Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Mulder, Scully, Mrs. Mulder or Skinner. I borrow them with love, but without permission. Exerpt from Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet" also used without permission. Summary: Post "Herrenvolk" story. This takes place the night Mulder comes back from Canada. Mulder angst. Minor UST. Rating: PG Author's Comments: This is my first time posting fan-fic, so please, be gentle. :-} Constructive criticism appreciated. All flames will be used to roast marshallows. Board and Fireside by Lisa Howard Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace. The Prophet Kahlil Gibran ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Stop me. Please," the young man in the swat gear pleaded. He was dripping-wet with gasoline and sobbing. Scully caught some movement of his hand. She looked closer and realized what it was: a silver lighter. He was flipping the lid on and off. "Put that down," she said firmly. Scully looked into his face but it had changed. "Scully, help me! Stop me," Mulder begged. "Please!" Panic flooded her as she watched. "Mulder..." His expression shifted. Mulder stared straight in front of him. "Light up. Light up. Light up," he said calmly. Mulder flipped the lid open and placed his thumb against the wheel. "Mulder, no." "Light...up." Scully woke with a jerk. "You awake, Scully?" Mulder whispered. "Yeah." They were still ing his mother's room. Scully had fallen asleep in her chair. Mulder reeked of it when he came to the hospital. After a while, so had she. Sometime in the night Mulder had covered her with a blanket; by the way it smelled, it was probably the one she'd lain across his shoulders. "What time is it, Mulder?" "After four." Mulder had scooted his chair closer to the bed. "Scully..." Just then there was a soft tap at the door. Scully wondered. The door opened slowly. A.D. Skinner stood in the doorway. He was not wearing his glasses and his face seemed almost naked without them. "Agent Mulder, may I see you a minute?" he sounded exhausted. "Agent Scully, I think you'll want to hear this, too." Scully watched as Mulder squeezed his mother's hand before turning to leave. She felt his hand on her back (briefly) reassuring her. Skinner led them away from the room and down the hall. He stopped and then faced them. "I thought you'd left, sir," Scully said. "I did," Skinner nodded. "Agent Mulder, there's a situation that you need to be informed of. A man was murdered at your building. It happened on your floor. Specifically, he was found in the doorway of your apartment." Skinner reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a stack polaroids and handed them to Mulder. Mulder held them so that Scully could see. The pictures depicted the crime scene with suprising clarity: the trail of blood leading from the elevator to Mulder's apartment, the open door, and one showing the position of the body (But not the face, thought Scully). "I don't understand," Mulder said. Skinner silently withdrew two more pictures, handing one to Mulder. "This is the victim." "Oh my God," Scully thought when she saw the picture. "He seems to have written something...in his own blood," Skinner gave the Mulder the final picture. "S.R.S.G.?," Scully read. "Does that mean anything to you?" Skinner asked. "Sir, I..." Mulder faltered shaking his head. "You're not under any suspicion, Agent Mulder," Skinner said. "Neither of you are. I just want some answers." Mulder silently gave the pictures back to Skinner. "I give my word that what you say goes no further than me." , Scully thought. She stepped a little closer to Mulder, wondering if he had thought about that, too. "Okay. He was my...our source. He never gave us his name." "He helped me decode the Jaremiah Smith document," Scully added. "He was also the one who warned me that Mrs. Mulder was in danger." "Do you think he was killed for helping you?" "I just don't know, sir," she replied. Skinner put the pictures back in his pocket, then fished his glasses out of another. He looked at them a second but didn't put them on. "Mulder, I want you to take some time off, at least a week." "Okay," Mulder said again. Scully couldn't remember a time when he sounded so defeated. Mulder started to walk away when Skinner called after him. "Wait. There's one more thing." "What?" Skinner cleared his throat, "Your apartment is, uh, still considered a crime scene." "Are you saying that Mulder can't go home?" "Yes. Well, not yet." Skinner said. "Not for a couple of days. I can arrange for you to pick up a few things: clothes, whatever." "Whatever," Mulder echoed. He gave Scully a humorless smile and walked away. "Scully," Skinner said when she started to follow him. "Sir?" He waited until Mulder went back into his mother's room. "What is it, sir," she prompted. "I think you need a week off as well, Scully." "What do you mean?" she asked, folding her arms. Skinner sighed deeply and simply looked at her. "Fine. Whatever" Scully took a deep breath and uncrossed her arms. "Alright," she said, a little more calmly. Absently she shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. "Call me on my cell phone and let me know when Mulder can pick up his things." Skinner looked past her, towards Mrs. Mulder's room. "I can have a guard posted there; although I don't think she's still in any danger," he looked at Scully again. "Thank you, sir, but I don't think that'll be necessary." She turned on her heel, wanting to leave before Skinner could stop her again. Mulder was standing at the foot of the bed when Scully came in the room. "Hey, Scully," he said without looking at her. "How'd you know it was me," she asked joining him. "Who else would it be?" "I thought you were going to say 'Who else smells like gas?'" Mulder caught her eye for a moment and raised his eyebrows, then faced the bed again. "Mulder..." "Our last hope, Scully, and it's gone." "You can't give up, Mulder. I won't let you." "Then what are we going to do, Scully?" "We're going to find out what S.R.S.G. means." "Scully, that could be anything," he said, "computer password, secret code, who knows?" "Then we'll keep looking until we've exhausted every avenue of possibility." Mulder turned and looked into her eyes. Scully wanted to comfort him, the way she had before, but she was afraid that such an overt display might embarass him. "And what about my mother?" he whispered. "There's nothing I can do for her." What he didn't say was, "I don't want to watch her die," but Scully knew that's what he was thinking. "Mulder," she said, taking one of his hands in both of hers, "I told you that I wouldn't give up on her. You can't either." Mulder looked at her for a long time before he spoke. "You know for a skeptic, you seem to have a lot of faith, Scully." "It comes from being Catholic," she replied. "Or from being around you for so long." Mulder reached out with his free hand for her face. It hovered there for a moment, undecided. Then, gently, he untucked the lock of hair from behind Scully's ear. The End. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Well, what did you think? Send your comments to: ubber_lisa@hotmail.com ********************************************************************** "They have very high morals, especially Scully. (laughs) Only Scully." Gillian Anderson. 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