Title: Beyond This Experience
Author: Agent L
Classification: S
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Requiem, One Breath - nothing from Season 8. This is a 
Doggett-free zone.
Distribution: Anywhere, as long as my name is attached.
Disclaimer: To Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, Fox, and now 
Robert Patrick: I know they're not mine, and no money, gifts or even 
chocolate would be expected or accepted for this. 
Summary: What if Skinner finds Mulder first?
Feedback: Yes, please! LHoward388@aol.com


Beyond This Experience

In his dreams, he reaches out and grabs Mulder's coat sleeve, stops his 
progress to ask a question or make some comment. Then they walk forward 
together into the woods to find nothing except some scorching of the ground 
and trees. They pack up their lasers and equipment and he returns Mulder to 
Scully, just as promised. Life adheres to its expected and logical course.

In his nightmares, he once again sees the ship -- the blinding white glow, 
like lightning -- the vague outline of a huge, black obelisk that hovers for 
a few seconds, hesitating just above the trees, and then vanishes with an 
unbelievable burst of power. In his memories, he is once again alone in the 
darkness, unable to accept or understand what has happened. Something has 
gone horribly awry and he cannot command or reprimand it back into place.

He wears his guilt secretly, a hair shirt beneath his expertly tailored suits 
-- never one for displaying his emotions. He does penance by going to the gym 
and works out until he is nauseous and his muscles tremble with lack of 
oxygen. By appointing himself as Scully's guardian, to intercede for her, to 
take care of her, to atone for his most grievous sin -- although he knows he 
is a poor substitute for the man she really wants by her side. So he 
searches, every free hour of his busy days and every night, with all the 
resources of an assistant director at the Federal Bureau of Investigation and 
the desperation of a man trying to save his soul. 

Seven months. There are those in the bureau who breathed a 
sigh of relief after the first few weeks when Mulder didn't pop 
up in Antarctica or Alaska or New Jersey with some renewed 
conviction that the truth is out there and aliens are among us. 
There are those who would sweep the agent and his career 
under the rug marked "Official Embarrassments" and never 
speak the name again. Scully has a new partner, the X-Files 
remain open, and he still has a job. Life goes on. Even some 
of Mulder's defenders are beginning to hint that the manhunt 
should be called off and perhaps Mulder's affairs should be 
put in order.

On his worst days, he thinks perhaps they are right. 

On his best days, he thinks that the next phone call, the 
next e-mail, the next fax will bring Mulder home. 
_________

Assistant Director Walter Skinner awakened, as usual, at 
dawn -- an old military habit he'd never been able to break 
without consuming a bottle of tequila the night before. He 
took a quick run, showered, shaved and checked his e-mail. 
This latter activity was a new habit, born of a recent alliance 
formed with a ragtag trio of misfits -- Mulder's unlikely helpers, now by 
necessity his own. Despite his initial misgivings, he had soon come to 
respect Byers, Langly and Frohike. He admired their persistence and technical 
expertise even as they needed his guidance and connections. Their initial 
uncomfortable meetings, reeking of suspicion and paranoia on both sides, had 
become a group effort, even though he drew the line at being called 
"Skinman."

Finding nothing on the e-mail, Skinner finished dressing for 
work, then noticed the answering machine light blinking as 
he grabbed his watch from the nightstand. He picked it up 
and pressed Play.

"We've got a John Doe."

Frohicke's words sent a chill down his spine. His throat went 
dry and he felt a surge of adrenalin go through his body. It 
wasn't the first time he'd had such a call -- there had been 
several false leads and dead ends, both through official and 
unofficial channels. And every time he told himself he would 
not believe, he would not allow himself to hope...

He quickly dialed the Gunmen's lair on a special secure line 
they had set up.

Byers answered without greeting or pleasantry. "State 
police found a man who fits Mulder's description at a rest 
stop just off I-94 near the Wisconsin/Illinois border. He was 
unconscious, no ID. They called the EMTs and took him 
to a nearby hospital."

"Anything else?" 

"Yes. He's got a scar on his left shoulder that looks like an 
old gunshot wound. And reportedly he regained consciousness 
in the ER and said ... something about a skull."

How many thousands of people in the United States probably 
had scars on their shoulders? No doubt more than a few of those 
were from gunshots or looked as if they could be. He didn't want 
to turn a misunderstood word or two of someone's feverish 
ramblings into a plea for Scully. But he'd flown across the country 
with less information. 

"I'm on my way," he said, and hung up the phone. He pressed 
another number.

"Hello?"

The voice was vaguely familiar, but not the one he'd been 
expecting. He hesitated. "Dana?"

"This is her mother, Maggie Scully. Who is this?"

"This is Wal-- uh, Assistant Director Skinner. I need to speak 
to Agent Scully."

