sorry."
"Then we're fine." Mulder turned his attention back to his muffin, dismissing the other man. The truck driver slunk out of the room.
Buchanan set a cup down in front of Mulder. "You had him pegged. What did you do, threaten to haul him to jail?"
"Naw, just reminded him that even faggot Federal agents come well armed."
The deputy laughed. "That'd do it. He acts like a bully, but he's all show and no go."
"Yeah, I know the type." He reached over and grabbed the pen and pad of paper laying in front of Buchanan. "You've accounted for the locals, let me fill you in on what I dug up on the out-of-towners yesterday. The EPA scientists were all hard at work on the sandbag line at the time Walter was assaulted."
"Yeah, worked really hard too. Not what I expected from a bunch of eggheads."
"The two college girls, Carol and Amy, say that they were sitting under the eaves of the house near the sand pile waiting for more bags."
"Surely you not suggesting they are suspects? They're the ones who found him and brought help."
"I know, but at this point I can't definitively rule out anyone whose story can't be verified. They have only each other to back up their stories. No one knows exactly where the Landros were. They have declined helping out with the manual labor due to poor health and they didn't show up to help in the kitchen until supper time. Panarella was finishing unloading the baked goods from his truck, but no one remembers exactly when; the kitchen was pretty empty during that part of the afternoon and he was on his own. Hanson was working on the sandbag line, but kept wandering off for smoke breaks. He doesn't remember when he was smoking and when he was working and no one else was keeping track of his movements."
"That about covers it, then."
"Not entirely. I haven't covered the the Krinkes yet."
Buchanan laughed. "You can't be serious. They're seventy years old!"
"They claim to have spent the entire day in their motel room until supper, with no independent verification of their alibi." Mulder smiled. "But they are, as you said, seventy years old."
"You're one suspicious son-of-a-bitch, you know that?"
"Well, for years my motto has been Trust No One."
Buchanan shook her head and started to slap him on the back, but froze, arm in midair as the building shook. A rumbling sound outside culminated in a long, grating crash outside. Someone at the door screamed "Mudslide" and everyone poured outside.
Everyone except Mulder. He made his way to the window. It looked like half the hillside had come down. The house just below the old school now rested one hundred yards closer to the road, tilted at an odd angle.
Worried that all the noise might have woken Skinner, he hurried as fast as he was capable to the infirmary. Sure enough, the man was crumpled on the floor at the side of the narrow bed.
Mulder helped him back into bed. "Martin and I both told you to stay in bed. You don't follow orders very well."
Skinner mumbled something under his breath that sounded like "Takes one to know one" and pushed Mulder's hands away as he tried to tuck the blanket around him.
"Quit fussing."
Mulder stopped abruptly. "Sorry, I just. . . " He turned his back to his lover, making a show of straightening the videotapes on the shelf.
"Hey." Skinner called softly.
Mulder turned around, eyes red and damp. Skinner reached out and grabbed Mulder's arm, pulling him into a hug. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I know you're still hurting. I'm not Scully. I'm going to be fine and I'm not going anywhere."
Mulder squeezed him tight and then stood up. "Like you could get rid of me anyway. About the loud noise that made you crawl out of bed, there was another mudslide. Looks like it shoved the house next door off it's foundation."
"I thought so. Hey, while you're up and about, think you could find me some orange juice. Maybe toast."
"If you can keep it down, sure. Back in a minute."
* * * *
Humming to himself, Mulder opened the refrigerator door, moving things around on the shelves. There was grape jelly on the counter, but Walter was really fond of strawberry preserves. Aha, there in the back. He leaned in a little closer and was suddenly shoved from behind.
He lost his footing and banged his chin of the refrigerator shelf as he slid to his knees. Someone grabbed his foot and jerked him to the floor. He tried to flip over to face his attackers, kicking out with his free foot. The young woman who was pulling him across the kitchen yelped and stumbled backward in surprise.
He felt a sharp stab of pain in his shoulder and collapsed. Carol Emerson shoved her knee up under his chin, waving a bloody butcher knife in front of his face. "Try that again, you bastard. Give me an excuse to hurt you bad, just like you hurt Raymond and Roy."
