TITLE:  Dry Heat - Part II

(26 parts - Part 9 to 16)

NAME: frogdoggie

E-MAIL: frogdoggie@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

RATING: NC-17. M/SK. SK/O This story contains SLASH. VERY GRAPHIC CONSENSUAL SEX BETWEEN MEN. So, if you don’t like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution.

SUMMARY: Post colonization. Walter Skinner is on a quest of his own. Go West Mr. AD. Seek and ye shall find. Missed parts of this story? Surf here: https://www.squidge.org/3wstop.

FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? Thanks! I need to build a bonfire so I can roast a few weenies!

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: All episodes in Season 6. Fight The Future.

KEYWORDS: story angst slash Skinner Mulder NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Please see Part 1

xXx

"Oh," I reply a little too loudly. "Oh...well I was just heading out to get you that ice. Will you be ok while I'm gone?"

"I'll be fine," he mumbles, pulling the sheet and blanket around him.

"Ok, I'll be back as quickly as I can."

I feel in my pocket for my room key. It's there.

"I'll lock you in," I advise him. He nods, curling onto his side.

When I reach the ice machine, the motel office is dark. Kurtz must have gone to bed. I retrieve the ice from the machine without any trouble and return to the room. I unlock the door, go back inside and lock us in for the duration.

"You still awake?" I ask towards the bed.

"Yeah. I could use some Tylenol I think," Mulder answers, mumbling. His mouth is swelling too making his speech a little difficult.

"I'd imagine. Let me get this ice wrapped in a towel and then I'll get you the pills. You should take an antibiotic too," I advise him, crossing back to the vanity. I set the basin with the ice down and grab a towel.

"Thanks," he whispers.

I nod as I take some ice and dump it into the towel. I fold the cloth into a square around the cold cubes and walk over to the bed with the bundle. I proffer it to Mulder.

"Here, put this on your face."

He takes it and does as I suggest.

I turn back to the vanity and pick up one of the plastic glasses, the one he used earlier. I fill it with water and go back to the bed. Mulder is trying to sit up.

"You need help?" I ask, holding the glass to the side.

"No, thanks. I can manage," he replies, still trying to maintain his independence and dignity.

He does manage to prop himself up on the pillow again. He holds the ice against his cheek. I hand him the water.

"I'll get the pills," I volunteer and he nods again in agreement.

I take the bottles off the night stand, one at a time and shake the necessary doses out on my hand. One antibiotic and two Tylenol. Mulder lays the ice-pack down and stretches his hand out towards me. I dump the tablets into his palm and he works his mouth open, carefully passing the pills through his lips. The water goes in next and then he swallows hard, drinking down the meds.

I take the glass away when he passes it back to me. I put the glass on the vanity and return to stand at the side of the bed.

"Now, get some sleep," I admonish him as he puts the ice pack back to his face.

I leave his side and busy myself with removing my Smith and Wesson from my waistband. I quickly deposit it back inside the holster in the closet and move to shut the sliding mirrored door. As I'm shutting the door, Mulder speaks again.

"Where are you going to sleep?" he asks point blank. I don't turn back around. I don't want him to see the look I know passes across my face.

"I have a sleeping bag," I mumble, gesturing with my head over to the corner where I piled my sleeping bag and small mattress pad.

"Oh, well...that's hardly fair. This is your bed...I mean you paid for this room. You...you can sleep in it...I'll use the bag."

"Don't be idiotic, Mr. Mulder. You're walking wounded. You're sleeping in the bed," I reply turning at last to look down on him. "Don't...don't be ridiculous," I add tempering my words with a slight grin and a bemused shake of my head.

I leave his side to get my bedroll.

"You...you can sleep in the bed too...I...I trust you," his small voice comes from behind me.

I feel a tremendous rush of sexual heat suffuse my body. Damn it. He's lying there naked under those covers. I can see every inch of him - and I mean every inch in my mind's eye. Crap. I should have loaned him my sweats before I left the room.

Right now sleeping in the bed with him is the thing I want most and the last thing I want to do. I know I won't sleep because I'll be fighting not to touch him. I'm half afraid I'll lose that fight and then of what I might do if I do touch him. I won't be able to stop myself from going further than just one touch. It's been...it's been so long and I want him so much I can practically taste it. I wonder idly if he's picking up on my desire for him. Maybe he's remembering what we had together. In any event...now is not the time to explore for an answer to either question.

"Thanks but...I might accidentally kick you or something and under the circumstances..."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he sighs.

"You know I am. We can talk about trading off or some other arrangement later," I give him a terse smile. I continue on to my bedroll.

"I hate to bother you again," he interrupts me once more.

"Yes?"

"I need to take a leak," he replies weakly, chagrin in his voice.

"Oh...uh...ok. I can help you to the can."

"I'm really sorry about this...Skinner," he whispers as I return to the bed.

"Don't worry about it. I'm...it's all right," I comfort him as I bend to help him up.

He pants with the effort to lever and sit up. His next words are a gasp.

"Why are you doing any of this?" he asks.

"Because I'm young and single and love to mingle?" I answer without thinking. He laughs and I'm immediately sorry for my words because the laughter makes him whimper in pain.

"Fffuck," he hisses.

"Sorry. Look. Let's...we can talk about my reasons later. Right now you need to see a man about a mule and then get some sleep, all right?"

"Right. Yeah. Mule. Got it," he gulps air as he stands up, and I pull his arm over my shoulders.

We wind our way carefully to the bathroom. I'm trying to keep my eyes averted from his cock and nailed ahead of me so I can steer us without bumping him into anything.

Finally we're in position in front of the toilet bowl and I move to let him stand on his own. He nearly falls down.

"Shit," he blurts out.

"Should I just sit you down on the can so you can have some privacy?"

"Uh...yeah...that'd work. Thanks," he nods in relief.

"Ok, turn around then," I reply, helping him shift into a sitting position. Once I have him down on the seat, he cups his hands over his genitals obviously for modesty but also so he can aim things. I back up and exit the bathroom.

I walk over to the dresser and get my sweat pants out of the drawer. I'll give them to him when he gets out. I also stretch out my mattress pad and sleeping bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. As I'm arranging the sleeping bag I hear the sound of a piss stream hitting water.

"Oh man," Mulder mumbles.

"You ok?" I ask, concerned.

"Yeah. The doctor was right about the blood though."

I wince. Fuck.

"Is it a lot?"

"No, actually it isn't a lot," he answers.

"You ready to come back to bed?" I ask.

"Sure thing," he replies with a yawn.

I walk over carrying the sweats and toss them at him through the bathroom door. I look away quickly so I don't have to see him sitting ingloriously on the commode.

"Seriously?" he asks.

"Yeah, can you put them on by yourself?" I ask, moving so he's no longer in my line of sight.

"I can try. But really...I do have some clothes in the other room. They should be in a blue nylon backpack."

"Don't worry about it. I'll go get them later."

"Ok. Thanks," he replies.

I hear him struggle to put on the sweats. He won't call for my help. Stubborn bastard. God, he could be Mulder if that's any indication. I allow myself a brief smile.

"Ready," he calls at last.

When I enter the small bathroom again he's managed to stand up by leaning against the wall. I take his shoulders again and start to move him out of the bathroom. We take a brief side trip to the sink so he can rinse his hands off with some water from the water jug. Then I walk him back to the bed. I sit him gently down on the edge and then step back.

"What about flushing the can?" he asks idly as I step back.

"I can dump some water down it later. That's what the half full bucket is for in there," I nod towards the bathroom.

"Ah," he replies, nodding. He fishes around for the ice-pack and finds the cold, soggy towel.

"Let me wring that out," I mumble reaching to take it from his hands.

"I think just the cold cloth will be good enough," he offers as I take the towel to the sink. I squeeze it out.

"All right," I reply. I lay the towel in the ice and rub it around a little getting the cloth colder. Then I wring it out again and return to the bed with it.

"I...I have a lot of questions," he ventures quietly.

"So do I," I reply in a gruff voice, handing him the cold compress. I try to mask my roiling emotions. I have questions. The sheriff has them. Everybody will have them. My mind doesn't want to process this anymore. I just want to get some rest.

"I don't have very many answers," he replies with a sigh, placing the cold towel against his face. He pulls his legs up, curling on his side again. He lifts the covers over his legs. Finally Mulder lies back and settles against the pillow, shutting his eyes.

"I'm not sure I do either," I whisper, helping him to tuck the covers up farther around his shoulders.

He nods.

"I'll just leave the night stand light on in case you need to get up again," I advise.

He nods once more.

Before I can even straighten up he's fast asleep, his breath even and steady. His warm exhalation plays across the back of my hand and I tentatively move my hand onto his head. I stroke his long brown hair once, very softly. I draw my hand away and head to my sleeping bag. I strip my pants off quickly but leave the jock on. My room key is fished out of my pants pocket and deposited on the dresser. I take off my glasses and lay them next to the TV on top of the dresser as well. At last, I crawl into the bag. I flip the side up over my body and settle down, getting as comfortable as I can on the floor.

I set the alarm on my Timex for noon. I'll get up then and see about rustling up some food before the sheriff comes to question Mulder. Questioning Mulder is the last thought I have before sleep takes me into its embrace.

xXx

/What the fuck!? Who's screaming? Who...is.../

I sit bolt upright floundering in my sleeping bag, reaching for a non-existent night stand that holds a non-existent gun.

"NOOOOOOO!" the voice keens and it dawns on me that it's Mulder.

I throw the sleeping bag open and pull myself out of its confines quickly, rising up and rushing to the bed in almost one movement. I'm disorientated, running on instinct and memories. My instinct tells me to help. My memories tell me to help my lover. I round the corner of the bed and sit down heavily on the edge directly next to Mulder. He's struggling to sit up, arms and legs caught in the bedding, twisting, crying out, his chest heaving with the effort. God he must be having another Samantha nightmare my sleep numbed mind suggests.

I grapple with his legs first and work my way up his body to his arms in an attempt to still him. He fights harder, kicking out and just missing my nuts. He socks me in the jaw with his fist and for a second I see stars.

"Fox! Fox...babe...it's me. It's Walter," I shout, holding both his arms.

"Take it out...out of my muh...muh...muh....mouth!" he wails. His eyes open wide and I know he's not seeing me. I don't know what he's seeing. The only thing I can think to do is pull him tight against me and that's what I do.

"I took it out, it's out...Fox...it's out," I croon as he sobs. I rock him as his legs and arms start to still at last. His sobs subside to only small breaths full of snot and I sense he's awake in my embrace. I rub his back, and then it occurs to me suddenly that this isn't quite right. My mind finally snaps back into total clarity, into the here and now and I gently push Mulder from me and lay him back amongst the pillows. He stares up at me in wonder, his eyes roaming with interest over my face, down my chest, arms and down farther to my jock strap. His eyes widen slightly. He looks away, turning his face into the pillow. He shuts his eyes.

"Skinner?" he asks tentatively.

"Yeah."

"I was dreaming," he sighs

"No shit. You were having a fucking nightmare," I answer, my voice shaking slightly.

"Evidently," he answers with a cough. "Uh...shit. I'm sorry," he adds miserably.

"Do you remember any of it?" I ask quietly, scooting back on the edge of the bed away from the proximity of the light from the night stand lamp and his warm body. I really don't want him to see my face clearly if he chooses to look again. Not while I'm trying to recover from holding him close. I sit sideways a little obscuring my crotch as much as I can. I've got the beginnings of a boner between my legs and I'd rather he didn't get another look at that either.

"Just the sensation of being strangled, of something being down my throat and I couldn't breathe."

I feel a chill on the back of my neck that I know isn't coming from the AC.

"Was it hot?" I ask carefully. "I mean did you feel heat?"

He opens his hazel eyes and pins my eyes with his.

"No...not hot. It was cold. I was...I was freezing."

I look away.

"What is it? Does it make sense to you?" he asks, reaching to touch my leg.

"I'm not sure..." I hedge, looking back at him. I'm not really sure but being cold and having something shoved down your throat creates a familiar and disturbing image in my mind. That burn on his leg could have been from frostbite. Dana Scully, and Antarctica, and the fucking cryogenic tanks on the starships and in the relocation depots I've seen since then come to mind. I run a hand over my mouth and meet Mulder's eyes again.

Mulder sighs wearily.

"We really do have to have a talk," he whispers.

"I guess we do...we will. I promise. The sheriff is going to be here at one to ask a hell of a lot of his own questions. It's..." I glance at my watch, "it's ten now. Try to get some more sleep."

He nods.

"I think I can now," he replies. He stretches a hand out and brushes my knee lightly.

"Thanks again, man. You know...I don't remember a thing really...but...I don't like this feeling of being...helpless."

I nod and suppress a small grin. Hidden behind his words is the idea that he'd like to say he doesn't like looking this helpless in front of me. I hope it's something he's starting to remember. It's very much Mulder of old and the hope behind that thought makes me want to smile.

"Well...I'm sure you're pretty self reliant. Uh...like I said - we'll talk about it."

"K. Later," he smiles tentatively at me and shuts his eyes again. "So damned tired..." he whispers, his voice trailing off.

"It'll pass," I reply quietly. I watch him until his breath evens out in sleep.

Finally, I slide off the bed and make my own visit to the bathroom. I have to wait for the partial erection to subside before I can take a piss. I exit the can and walk back down to the end of the bed where my sleeping bag waits. I sink to my knees and work myself down and back inside the cloth confines. I lie there, staring at the ceiling and trying to come up with just how I'm going to explain to the man on the bed that I'm not sure but I think he's Agent Fox Mulder, my lover, and I want him to remember that more than anything else in the world.

xXx

A soft knocking at the door wakes me up. Just after the knock my Timex alarm beeps. I shut it off and worm my way out of the sleeping bag. Mulder stirs on the bed.

"Hang on," I call towards the door.

"Sheriff?" Mulder mumbles.

"No, it's only noon, unless he's early. Stay there," I warn him. I retrieve my glasses quickly and move quietly towards the closet. I open the door and sweep my weapon out of the holster. Mulder watches me as if it's something he's seen every day. I cross the room and stand to one side of the door near the window. I pry the curtain aside a little and look out. It's Kurtz. I let my shoulders relax and glance down at my state of undress. When I turn back to tell Mulder it's Kurtz he's propped up on one elbow watching me with a quizzical look on his face.

I almost ask him if he's admiring the view but restrain myself.

"It's Kurtz."

"Oh. Good." Mulder replies. He rolls over and sits up stiffly.

"Can you manage?" I ask back over my shoulder.

"I think so. I'm marginally less sore."

I nod and then hurry over and grab for my jeans, slipping them on quickly. I shove my weapon back into the holster in the closet. Then I cross back to the door and unlock the locks as Mulder carefully weaves towards the bathroom. I hear him shut the door as I open the door to the room.

Kurtz is standing outside, a bag in one hand and two cups of coffee balanced against his chest.

"Take these, can you?" he asks, nodding his chin towards the covered cups. I can smell the coffee. The aroma is fantastic. I take the cups from him and step back so that he can enter.

"Sorry to wake you guys up but...well I just thought you'd like something to eat before the sheriff came. I wasn't sure the patient was able to navigate or whether you'd want to leave him alone."

I put the cups on the table in front of the window. I run a hand over the back of my neck. Kurtz continues to amaze me. My original assessment of him as a hard nosed ex-resistance fighter is starting to morph and change a bit. I'm beginning to want to hear his story as well. There's obviously more beneath the surface here.

"Thanks," I smile a little at him.

"Don't mention it. Ex-resistance has to stick together, you know," he replies handing me the bag. "It's just sandwiches. Audrey made them for the lunch crowd."

Audrey. David. Oh man. I'm going to have to face going over to the Dark Horse and talking to David eventually. It's not something I'm looking forward to doing at all.

