Genesis
Ally

Chapter 16

Mercy Hospital. San Diego. CA. 9:01a.m.

Skinner had had no real intention of spending the remainder of the night at Mulder's bedside, but during the course of that night, subtle but pointed changes had occurred in the younger man's condition.

For a start, Mulder's temperature had undergone a steady decrease until it hovered as it did now at just slightly above normal. The respirator had been detached as hour by hour his vital signs improved sufficiently to nullify the need for the artificial breathing aid. He had begun to make a concerted effort to breathe unaided. Aside from the oxygen mask which still covered his face, he looked almost back to normal, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm which almost matched the monitors that still surrounded him as a precaution should his condition suddenly worsen as rapidly as it had improved.

Skinner knew by the reactions of the doctors who had tended his Agent through the long night that they were as mystified by Mulder's quick turn around as they had been to the reasons for the onset of his condition. They had been wary of discussing too much with him, but the general consensus of opinion seemed to rest heavily on the high grade antibiotics which had been fed regimentally through Mulder's bloodstream as having played the major part in his recovery. They refused point blank to speculate exactly what Mulder was actually recovering *from*.

The Toxicology screen results had finally come back and they suggested the presence of a pathogenic substance which had invaded his bloodstream.

Skinner was no doctor but, having heard Scully's account of how her partner was already suffering from a low grade viral infection, it did not take a genius to figure out what kind of consequences such an invasion would cause. For someone who's immune system was already battling against the flu virus, any introduction of a foreign substance spelled disaster.

Skinner had voiced this opinion but had found to his intense irritation that he had not been taken seriously. This theory, he had been informed loftily, belonged in the pages of a science fiction novel, and not in the real world. What he was suggesting was impossible, not just because of the complex make-up such a pathogen would require, but also because it would be almost an impossible task to introduce it to a subject in such a way as to render him inactive in such a short space of time.

Skinner had listened to their objections in silence, unwilling to push his argument further for fear of sounding as paranoid as he had so often accused Mulder of being. But the offhand manner in which he had been dismissed had given him a unique insight as to how his Agent felt most of the time, and the thought had continued to trouble him throughout the night. It was in part this judgement that had prompted him to remain where he was, but he was also painfully aware that no fresh news of Scully had been forthcoming from the San Diego Bureau despite regular phone calls from him to various Agents. It seemed as though she had simply disappeared off the face of the Earth and even during the short time immediately following her abduction the trail had effectively gone cold.

Skinner had fought against the crazy compulsion to get in his car and go find her himself, knowing that it was simply a knee jerk reaction to his own tightly controlled emotions after everything that had happened and that the most valuable person right now was Mulder. Skinner suspected that when Mulder woke up he would have a tale to tell, one which would at least shed some light on to how he had come to be here. When that time came, he was determined to be the first one to hear it, to decide on what action to take from there.

But now as he continued to sit staring at the younger man, he was beginning to suspect that the time for that might never come. Mulder was showing no signs of waking up anytime soon, and Skinner couldn't quell a nagging feeling of doubt that for Scully, time could very well be running out. He sighed heavily and reached for his coat. Ten minutes away from this room couldn't hurt he decided, and besides which he was beginning to desperately feel the need for a strong cup of coffee and a shave in that order. He had already witnessed two of his Agents nearly fall apart on this case. He didn't feel much like adding himself to the list, especially since he already suspected that he would need to rely sharply on his years of training and savvy to get him through the following few days.

He also had no doubts as to exactly who he was dealing with here, and that if they held true to form, that they were more than capable of crushing him underneath their encompassing might. It was not a pleasant thought.

He exited the room quietly, nodding slightly at the two Agents still posted on either side of the door. He was aware of their eyes on him as he continued down the hallway, painfully conscious that he probably looked like he had the weight of the world resting on his broad shoulders, but not knowing how to dispel his fears.

It was a new experience for him but he embraced it gladly, knowing that his knowledge might, just might pull them all through this.

********************

9:23a.m.

John Wickham groaned softly and cradled his head in his hands wearily. It had been a long night, not just in terms of hours, but also in the mental transition he had been forced to make as he confronted his feelings of guilt in the part he had played not only the removal of Scully, but also in the incarceration of Mulder to the Mercy Hospital.

He had carried out his orders efficiently, believing fully at the time that he was acting in the best interests of the Consortium and of the American people in general. Indeed, when he had initially been approached, he had felt a great sense of patriotism towards his country as he pledged his allegiance.

