Redirection (1/1) by M.C. Akimoto Spoiler Warning: US4 - Memento Mori, Unrequited, Max Category: V, A Rating: PG Summary: In light of the events of 'Max,' Skinner reflects on his Memento Mori deal with CSM and makes a new decision. Disclaimer: the characters of the X-files are the property of Fox Broadcasting and Ten-Thirteen Productions. No infringement is intended. As always, thanks go to Meredith, Beta Reader extraordinaire! ********************************************* Author's Note: This belongs in the same universe as my Harm's Way stories, but it is not necessary to have read them to understand this. And, of course, I would love feedback. ********************************************** REDIRECTION By M.C. Akimoto (Makimoto@circsol.com) Headless Woman's Pub February, 1997 He'd made the wrong decision. Looking at the blood-stained napkin in Scully's hand -- *her* blood he realized, not Pendrell's -- Skinner knew with a sickening clarity that he'd made the wrong decision. He'd told Mulder that the cigarette-smoking bastard traded in lies; that there was no point in asking him for the truth. He'd said the words to the distraught agent to keep Mulder from committing a rash and self-destructive act. It was with not small sense of irony that Skinner now considered that perhaps he should have paid attention to his own advice. He'd traded his honor, his career, and quite possibly his life for a miracle that he suddenly knew would never materialize. Worse still, that chain-smoking SOB could now string him along forever, holding out the false hope of a cure for Scully, until finally one day Skinner would find himself at a hospital bedside watching another agent die. In a rare moment of personal revelation, he'd told Mulder during the Teager investigation that he'd already seen more dead soldiers than he ever wanted to see. But it would seem that he would be seeing more. Watching the EMTs work on Pendrell, Skinner had wanted to be anywhere but where he was. In his fury at the situation, at his own impotent power, Skinner had lashed out at Scully that awful night. The sight of the blood on her face and on the cloth in her hand both enraged and chilled him. Even as he reached for her hand, holding it tightly enough that he could feel the pulse under her skin, he knew the words he spoke were more for himself than the agent in front of him. "I have a responsibility for the safety of the agents under my supervision, Agent Scully. I'm not going to put another agent's life in jeopardy just to keep her out in the field." As he held her steely gaze in the midst of the confusion and tension of the bar, Skinner again found himself admiring the inner strength and fire of his agent. But even as he was threatening to take her out of the field, he knew that he wasn't going to do it. Knew that he wouldn't force her to quit working until she was ready to step aside. He wouldn't do that to her; he couldn't do that to Mulder. But something had to happen. It was clear that they were all running out of time. *************** Skinner's Apartment 1:27 a.m. It had been a long, difficult night and morning promised to bring more grief and chaos. Skinner sat in his darkened living room quietly sipping scotch and wondering what he would do next. Clearly he needed to re-negotiate his deal with the chain smoker -- but how? Eight weeks ago the decision had seemed so clear. Skinner had known that Mulder was right; that the chain smoker had some key piece of information regarding Scully's cancer. That probably her only hope of salvation was that SOB. Skinner never doubted, either, that he had a better chance of making a deal with the smoker than Mulder. It had also never occurred to him that he *not* make the deal. Scully had to be saved. There was no decision to make. But now at 1:30 in the morning, after a long and brutal night, nothing was clear anymore. Pendrell was dead. Skinner had just come from the hospital. In a few more hours he's have to make the call to Pendrell's parents. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn't being helped by the scotch, but he couldn't seem to put down the glass. An agent was dead . A senseless death -- caught in the cross-fire of an assassination attempt that had, no doubt, been set up by whoever it is that the chain smoker worked for. And that was the crux of the matter. Scully had seemed convinced that the assassination was aimed at the sergeant. But Skinner was not at all certain that the sergeant had been the only intended target. He thought that They might have counted on both Mulder and Scully escorting the sergeant back to Washington, and he wondered if maybe one or both of his agents could have been intended as secondary targets as well. In either case, he had the distinct impression that the stakes in the game had just been raised. On the one hand, if Scully were dead, the smoker would have less leverage over Skinner. On the other, Skinner was under no illusion that he could just get up and walk away from the deal he'd made, whatever the final outcome. He was certain that Mulder was pursuing all possible avenues of investigation that he could regarding Scully's condition. Several times in the past month, Skinner had caught enough of the gossip floating around the Bureau hallways to know that Mulder had been off on less than fully-authorized expeditions. He chose to ignore the rumors while he had that luxury. But the clock was running down. He had the sense that any day now he would walk into his office to find it filled with smoke, and be faced with a demand to shut Mulder down. And still there was no sign that anything was being done to help Scully. It had been an awful, ungodly night, and so Skinner found himself unusually contemplative. For the first time since that meeting with the chain smoker in Mulder's office he wondered if his deal with the devil would prove to be worth it. Be worth the lies, the dishonor, the betrayals that would surely ensue from it all. And, because the hour was late, he finally had to ask himself the question he'd