"Did you tell her what went on here last night?" I query.

"No. But the news that there's a stranger in the town lock-up is getting around. People are trying to get a look at him. You know that...'is he or isn't he...my brother, husband...second cousin twice removed' syndrome," he shrugs.

"So, the news will spread."

"Exactly."

I shrug too. There isn't anything that can be done about it. If I'm any judge of character, Sheriff Garrity will make sure at least the basic facts are made known. We'll get an honest and accurate rumor mill at least.

"So how is Mulder?"

Kurtz's question is punctuated by the sound of metal clinking against porcelain and then the toilet flushing.

"Mobile," I reply and Kurtz chuckles. Mulder makes his entrance then, shuffling a little as he makes his way over towards us.

"Coffee. I smell coffee," he sniffs eagerly. "You must have read my mind."

"Hey, I'd mainline the stuff if I could," Kurtz snorts a quick laugh as Mulder speeds up his approach. "I always take it for granted everyone else feels the same way."

Mulder hesitates a moment, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah...." he lets his voice fade as he resumes walking. He reaches the table. I step forward and help him pull out the chair so he can sit down. He settles in, takes the top off the cup of coffee and then he lifts the cup up to sip it. He shuts his eyes, the enjoyment as he swallows the brew plain on his face.

"So, evidently you remember liking your coffee black," I state, taking a seat next to him at the table.

"Evidently," he replies, setting the cup down for a moment. I place the paper bag in front of him.

"Dig in...sandwiches," I offer, shifting back to look at Kurtz again.

I can see the question on his face. He asks it.

"Mulder...you don't remember?"

"I'm not even sure my name's Mulder. I assume it is because Spender called me Fox Mulder down in Georgia. I seem to be a perfectly cognizant individual with no memory of a former life. Oh, I have the stray unformed feeling here and there," he adds glancing at me, "but as to the total picture...I'm a clean slate," he finishes. There's almost a philosophical tone to his answer. It's as if he's coming to terms with the situation and formulating a plan to remedy it.

He pushes his long hair back away from his face. The long hair, coupled with the morning beard stubble and the angry, swollen bruise on the side of his face make him look pretty grim. I watch as he takes a sandwich out of the bag and unwraps it. He bites into it gingerly and starts to work his jaws. He relishes the food despite the difficulty at getting it into his swollen mouth. He chews with some difficulty too, but he's really getting into it.

"Ham and cheese," he comments, his mouth full. He pushes the bag towards me. "Eat."

"Thanks," I reply. Kurtz is still looking at me, a whole bunch of questions showing on his face. I shake my head and mouth the word 'Later'. He nods.

"Well I gotta get back to the office. Mulder...if you all need anything just holler. Skinner...thanks for helping with Spender last night. And seriously - you've got a job here for the duration. So, like I said - if you need anything - consider it payment and ask, deal?"

I nod, "Deal."

"Good. Later, gentleman."

"Later, Sam. And thanks," Mulder answers munching away.

Kurtz nods curtly, gets up and makes his exit, shutting the door behind him. I take out one of the sandwiches, unwrap it and begin to eat.

"You want some more Tylenol?" I ask. "You're not due for an antibiotic for a while yet."

"Nah, not right now. Maybe in a little while," he mumbles around his food.

I nod in return.

Mulder swallows and then takes up his coffee, taking another sip. He sets the cup down and studies me for a moment as I chew my food. Then he speaks.

"Did you know Kurtz before?"

"No."

"Then what was that stuff about ex-resistance?"

"We both fought with the resistance during the war...the battle against the grays. But we weren't in the same group," I reply.

So he heard our conversation while he was in the bathroom. Figures. I can see this guy is certainly as perceptive as Mulder - or maybe as paranoid. I'm just going to have to come as clean as I can with him soon. If I don't he's going to figure things out on his own and maybe that wouldn't be such a great idea.

Mulder nods, a pained look on his face. "Oh yeah...Spender did a lot of ranting about the grays and...and the exodus....I take it we're lacking in population nowadays," he replies quietly, picking up his sandwich again.

"Spender should have said 'the removal' not 'the exodus'. Because yeah, we're short several billion human beings. They were taken off world. God knows where they ended up."

"This is going to take a lot of getting used to...I mean...I've got so much to try to figure out and to learn," Mulder shakes his head and puts the sandwich back down. "Spender doesn't have a tattoo. I assume that's some kind of...way to catalogue people. The gray's means of indexing you."

"Close. It's a concentration camp brand actually for lack of a better word. We were all marked for the record during internment," I extend my arm.

"Oh. And the FD means?"

"Fort Detrick. The camp where I was held," I reply, shifting uncomfortably and drawing my arm back. I'm not sure now is the time to delve too deeply into what this tattoo means. I'd like to explain more about the fact that we had a relationship first before I tell him I'm the fucking bionic man.

"I see. What job?" Mulder asks. For a second I'm confused at the question. Then I realize he's switched gears because he's been able to sense my discomfort at the previous question.

I take another bite of my sandwich and talk around the mouthful.

"I'm a mercenary now. Kurtz wants me to act as muscle around here while I'm staying on. So...you don't have to worry about the room. It's paid for as long as I keep the deal," I reply. It's only a white lie I tell myself. A half truth.

Mulder bows his head a little and fingers some crumbs on the tabletop.

"I...I can't thank you enough for putting me up here. I guess you realize I have nowhere else to go. I...I'm grateful."

I swallow hard. The bit of sandwich I was chewing nearly lodges in my throat on the way down. I lay the last hunk of bread down and I stare at the top of Mulder's head. An almost overwhelming urge to take him in my arms and comfort him surges through my body. I clear my throat.

"Mulder...I have something to tell you," I reply hoarsely.

He looks up. Something flickers in his eyes. The look of longing there makes me want to spill my guts.

"Please tell me something...anything...I need to know," he whispers.

Always the need to know. It's always been about knowledge and the truth with Mulder. I have to look down myself under that gaze. But it gives me the last impetus I need to speak and tell him partly at least, what I want him to know.

"I think I did know you in the past. We...I believe very strongly that we were friends and colleagues...I...I have some proof," I add. My leather jacket is in the closet. "Let me show you," I murmur.

Mulder nods and I get up. The closet door seems suddenly heavy as I open it and fish around in my coat for my wallet. I return to the table and open the wallet, carefully extracting just Mulder's photo from inside. I toss the wallet down on the table and then hand him the picture. I resume my seat across from him as he studies the photograph.

The photo shows Mulder dressed for FBI success but wearing one of his typically God awful ties. His hair is close cropped in this photo. It was taken after he came back from Antarctica. Just like Garrity saw earlier, Mulder's FBI ID badge is clearly visible in the picture.

"Shit..." he whispers.

"Unless you have a twin..." I begin.

"We can't rule out the clone idea. Spender was a bounty hunter after all," Mulder replies, musing in a distracted voice. He fingers his long hair and holds the photo closer.

"I like this look better - nice tie." he comments, letting his mouth twitch up a little as he indicates the photo by lifting it up a bit.

"I'd have to agree," I reply, chuckling a little. Except for the tie of course I think.

He hands the photo back to me very carefully and I place it back in my wallet. I shove the wallet in my back pocket.

"I'd have to concede I'm a dead ringer," Mulder nods.

"Identical," I reply. Yeah, and the same age I think. But he doesn't make comment about that observation. I'm sure he has no concept of how long he's been out of the so-called real world.

"So, I just might be Agent Fox Mulder, late of the FBI and I have a friend and co-worker named Agent Walter Skinner also ex-FBI," he states, smiling a little. "Well that's a first step."

"Walter S. Skinner," I amend with a smile of my own. I don't bother to tell him I was his boss. I mean, what's the point right now? Let him process what I've given him. It's going to get a lot more complicated so a little bit at a time will be advisable I think.

"S? What's the 'S' stand for?"

"Sergei."

"No shit?" he laughs, reaching into the bag for a second sandwich. "That's some middle name to hang on a kid. But Fox isn't exactly run of the mill, either."

"I grew into it," I chuckle, picking up my coffee. "And believe me, Mulder...you're not exactly run of the mill."

He eyes me speculatively and then answers with a bit of raised eyebrow.

"I can see you grew into it."

I raise my eyebrow in return and he smirks at me. Then his brow furrows a bit.

"As for the rest...well...I'll take your word for it and I'll consider it a compliment," he replies a little more quietly. "Uh...what's my middle name?"

"William. It was your father's first name."

"Fox William Mulder. Hey...it'll do," he nods unwrapping the second sandwich. Just as he takes the first bite, there's another knock on the door. I glance at my watch. It's 12:48. Sheriff Garrity's a little early.

"Just a minute," I call towards the door. I hunt down my T-shirt, socks, and boots and pull them all on quickly. Fully dressed, I cross to open the door to admit Dan Garrity.

xXx

Mulder is talking. His voice has reverted into that almost monotonous drone he used when he'd be reporting to me in my office at the J. Edgar Hoover Building. The facts of this particular report are almost as bizarre as any X-File he and Scully would present back then. But to his credit, Garrity is listening carefully and patiently as Mulder recounts his bizarre road trip with Spender.

"The first thing I remember was waking up in the back of his Jeep Cherokee. I was cold, wet and hoarse. I woke up flailing and screaming and that was the first time he restrained me."

"With the cuffs?" Garrity asks from his seat on the bed.

"Right. He cuffed my wrists and bound my ankles with duct tape," Mulder replies.

He's still seated in the chair next to the table, the remains of his lunch before him. I'm still seated across from him. I've been sitting listening quietly as he first explained how he couldn't remember anything before he awoke in the back of the Jeep outside Atlanta, Georgia. Well I should amend that. He can remember how to function as a human being - all the little things that make us special you could say. But he doesn't have any concrete memories from his life as Fox Mulder. Zip. Nothing about me, Scully, the X-Files...nada about anything in that area. He also had no clue about what happened during the removal or what's been happening over the last six years with mankind's attempt to reclaim a nearly deserted planet. I know from our previous conversation that Spender filled him in there somewhat. But the sheer weight of what he doesn't know settles heavily into the motel room as Mulder talks.

"And this was how far out of Atlanta?" Garrity asks.

"I got a glimpse of a sign that said 'Atlanta 65 miles'. After that he injected me with something and I went out again."

"He kept you drugged for most of the trip?" I ask quietly.

"Early on. But after a while I think he ran out of sedative. That's when...when things started getting really strange."

"As in?" Garrity prompts.

"As in he started ranting about my being Fox Mulder, just the name mind you - no details about who the hell Fox Mulder might have been to him. He'd say things like - oh but you're the great Fox Mulder, you should know all about the grays."

"He didn't give you any clue that you might have known him before?" I ask carefully.

"Not directly. He could have read about me somehow and taken a dislike to my theories about...whatever. But I inferred he knew me just from the tone of his voice when he'd say my name."

"Ok. Go on," Garrity prompts.

"All right. He was always going on and on about the grays and the merchandise being removed and of course the clones. He'd really get worked up over some woman named Diana and some guy named Alex. Fowley he called her over and over, Diana Fowley. I got a real strong impression that he and this Fowley were an item. Later on that became obvious."

"Was he drunk or using drugs himself that you saw? Something that would have brought on these ravings?" Garrity asks, running his hand through his hair.

"Not that I saw. He did get headaches though. Bad ones. At one point we were held up for a whole day while he alternated between vomiting and laying curled up in a ball."

"He has the scar," I offer, pointing towards my forehead.

"Yeah, that must have come from a hell of a head wound. Maybe he has some kind of brain damage," Garrity surmises.

Mulder nods, "Maybe. He was clearly having some kind of problem. I know he didn't remember a hell of a lot else other than his obsessions with the issues surrounding the grays and this Diana and 'no last name' Alex. I asked him once if he could tell me where he used to live and what type of work he did before and he freaked out. I got an hour long diatribe about how it was my fault he couldn't remember what city he used to live in."

I run a hand up under my glasses and rub my eyes. Man what a fuck up. Spender must have survived his father shooting him? Hell I have no idea if the head wound was inflicted in the before times. To tell you the truth, I do have some missing time regarding what really happened to Jeffrey Spender. It's one of those gaps in my memory I can't quite bridge. I know he was shot. I had an idea he died. I guess I was wrong. But clearly, Jeffrey Spender has been through hell and whatever happened to him wiped him almost as clean as Mulder. He's a scratchy slate though. If he were a clean one we wouldn't be having this conversation.

"So Diana was a big deal?" Garrity queries, moving things along.

Mulder nods, and runs a hand through his long, brown hair before he answers. His hands are shaking a little so he rests them in his lap.

"Definitely. After a while he started calling me Diana...then he got, you know...touchy feely," he states, looking down at his hands. When he looks back up he's composed himself in order to go on with the rest of the story. I look down at the table as he recites the rest.

"Just after we crossed into Texas we stopped in....Nagadoches. He rented a room and then went out and bought me that red dress. Uh...after that he wouldn't let me wear anything but the dress and instead of calling me Mulder he called me Diana all the time. There was no arguing with him. I mean...he was carrying a 9 MM, he hardly ever left me alone, cuffed me to something when he did, and had me cuffed when he was around half the time," he continues.

"Shit," I murmur looking back up and studying his profile.

"Did he beat you before last night?" Garrity asks.

"He slapped me around a little, but nothing like this," Mulder answers, taking a deep breath.

"Did he assault you sexually before?" Garrity asks quietly.

Mulder's shoulders slump and he looks down at his hands again.

"He...he made me give him a blow job...once...at gunpoint. I...I guess being under the gun wasn't a great incentive. I...I wasn't very good at it and that was the first time he slapped me around too," Mulder replies, disgust and discomfort written in every line of his body.

I have all I can do to keep from pounding my fist into the tabletop. Well obviously Jeffrey Spender has a few issues involving Diana Fowley. Fowley and Alex Krycek as well. Christ.

Garrity shakes his head in disgust as well and quickly moves to sum up matters.

"Ok. Let me just get this straight in my mind," Garrity begins.

Mulder takes another deep breath and I force myself to focus on Garrity and push back my anger.

"Spender goes down to Georgia looking for clones, finds you in Atlanta thinking at first you're some guy named Mulder that he maybe knew in the before times. You don't know where he found you and you woke up suddenly with no memory or your past life. Spender fills in some gaps but he's largely no help because he's in the Twilight Zone a lot of the time. Later he starts thinking you're his long lost lover and tries to...uh renew that relationship," the sheriff ticks off as neutrally as possible.

"That about sums it up," Mulder nods, looking back up into Garrity's face.

"The CDC was in Atlanta," I interject in a low voice.

"I was just thinking that," Garrity nods, fixing Mulder with a look.

Mulder looks from me to Garrity and back again.

"Ok. I'll bite. What's the CDC got to do with it?"

Garrity inclines his head towards me indicating he's letting me give Mulder the explanation. So, I tell him as best I can what went on at the Center for Disease Control after the world as we knew it came to an end. I'm not sure if he remembers what the CDC's public function was in the before times so I begin my explanation with a rundown of their original purpose.

"The Center for Disease Control was an organization responsible for handling outbreaks of infectious illness of all types, even deadly ones, that would occur anywhere in the world..." I begin.

"I...I do seem to remember that point," Mulder muses. "But that's about it, I'm afraid."

I nod.

"Well, during the before times and unbeknownst to the majority of the world - the organization had been infiltrated by men in league with the grays. They were doing heavy duty genetic research down there. Clone research."

"Oh. So...so you're saying I may be a...clone after all?" Mulder whispers, studying my face. Before I can answer Garrity interrupts.

"Do you know what a clone is, Mr. Mulder?"