The idea had been planted easily in his head, made all the sweeter by the promise that the rewards for him would far outweigh the risks, and he had slipped easily in to the role of willing conspirator.

He had expected that his years of FBI training would have numbed him to the responsibilities his actions would bring, but he had found the reality to be somewhat different.

For one thing he was quite unable to rid himself of the image of Mulder's trusting, genial statement when they had met up again after so many years apart, not least because of his absolute respect for the man and his work. He had followed Mulder's career with a certain amount of detached interest over a number of years. Although he could quite understand just how Mulder had managed to become something of a laughing stock amongst his peers, he also knew the man well enough to appreciate the absolute commitment he had shown to his quest. Betraying him on such a gargantuan level had been difficult in the extreme.

There had been a fleeting moment, when Mulder arrived at his apartment, that Wickham had considered backing out of the deal and telling Mulder of the real reasons he had been lured down here. It was only the thought of the consequences to his own family that such a revelation would bring, that he had continued within his role. Such an action would have been a death sentence to everyone he cared about, and besides, he had been assured by the men that no actual harm would befall either his old friend or Agent Scully, that their discomfort would be limited to a minimum.

He now knew that assurance to be false and that to inflict harm was practically the only possible outcome of this whole sorry mess. He also knew that he had no way out and no where to turn. That he would have to continue this thing through until the bitter end - whatever that might be.

He had watched with mounting horror as Scully was moved from the dark prison in which she had been captive through the night and installed in more comfortable surroundings, the sound of her anguished cries still reverberating around his head as the pain relief given to her began to wear off and she became more aware of every movement inflicted on her already tortured being.

He was not entirely sure what had been done to her during that time. He had watched from a distance as clandestine figures in white coats hovered around her and administered more drugs to her system, stilling the sounds that emitted from her and reducing them to a series of pathetic cries.

He had questioned why the unknown procedure had to be carried out whilst she was semiconscious and obviously in great pain as a result, and had received no assurance other than that Scully would eventually awaken with no memory of what had occurred and that she would have no lasting discomfort. Wickham had found himself unable to believe their words, knowing that these men made it their business to trade in lies, and had left the room in disgust lest his statement of revulsion betray too much.

He knew that he still had a major part to play, and that the time for him to confront his own feelings regarding that role was fast running out. He was to be the first recognisable person whom Scully was to be faced with on her awakening, and it would be him who was to plant the first seeds of doubt in to her vulnerable, confused mind.

It was something he felt totally unprepared for, and something that was coming ever closer. He had looked in on her only thirty minutes ago and found her to be sleeping peacefully, a state he had been told was the final stage of the process that had lasted through the night, and from which she would shortly awaken.

The sight of her, warm covers tucked around her had reminded him sharply of what he had done, and despite his involvement with the Consortium and the way he had discussed Scully with them prior to her coming down here, meeting her had been somewhat different.

Mulder had often spoken of her and, despite his obvious feelings for her that he tried unsuccessfully to hide, he had painted her very much as an independent spirit. Tough, professional and absolutely committed in her career. He had therefore been unprepared to be confronted with her when she had trailed after Mulder in to his office when they had first arrived in town. It was then that the first seeds of doubt had been planted in his mind as to whether he was doing the right thing.

He had been furnished with sketchy details of her incarceration in the Antarctic, and of Mulder's subsequent rescue and he had understood then just why he had been asked to do what he had. To allow them to remain together was now impossible, but the men responsible were too cowardly to risk the reprisals that their removal would bring, and so a course of action had been decided upon that would solve the problem once and for all. It was a decision that Wickham had embraced wholeheartedly but when he had been confronted by them both together and had seen the way they acted towards one another, he had questioned his decision to become involved at all.

Watching them that day in his office, he had seen something he had never seen before during his years with the Bureau. It radiated from them both like a beacon, in the way they looked at each other, the way that they stood side by side, exhibiting body language so subtle it could easily be misconstrued. But he had seen and understood it immediately. It was blind trust. Plain and simple. A trust which far exceeded normal boundaries, a trust which would enable them quite without question to give their life for the other and one which had kept them together for so long.

Wickham had then immediately understood his role in all this, more so than he had previously during all the conversations he had had with the shadowy characters governing his every move. His role was simple. It was up to him to sever that trust so completely that it could never hope to be regained, and he knew then that the men had lied to him when they said that no one would get hurt. The plan was elegant in it's simplicity. Destroying their trust in each other would ultimately destroy them, without any blame being centred around those who really deserved it. Wickham sighed, knowing that the time was drawing near when he would have to begin the process . . . and he hated himself for it.

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