Maggie hesitated. "She had a bad night. We're going to the 
doctor in an hour. I wanted her to get some rest first."

Although gently expressed, the unspoken command was loud 
and clear. Do Not Disturb. Skinner knew Scully's pregnancy 
had not gone well. She'd been sick almost from the first, but 
had insisted on continuing to work despite his and her doctor's 
advice.  After she'd had a few close calls in the field, he'd put 
his foot down and assigned her to desk duty. She'd been fine for a 
while, but had started looking pale and tired recently, and had even 
taken a few sick days over the past three weeks, which was unheard 
of. Skinner didn't want to add to her stress when this could just 
be another John Doe waiting for someone else to claim him. Knowing 
Scully, she'd skip the doctor's appointment and jump on the next 
plane, endangering herself and the child, possibly for nothing. 

He'd lost Mulder. He wouldn't be responsible for Scully 
losing the baby.

"Mr. Skinner? Can I give her a message? Is this an 
emergency?"

Code for "is this about Mulder?"

"No. No, it can wait." He was already impatient to be 
on his way, and there was no reason to give what few 
details he had to Maggie. Scully would be furious at being 
left out of the loop, but he'd deal with her wrath later. She 
could beat him black and blue if he could tell her he'd 
found Mulder.

The plane ride was uneventful, and soon Skinner was at 
the reception desk at St. Luke's Hospital in Townsend, 
Wisconsin, greeting Dr. Abbott, a handsome young man 
who looked as if he should still be dissecting frogs in 
biology class. 

The doctor escorted Skinner to the small cafeteria, where 
they got coffee from a machine and sat at a corner table. 
"I hear you're interested in our John Doe," he said. "We 
haven't had time to process all the missing persons reports 
for a matchup yet. Any help you could give us would be 
appreciated. We're just a small operation here." He grinned. 
"No pun intended."

Skinner fought back a growl, his nerves stretched and ready 
to snap, not a patient man at the best of times. "I'd have to 
see him first."

The doctor's grin faded and a look of apprehension came 
into his eyes. Skinner forced himself to breathe deeply. 
"Sorry," he ground out. "It was a long flight."

Dr. Abbott gulped the rest of his coffee. "Well, then, let's 
get to it." They started down the hallway and as they walked, 
the doctor filled Skinner in on the patient's condition. "He's 
a little more lucid this morning, but still in and out of 
consciousness. Not surprising. He's pretty banged up -- 
cracked ribs, contusions on the arms and abdomen, a few 
cuts that needed some stitches... and a minor concussion. 
But fortunately nothing that some rest and antibiotics 
won't cure."

"Was there any indication of a brain disease?"

The doctor looked surprised. "Just the concussion, according 
to our X-rays, and as I said, it's minor. I certainly would have 
mentioned anything else to you, Mr. Skinner."

"Of course." Disappointment flooded through him at yet 
another dead end, but he'd come this far, he might as well 
see the man. Besides, after seeing Agent Scully cured of 
cancer, brought back from the brink of death, he'd come to 
believe in extreme possibilities. What if Mulder's records 
had been wrong or falsified? Or what if he'd somehow found 
a cure, wherever he'd been for the past seven months?

But the most likely explanation was that this just wasn't Mulder.

Dr. Abbott led him into a room, and as the doctor stopped to 
check the chart at the foot of the bed, Skinner glanced at the 
patient, already wondering if he could get a flight back that 
night. Then all the breath left his body and his knees went 
weak. Before he realized it, Dr. Abbott had shoved him into 
a chair and was trying to get him to put his head between his 
knees. Skinner snarled at him and pushed him away, moving 
over to the bed and taking the man's hand.

Mulder's hand. The knuckles were scraped and bruised. 
Skinner had seen the fingers bandaged like that not so long 
ago, in a padded room...

"His hand is cold."

"He was a little hypothermic when they brought him in. His 
body temp is still a bit below normal, but nothing to worry about." 

Skinner looked up at Mulder's pale face, noticing the dark 
circles under his eyes. There was an ugly bruise on his right 
temple and a bandage on his chin. His hair was dull and 
shaggy, his lips dry and cracked. An IV was hooked up to 
his left arm. Even covered by blankets, Skinner could tell 
he'd lost weight. He looked fragile, as if the slightest touch 
would shatter him. The way Skinner felt right now.


"I assume he's the one you've been looking for?"

Skinner nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Dr. Abbott glanced at his watch. "I'm due on rounds, but 
you can stay if you like. We have some paperwork at the 
desk, if you wouldn't mind stopping there on your way out."

Skinner nodded again, barely listening, his eyes locked on 
Mulder. Some primitive, superstitious part of him was terrified 
to look away, for fear the man would vanish again. Dr. Abbott 
left the room and Skinner moved the chair a bit closer to 
the bed.