Mulder's head swivels to take in Garrity and I watch as his face takes on an odd, dreamy quality. It's the same expression I saw on his face last night when he talked about forensic evidence. He starts to speak and his voice has the same hypnotic cadence it had last night as well.

"Clones were created as part of the colonization effort from ova stolen from women. The clones were identical to their DNA donors except that...that their blood was poisonous," he replies.

When he finishes the explanation he refocuses and blinks at Garrity.

"I guess you do remember that," Garrity comments.

"Yeah...I do," he nods quietly. "The clones bled...they bleed green don't they?" he adds.

"Right," I answer.

"I...I bleed red," he replies, hope in his voice.

"True," I answer, but with doubt in my voice. I hate to burst his bubble here but I have to be honest. Mulder would want to know all the facts. Even if he can't remember he'd want them. I can tell from his earlier actions that he does have a need to know and it's just one other thing that makes me think this may be Mulder. Either the real McCoy - or one of the clones that has his total personality. Clones didn't always take on their DNA donor's personality. Or I should say - they weren't always given the same or the total personality. It depended on what they were going to be used to do. So, some clones aren't like their originals. If Mulder is a clone I get the idea he's going to have Mulder's personality. I'm not sure that doesn't make him Mulder anyway.

"But?" he asks picking up on the edge in my voice.

"But the CDC did a lot of experimentation. Rumor has it that at the end they created clones that bled red just like the rest of us. They were almost indistinguishable from 'real' humans except for a genetic marker which had to be found through complicated genetic testing. They were given almost the total personalities of their DNA donors. Those clones would be the perfect moles - able to infiltrate and remain undetected while they went about their business for the grays."

"Ok," Mulder sighs, "but...you seem to feel I may not be a clone. You...you said you thought I was the real Fox Mulder. Agent Mulder."

Garrity looks at me closely. I can see the wheels turning. He's still suspicious of my relationship with Mulder. He's wondering just why I wanted to put Mulder up here and if I could have possibly known Spender in the past too. He saw the photo. He knew I was looking for Mulder. Now he's curious if our former relationship has any bearing on what happened with Spender last night. I form my answer carefully and deliver it directly to Mulder.

"I can't be positive. I wish I could be totally sure, believe me. I showed Sheriff Garrity the photo last night. He can plainly see you're identical to the man in the photograph. Even Kurtz thought you were the Mulder I've been searching for based on the resemblance. Since the clone rumors were just that...rumors...I...I guess I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and see what transpires here. Mulder...Mulder was a good friend. Uh...I had no family really. He was probably as close to a...to a brother as I ever had. I...I owe you at least a chance," I reply as neutrally as possible. Inside my guts are tightening like a drum head, but I can't let on what I'm really feeling. We need to keep things unemotional so we can stick to the facts. Staying frosty may really help us get to the bottom of things. I turn to Garrity and add my last remark.

"I'm more than willing to keep an open mind in this matter. I would hope we'd all be able to do the same," I finish and then I look back towards Mulder.

Mulder remains silent but stares at Garrity. Naked hope is written plainly on his face. It's hard for me to see his distress. I refocus on Garrity as he clears his throat.

"All right, look. As far as I'm concerned if Mulder bleeds red that means he's human. Personally, I could care less. But even if I had some personal qualms about it, the law in Godwillin says he's human. I uphold the law so I'd agree. Some of the town's founding fathers were very liberal on some points. My job's hard enough anyway without having to worry about ferreting out some poor hapless clone whose DNA donor went to the tanks during removal. I mean shit...the clone's all that's left of the fucking original so why not call him your Uncle Harry and have done with it. So let's just let this clone business die on the vine."

Mulder's whole body sags with relief.

"Thank you," he mumbles.

"No problem," Garrity replies.

I nod my thanks towards him as well and he fixes me with a brief, hard look. He continues to speak then, returning his attention to Mulder.

"But I have one other thing on my mind regarding that photo."

I stare at him hoping what he's going to say next isn't what I think he's going to say.

"Does either one of you want to venture an explanation for why Mr. Mulder hasn't aged in six years?"

I sigh. Unfortunately that was the question I hoped he wouldn't ask.

Mulder swallows hard. Maybe it didn't occur to him until just this moment that he looks the same as he does in the photo. In any event he remains silent, glancing at me as if I can come up with an answer to the question.

"Mr. Mulder?" Garrity asks him, "I don't suppose you remember that either?"

"No...I'm sorry. I have no clue," he answers fixing me with another questioning look.

"Mr. Skinner?" Garrity prompts.

I run a hand over my mouth. The sheriff has to know Mulder doesn't have nanocytes on board. If he had them he'd be healed by now and not sitting here looking like shit. So, he's looking for some other explanation.

I do have a theory based on Mulder's nightmare last night. I guess it won't hurt to divulge it. I'm hoping it doesn't disturb Mulder further but I can't help it if it does since Garrity obviously needs an answer.

"I have a theory," I reply, lowering my hand to the tabletop.

"I'm all ears," Garrity responds, settling back to listen.

"Atlanta was a big relocation center for most of the invasion. When the grays started getting the idea colonization wasn't going to work and started airlifting population off-world, Atlanta became a prime East Coast removal point."

"Yeah, scout ships and transports were landing and taking off from the airport like it was Grand Central Station," Garrity observes.

"Exactly. The resistance knew the CDC was a hotbed for all kinds of genetic research. They were also perfecting new techniques for cryo-freezing for the grays. Things that would keep the uh...merchandise fresher for the long trip home in a tank."

"Yeah...I'd heard that too."

"Cryo-freezing?" Mulder asks in a whisper. "Are you saying...they froze almost everyone and took them to...to some other planet?"

"They froze most of humanity - impregnated them with their own DNA in the form of an oil-like life form, so they'd act as hosts for the rebirth of their race. When things here on Earth became too hot to handle they split. Took their bat and ball and went home to the Fatherland - taking their host population with them."

"God," Mulder breathes out, his eyes wide.

"So you think Mulder was a cryo subject or something at the CDC?" Garrity asks.

"It's a possibility. The resistance was never able to crack Atlanta. The grays had it heavily fortified because so much was going on down there. I'd heard rumors over the years about all sorts of shit still existing in Atlanta. Clone banks. Cryopods still in storage there with human cargo inside. I went to Atlanta once. Never saw any signs of anything to substantiate those rumors. But...maybe Spender had information I wasn't privy to. Maybe he found some of those abandoned pods."

"You mean I was frozen for 6 years?"

I fix him with a sympathetic look as he blinks at me in amazement.

"Essentially yes. You weren't however not aging completely strictly speaking. I'd heard the hosts aged one to two months for every year they were tanked. The bioengineers were still working on that aspect of things when the grays pulled up stakes. So...you probably aged between 6 months and maybe a year."

"Accounts for the hair," Garrity comments.

"Right," I finish nodding.

"Jesus," Mulder whispers, shaking his head in disbelief.

"So, you could just as easily be the Mulder I've spent six years searching for. I'm hoping that's the case. Maybe...maybe we can see if Dr. Laub would examine you to figure out why you have no memory of your identity or the events from the before times. Dr. Singh mentioned he had psychological background."

A strained look passes across Mulder's face. I wonder if he's remembering what he thought about doctors in the past. Mulder of old had a love/hate relationship with doctors. There was really only one he trusted implicitly and that was Scully. Even if Laub could help him maybe some vestigial memory is making him balk at accepting the idea.

"I'll...consider it," he finally replies.

"If it would help you to get some answers..." I start to add.

"I'll consider it," he repeats, the warning to back off clear in his eyes.

I raise my hands in a placating gesture.

Garrity takes it all in with a raised eyebrow.

"Ok, whatever. I think Dr. Laub wouldn't mind at all. He has a dual degree in medicine and psychology actually. If you like you can contact him on Sam Kurtz's radio and have him come out when you're feeling better," Garrity suggests.

Mulder nods, lost in thought.

"Thank you," I reply.

Garrity nods and then takes a breath. It's apparent he has a few more things to say.

"In regards to the incident with Spender - that seems pretty clear to me. A crime was committed here. There were witnesses and more than enough circumstantial as well as concrete evidence to settle Mr. Spender's hash...under normal circumstances..." he lets his voice trail off.

"But?" I ask.

"But to be fair...I need to get Mr. Spender's side of the story. See...I really don't cotton to blowing a man's brains out when the brains are already blown out if you get my meaning."

"You'd kill him for what he did to me?" Mulder asks in amazement.

"The laws here are pretty clear on it. If he's deemed a violent detriment to society he's executed. The town fathers weren't very liberal about people's safety. However, it's a harsh law and I'll bend it on occasion if I think it's necessary. I want Dr. Laub to examine Spender also and see if we can get him to come to himself."

I feel anger flare up in my chest over the seeming idiocy of that statement. But it's quelled quickly in the face of reason. Of course he's right. I remember my earlier statements conceding my respect for Spender and desire to help him. Yeah, we should get his side of events. When he comes out of his fugue state, who knows, he may be whole and sane again and it would be a shame to shoot him in the head if there's a chance he can be rehabilitated.

"I'd have to agree it seems necessary in this case," I nod at him.

"I...I agree too," Mulder adds, clearing his throat. "I did feel rather sorry for him at points. I heard him crying and mumbling about loving that woman a couple of times during the night when we were on the road. If he comes out of the catatonic state and is more tractable, maybe this Dr. Laub can help him to regain more of his memory."

"Well...we'll see what we can find out from him in any event," Garrity replies. "But I also want you to know the only thing I'm concerned with here is the crime that was committed in my jurisdiction. The rest of this stuff - the CDC, Atlanta...and your relationship with Mr. Skinner...all that's superfluous to me. So...I'll leave all the long lost friend issues to the both of you while I concentrate on finding out whether Mr. Spender still feels like knocking Mr. Mulder's ass from here to Sunday any time soon - or feeling it up again too, I guess."

"If there's anything I can do to help in the investigation further, let me know," Mulder replies, straightening up.

He looks like he has more of a sense of purpose now. I can tell he's eager to discover more about himself. Now that the sheriff has cut him some slack and also seems to be quite capable of handling Spender's situation he'll have time to do it. I'll have time to deal with it too now. Relief travels through me as well.

But I'd still like to talk to Spender myself. Besides wanting to know what's locked up in his head concerning both Fowley and Krycek, I'd really like to find out if seeing me again might drag him back out of the Twilight Zone. Maybe another shock at seeing my face might reverse the earlier effect of encountering me in the motel room. I turn to Garrity and venture asking for access to Spender.

"That goes for me too. And if our seeing Spender again would be of any help..."

Garrity's brows knit together.

"You're thinking shock value might help?" he asks, thoughtfully.

I shrug.

"I'm not sure. But seeing Mulder again might jog him out of his catatonia. I still wonder why he went into it when he saw me or more to the point - when I yelled Federal Agent," I reply before I think better of it. Shit. Why the fuck did I reveal that now?

"Federal Agent?" Garrity frowns. "Why the hell did you yell that?" he asks temporarily confused. "You didn't mention that last night."

"I...I used to be FBI too. Mulder and I...were colleagues at the Bureau."

"Colleagues? Why didn't you mention this earlier?" he asks angrily.

"Because I have no real proof. It's a moot point for me to tell you I was ex-FBI. Why should you believe me?"

He frowns deeply.

"Is there anything else you neglected to tell me because you thought I wouldn't believe it?" he asks sharply.

Oh sure, Sheriff. I've got something else up my sleeve that might strain credibility. Would you believe I'm queer and Mulder and I were lovers for 3 years? Yeah, I can just see myself telling him that right now and him believing it. No one guessed I was gay in all the years I was in the Bureau. I kept well in the closet. The night I came on to Mulder he laughed in my face when I told him I liked men. No, I don't think I'll tell Garrity that little factoid even if it would make my point in a roundabout way.

"No, I didn't omit anything else you weren't likely to believe. I'm sorry if you think my leaving out the fact I was a Federal Agent is a hindrance in the investigation of the case," I reply, pinning his gaze. I don't want to back down. Backing down would be a sign of weakness or a dead giveaway that I'm not being entirely truthful.

Garrity sighs and looks away first, smoothing his hands down his thighs.

"No...no I guess it's probably not a hindrance. Besides, you had a good point about lack of proof. I do have only your word and nowadays that can mean Jack shit - although in your case I'm half inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt."

I nod curtly in acknowledgment of his backhanded compliment. He shrugs a little.

"Besides, Mr. Skinner - it's rather irrelevant really - your being an ex-Federal Agent. So what? Even if you knew Spender as a wanted felon it would be irrelevant except for the fact that maybe his shock at seeing and hearing you stopped him. In that case I'd say more power to you. He could have killed any one of you last night."

"Good point," Mulder chimes in. Garrity continues. He's really on a roll and warming to the subject.

"Yeah, it's all kind of a moot point. It might not have had any bearing on Spender going gonzo. He might have just been due to flip out. It sounds like he'd been working up to some kind of big time breakdown. At any rate, we'll ask him when he comes round. But yeah, I'll run your suggestion by Laub and see what he says about letting you both see him. We can see if he thinks the shock value theory is safe to test."

I nod, glad to have escaped having to explain anything else about the relational dynamics of this situation.

"Thank you, Sheriff," Mulder adds self-consciously. "For everything."

"Like I said, no problem. All right then. I'll leave you on your own. Needless to say - don't leave town. Uh...Mr. Mulder, get some rest. I'll be in touch with both of you if there are any developments."

"All right," Mulder and I both chorus at the same time. Garrity chuckles and Mulder smiles. I grin a little too and rise as Garrity gets off the bed.

Mulder gets up too and moves to follow. He sways a little however and I cross back to his side.

"Hey, hey...take it easy. Sit down here and wait. I'll show the sheriff out," I admonish him as he wavers unsteadily.

"Yeah. I...I was just a little dizzy. Spasm in my back," he grunts a little.

I seat him on the bed and then turn to see Garrity studying us with interest. He shifts his eyes off us as soon as he notices I realized he was looking at us, but not fast enough for me not to catch it. He turns and starts walking towards the door.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," I reassure Mulder.

He nods and I leave his side to join the sheriff as he opens the door and steps outside. I shut the door to the room, giving us a moment of privacy.

"I'll be in touch," Garrity says.

"All right. I'll hope Spender comes out of it," I reply, looking off towards Kurtz's office. Kurtz is outside the office door, patching some of the stucco that covers the adobe walls of the hotel. I look back at Garrity as he answers.

"Yeah, me too. Skinner, I'm not sure what the hell I'll do with him if he doesn't come back. I hate to shoot the poor fucker. I mean that's outrageous really. It smacks of genocide and God knows we've had quite enough of that bullshit on good old Mother Earth to hold us for a while."

"Well maybe he can be rehabilitated. But if he wakes up and he proves to be a danger to anyone I don't see what recourse you have, quite frankly..."

Garrity fixes me with a terse smile. "You want to say if he proves to be a danger to Mulder," he suggests neutrally.

"What?" I reply carefully.

Garrity runs his hand over the back of his neck, hawks up a wad of junk from the back of his throat and spits it on the ground.

"Look, it's none of my business really but...I just want you to know it's not going to affect this case or my opinion of you two."

"Opinion?" I ask getting a nervous feeling in my stomach.

"Well yeah...some communities take a dim view on gays but...well like I said, Godwillin's liberal in a lot of ways and personally I could care less. As long as it's consenting adults I don't care if..."

"You think Mulder and I are gay?" I ask, struggling to keep amazement and anger out of my voice.

"I'm saying you're gay, Skinner. Mulder, if he is your Mulder, doesn't remember his gender preference."

"You're right, it's none of your business," I growl, moving to leave. He speaks again and his patient, sympathetic tone makes me stop and turn back to him.