Amy pulled her back. "Ease up a little, Carol. We don't want to hurt him too bad until we get him where his boyfriend can watch." She kicked Mulder in the stomach. "It's just not right that a pansy like this killed my Roy."
Mulder watched the two women, hoping to find some way to distract them. If he kept them talking long enough surely someone would be coming in to start preparing lunch. There was no way he could overpower them, but maybe he could hang on until help arrived. At the very least, he wanted to keep them away from Walter. He wasn't going to let anyone else he cared for die.
"Billings was your boyfriend?" he stalled.
"Boyfriend, hell." Amy spat at him. "If you and your dead bitch partner hadn't got involved we were going to get married. Me and Roy. Carol and Raymond. And let me tell you, we had one hell of a honeymoon planned."
Mulder risked sitting up. Neither one of the women moved to stop him, but they tracked every move. "The Billings brothers were responsible for killing and torturing people though three states. What makes you think that the two of you wouldn't have ended up as their next victims?"
Carol laughed. "You really don't have a clue do you? You only got half the team, asshole. Me and Amy mostly liked to watch. Got some good videotapes of the action, too. All that blood got the boys worked up real good. Just the way we like it."
"He hasn't got a clue, Carol, because he's not a real man." Amy nudged his stomach with her boot, then leaned down and pulled his shirt up, revealing the thick swath of bandages. "That where they got you? Hope it hurt like hell. I always heard that gut shots were a bitch."
The front door slammed, startling them all. Footsteps echoed down the central hallway. "Hey, Agent Mulder, are you still in the kitchen?"
Emmett Hanson froze in the doorway. Mulder sat propped against the wall, blood dripping from his chin and arm, seeping through his shirt. The two women crouched at his side, one of them holding a bloody knife, Hanson's gaze took it all in and he backed up, ready to run for help.
"Shit," Carol growled as she leapt toward the door, knife held high.
Hanson ducked, grabbing a folding chair and swinging it at his attacker. The woman collapsed to the floor. Amy screamed and stood up ready to take up where her friend had left off, but Mulder tripped her sending her crashing into the nearest table, a cascade of stainless steel cafeteria trays crashing down on top of her.
"FBI. Don't anyone move." Skinner's command would have been more intimidating if he hadn't been leaning precariously against the doorway. The gun in his hand was steady though, and he had it aimed directly at Carol's head.
"Good of you to join the party." Mulder scooted out of his assailant's reach. "Emmett, are you okay?"
"I think so." He looked down at the woman sprawled at his feet. "This one looks like she's down for the count, though."
Carol started to push up from her place on the floor but the sound of a single gunshot over her head sent her back down.
"That's the only warning you'll get. You," Skinner shot Hanson a look. "In the infirmary you'll find hand cuffs in the outside pocket of my carryon bag. Bring them in here."
Hanson came back with the handcuffs at the same time that Buchanan came charging into the community center with a half a dozen men on her heels.
She stopped in her tracks in the doorway, looking from the the two women to the two FBI agents and shook her head. "Looks like you two have things under control. That it, if you don't pass out first."
*******
Skinner was zonked out once again, snoring quietly in the bed next to his. Too much excitement for a man with a concussion. Mulder turned over on his side for a better look and winced. Too much excitement for a man recovering from gunshot wounds as well. Actually, he felt pretty good, considering. Knife wound, reopened stitches, new bruises; they had all faded into background annoyances. Resting comfortably, Scully would have called it. He was zoned out on painkillers, to tell the truth.
Lorna Buchanan poked her head around the corner. "You awake?"
"I am," Mulder replied. "But let's keep it down. I don't want to wake up Walter."
"Too late. I'm awake." Skinner fumbled on the bedside table for his glasses. "I was just dozing, anyway."
"Sure you were," Mulder added. "If by dozing you mean doing your best buzz saw imitation."
Buchanan chuckled to her self. "Well, I'm glad you're both awake. I wanted to bring you up to speed before the helicopter gets here."