"Mulder. Can you hear me? It's A.D. Skinner."

Mulder's eyes fluttered open about halfway and he turned his 
head in the direction of the voice, wincing even at the slight 
movement.

"Mulder, you're in a hospital in Wisconsin. You're going to 
be fine."

Mulder nodded and closed his eyes.

Skinner knew he should just let the man rest. Scully would 
have his head on a platter for slowing down Mulder's recovery, 
even for a few minutes. But he had been searching for 
absolution for nine months and was content to have a hospital 
room substitute for a confessional.

"Mulder." He squeezed the other man's fingers gently.

Mulder struggled back to consciousness with a groan. This 
time he seemed more aware of his surroundings, giving 
Skinner a puzzled look. Obviously he was expecting someone 
else to be by his side. "Sir...?" he whispered.

"You're in a hospital," Skinner repeated. "The doctor says 
you're going to be fine."

"What...what happened?" Mulder shifted on the pillows, 
glancing around the room almost imperceptibly. Looking 
for her. 

A lump rose in Skinner's throat and he swallowed hard, 
suddenly unable to meet Mulder's eyes. The desire to confess 
had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming urge to escape. 
He hadn't expected to be forced to recount his crime to the 
victim. A lesser man would have taken advantage of the 
opportunity, to make some excuse and go find the doctor or 
call Scully or Byers or Frohike, someone who would know 
what to say and do. But Skinner was an honorable man.

"We...We went to Oregon. Back to Bellefleur to - to look 
for the ship. An alien craft." He stumbled over the words 
as his instincts screamed at him to run, to leave this until later.  
Mulder wasn't strong enough to handle this. But it seemed now that 
he had started, he couldn't stop. "We were in the woods. You...You 
disappeared. I lost you." He was dismayed at the sudden burning 
behind his eyes, and blinked hard as Mulder's fingers curled weakly 
around his, struggling to regain his composure as the memories 
flooded through his mind.  Maybe neither of them were strong enough 
for this right now.

"Wasn't your fault."

He glanced up at the whisper, not sure he'd heard correctly. 
Mulder's face was white, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, 
but his eyes met Skinner's unflinchingly.  "I..." He paused and 
closed his eyes for a moment. "I knew."

"What?"

Mulder licked his lips and swallowed with an effort. 
"Water...Please?"

Skinner poured a glass of water with a hand that wasn't 
quite steady, and held the glass so Mulder could take a 
few sips. He forced himself to be patient as Mulder settled 
back against the pillow, a bit of color returning to his face. 

"I knew that I was the one. Not Scully."

Skinner fought back anger and hurt at Mulder's lack of trust 
in him. Maybe if he'd known, he would have been paying 
more attention. He could have stopped this from happening 
and saved all of them seven months of hell. And that, of 
course, was why Mulder hadn't said anything to him. He 
didn't want to be stopped in his relentless pursuit of the 
truth. Skinner had been his witness, not his protector.

"Was it worth it?"

Mulder shook his head and closed his eyes. Skinner sensed 
that the reaction was not so much from exhaustion, but to 
avoid answering the question. He couldn't blame the man. 
Mulder's stories and theories had rarely been greeted with 
anything other than cynicism and derision. Skinner himself 
had all too often been skeptical, demanding answers and 
evidence that simply didn't exist. But his attitude had 
changed since that night in the forest.

"Mulder...Do you remember when I told you about what 
happened to me in Vietnam? How I was afraid to look 
beyond that experience?"

Mulder opened his eyes. 

"I'm ready now. What I saw in Oregon...I can't deny 
that, can't pretend it didn't happen. It's changed my life." 
He paused, gathering his courage. "I'll support your version 
of whatever happened to you, even if it means my job. I want 
people to know the truth. I know I've let you and Scully 
down in the past..."

"No. That doesn't matter." Mulder shook his head. "Sir, I'm 
grateful for your support. But I...I don't remember what 
happened."

"We'll get you help. That man Werber, who worked with 
you before. I can bring him here --"

"No." Mulder sat up a little straighter, wincing as his bruised 
body protested. "You don't understand. This time *I'm* the 
one who doesn't want to look beyond the experience." He 
closed his eyes and sank back against the pillow. "I just want 
to go home. I want to see Scully."

Skinner leaned back in his chair, feeling the same way Mulder 
must have felt so often in his office. Frustration and desire 
for the truth burned inside him and he started to argue his 
point, but Mulder was exhausted, physically and emotionally. 
He was already drifting off to sleep, and Skinner didn't have 
the heart to awaken him again. He would simply have to wait. 
Besides, the Fox Mulder he knew would not be content for 
long to simply be a survivor. He would have to know why 
and how. He would have to put meaning to what had happened
to him. To move beyond this experience. 

And this time he would have an ally.

The End