"Look I was an LA Cop, Skinner. Before that I was a San Francisco Cop. My beat was the Castro, all right. So, I had a lot of experience with the gay community. I'm not some hick county sheriff here. I saw the way you look at Mulder. I'd say you were a lot closer to Mulder in the before times than just friends. I'm just saying it's not going to make a fucking difference if you were lovers. And for what it's worth...I hope he is the real Mulder. I'm as eager as the next poor slob to see a happy ending when someone finds a lost loved one. That was all I was getting at, understand?" he replies, squinting up into my face.

"I understand...and...thank you, Sheriff," I reply with genuine appreciation in my voice. I mean, why be angry and why deny it? He's got my number. I'm tired of hiding it anyway. But I don't want him to mention anything to Mulder. I need to approach this issue slowly and carefully with him.

"But look, Sheriff..." I begin.

"It's Dan..." he interrupts.

"Walter," I reply, extending my hand. We shake briefly before I continue.

"Dan...I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention my...sexual preference to Mulder. If he's not the real Mulder...or even if he is - he clearly doesn't remember we were together."

"How long were you a couple?" he asks quietly.

"Three years."

"I'm sorry. Losing him must have been painful."

I nod.

"I lost my wife," he sighs.

"I'm sorry to hear that too," I reply, looking down at the ground. When he speaks again I look up.

"I won't say anything to Mulder. Like I said - I'll leave the personal stuff up to the two of you. It's your private business. But...I do hope it's him. Good luck," he replies.

"Thanks, Dan. I'll let you know if anything else comes back to him."

"Good deal."

"Oh, one more thing," I hasten to add as he walks away.

"Yes?"

"Mulder says he has a bag in number 19. A blue nylon knapsack. You see it over there?"

"Yeah, I did - you want to get it for him?"

"If that's all right."

"Sure, go for it. I've seen everything over there I need to see. We're going to impound all of Spender's belongings, including that Jeep Cherokee over there, tonight after dinner. The maid can tidy up in there then. So the room's been cleared for release. You'll need to get the key from Kurtz though."

"Great. Thanks again."

"All right. Later, Skinner," he calls over his shoulder as he walks off across the parking lot again.

xXx

I watch Garrity leave a tiny dust trail as he heads back towards his truck. As he drives off, I turn and open the door to the motel room.

Mulder is at the sink, his back to me. He's standing and staring at his reflection. I watch as he fingers his long brown hair. He has that faraway look on his face again and he doesn't hear me at the door.

"Mulder?" I call in to him.

He jumps slightly, drops his hand and turns to answer.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to go next door and get your knapsack."

"Oh...thanks. I was just...just looking," he shrugs, smiling wistfully at me.

I return the small smile.

"I know it's a lot to process. Uh...we'll talk some more. Maybe I can help you to remember. We'll go slow though, so you can rest and get healthy again. If nothing else, talking will pass the time until we find out what's up with Spender."

"I appreciate it," he replies quietly.

"No problem," I answer, moving to leave.

"And Skinner?"

"Yeah?"

"If I am your Mulder...I think I'd be proud to call you friend," he says simply, moving to go sit back down on the bed.

I don't know what to say. His simple declaration catches me totally off guard and touches me so deeply I'm rendered temporarily speechless. Finally when I do speak it's to stammer something that doesn't even come close to what I feel about his remark.

"Mulder...don't forget to take another antibiotic," I croak out.

"Sure thing," he replies more brightly, stopping before he gets to the bed. He turns back to the vanity and gets another look at his hair.

"Good. Ok, I'll be right back. I need to get the room key from Kurtz."

"Do you think...could you ask Kurtz if he has a pair of scissors?" Mulder asks before I can make my exit.

"You want to cut it?" I ask, hiding my smile.

"Shit, yeah," he nods, dropping a tress down with a disgusted flip of his hand.

"I'll ask him," I grin a little and I see Mulder return the grin in his mirrored reflection. "Oh, and hey, my key's on the dresser, so lock the door behind me, all right? I'll knock when I come back," I add.

"Will do," he replies, nodding.

I leave him reaching for a glass and filling it from the water jug in order to take his antibiotics. I shut the door again. As I'm walking toward Kurtz's office I see the maid cart on the porch. The maid is unlocking the door to number 17. She'll be skipping 19. Our room's due to be cleaned fairly shortly. We may want to get out of our room while she cleans it I consider. I need to shave and I want a shower. I guess I'll suggest Mulder and I hit the communal showers in back of the motel when the maid arrives to clean our room. Then we'll be thinking about dinner I muse looking at my watch. Yeah...maybe the Dark Horse if he's up to it. If not...I'll bring him something.

I feel a lightness in my step that hasn't been there in years. I remember getting annoyed on occasion with nursing Mulder, caring for him during his many job related injuries. But right now if someone slapped me on the back and called me Florence Nightingale I'd shake their hand and thank them for the privilege of caring for my partner. I've already decided that I'm going to consider him to be Mulder. It's the only thing I can bring myself to do.

I reach Kurtz's office directly and he's not outside it any longer. The bucket of stucco and tools are gone as well. He must have gone back inside. I walk up to the door, pull it open and the little bell over it tinkles merrily.

David Peabody is standing at the desk inside. Oh fuck.

He turns when the bell signals my entrance and his face takes on a very warm expression. He walks over to me and touches my arm.

"Skinner...are you all right? It's all over town. You took a bullet helping to apprehend some zoner here last night."

"I'm fine...thanks for your concern," I answer stiffly. He blinks and steps back slightly and just as he does, Kurtz comes in through the office door.

"Oh, Skinner. How's it going?" he asks.

"Good," I manage to answer.

"I'll be with you in a second. I need to settle up my tab with David here," he nods towards the younger man.

"The total's fine on the generators," David comments, more businesslike as he walks with Kurtz back to the desk. There's some paperwork there and they bend their heads over it for a minute. I stand back, arms crossed and wait.

"Ok. I've got the gold for that," Kurtz declares, pulling a bag out of his back pocket. David takes it and stuffs it into his pocket. I notice he doesn't count it. I guess Kurtz's word is good.

"You going to work on that one solar panel today?"

"Sure. I left my tools back there. I'll see if I can get it fixed for you."

"Sounds good. Come back later. I'll settle that bill too."

"Great," David smiles at him. Kurtz nods briskly and claps him on the back, jolting him. David laughs and so does Kurtz. Kurtz turns to me.

"If you need something mechanical repaired, Skinner - David's your man. He's pulled my ass out of a tight spot here more than once."

David actually looks embarrassed at Kurtz's words. I'm impressed once again with what a genuine person he seems to be. I feel a twinge of guilt over what I'm going to have to tell him. I saw the look of concern mixed with desire in his eyes earlier. I'm hoping that his claims from last night about there being no strings attached were true. I'd hate to think he's getting serious here on such short notice. I don't want to hurt the kid because he's starting to decide he might like to get closer to me.

"Well I'd better get out and get to work," he replies, ducking his head a little. "I'll see you all later," he adds.

He makes his exit, the doorbell tinkling to mark his passage.

"So...how did it go with Garrity?" Kurtz asks, taking up the papers and going back behind the desk with them. He goes into the curtained off room behind the desk and when he comes back out I answer him.

"I think we got everything settled. He's going to accept Mulder as original DNA donor and not a clone. He's also going to try to get Spender to come around so he doesn't have to off him," I shake my head a little at that still disturbing thought.

"Garrity's ok. If there's justice to be done you can trust him to carry it out," Kurtz replies. "So...you think Mulder is really 'the Mulder', the guy you were looking for?"

"I'm going to consider him the genuine article until I have absolute proof otherwise," I reply in a quiet voice.

Kurtz looks at me quizzically.

"You two must have been really close at the Bureau. What'd he do, save your life or something?" he asks with genuine curiosity.

I look him point blank and tell him the truth. I'm starting to like and respect this guy. I don't want to lie to him even if my telling the truth jeopardizes the tentative bond of friendship we're forming.

"Mulder and I lived together as lovers for three years. They were the happiest three years of my entire life," I state flatly.

Kurtz's mouth drops open and he sucks a gulp of air in. Then he coughs and shakes his head.

"You're...you're gay?" he sputters, looking at me in amazement.

"Last time I looked, yeah," I reply, keeping my face as neutral as I can.

"No shit...well I wouldn't ever have...well...shit," he shakes his head again.

"We don't have queer written on our foreheads," I grumble.

"No...I'm sorry it's just I never heard of too many gay FBI agents in my time. I thought the Bureau frowned on homosexuals in the ranks."

"Well it wasn't policy to discriminate but it was an unwritten rule. Mulder and I had to be very discreet. There's a lot to this story Kurtz, and I really do want to tell you over that drink I promised...if you'd still want to drink with me," I reply.

"Oh hell, yeah. I gotta hear it all now. Shit, you being queer doesn't mean a rat's ass to me. After I saw what you're capable of last night, and how you cared for

Mulder, I'd want you as back up any day of the week, Skinner. What you do in private is your own affair. Mulder seems like a nice guy. I hope he does turn out to be your better half," Kurtz answers gamely, reaching over and slapping me on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Sam," I answer, "and if you don't mind - I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention any of this to Mulder. We need to...we need to work up to all this gradually to find out if he can remember our relationship at all."

"Oh sure, no problem."

"And I'm serious about that drink," I add, clapping him on the shoulder in return.

"Yeah, we'll knock back a few and I'll tell you my story too. I mean I'm only 36 but man, it's been a long, strange ride."

"I hear you. Good. We'll do it soon. In the meantime...I should get back to Mulder."

"Oh, sure. Did you come up here because you needed something?"

"Right. I want to get his knapsack out of room 19, so I'll need the key."

"No problem," Kurtz answers reaching under the desk to get the key.

"And do you have a pair of scissors?" I ask as he places the key in front of me.

"Scissors? Yeah, why?"

"Mulder wants to cut his hair," I reply as I pick up the key to 19 and pocket it.

Kurtz chuckles, "I was wondering when he'd get around to doing it. I noticed him fingering it a couple of times like he wasn't used to the length. Maybe he was remembering that regulation Bureau haircut."

"I showed him the photo."

"Oh man, yeah, let me get you the scissors then," Kurtz laughs, heading into the back room again. He brings out a pair of long shears and places them on the desk.

"Thanks," I reply.

"No problem. Just tell him to watch it, they're really sharp. Bring 'em back when you get time. No rush. I have another pair. Same goes for the key."

I nod and move away from the desk. As I go out the door, I have a thought about the CC of blood Kurtz took from me. God...when he decides to use it I hope to hell he survives the ride. I'd hate to see him die writhing in pain. It would be a damn shame.

Once outside I head back towards the room, walking along on the porch. There's a gap between room 10 and 11 that stretches straight through the building to the back of the motel. As I pass it, a voice comes out from between the motel wings.

"Skinner, hold up."

It's David.

I stop, and then I walk between the buildings into the cooler shadows between. David moves away from an open black box connected to the wall. A cable from it stretches up to the solar cell array on the roof. David puts the screwdriver he has in his hand down in the toolbox at his feet. He walks over to where I stand watching him.

"I...I just wanted to find out if you were ok. I know the machines probably repaired the bullet wound but you know...well...I was just concerned," he stumbles through his explanation.

"Thanks, David. I really do appreciate it," I smile a little at him and he walks closer.

"So, you're ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. There's a reason they call me Ironman," I answer amiably. I don't want to be rude to the kid. There's no sense in being rude.

David steps close and before I can stop him he leans in and kisses me full on the lips. I drop the scissors in shocked surprise and they thud to the earth at my feet. He begins to deepen the kiss and I take his arms gently and pry him off me. He looks into my face in confusion.

"David I..." I begin to explain.

He steps on the scissors and looks down, then he looks back up and interrupts me.

"What's wrong. What are the scissors for?" he asks. He knows I didn't want to kiss him back. He's trying to make a connection of some kind here.

"The scissors are for Mulder," I whisper.

"Mulder? Who's Mulder?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Fox Mulder...the...the man I lost 6 years ago. The man I've been searching for ever since," I reply quietly, taking his hand gently in mine.

"Fox? You mean...that Fox? The guy whose name you called out when...But how..." I watch realization dawn on his face. "Audrey said there was a man with the guy they have locked up in the jail. But she thought he was a clone the bounty hunter was bringing in."

"He's not a clone, David. He's...he's my lover. Uh...he's suffering from amnesia though. He doesn't remember me and he certainly doesn't remember our relationship. But...I know in my heart it's him and...you have to understand I...I can't..." I let my unsteady voice trail off for a moment while I master my emotions. David extricates his hand from mine. He looks down and lets me compose myself. I reach down and pick up the scissors, toying with them for a moment after I straighten up.

When I speak again my voice is more steady.

"I'm sorry, David. Last night was...well I..." I start to stumble through my excuses. Damn it I hardly know where to begin. I embarrassed myself last night with my rejection of him and now I'm going to have to reject him again. This is the worst.

David looks up and pins my eyes. He holds one hand up to stop my explanation.

"Hey...uh...you don't have to give me some long drawn out explanation, big guy. I said no strings attached, remember? My word's good. I'm...I'm happy for you, really," he replies.

I look in his eyes and see the thing I was afraid I might see there. He did have it in mind to get closer to me. Shit.

"David...look. This is 'not' the way I wanted to do this..." I sigh deeply. "I'm sorry things aren't different, but with Fox here now..."

"I understand," he breathes out.

"David?"

"Yeah?" he replies, looking away from my eyes.

"You're a hell of a human being, you know that?"

He looks back and smiles a little at me.

"Well...my philosophy is pretty much do unto others, you know. I mean...you reap what you sow," he replies philosophically.

"Well in this case...you've uh...'reaped' a friend, David. I hope...I hope you'll still consider me a friend," I rumble extending my hand.

David straightens up and squares his shoulder, extending his hand and gripping mine warmly.

"Oh yeah, Skinner. I'm not going to let you get away that easily. You're stuck with me for the duration in that respect. I'd be proud to call you friend," he smiles more widely.

"Thanks," I reply simply, pumping his hand up and down.

His echoing of Mulder's earlier words is almost eerie. My thoughts about him being rather like Mulder increase. I smile in return and we shake hands for a few seconds. When I drop his hand he speaks again.

"Listen, tomorrow is Audrey's birthday. We close the Dark Horse down for the evening and have an invitation only party there for her. Music, food, the works. Dexter's gotten a bunch of guys together to play some Zydeco music. Should be a lot of fun."

"You're inviting me?" I ask a little surprised.

"Sure. Audrey took a liking to you anyway and after last night..."

"Wouldn't that be a little awkward?"

"No, I'll...I'll make sure I explain about Mulder. Hell, bring him along. You two could cut loose a little."

"Thanks. I'll bring him if he's up to it."

"Up to it?"

I nod and my mouth falls into a tight line as I remember the beating Spender gave Mulder.

"The bounty hunter beat him rather badly. Dr. Singh says he has a bruised kidney and his face is bruised too."

"Oh, man, that's rough. I'm sorry to hear it. Well...if he's up and around..."

"I'll bring him," I reply, letting my mouth twitch up at the corner again.

"Excellent. All right. I'll see both of you then."

"Count on it," I smile more widely. "Oh...and David?"

"Yeah?"

"Mulder hasn't...well like I said - he doesn't remember we were lovers. If you could try not to let on about that idea I'd appreciate it. I want to bring all that up with him gradually - as he starts to remember other things."

"Oh, sure. I'll explain that to Audrey too. As far as anyone's concerned you two were just good friends during the before times."

"Right. Great," I nod briskly.

He turns to go back to the box on the wall and I turn to leave the cool shadowed shelter of the alley between the buildings. Just before I hit the sunlight again David calls after me.

"Hey, Skinner?"