been avoiding since it all began. Why had he made the deal for her? Why Scully? Skinner reflected that Scully was the agent, the person he might have become had he not gone to Vietnam. Had he not seen the things he'd seen; not had to kill 10-year old boys on suicide missions. But on further reflection, he wondered if perhaps Scully was simply stronger, truer -- an archetype. She, too, had had her near death experience; had killed in the line of duty; had watched comrades die; had been betrayed by those who were supposed to protect her. But the reality of Scully was more complex than simply that of the compleat FBI agent. She seemed to recognize and work within a framework of Justice that wasn't necessarily the Bureau's definition of Justice, but that Skinner instinctively recognized and accepted as true and valid. None of which fully explained why he had been so willing to make the deal with the chain smoker for a miracle for Scully. Skinner settled back further in his chair with an uncharacteristic sigh. Why Scully? He had to acknowledge that his reasons were more complex and oblique than was normal for him. While far from a simple or naive man, Skinner knew that he generally operated from a basic set of principles that defined the majority of his decision- making processes. His early exposure to the military, even in the chaos and disillusionment that marked his tour in Vietnam, had solidified his basic tendency toward a straight-forward, rational, analytic approach to decision-making. Define your mission -- your objective -- and plot the most logical route to achieving it. Weigh the pros and cons of the most direct approach. Understand that there will be sacrifices along the way for the greater good of the unit; and always consider the balance of power and how it might shift. It was something of a shock to realize that very little of those processes and considerations had factored into his decision to make the deal with that bastard. Skinner realized that he'd acted nearly on impulse. As soon as Scully had made it plain that her cancer was somehow linked to her work, Skinner had begun figuring out how to contact the cigarette-smoker. All his normal decision-making steps had been skipped. Why? He'd long admired Scully as an agent and as a person. Her integrity was without question -- her investigative and forensic skills among the strongest in the entire Bureau. And he thought wryly, anyone who could work with Mulder for four years and still maintain a sense that protocols actually existed was a force to be reckoned with. But there was more to it than that, he had to admit. He'd come to rely on her -- her cool judgement, her analytic mind. He relied on her to know when Mulder was being outrageous, and when one of his wild hunches should actually be followed. He needed her uncanny ability to keep the worst of Mulder's excesses in line. But if he were honest with himself, he also had to admit there was another dimension to his feelings about Scully. Her fire encased in that diminutive form sparked an answering warmth in him -- something he hadn't felt since....since Sharon. He really didn't want to examine those feelings too closely. And anyway, they scarcely mattered. He was her superior. Being the professionals they each were, that was barrier enough. And then there was Mulder. Mulder and Scully. Scully and Mulder. The two of them together were something that Skinner had never seen before. Strong partnerships were not uncommon in the Bureau, but Mulder and Scully.... It was almost eerie, sometimes, watching them together. Their balance, their partnership seemed alive, electric; yet intensely private. Watching them argue out the facts of cases -- the play of their intellects -- parrying and thrusting -- Skinner sometimes felt almost like a voyeur, as though he were watching something else entirely. He'd heard the water cooler gossip about "Mr. and Mrs. Spooky" and dismissed it as the usual office speculation about agents who were not well-understood. But seeing Mulder's reactions to Scully's cancer, Skinner had suddenly found himself wondering. He remembered how Mulder had reacted to Scully's abduction two years ago. He'd known at the time that the incident had had troubling parallels to Mulder's sister's disappearance. But the depth of the agent's reaction to Scully's cancer had surprised Skinner. The confrontation in his office over contacting the "cigarette smoking man" had been all the proof that Skinner required about the depth of Mulder's need for Scully. It was something he understood. Skinner's decision to attempt a deal with the chain smoker had already been made -- Mulder's willingness to make the deal himself had simply strengthened Skinner's resolve. Together Mulder and Scully were complete. Incorruptible. And, therefore, Skinner understood, the only real hope of destroying the smoker and consortium of interests and powers he represented. And so finally Skinner realized that his logic hadn't deserted him after all. The goal had never really changed. The same inner force that had motivated him to enlist in the Marines at 18, and that had driven him to join the Bureau drove him now. The consortium had to be brought down. There would be sacrifices along the way. But the most logical and probable route to achieving that particular end was clear. He hadn't made the wrong decision. It was simply time to change tactics. Strategic waiting has its time in every war, but applying pressure at critical points is also a wise maneuver when you want the enemy to move out into the open. The war had claimed a collateral victim. But Skinner would not allow Pendrell's death to simply be another senseless tragedy. The cigarette smoker and his cohorts had screwed up. They would pay. He picked up the phone. It was 2 a.m. The bastard probably never slept anyway. He dialed the number he wasn't supposed to have. The voice was neutral as always. "Yes?" Skinner rose to his feet. "My office, 5:30 a.m. Be there." END All feedback welcome and responded to. Makimoto@circsol.com