"I didn't know they were coming back," Skinner said.
"It looks like they won't have the roads open for several more days so we're having a few things brought in. And this time they really is room for the two of you on the way out."
"Good," Mulder said. "Not that you haven't been great to work with, Lorna. But I have a feeling that the people of Bearscove won't be sorry to see us gone."
"Don't be so sure about that." She called over her shoulder," Ladies."
Barbara Mercer and the rest of the volunteer kitchen crew stepped into the room carrying a large basket.
"Mr. Mulder, Mr. Skinner." She gave them a shy smile. "We want to apologize for our behavior of the past couple of days. The two of you have been brave and gone out of your way to protect us and we have shown you nothing but rudeness.
"Agent Mulder, with your testimony at that trial last month and your courage and sacrifice to apprehend the Billings brothers and they bravery of you and Mr. Skinner to catch those young women. . . Well, you have both shown yourselves to be heroic and courageous. I know that this doesn't begin to repay you for what you've done, but we want to show you our appreciation."
She set the basket on Mulder's bed and pulled back the quilted cloth that covered it. "There's venison jerky and huckleberry preserves and cookies and a few other things that we hope you'll enjoy."
"Thank you, Mrs. Mercer." Mulder reached out and shook her hand. "And thank you, ladies,"
One by one, the women shook Mulder's hand and then Skinner's. Most wished them a speedy recovery and a few gave them each a shy, grandmotherly peck on the cheek.
"They're good people," Buchanan said when they were gone.
"No one said they weren't," Skinner replied. "They were just scared, pushed into a corner and facing something unfamiliar."
"You're right." Buchanan lifted the basket off the bed and set it on the counter. "Well, gentlemen, I've got to get back. The reports on this week are never going to end, but I will try to get a statement from each of you before you leave. I'm hoping to get you both back out here for the trial, but we'll just have to see how that goes." She halfway out the door when she paused, slapping one hand against her forehead. "I can't believe I almost forgot."
"What?" Mulder asked.
"I don't know how he found out so quickly what's been going on out here. After all, the phone lines are down. Although I'd imagine he's got pretty food contacts throughout law enforcement."
"What?" Skinner insisted.
"I just got a request passed down to me from Sheriff McNally. Seem that John Walsh is interested in you again, Mulder. How would the two of you like to be interviewed for next Saturday's America's Most Wanted?"
"No," they shouted in unison.
*******
The wall of windows at the hotel restaurant looked out across Lake Coeur d'Alene, giving diners a view of the misty mountains on the other shore. Too late in the year for the ski crowd and too early for most of the fair-weather tourists, Mulder and Skinner had the room to themselves.
The staff of the hotel had gone out of their way to keep the identity of their Federal guests secret. The local press and television had been diverted, the Coeur d'Alene field office having given them impression that the two had returned to east coast.
Mulder watched his lover as he sat engrossed in the morning paper, one hand snaking out seeking his coffee cup. He was going to miss this. Simple days of inactivity and healing. A few days in the hospital and two weeks of recuperation in the lakeside resort had Mulder feeling almost himself again.
Skinner glanced over the top of his glasses. "You're staring at me again."
"Just enjoying this while I can. I'm going to miss it when we get back."
"There are restaurants in D.C. I think there even be some that serve breakfast." Skinner had no sooner set his empty cup back down on the saucer when the waitress swooped in and topped it off again. "Although," he continued "I don't know many D.C. restaurants where we would be greeted as local heroes."
Laughing, Mulder said, "Speak for yourself, I've been called a hero on national television." He shook his head. "You know what I mean. Admiring you in public without worrying who might see."
Skinner brushed his hand across Mulder's face. "Well you showed me this morning that you still remember how to admire me in private."
Nipping playfully at Skinner's fingers, Mulder pulled away. "You know what I mean. Don't tell me that you won't miss it either?"
"You know I will. But it's time to get back."
"It is. And I think I'm as ready as I'll ever be. It's still going to be strange without her there."
"You'll work it out. And I'll be there for you, whatever you need."
The End
*****
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