"Yes," I reply turning to look at him again.

"What's your first name, big guy? I mean...I can keep calling you Skinner but...after a guy reams me as good as you did last night it's a little formal."

I bark a loud laugh. Christ, this kid has balls. I hope to hell he finds a guy capable of treating him right...as well as keeping up with him.

"Walter. My first name's Walter," I reply coughing on my words.

"Ok, Walter. Later."

"Later, David," I call back over my shoulder as I shake my head in amusement and walk away.

xXx

"Mulder, open up. It's Skinner, " I call as I knock on the locked door of room 20 after I retrieve his knapsack. The sack's pitifully light. It doesn't feel like he has much in it.

"Hang on," Mulder's muffled voice comes from inside. I can just hear him shifting on the bed as he gets up, and then his slow progress to the door. The dead bolt and knob lock tumblers click and he swings the door open.

"Sorry. I should have taken the room key," I apologize, standing for a moment to admire his nicely muscled chest. I want to let my eyes travel South as well to get a look at what's hanging in the confines of my borrowed sweats. Instead I squash the desire flat as he speaks.

"S'ok. I wasn't asleep. Just resting. The ice water was still cold so I had the compress on my face," he replies indicating a folded towel on the bed.

"I brought the knapsack," I reply, stating the obvious, as I step past Mulder and into the room.

"Fantastic...and the scissors I see. I'm more than ready to get rid of this mop," he replies earnestly, taking the scissors from me. I place the knapsack on the bed. He moves stiffly away from me, but not as if he's in severe pain. I take it as a good sign. He heads over to the vanity and the mirror.

"They do have a barber in town, Mulder."

"I can't wait," he comments, staring at his reflection, his mouth set in a tight line.

"Well...at least let me help. I can get the back. Don't take too much off - you can try the barber tomorrow and he can clip it up properly," I suggest, walking over to stand near him.

"I can do it," he murmurs lifting up a strand of hair in one hand and the scissors in the other. Christ he's got to be Mulder. He's as mule-headed as him for sure.

In short order the front of his hair is lopped off to the top of his ears. I stand and watch him mowing it down, my arms folded over my chest. He's definitely going to need a barber. If he's not careful, comestic surgery. But I'm determined not to offer assistance until he asks. His jaw is clenched with his own determination to do it all on his own. When he gets to the back he glances at me, however.

"Ok, I could use your help," he admits with a hint of a sheepish grin.

"I'll do my best - but like I said - you're really going to need a barber."

"I'm in your hands for now," he chuckles as he hands me the scissors.

'I wish' I think.

I turn him slightly and step behind him, scissors in hand. I start to snip very slowly. Sure I could just give it the weed whacker treatment but somehow I don't think he's going to appreciate it later if I do.

Mulder quietly watches my hands moving over the back of his head for a few moments. Then he speaks.

"I take it you based that theory about my being frozen on my nightmare last night?" he asks.

"Yeah, I did. I'm beginning to think the theory that you were tanked has possibilities. You had that burn on your leg too. That could have been a touch of frostbite. Has your throat been scratchy? Achy?"

"Now that you mention it - yes, it has been sore."

"The grays placed an umbilical down the host's throats during cryo-sleep. The sore throat was a common after-affect," I reply. I feel him tremble slightly under my hands.

"God," he whispers. The tremble travels to his hands, causing them to shake.

"We don't have to talk about this right now if it's disturbing," I suggest, snipping away a little more of his long brown hair. "We have plenty of time later to discuss theories about where you've been for six years."

He starts to nod but stops in deference to my continued cutting.

"Yeah. I think I'd like to table that discussion until later," he replies with a shaky breath.

"No problem."

"Maybe we can talk about what we used to do at the FBI. And by the way, I can remember that FBI stands for Federal Bureau of Investigation and that it was headquartered in Washington, DC, in the J. Edgar Hoover Building," he suggests, his voice becoming marginally more steady. I watch him focus on his hands for a second. He makes an effort to still their shaking and slowly they do.

"Mulder...there's a lot to talk about regarding your Bureau career. Regarding both our careers there actually. We worked in the Hoover Building but I bet you don't remember we did."

I watch his brow furrow in the reflection in the mirror.

"You're right, I don't remember it," he sighs a little.

"I think...I think some of the things you were involved with at the Bureau have a direct connection with your amnesia. I believe someone went to the trouble to selectively blank your memory. You can recall basic things - like what FBI stood for - but when there's something the bastards working with the grays wanted you to forget...like me, or anything that would clue you in to your true identity..."

"I forgot it."

"Precisely," I nod, taking another hunk of hair up in the scissors.

"Shit. Well...if you can fill me in I'd really appreciate it. It won't be like I'm remembering it. But at least I'll have the information."

"I'll fill you in. Let's take it slow though. There's a lot to absorb. Some of it's difficult for me to relate as well. I don't want to stress you out - or myself either to be quite frank," I reply, pausing with the scissors. "There are gaps in my memory too due to my uh...internment. It's a little hard for me to talk about the before time on occasion."

For all I know if I stuff Mulder's head too full of disturbing information he'll go as catatonic as Spender. I wouldn't put it past that rotten smoke sucking asshole to have put some kind of auto suggestion in place during Mulder's conditioning. Some kind of fail-safe that if he does remember too much too fast he fugues or simply switches off like a light-bulb. I'd never forgive myself if that happened. Christ! What if he arranged it so if he remembers anything at all he goes dim? No...he would have gone blank already quite possibly. I'd bet it'll just hurt like hell for him to remember so a less determined man wouldn't want to remember at all. But Mulder is a very determined man. I don't think Spender Sr. ever estimated just how determined. Still, we should go slow. Besides relating a lot about the old days is rather painful for me too. I'd rather take things in stages here and hope we can both cope with it all better that way.

"Sounds sensible. I...do feel like I need more time to process things. I don't want to overtax you either, Skinner. I mean I'm just grateful you're helping me at all."

I nod, fighting back the knot of emotion in my throat. I thank God he's here and I can help him I think. Mulder smiles at me in the mirror and I clip another strand off his hair.

"I think we're getting down to your neck here somewhere," I quip to cover the rawness in my throat.

"I bet it's dirty," he offers with a quick exasperated grin.

"We'll find out," I chuckle. Mulder relaxes further under my hands. When he speaks again his voice sounds steady and more optimistic.

"So, what kind of agent was I back then, Skinner? Were we partners or something at the Bureau?" he asks very curious now to get more of the story.

"What kind of agent?" I ask myself. God, where do I start there? Infuriating but talented? Obsessed but compassionate? Yeah, he was a lot of things including a pain in my gut. But all in all he was damned good. I can definitely say he was a damn fine agent.

"One of the best, Mulder. Seriously. You and your partner had one of the highest solve rates at the Bureau."

"Then you weren't my partner?"

"No. Your partner was a woman actually. Agent Dana Scully," I reply carefully. I stop cutting for a moment while he absorbs this piece of information.

"I don't remember her," he replies quietly.

"It's ok. I can tell you more about her later," I hedge. I can tell he's getting tense again. His jaw muscle is jumping. I figure it's about time I backed off.

"So were you in our section at the Bureau?" he asks.

I continue to cut. I'm just able to see the back of his neck through the hair now. I've done my best to take the hair down a layer at a time so the barber will have more to work with. I notice something beneath the hair on the skin of his neck. I suppress a smile. He was right about the dirt. I look up at his reflection for a moment to answer his question.

"Mulder, I was your boss. I was an Assistant Director at the FBI and you and Dana Scully were under my jurisdiction," I reply matter-of-factly.

He stares back at me, his hazel eyes widening a little.

"No shit?" he replies, amazement and amusement warring in his expression.

"True," I give him a small grin, holding my rising laughter in.

His expression is rather comical. He's caught between whether he should kowtow to me for some reason now that he has the information and treating it as just another fact because he can't remember anything about our relationship.

"I'll be damned," he grins a little back, "Should I call you sir then?" he adds only half joking, the question as to whether we should be more formal here heavy in his voice. I struggle with that feeling that I want to laugh again. Well I could tell him he called me sir in the office. He was pretty good about remembering to do it back then. But in private? He used to call me a lot of things in private but none of them was sir.

I cut through some more of his hair as I answer. I watch as I carefully snip the last thick strands away from the back of his neck.

"No...uh...that won't be necessary. We were friends and in private we'd dumped the formalities a long time..." my voice stops dead.

Mulder looks back at me in alarm as I stand staring at the back of his neck.

"Skinner - what is it?" he asks in alarm as he sees the expression of shock on my face.

On the back of Mulder's neck is a tattoo. The tattoo reads CDC103494711-CF001 underneath the first, larger printed number is a second smaller number - JTT047101111. The upper number is partly self-explanatory. CDC - Center for Disease Control. 103494711, Mulder's social security number. CF001? Maybe cryo-freeze test subject number 1? Hard to say. The second smaller number is familiar as well. I wrack my brain to remember its significance. Then it comes to me...what the additional identifier must mean. It means...this is Mulder. It has to be Mulder. JTT047101111 was Agent Fox Mulder's badge number. God damn. They wanted to make sure everyone knew who he had been before. Who this particular lab rat had been and how far he had fallen. Bastards.

"Mulder...you...there's a tattoo on your neck," I whisper.

I watch him stare at me in the reflection and his eyes unfocus in seconds.

"A...a....a....whaaahh..." his voice fades off and another tremor takes his body. This one rocks his whole frame. His eyes roll back in his head. I toss the scissors onto the vanity as his body goes rigid. He sways backward and I catch him as he falls into my arms.

"Fuck!" I gasp, hauling him up. I'm caught off balance however and I have to spin him around and dump him onto the bed. He ends up on his back, his legs still touching the floor.

"Mulder!" I yell. "Mulder!"

He's moaning slightly, and his muscles are still in spasm. Oh Christ. I move to lift up his legs and lie him flat. If he's going to seize I want him to be prone on the bed so his breathing is as unobstructed as possible. I sit down on the edge of the bed and try to steady his body by holding his shoulders. He becomes rigid for a few seconds, his back arching off the mattress. All I can do is watch as his neck muscles strain and he drools from the corner of his mouth.

"Oh man...come on, come on..." I repeat feeling terribly ineffective in the face of his distress.

Finally, Mulder falls back on the bed, and begins to still under my hands. I get him arranged comfortably on his back. His eyes are returning to normal and his trembling is lessening too.

"It's ok, buddy. It'll be all right. Relax," I try to reassure him as I lightly rub his shoulders. When he seems to be refocusing I remove my hands and just watch his face.

At last he comes completely back to the here and now, blinking up into my face.

"Shit...that was...that was fucking embarrassing," he whispers.

"I should go get the doctor," I reply.

"No...no more doctors...please," he begs, touching my arm.

I raise an eyebrow at him but nod my agreement. I'll probably regret not getting Singh later - but as I said - Mulder always rebelled against doctors. Scully really was the only one he didn't bridle against treating him. Shit...yeah...maybe his earlier balking at seeing Laub had to do with his memories of Scully coming through. I'd better agree. No sense in risking another seizure if he tries to remember that connection again now.

"All right - no doctor. Don't worry about it. Rest."

"I don't want to rest, Skinner. I want to hear about the tattoo. After that little scene I think I deserve to know more, don't you?"

"Hell no, Mulder. You look like shit. I think we've done enough reminiscing for one day."

Mulder's hazel eyes flash in anger. He raises up on his elbows and glares at me, his strength seeming to return with his intent to protest.

"Damn it, Skinner...tell me about the fucking tattoo," he blurts out, grabbing my arm hard.

"No fucking way, Mulder. I don't want you to seize again, you've already..."

"Don't you understand?. I remember I was tattooed. I remember some guy in a white lab coat, and the buzzing and the stinging on the back of my neck. The seizure didn't stop me from remembering part of it," he pleads with me. "I just don't remember what the tattoo was for or what it says," he adds, releasing my arm and slumping back to lie flat again.

"All right, take it easy," I growl. "I'll..." just as I'm about to tell him I'll write down what the tattoo says there's a knock at the door. The maid! I forgot about the friggin' maid. Christ on a crutch.

"Maid service!" a woman's voice comes shouting through the door. I glance around at the strands of brown hair laying on the floor next to the vanity. Mulder follows my gaze.

"Shit," he chortles, almost hysterical laughter starting to bubble up out of his chest.

"Yeah," I shake my head, barking my own quick laugh afterwards.

You know how it is on the road? You always pick up your room before the maid comes so she won't see what an utter slob you really are. At least that's what Mulder used to tell me he'd do on the road. Scully's room was always immaculate but Mulder turned into a mini home away from home mess. So he was always doing some of his own housekeeping so the maids wouldn't have a coronary.

"I'll pick it up," he offers, trying to get his laughter under control. "You could get the door."

"No way. You just lie there, I'll take care of both," I reply, shaking my head at him. "One minute," I yell towards the door.

I hurry to pick up Mulder's shorn locks and once they're tossed in the trash can I cross the room to open the door. Mulder's laughter is just dying out to chuckles as I open the door and confront the maid.

"Would you like your room cleaned now sir? I could come back," the dark haired woman in front of the cart offers immediately.

"No, come on in. We...we were just going out anyway," I reply, moving aside to let her enter the room. The maid comes in carrying a stack of fresh linens for the bed. I look over at Mulder and assess his condition. He looks like he is starting to recover fairly swiftly. But I'm not sure. The seizure on top of his beating injuries may have been too much for him to participate in my next suggestion.

"Mulder?" I ask as Mulder sits up on the edge of the bed and stares at the maid.

"What?"

"I thought I'd go take a shower. The shower facilities are public ones in back of the motel. Would you like me to help you back there so that you can shower too?"

Mulder's eyes track the maid as she lays the linens on the dresser. Then he looks back at me.

"Sure, Skinner, that might be a good idea. I think I can make it to the showers," he replies, nodding.

I give him a brisk nod in return and hurry to gather up my shaving kit, and a change of clothing. Mulder moves to gather up his knapsack.

"Can you manage that?" I ask him as he puts it over one shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replies, balancing the bag.

I have to let him at least try. He obviously wants to reestablish some of his dignity. As the maid bustles about I move to the closet, open it and quickly remove the knife from the shelf. I slip the Bowie knife into the sheath in my boot and arrange the leg of my jeans back over it. I shut the closet door again and catch Mulder glancing at me.

"Can't be too careful," I whisper and he nods in understanding.

I retrieve my room key from the dresser. Then with my walking closely next to him as a precaution, Mulder and I head for the door. On the way out he manages to start walking more steadily and I let him proceed on his own. He takes a couple of towels off the maid cart and holding them tightly in one hand walks with me out the door and around to the back of the building.

xXx

Mulder stands in front of the shaving station, and I hold up one of the mirrors that normally hangs over each bowl. I'm holding it up behind Mulder's head.

"Ok, see it?" I ask as he stares at his reflection in the mirror that faces him.

"Yeah, I see it," he replies in a low voice as he reads the tattoo on the back of his neck.

"The CDC stands for the Center for Disease Control," I supply.

"Right. And the rest?"

"The first set of numbers was your social security number. The CF001, I assume stands for cryo-freeze test subject number one."

"Ok, that sounds logical," he replies, nodding.

I take the mirror and hang it up on the hook that was in back of the shaving station I'd just got done using before I finish my reply.

"The second set of numbers was your FBI badge number," I add quietly, patting him on the back. "I'd say that's just about the final word on whether you're the genuine Fox Mulder. I...I don't think I need any further proof."

It has to be him, I think. I have to imagine that Spender Sr. would have had the venom to tattoo him so his identity would be known to everyone but him. Like I said - it would make him feel a perverse pleasure to brand this particular prisoner in such a way. I stroke his back lightly for a few seconds before I realize I'm doing it. The warm flush of sexual arousal warns me and I still my hand.

Before I can pull it away however, I almost feel him shift into my hand where it lies momentarily on his back. It has to be my imagination I think. I have such a strong urge to pull him into my embrace and give him the greeting I'd really like to give him that I can barely contain the desire flowing through me. He's perceptive, maybe he's picking up on it and doesn't really even know it. I move back, pulling my hand away from him. I take the towel from around my neck and wipe at some stray shaving cream that's left on the side of my head.

After we heated up the water on the gas grills Kurtz provides, I gave myself the total works, a full head and face shave. Mulder shaved his face, carefully working over the bruised parts with one of the disposable razors I had left in my shaving kit. After we shaved he wanted to see the tattoo and wouldn't take no for an answer. So, I pulled the mirror off the hook and let him see it in the reflection. But, before I'd let him look I made him promise that this was all we'd discuss for today. I wanted him to go back to the room, take his meds and put his feet up. I'd get him more ice for his face and then I'd try to do something about getting us dinner. I'm loathe to leave him alone now after the seizure. Maybe I can get Kurtz to pick us up something. At any rate, Mulder agreed, albeit reluctantly and I gave him his tat show.

"I don't need any further proof either. Thanks Skinner. I'm glad it turned out this way," he replies, smiling a little. "It's good to know I have at least one friend around here."

"Yeah, I'm glad it turned out this way too. And I'm glad I found you, Mulder. It's been a long time to go without having someone you can really call...a friend," I breathe out. "I mean sure, I met good people over the years, but you know...it's not the same as family or...a real buddy."

He nods and wipes some shaving cream from his face with the towel that lies around his shoulders. He turns around to face me.

"You said I was like a brother to you...that's flattering. It's also a little difficult for me to...uh...live up to since I don't remember our friendship," he replies somewhat shyly.

He's so Mulder in some ways and still...parts of his more mercurial, brat personality traits seem to be buried with his lost memories. I think parts of our relationship were based on a good-natured teasing and antagonism. He knew how to push my buttons and enjoyed doing it. Half the time he'd work me up just so he could apologize and then we'd fuck each other senseless to make up. Some people would call that a dysfunctional relationship. I guess it would have been if I'd been an unwilling participant. But I knew what he was doing and hell, I'd bluster just to go along with it. The payoff was more then worth the charade.

But this Mulder is a little different. He's more vulnerable. Some of that cockiness isn't apparent yet. I think I need to tread more carefully as a result. It's going to be more like when we were first starting out in our relationship. The time when we were feeling our way around our personalities and reactions. Things were less familiar and the potential for really hurting each other was higher. I'm starting to realize it's as though I'll need to win his heart again after all these years as well. If he's to remember he loves me he'll need a reason to realize it too. In order to be a good partner and lover again, I need to show him I can be a good friend first as well. I wonder if that's what he's thinking now? That he's maybe not sure he can be a good friend because he doesn't really remember how to be one.

"Mulder...I don't expect you to live up to anything. I didn't expect that in the before times."

He stares at me, then wipes at some more shaving cream.

"I appreciate that. I'm just saying I...I can tell you'd be a good friend - that's obvious. I'd like...I'd like to be your friend too. I just hope I remember things that help me to at least get it half right," he sighs as he finishes carefully wiping the bruised part of his face. He looks into my eyes and I can see some of that Mulder determination to do the right thing in his face again.

"I have confidence you'll remember. I'll help you to remember. And in the meantime...hey...it's almost like getting acquainted all over again and that's not an unpleasant experience," I reply, grinning a little at him.

He smiles again, and it reaches right up to his intelligent hazel eyes. It's a fantastic sight. I feel desire for him rise up so fast and hard it makes my head swim. I struggle once again to rein in my libido. I have to face the next step so I'd better calm down. I have to get through his undressing here soon.

"Not unpleasant at all," he affirms. He drops the towel back onto his shoulders.

"Well we'd better get those showers. It's getting late," I observe. I left my watch in the room but the sun is going well over the yardarm now. It's getting close to dinner-time.

"No kidding. I'm getting hungry too," he replies, turning to head towards the communal changing room. He picks up his knapsack and slings it over his shoulder.

"I'll see about getting us some food after we get done here."

"Maybe we can go into town for dinner. If we go slow I can probably make it into town."

"No way. I'm holding you to that agreement about putting your feet up," I reply.

"Skinner, they don't have pizza delivery here," he quips over his shoulder.

"Right. I'll come up with something," I repeat again. I'll have to think of a way to get us dinner without leaving him alone for long, or preferably at all. Maybe Kurtz can help us out, I surmise as I follow Mulder into the communal shower area.

xXx

"Yeah, I'm not going to argue," Mulder is chuckling.

"Gee, why not?" I quip taking in the attire he's holding up in front of him.

"Really," he states, shaking his head in bemusement. He looks down at the clothes and laughs a bit harder.

We completed our showers quickly. I survived the experience without coming out with a raging erection mostly because I strenuously avoided looking at him. I had one bad moment in the changing room when I turned around and caught sight of his naked ass. But, I got through the experience without embarrassing us both. After we got out from under the spray in our individual stalls, we went back out into the changing room and I was feeling rather satisfied that I'd taken the high ground over my raging hormones. We quickly discovered something in the changing room, which started out as being somewhat sad and poignant and soon changed to a humorous situation. Laughing about it helped to take my mind off my dick even further.

Mulder's knapsack contained clothes all right. But it became obvious that they weren't the clothing he was expecting to be in there. He'd refused to put said clothes on in the changing room and had walked back to number 20 with a towel wrapped around his hips. Luckily, when we got back the maid was gone, otherwise she would have gotten a free show.

"I have this sense of deja vu," I laugh. He almost chokes on his laughter.

"Oh yeah. Been there done that. Don't think I'll go there again anytime soon," he replies, tossing the blouse and skirt he has in his hands into the trash can.

"Christ, Spender must have really had it bad," I muse, shakng my head. It looks as though he'd planned on giving Mulder a total Diana Fowley make-over at some point. I really hope old Jeffrey wakes up soon. I have a whole list of questions I'd like to ask him about her and Krycek and the list is getting longer with every passing hour.

"I guess so," Mulder replies, his laughter dying down. He finally sighs a little. "This knapsack held jeans, and a T-shirt the last I had a chance to look in it. I'd taken my sneakers out of it earlier."

"I did see some sneakers in the other room when I went to get the knapsack. They were black Converse high tops."

"Those are mine," Mulder nods.

"I saw a pair of women's heels too," I add, trying to suppress a chuckle.

"Crap, yeah. You know those almost fit too. I don't know where the hell he got a size that big," Mulder starts to laugh again. I join in.

It's amazing either one of us can laugh over this subject. But maybe this comes under the heading 'if I don't laugh about it I'll cry' - or worse. In any event, we're getting a kick out of it despite the pathetic tenor of the facts behind the conversation.

"Well...I'll loan you a clean pair of jeans. I can manage a T-shirt, socks and jock too," I offer, bringing myself back under control.

He wiggles his toes at me.

"You want me to go get your sneakers?"

"If you're holding me to the agreement I guess you'll have to get them," he smirks.

"Asshole," I mock growl at him. He laughs. "All right, yeah. I'm holding you to it. I still have the room key for 19. I'll get the shoes."

"Very good, sir," Mulder replies, his voice heavy with good-natured sarcasm.

I give him my best peeved look and he laughs again.

It's marvelous to see him laugh, under any circumstances.

"Ok. I'll be back in a couple of minutes," I reply, making my way towards the door.

When I return Mulder is examining his bruised face in the mirror. The towel he wore back from the shower is still wrapped around his hips. I look away from his cotton enclosed ass and toss the sneakers onto the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Here you go."

"Oh great. Listen, thanks. Really."

"No problem. Tomorrow you can buy some more clothing. We'll give going into town a shot. There's a general store there. You should be able to find something suitable. Besides you still want that haircut right?"

He nods.

Lending him my clothes will mean I'll need to wash what's mine soon. Or buy new. I could ask Kurtz to use his laundry facilities. He has to have some way to launder the linen at the Dust Devil.

"I don't have any money," Mulder mumbles, interrupting my reverie.

"I can loan you the money. You can pay me back later," I offer, hoping at the same time that they're on the gold standard at the general store. I don't have much to barter and I don't relish drawing blood. I still have to try to discuss the nanocyte issue with Mulder. I don't want someone haggling over my bodily fluids in front of him.

He glances back at me, scratching at his nuts through the towel. I swallow hard and move to the dresser.

"I'm going to owe you a lot, Skinner," he replies. His eyes are filled with a mixture of hesitancy, gratitude and anxiety.

"Friends do things for each other, Mulder. I know you'd do the same for me," I reply, shrugging off his confusion.

The look on his face tells me he doesn't remember whether he ever did anything similar for me. I wish I could just tell him right now that he saved my life. Made me feel more alive then I ever felt before...that I felt dead when he was gone. But it's too soon to reveal any of those memories. He's still on fragile emotional ground here.

"Don't worry about it, seriously. I won't," I add tersely. He grins a little at my tone.

"You must have been a real hard-ass on the job," he smirks, some more of the old Mulder showing through.

I chuckle, "Oh yeah. I had a rep that's for sure. But I like to think I was fair while I was chewing people out..." I let my voice trail off as a memory of my castigating both Mulder and Scully over some ridiculous line item in an expense report makes me smile.

"I would imagine you were fair," Mulder replies quietly. I look at him again. He's struggling to adjust the slipping towel. Oh man.

"Thanks. Let me get you the jeans and uh...the rest of the clothes," I reply quickly, gesturing towards the dresser drawer.

Later, after Mulder's dressed and I make a run for ice so that he can apply the compress to his face, I decide it's time to give getting food some serious thought.

"So, you all set?" I ask him.

Mulder is seated on the bed, the pillows propped up behind his back. He looks a bit lost in my clothing - but not overly so. I think Spender must have been feeding him well on the road at least. The clothes are big on him to account for the difference in our sizes, but not hanging because he looks like he's starving. He's staring at the antediluvian and non-functional television set on the dresser, an intense look of concentration on his face. He doesn't reply.

"Mulder?"

"What? Oh sorry I was just..." he gestures at the TV. "I was just...shit I don't know what I was just," he shrugs.

"The television doesn't work," I reply stating the obvious.

"I surmised as much...otherwise...I...I think I would have turned it on," he replies, his brow furrowing.

"Probably. You were kind of a...TV aficionado Mulder," I nod, smiling a little. No shit. He'd stay glued to the idiot box for hours on end. Sometimes he'd even watch something with class instead of a fuck film.

"Ah," he nods, "Vidiot," he chuckles a little.

"There you go," I reply, nodding as well. "So what do you want for dinner?"

"Food," he laughs, fixing me with a grin. "I'm starving."

"Good sign. I can try to get tonight's special from the Dark Horse Tavern in town. If it's anything like the steak I had last night we'll both be happily stuffed full."

"Anything will be fine, really."

"What are you drinking?"

He shifts the compress around on his face before he replies.

"I'd like to say a beer, but with the kidney..."

We'd both used the bathroom when we returned from the showers. I'd brought two fresh buckets of water back with us to flush the can with and for washing up. When Mulder came out to get one of the buckets from under the vanity he told me he was still pissing blood. The same amount however, maybe even a little less. But a beer would be a bad idea under those conditions.

"Water's probably best."

"I think so," he agrees.

"Ok. I'll head out then. I'm going to see if I can get Kurtz to pick dinner up for us or come keep an eye on you while I..."

"Keep an eye on me? Don't feel like you have to find me a babysitter," Mulder furrows his brows a little.

I sigh. I walk over and sit down on the edge of the bed for a moment.

"Mulder, you had a seizure. I should have called the doctor when you had it. I should have my head examined for not calling Singh. I...I don't want to leave you alone under the circumstances."

"I don't need a doctor. I came out of it fine. I feel fine now...even with my other injuries."

"And I'm glad you do. But what if you start remembering again and have another seizure while I'm not here. You could fall and hit your head or..."

Mulder sighs in return.

"Ok. I guess you have a point. But Skinner...we're going to have to talk about this later. I don't like being treated like an invalid. I know that much. It's bugging the hell out of me."

I smile gently.

"Yeah, you were never good at staying inactive. And you were always an independent son of a bitch. All right, agreed. We'll talk about alternatives later. But for now, I'm going to roust Kurtz and see what I can arrange here."

Mulder nods in reluctant agreement. I get up off the bed.

"You want something to read while I'm gone? I have a couple of paperbacks."

"Maybe later...I think I'll rest until you get back," he replies, stifling a yawn.

"All right," I reply, moving towards the closet. I pull out my shoulder rig and strap it on. The leather jacket goes on next, over the gun and holster. The key to the Harley is in one of the jacket pockets along with my bag of gold coins.

"So the Harley outside is yours," Mulder comments from the bed. "I'd been meaning to ask if you were the owner."

"Yeah. It's mine," I reply a little pride in my voice. "I'm going to drive over to the Dark Horse. It'll be faster."

"Will we be taking it tomorrow?" he asks, yawning again.

"We could if you'd like. It might make it more easy for you."

"I'll play invalid if it'll get me a ride on that hog," Mulder chuckles.

I laugh, "I think a ride can be arranged."

"Great," Mulder replies.

As I'm standing by the closet door I have a second thought.

"Mulder, I should show you something else here," I beckon towards the closet.

"Oh...sure," he replies, shifting to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "What?" he asks as he comes closer.

"This," I reply, pulling the door open to reveal my rifle inside.

Mulder whistles, "A Remington autoloader? Impressive."

I cock an eyebrow at him.

"You remember your weapons," I state.

"Yeah, I recognized your Smith and Wesson. I assume that was FBI issue at one time."

"Right. I carried one back then. So did you."

Mulder's deductive mind seems to be intact at least. I consider that a good sign.

"But this one...this is a 7400 Model if I'm not mistaken."

"Exactly. The synthetic because it weathers better."

Mulder nods, reaching into the closet to pick the rifle up. He handles it deftly, pointing it down.

"I take it, it's loaded?"

"You're right there too. Think you could handle it if you needed to use it?" I ask, watching him examine the weapon. He looks back up at me, a small, terse grin on his face.

"No question."

"Good," I reply, motioning for him to hand it back to me. He does, and I place it back in the closet.

"Get it if anyone you don't know comes to the door while I'm locating Kurtz. It'll either be me coming back here or him. Anyone else tell them you're armed and they should hang around and wait for your buddy to let them in."

"Got it," he nods, turning towards me. "I'll lock the door behind you."

"Ok. I have the room key this time. Later," I nod as I make my way to the door.

"Later," he replies as he follows me to the door.

xXx

I'm halfway across the motel parking lot on my way to the office when I see headlights coming down the road. I place my hand on the Smith and Wesson. I watch as a pick-up comes closer. Finally I see the words 'Sheriff - Town of Godwillin stenciled on the side. I take my hand off my weapon and wait as the truck pulls up in front of room number 19.

Kurtz comes out of the office and heads my way at a quick jog. Garrity and one of the men I recognize as his deputy are getting out of the pick-up.

"Hey, Skinner!" Kurtz greets me when he reaches my side.

"They coming to get Spender's property?" I ask, nodding towards the sheriff.

"Yeah, they radioed they were on the way. They need my pass key," Kurtz answers.

"Right. Listen, when you're done with them I do have a favor to ask," I reply, looking over at the sheriff and nodding in greeting.

"Sure. This won't take long. I'll be back in a few minutes."

I walk back towards room 19 while I watch him head over to Garrity. As I walk, I get a glimpse of room 20's window. I'd pulled the curtains closed when Mulder and I came back from the showers. I see the curtain twitch slightly, pulled aside by the barrel of my Remington. Atta boy, Mulder, I think. The curtain falls back quickly, Mulder obviously satisfied he knows who's outside. I stop and stand outside room 19.

Kurtz, Garrity and the deputy talk for a moment and then Kurtz proceeds with the deputy to room number 19's door. Garrity walks over towards me.

"So, how's Mulder doing?" he asks when he reaches my side.

"He's remembering - just small things though. Unfortunately he...he had a seizure at one point while he was regaining a memory."

"Christ," Garrity replies, shaking his head, "is he ok?"

"He seems to be fine. He had the seizure when we found a tattoo on the back of his neck."

"Clone tattoo?" Garrity asks quietly.

"No - internment tattoo. He was held at the CDC. Furthermore...there was a sub number."

"Those were rare," Garrity observes, relief for me in his voice. "What was it - his birth date?"

"No. His FBI badge number," I reply, a small smile playing about my mouth.

Garrity slaps me on the back.

"All right. So it has to be him then," he smiles at me.

"Yeah, I think that's pretty much positive proof."

Garrity nods. "But you'd better watch him on those seizures. Maybe you should contact Singh or Laub about it."

"I wanted to contact the doctor. Mulder wouldn't let me. Uh, in the before times he had a lot of issues involving doctors. But, I will call one of the doctors if he has another one. I'll have to do something about it. He can't be left alone as long as he's having them."

"Yeah."

"So, any change in Spender's condition?"

"A little. He's eating and relieving himself but he won't speak. Most of the time he just sits and rocks. Dr. Laub is seeing him tomorrow."

I nod, sighing.

"Well I'd better get in there and help haul out his property. We're storing it in the back room at the station. The Jeep'll be parked behind the station house."

"OK. I'll talk to you later," I reply as he takes his leave and heads off towards room 19. He passes Kurtz as the motel manager is leaving the room. Kurtz walks back over to me.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asks.

"First of all, here's the room key for 19," I reply, fishing it out of my jeans pocket.

"Great. Thanks."

"Secondly..." I sigh a little.

"What's wrong?"

"Mulder had a seizure while he was trying to remember his tattoo."

"Oh man..." Kurtz replies with a shake of his head. "He has an...internment tattoo?"

I can tell he was going to ask if it was a clone tattoo as well.

"On the back of his neck. It's proof he's the real Mulder in my opinion. He can probably tell you about it safely now that he knows about it. Shit, at least I hope so."

"Hey, I'm glad to hear he's the real McCoy. But...maybe you should have called a doctor before. Is he ok?" Kurtz ventures, wrinkling his brow.

"He seems fine. But, he wouldn't let me call a doctor. We're going to have a talk about that later..."

"But you don't want to leave him alone in case he has another fit?" Kurtz asks interrupting my explanation.

"Right. So I was wondering if you'd keep an eye on him for me. I'm going to get dinner for both of us over at the Dark Horse."

"Sure, I can do that. They have a good special tonight - pork chops. I was over there earlier. You want me to come down here to the room? Dexter's up in the office. This is our chess night. I could ask him to watch the office for a while."

"Dexter the bluesman?" I ask curious.

"Yeah, you heard him at the Dark Horse? He's some fine musician. Good chess player too."

"Superior musician. I heard him the other night. And yes, if you could come down to the room that would be great. When I left him, I think Mulder was going to take a nap."

"Dexter can watch the office. I'll just go back and tell him what's going on. Then I'll come back down here."

"Sam...I really appreciate it."

"No problem. I know you'll return the favor. In fact, I'm positive. I got a guy in room number 2 due to check out at the end of the week if you know what I mean. His month is up and I can tell he's going to be trouble..."

I chuckle, "He'll need a little friendly persuasion?"

"Exactly. He shouldn't be too difficult though. This asshole isn't like Spender. He's more gas bag then anything else."

"OK. I can be there to lend a hand."

"Good deal. I'll just run over and talk to Dexter," he finishes briskly.

"I'll go tell Mulder," I nod in the direction of room 20. I figure I might as well pave the way for Kurtz so Mulder doesn't have to point the rifle at him. I turn to walk away. Kurtz calls after me, causing me to pause and turn back.

"But, listen, Skinner. What do I talk about with him? I know your relationship is off limits. I wouldn't know anything about that anyway. But...whadda I say to him? I don't want him to go in the tank on me."

I run a hand over my head.

"Just tell him about Godwillin or something. We're going to try to go into town tomorrow. Tell him about the sights. Hopefully that'll be safe. If he seizes, he's on the bed so he should be ok in terms of hitting his head. He came out of it fine last time," I reply.

"Ok. I guess I can handle it. God knows I took care of enough wounded guys in the field. I can probably handle Mulder."

"All right, I'll be back as quickly as I can," I finish.

Kurtz nods and leaves my side, jogging back towards the office.

I turn and head back over to our motel room to tell Mulder he's about to have company.

xXx

"I'm seconding that invitation. I mean it, Skinner, I won't take no for an answer," Audrey Reid scolds as she puts the second pork chop dinner into a paper bag.

I'd been seated at the bar enjoying a glass of lemonade. Now Audrey has my order ready and I'm getting ready to leave the Dark Horse Tavern, two specials ready to go. Audrey's making sure with her good-natured teasing that David's invitation to the party tomorrow night is taken very seriously by yours truly.

"Yes, ma'am," I tease back, raising my hands in the air in a placating gesture.

"And bring Mulder too," she adds.

"He should be up to it. We're coming into town tomorrow. We'll drop by and he can introduce himself."

"Oh that would be nice. I really am glad you found him Skinner," she replies softly. "David...well David explained things about the two of you. I'm just glad someone around here had a happy ending," she finishes touching my arm gently.

"Thanks Audrey. I...we have a long way to go in the memory department but I'm just glad he's safe and we're together," I reply, smiling at her. She squeezes my arm and releases it.

"Exactly," Audrey smiles, handing me the two paper bags. "I'd like to give you some lemonade but right now I don't have anything to send it with you in," she adds apologetically.

"That's fine. We can drink water. Thanks Audrey. Take care. I'll see you tomorrow," I reply, getting off the bar stool.

"Drive carefully," she calls after me as I head for the tavern door.

The ride back from town is short and uneventful. I park the Harley in front of room 20 and walk around to the back of it to unstrap the two bags from the luggage rack. As I'm removing them Kurtz opens the motel room door and stands silently waiting for me. As I approach, carrying the bags, he looks down and won't meet my eyes.

"What's wrong?" I ask, worry edging into fear in my guts.

"He didn't seize at least," Kurtz starts to explain. "But...man, I'm sorry..."

I bull past him into the room. Mulder is lying on the bed, his back propped up against the pillows just as I left him. His arms are crossed over his chest and he looks pissed off.

"What's the matter?" I ask him, depositing the bags on the table by the window. I turn to Kurtz as he reenters the room. "What happened?"

"Why didn't you tell me about the nanocytes?" Mulder asks in a low voice.

Oh shit. I wasn't ready for this conversation. But from the look on Mulder's face I guess it's ready or not here it comes.

"I'm sorry, we were talking after he woke up and..." Kurtz lets his voice trail off as Mulder fixes me with a steely look. "Maybe I'd better leave," Kurtz finishes shrugging.

I let my breath out and turn to him.

"It's ok, Sam. I'll talk to you later. This is...this is something Mulder and I need to discuss in private."

"Damn straight," Mulder grumbles.

Kurtz nods in understanding. "Sorry," he murmurs as he turns to go. "Oh, I got my scissors," he adds picking them up from the table by the window.

"Thank you for letting me use them," Mulder chimes in, his tone of voice practically propelling Kurtz out.

I feel anger rising in my chest to join the embarrassment at having my lover find out I've become the Bionic Man.

"Anytime," Kurtz winces a little taking in Mulder's look of consternation in my direction. He hastens to the door, and exits. I walk quietly over to the door and shut it behind him. I start to lock us down for the night.

"There was no reason for you to be rude to him," I comment as I throw the dead bolt.

"Rude to him? What about me? How rude was it to keep me clueless? How the hell long were you going to keep me in the dark about something like that?" he asks.

I sigh and move to the table by the window, pulling out a chair and throwing my leg over it so the chair back is towards Mulder. He's practically vibrating he's so angry. I have to imagine that somewhere in there he remembers the nanocyte's original purpose and how I was infected with them. Maybe besides my not telling him he has residual anger over that whole affair. I guess I have to take that into consideration. Still...his being an asshole to Kurtz was uncalled for. Just because the guy was the bearer of bad tidings doesn't give Mulder the right to kill the messenger.

"Yes, rude to him. Mulder...he was just delivering the message. We don't shoot the messenger - that hasn't changed yet even in this brave new world."

Mulder deflates a little but when he speaks again his voice is still tense.

"You didn't answer the second part of my question."

"I would have told you as soon as I was sure you could handle it," I answer, poking at one of the bags on the table. My stomach is rumbling a little and it's not helping the bad mood that's growing in me.

"Skinner...look..." Mulder sighs, shifting to get up off the bed. He walks over and stands across from me at the table. I track him as he walks. His step is firmer and he looks more rested despite his talk with Kurtz.

"Have you been taking your antibiotics?" I blurt out. Why the hell did I say that? Because you're trying to stave off the conversation you moron. Sure, get him off balance, off track. Maybe he'll forget about the topic. Not likely

Mulder stops in mid chair pull-out, "Yes, I'm taking my medicine, Nurse Skinner. I'm not helpless you know, even if that's the way I'm being made to feel."

I feel my jaw clenching. Wonderful. So now he thinks I'm being overprotective? Christ I haven't had a chance to touch him in over 6 years. Can't he forgive a little over concern here?

"So you feel I'm showing too much concern, is that it? Being too...too overprotective of your health and feelings?"

Mulder sits down. He stares at me for a moment and I see him try to temper his anger.

"Yeah, that's about it. Look I appreciate what you've done. I'm very grateful. God knows I hardly know how to thank you..."

"You could begin by not rushing into..." I interrupt

"God damn it, Skinner. I just can't stand this...this not knowing. I hate being kept in the dark and coddled whether it's conscious or unconscious on your part. It's starting to make me crazy."

I pin his eyes and argue further, trying to reason with him.

"Mulder it may be dangerous for you to remember things too fast. You saw what happened to Spender. What if you have some kind of fail-safe command inside your head," I reply, pointing at my forehead for emphasis. "What if you go catatonic or seize again so severely that..."

"I'm willing to take the risk," Mulder interrupts.

"WELL, I'M NOT!" I shout, slamming my fist down on the table. Anger accompanied by fear rages up inside me. It floods my whole body, reaching my head in the end and making my skull feel like it's going to explode.

Mulder jumps and I pull my hand back quickly, shaking a little. I struggle to control myself. Mulder sits there stunned into silence.

"I'm...sorry, Mulder," I whisper looking down at my reddened hand. "It's just that...I've found you after 6 years of searching and I don't want to lose you again. I've lost...I've lost too many friends..." I reply, my voice fading.

"I don't even remember our friendship," Mulder replies, regret heavy in his voice. "Don't you think I'd like to remember it? As far as I'm concerned I'm still lost after all those years. I can't remember my past. I want to remember all of it, Skinner. I just want the truth and I don't want to feel like a helpless psychological or emotional cripple."

I bristle at the description.

"Well I'm sorry if my concern for your...for you as a friend makes you feel like the halt and the lame, Mulder. Forgive my temerity in not wanting to see you writhing and drooling on the bed again," I answer sarcastically.

Mulder runs a hand over his face.

"All right, look. I don't want to fight with you about it. There's no point. I know you mean well, Skinner. It's...it's just I feel so adrift. It's an uncomfortable feeling," he replies, raw emotion making his voice rough.

"I can understand that, Mulder. I know this is hard. It's difficult for us both," I reply quietly looking away from him at last. The look of pathetic longing is in his face again and I can barely look at him. "I just don't want you to suffer," I finally end for lack of anything better to say.

"I'm suffering not knowing," he replies, stolidly. "It's why I'm willing to take the risk to remember. Besides, I don't think I'm going to have another grande mal seizure," he adds matter-of-factly.

"What?" I ask looking over at him and raising my eyebrows.

"When Kurtz started explaining about the nanocytes in your blood I had a flashback. I knew there was something familiar about the nanocytes in general and when I started to shake I did some heavy visualization in order to go with the experience..." he begins to explain, his voice taking on renewed energy and excitement.

"And?" I reply, running a hand up under my glasses and rubbing the bridge of my nose. Trust Mulder to risk his own life to discover the truth. Why does that idea surprise me, I think. He's been doing it as long as I've known him.

"And, I didn't seize. I had a strong memory of you lying on a couch with a red-headed woman touching a bruise on your side. I...I called her Scully and told her you were going to say nothing was wrong with you."

I nod motioning for him to ask the question that's obviously on the tip of his tongue.

"The nanocytes were put into you, weren't they Skinner? Someone infected you with them and it was up to Scully and I to find out who, and how and why," he whispers.

And I wouldn't let you I think with bitterness. I rebuffed your help until it was too late and Alex Krycek had me by the balls but good. But that's one thing I'm not going to tell him now. I don't care what he says. I can't tell him about what Krycek made me do, not yet.

"Essentially yes," I tell him instead.

"But then...were you...I mean...were you rendered...." he stops, staring into my eyes.

"Go ahead say it - immortal," I shake my head in self disgust.

"Yeah," he replies, looking down at his hands.

I sigh. I guess I'd better tell him as much of this as I can now. He's just going to press and press until I do. He's right. There's no sense in fighting about it. I always did make the mistake of trying to shield him too much. Scully used to joke that I actually caught being over-protective from Mulder since he treated her the same way. Whatever. I guess I need to change tactics here and try to clear the air.

"Not in the beginning no. The nanocytes are only the tip of this iceberg, Mulder. There's a hell of a lot more to this story," I reply. I'm about to continue and my stomach growls loudly.

"Oh Shit," Mulder exclaims smiling a little. Some of the tension goes out of the room in a rush.

"Sorry, I'm starving," I chuckle.

"Hey, nothing to be sorry about...so am I," he replies more gently.

There's a double meaning in his words. I get the idea he wants to apologize for his actions. Mulder always found that difficult to do in words. He was better at showing it with his actions. We had some tremendously hot lovemaking sessions after an argument. In our relationship it was usually me who apologized verbally - only after I'd taken Mulder's ass for a hard ride. But there were always exceptions...

"Mulder, I want to apologize. I realize maybe I have been unfair here. I shouldn't have been so overprotective. Hell - you used to bridle over my tendencies there before. I should have known it was a mistake now."

"Well...I can understand. You meant well. And I should apologize too. I 'was' rude to Kurtz. I should make amends to him later. Also - I know you said talking about the before times is often painful for you too. I seem to have conveniently forgotten that point in my headlong rush to discover my truth. I...that's not right either," he replies sincerely.

Well will wonders never cease? Maybe I don't want him to remember some of his more annoying habits I consider. Oh get real, Skinner, I chide myself. Right now I'd give anything for Mulder pouting because he refuses to apologize. As much as it gave me gas it was still part of the man I love with all my heart.

"Ok. Should we call it even on the apologies?" I grin a little.

"Yeah, let's call that a closed issue," he replies, relief in his voice. He pulls a bag over close and starts to open it. I do the same with the bag left on my side of the table.

"All right, Mulder. I'll make a deal with you," I reply, taking a whiff of the delicious aroma that emanates from the pork dinner I'm about to eat. Each dinner is wrapped up carefully on a paper plate. Audrey even supplied some paper napkins and plastic silverware.

"Deal?" Mulder asks as I pull out my meal.

"Right. I'll agree to fill you in. It's your right to know. But...I'll only tell you as much as I feel comfortable telling you right now or as much as you can tolerate - whichever comes first. If you start to seize we'll call it quits immediately. I won't brook argument there. It freaks me out for one thing. I'm just not comfortable dealing with seeing you that way. We can continue later when you've recovered from the incident. And as you pointed out - there are some things I have a great deal of trouble discussing myself so that's why I'll only go as far as I can go as well. I'll get to all of it - it may just take a while." I explain as Mulder listens intently.

"Ok. I think that's fair," he nods.

"Plus - unfortunately there are some things I don't remember either. Maybe...maybe as you start to remember you can help jog my memory too," I finish quietly, uncovering the 2 pork chops, peas and large hunk of homemade corn bread that makes up tonight's Dark Horse special. "Man this looks good," I smile over at Mulder.

"Yeah, it does," he smiles shyly back. "And Skinner...I'll do my damnedest to help you remember too."

"All right then. Eat your food before it's stone cold. I'll tell you about the nanocytes. I fuckin' hope it doesn't ruin your appetite," I answer, taking my fork in hand.

xXx

Later I lie in the dark hotel room in my sleeping bag, staring up at the ceiling. I mull over what I told Mulder during dinner. Mulder snores lightly in the bed. I insisted he sleep in it again to give his injuries a softer surface for at least one more night. Tomorrow I bet he'll argue to switch off. Talk about old times.

Man, the memories of how much he used to yank my chain are really coming back to me. Well, I'd never really forgotten them. And I wouldn't want him any other way. Being obstinate is part of Mulder's intrinsic strength and God help me, part of his charm as well.

Our whole disagreement tonight was based on an old personality trait whether he remembers it or not - that obsessive search for the truth. In the end I would have had to tell him what I told him tonight anyway. Like I said - he would have never given up nagging me until I did tell him.

So, I told him about the nanocytes, including about their reprogramming at Fort Detrick, and crossed my fingers that he didn't seize out on me. I had to backtrack a bit to tell the tale. I had to explain in basic terms about the X-Files. I tried to relate how he and Scully stumbled upon the Consortium and their plan to help the grays colonize and enslave mankind. I didn't gloss over my role as fence-sitter either but I told him that despite my position I did try to aid his and Scully's cause. But we all gained enemies and one of these, Alex Krycek, took a particularly unique brand of revenge on me. God help me though, I couldn't tell him Krycek had a chance to collect on that revenge before he betrayed me to the National Guard.

He didn't remember any of it. He did have some odd, indistinct feelings that some of what I was saying sounded familiar - but being able to grasp those thoughts and know them intimately was beyond him. So, he took what I said at face value as I described it, but as for the actual memories - they're either not there or buried so deep he can't access them yet. I watched him struggle to remember, especially more information about Dana Scully, and it was painful to watch. We didn't even get around to discussing her whereabouts now. It got to the point during the conversation where he finally couldn't absorb any more. He was being broadsided with too much data and too many questions were arising out of what I was telling him. He started to wonder about Kryeck and the connection with Spender, and Fowley and a whole can of worms was opened before us. Finally, he stopped listening and started to shake. I stopped talking out of sheer emotional exhaustion and the worry that he was going to go out on me again. We simply couldn't go on.

But I did barely get through telling him about my internment. What little I remember of it. I told him I didn't understand how, but that the biotechs reconfigured the nanocytes to make me, in effect, ageless and definitely a self- renewing resource. He could hardly believe it which surprised me given his credulity in the past over so many other bizarre things. I suppose it was in part, information overload that made him incredulous. So, I took my Bowie knife and cut the palm of my hand for a little show and tell. The cut healed almost instantly and Mulder was made a believer. We ended the conversation at that point, both of us drained and ready to try to get some sleep.

Mulder is disturbed about the immortality idea. I can tell even though he didn't come right out and admit his feelings about it. I hope it doesn't disgust him. I know we'll need to discuss it further, especially if he starts to remember we were lovers. I hope he will remember what we had together. If he doesn't, I'll have to explain that too and hope we can work around the nanocytes issue. God knows if he'll even want me anymore. I mean would you? A lover that will never age while you do? I wouldn't expect him to want me under those conditions.

If only I could find Krycek and discover why this was done to me and if there's a way to change it. Change it or...take a chance at injecting Mulder with my extra- special blood by-products. Considering the Russian roulette possibilities there I don't think I could bring myself to take the risk even if he agreed to do it. Damn. I have to stop agonizing over this shit or I'll never get to sleep.

Mulder took another antibiotic and crawled into bed, falling into a deep sleep almost instantly. I waited for a nightmare to claim him but thankfully, none came. No, for once, Mulder is sleeping soundly and I'm the one lying awake, my mind racing.

God. It's like a bad movie, a piece of film running over and over in my head. I need to slow that celluloid down, make it a slo-mo replay so I can eventually stop it and then drift off to sleep. I lie back and attempt to still my thoughts. I try to breathe evenly and strive to visualize some peaceful scene that will relax me. I let my mind wander and images do start to play across it. Images of Mulder....images of Mulder naked and erect, lying under me and...Oh hell. Now not only am I edgy, I'm also aroused. I sigh. It's inevitable I guess. I've been restraining my libido all day like a good soldier. Yeah, Walter has toughed it out just like every stoic ex-Marine is expected to do. Kept his big head well in control of his little head. Unfortunately, it's catching up with me.

The proximity of Mulder lying up there in the bed, the gentle sounds of his breathing, his smell...the whole experience turns my efforts to relax in a whole different direction. I can feel that familiar warm heaviness pooling in my groin and the first stirrings in my cock that tell me I'm headed for a hard-on. Well I do know one way to remedy that situation, I guess.

I resign myself to the idea of a quick jerk-off session and very quietly move my hands down to open the sleeping bag. I pull it back to expose myself. I listen carefully to see if Mulder is stirring at all. His breathing is still regular so I turn my attention to self-pleasuring.

I begin to touch myself, stroking over my chest. I took my T-shirt off before I crawled into the sleeping bag so I have easy access to my skin. I start by concentrating on my nipples just to heighten my excitement a little further. My nipples are sensitive but not overly so. It takes a bit of pinching and rolling before they really feel good. I keep that up for a short time until I can feel the sensations traveling strongly down to my cock. I finally reach down and work to slip my jock strap off. I'm going to use it as a fuck rag. Once again I listen for Mulder, and hearing no change, I continue

I run my hands down my body, to my groin, stroking it and then the areas directly around my cock. I like to have the skin between my legs on either side of my genitals given some attention. I stroke myself there now, teasing and massaging back up the inside of my thighs as well. I work my fingers down to rub my balls next and then back over the skin between my balls and my anus. I rub there lightly at first and then more firmly, shutting my eyes as I concentrate on the feeling deep inside my body that my fingers elicit. This external massage of my prostate really starts to get me up and I move my right hand onto my cock at last. It's well on its way to a good hard-on. I sigh and finger it, just teasing the head while I stroke my balls with my left hand.

A little pre-cum is starting to ooze out so I take that on my fingers and work it up over the glans, massaging it around gently. I'm not sure it's going to be quite enough lubrication so I bring my hand up and add spit to the pre-cum. The moisture is just right then and I take my cock up in my fist. I pull it up towards my stomach and start to slowly pump my hand up and down its length. I tip my head forward a bit so I can watch my slick fist working my rapidly engorging flesh. My mouth opens and I try to keep my panting quiet as I start to move my hips in small thrusting motions.

I tilt my head back again and shut my eyes, letting myself fantasize where I'd really like to be thrusting my cock. The vision of Mulder's tight, warm ass sheathing my cock deep takes me to complete hardness in just a few more firm strokes.

Normally, I'd bring myself close and then back off my orgasm, playing at that game for as long as an hour until I bring myself off. But tonight I want to get it over with quickly so the orgasm will relax me and send me out like a light.

I pick up the speed of my hand, letting my thumb and index finger flick the crown on the upstroke. Finally I give myself a last couple of hard cranks and rapidly massage directly underneath the head. My balls draw up really tight and I gasp, my muscles stiffening, my back arching up slightly. My orgasm rolls through me nice, and long and slow, and I stifle the moan that threatens to work its way out of my throat. This isn't a crashing climax but it's a good release and I rock into it, continuing to fist myself, as cum spurts out of my cock and up onto my stomach.

"Fffuck..." I hiss as the last waves of pleasure ripple through me. Man that was good. I have to let go of my cock at that point, it's too sensitive now to keep up with the steady, hard stroking. I content myself with gently fondling it and then my balls, pulling them a little as my breathing becomes more normal.

"Skinner, you ok?" a sleep muzzy voice comes from the bed. Christ. I stop groping myself instantly and try to get my breathing even further under control before I answer.

"Hmmm?" I just manage to murmur.

"You ok?"

"Oh. Yeah...I must have been dreaming," I mumble, wiping at the cum on my chest with the jock strap.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks. Go back to sleep."

"K," Mulder mumbles sleepily and I hear him turn over. He's snoring gently again after a few moments.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Having Mulder catch me jerking off shouldn't have been that big a deal I suppose. I mean guys beat off. But usually not in close proximity to other guys - at least past their teen experiments with group jerk-off sessions. So, it might have been embarrassing and raised questions in his mind. Personally I'm tired of answering questions right now. So, I'm glad he didn't catch on.

I finish my clean-up and stuff the jock under the sleeping bag. I'll let Mulder use the can first in the morning so I can dispose of the evidence. I can get a clean jock out and on before he sees me buck naked too. I pull the sleeping bag closed again and roll onto my side. The last thing I hear before I drift off is Mulder mumbling "Scully?" in his sleep.

xXx

August 6, 2005, The parking lot of the Dust Devil Motel, Godwillin, New Mexico

Mulder stands next to the Harley admiring it as I climb aboard and raise the kick- stand. I start her up. The motor purrs nicely, the whole bike vibrating against my crotch. I steady the cycle with my legs and thighs and I'm ready for Mulder to take a seat behind me on the passenger part of the saddle.

"Ok. Climb on and hold tight," I shout.

We're going to give that trip into town a shot this morning.

Mulder woke up early and I roused myself out of a restful sleep to watch him as he stood in front of the room window, curtains drawn back, to face the rising sun. Everything was peaceful, wonderfully quiet, and the sun danced about the room, touching everything...including Mulder, with it's golden glow. The sky was a perfect robin's egg blue with just a few fluffy white clouds dotting it. Mulder's back was to me and since he was clad only in my jock, I had all I could do not to salivate at the site. His well muscled torso kissed by the sun, backlit so that his nicely shaped gluteus muscles were a well defined feast for the eyes. Man what a way to start the day I thought as I rolled over and pulled the sleeping bag up over my head to block out the sight.

It was amazing we woke as early as we did considering the emotional turmoil both of us went through last night. I always sleep soundly after a good cum though. I think Mulder's general exhaustion made him sleep like the dead. So our wide awake greeting of the early morning sun wasn't so much of a surprise all things considered.

He woke feeling a whole lot better. His movements were less stiff and there was no blood in his urine at all. Both of us are optimistic that he's on the road to recovery in earnest. His face is still bruised of course, but the ice brought the swelling down. Now he just has a very spectacularly discolored reminder of Spender's not so gentle attentions.

After we realized how clear and promising the day looked, we made an agreement. We decided there would be little or no discussion about the before times. We'd take a break and regroup. Get to know each other a little better. Tonight after we got back to the room would be time enough for more trips down memory lane. I'm thinking that if today goes well and we enjoy renewing our friendship further I might broach the subject that Mulder and I were a lot more than just friends. I need to do that soon. I'm having a great deal of trouble tamping down my desire for him. So today we play and if I get really lucky maybe tonight we'll get at least close to playing as well.

Both of us showered and shaved in the public area again. Kurtz just happened to be back there and Mulder apologized to him for being so rude the night before. Kurtz assured him there were no hard feelings and invited us over to his room to share a breakfast of fresh eggs, toast and coffee. We were both starving as usual so after quickly dressing back in room number 20, we went up to room 1 and chowed down.

Now, breakfast over, we're just about ready for our road trip. I've got my leathers on again, and the Smith and Wesson in its rig under my jacket. Mulder has the Bowie knife in its sheath strapped under the right leg of his borrowed jeans. He's also borrowed my helmet. After all, I wear it mostly because it's got an extra filtered sun shield, not as much for the protective value. Mulder's head isn't going to self repair if we ditch and he cracks it on the pavement. I'll have to get him a helmet of his own in the future I think optimistically. I'm wearing an old white University of South Carolina cap that Kurtz loaned me for the ride. A C.O.C.K.S. cap he called it. We all had a good laugh at that one since the acronym is emblazoned across the front. "No sense in suffering a sunburn even if the nanocytes will repair the damage eventually," he said when he gave me the cap.

Mulder hastens to climb aboard the bike. He throws a long, lean leg over the saddle and settles behind me.

"Ready?" I ask as he leans close. I can tell he's trying to decide where to put his hands.

"Hold on to the seat on either side if that works for you," I call back over the engine. I don't expect him to hold onto me. I'm surprised when I feel his hands grip the sides of my waist tight.

"Is this ok?" he yells into my ear.

"Fine!" I call back. Oh yeah is it ever, I think as he settles against me.

I reach up and turn the cap around so that it faces backward. I goose the gas, revving the engine so that it roars impressively and then let up on the brake. The bike jumps to life under my hands and we ride off towards downtown Godwillin.

As the Harley picks up speed, Mulder leans in closer against my back. I can feel his heart beating with excitement. It's not going to be a long ride in since it's only about a half mile but Mulder is pumped for it. All morning he kept asking me questions about the bike and what it was like to ride her. I got caught up in his enthusiasm and tried to explain how good it felt to fly down the road, the wind in your face and sun on your back. Now I think he's getting the idea if his heart rate is any indication.

All too soon we reach Main Street and I slow the bike in preparation for stopping. It won't be lunch for a while so I figure we can save introductions at the Dark Horse for the noon meal. Right now a barber shop is more in order. I spot the sign about midway down Main and head towards the curb in front of it.

I pull up and motion for Mulder to climb off the bike. He does so and stands aside while I back the Harley up against the curb that borders the stone walkway that fronts the stores. When I cut the engine and put down the kickstand he's at my side immediately.

"God, that was great, Skinner. Absolutely fantastic," he enthuses, yanking the helmet off his head. His eyes are dancing and his face is flushed with excitement. I always loved this about Mulder. He never had a problem accessing his inner boyish exuberance. I, on the other hand, almost always had trouble doing it. I suppose I let him do it for both of us a lot of the time.

"Yeah, she's some ride," I answer, smiling. I rub my hand over the handlebar affectionately. "I'll tell you what - before we go back to the motel I'll take her out on the highway a little and really open her up. How would that be?"

"You read my mind. I was just going to ask you if we could," he replies, hanging the helmet over the same handlebar I was stroking so proprietarily.

"I think I can arrange it," I chuckle climbing off the bike and swiping some dust off my chaps.

Mulder turns his attention to the street.

It's early, but the citizens of Godwillin are out and about. The main thoroughfare almost looks like your typical before time town except for the solar collectors and the hum of generators that are supplying power. Merchants are opening up for business, and some of them sweep out their shops, bringing the dust out the doorways. Individuals, couples and kids all go about their various errands or to work or I would suppose school. There are even some stray dogs hanging around. Evidence of transportation is eclectic. Mountain bikes, other motorcycles, a few pick-ups and even a horse or two take up parking spots along the way. Two doors up from the barber shop a large, white mule is tethered to a post driven into the roadside. The effect is a strange mixture of modern and old wild west frontier town, and Mulder takes it all in with excited curiosity.

-END OF PART 16- Go on to Part III - Parts 17 -26