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Article: 22194 of alt.tv.x-files.creative
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From: smcniel285@aol.com (SMcniel285)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: New: "Lost Weekend"
Date: 1 Aug 1996 14:54:30 -0400
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T  h  e   X  -  F  i  l  e  s
The X-Files and the characters therein are the property of
Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting
and are used without permission, no infringement intended.
The events of this story take place shortly after the events
of "Paperclip"
"Lost Weekend"
by SEM
      The man sat waiting nervously in the lounge room.
Smoke wafted up from the cigarette suspended in his slightly
trembling hand.  The others in the committee had called for
him to discuss recent events. Even though he had
successfully recovered the D. A. T. copy of M.J. files along
with the print out, the others hadn't been too thrilled with
his handling of the affair. Especially since he couldn't
produce the tape; it having been "destroyed" in an car bomb
along with agent Krycek. More importantly, the death of
Scully's sister and the failure to eliminate the young
Mulder rankled many in the group.  On the plus side, at
least they didn't know about the problem with the Navajos.
Should they ever discover it, the threats he had made to
Skinner paled in his imagination to what he expected they
would do with him.
     He lifted the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply.
He held his breath for a moment waiting for the nicotine
rush to hit, then exhaled a long stream of smoke.  What if
they had found out?  Was that why they had called him?  He
noticed the jittery pattern of smoke rising in front of him
and looked down to see his hand trembling.  He willed it to
stop and it did for the most part; but a slight tremble
still remained.  This wasn't good.  It wouldn't do for them
to see him nervous; it would only serve to put him on the
defensive.  And that was something he had never acquired a
taste for.  He had much more experience with asking
questions than giving answers.
    This was Skinner's fault.  He would threaten everything
to protect a pair of rogue agents that had gone beyond their
scope of duties and even outside the law itself.  And for
what?  Sure they were fine agents, but the young Mulder just
didn't know when to leave well enough alone.  And he would
never be content with the knowledge that they would allow
him to have.  He wanted to know everything, and not only
that, he wanted to share that knowledge with the public at
large.  That could never be allowed. Ever.  So he would
eventually have to be killed.  There was no other way.  The
boy was just too sharp to keep in the dark indefinitely.
Even Skinner knew that.  It was almost cruel to let the boy
experience his brief tastes of discovery, knowing that he
would never reach his ultimate goal.
     But for Skinner to make him look bad in front of his
peers; it would not do to allow such precedents to be set.
Something had to be done in response to Skinner's
interference.  Quickly, before he lost anymore face with the
committee.
     The door to the meeting room opened and the butler and
waved him in saying, "They will see you now, sir."
     The man stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray on the
table next to him.  He stood, straightened his suit jacket
and calmly walked into the room.  Inside, the other members
of the Committee were gathered around the meeting table and
staring expectantly at him as he entered.  He could read the
judgment and condescension amongst some of their faces, they
had the look of sharks that had caught the scent of blood in
the water.  As he sat at the end of the table he could
almost hear the theme from "Jaws" echoing in his head and
waited for the feeding frenzy to begin.
    "We have been discussing the recent security breeches
and what should be done about them." said the groups
spokesman.  He was one of the younger members and slightly
heavy set.
    "I've have given it some thought as well." replied the
Smoking man.  "The only true way to maintain security is to
isolate the files as completely as possible. If they are to
be kept on computer, I suggest that it is one that  is not
connected to the outside world,  but instead we make a
system that is hardwired to one another.  That way we won't
have to worry about any more breeches.  Either that or we
should just store it in a non-electronic medium as we have
in the past."
"Do you have any idea of the cost involved in such an
operation?"  said another member of the committee.
      "As opposed to another breech?  What if that fool
hacker had decided to post it on the internet first?  Just
how much is true security worth to you?"
     "This isn't about the cost of security.  It's about the
attention you have attracted to the group with your bungled
attempts to restore security." accused the group's
spokesman.
"I would like to remind you that those 'bungled attempts'
*did*... in fact recover the M.J. Files." rebutted the
Smoking man.  "As for the unfortunate incident concerning
Melissa Scully... well... let's just call it a reminder to
our intrepid duo.. that they aren't as alone as they think
they are... and, that their actions can have dire
consequences for their loved ones."
     "While I can see how Ms. Scully might be hampered by
such conundrums, I don't feel that the young Mulder is as
likely to take such things into account." said the
individual who had unbeknownst to his colleagues warned
Scully at the funeral of William Mulder.
    "Mulder is closer to his partner than you or even he
thinks. His reaction to her disappearance was most...
enlightening." informed the Smoking man.
The men gathered around the table looked on in interest.
     "Oh?" prompted Scully's benefactor.
     "Let's just say that he was *most* distressed." hinted
the Smoking man.  Inside he was all smiles, things were
going his way now.  "She is the one thing he places above
his obsession. *And*..  she is the key to controlling him."
"And what did you have in mind?" asked the committee's
spokesman.

---
          Assistant Director Walter Skinner looked at the
pile of unfinished paper work that still awaited him.
Government work, he sighed, if he had to look at and sign
one more thing in triplicate he would scream.  He looked up
at the clock on his wall and breathed a sigh of relief; 5:00
o'clock and the end of another relatively peaceful week for
a man in his position. Blessedly, even Mulder was behaving
himself and sticking to his assigned duties.  And above all
else was the fact that his office had remained smoke free
for the last couple of weeks.  With any luck at all, it
would remain that way indefinitely.  But the soldier in him
warned of the calm before the storm.  Still, he would be a
fool if he didn't take the time to appreciate it while it
lasted; the paperwork could wait until Monday.
     He deftly set the paperwork aside and rose to his feet.
Grabbing his overcoat, he opened his door and made his way
to the elevator hoping that he could get out of the building
before some emergency popped up and needed him to pull an
all nighter.  He passed several agents, all of whom nodded
at him and said "Evening sir."  He nodded back to them and
then he was in the elevator, unmolested.  A quick trip to
the parking garage and then he would be homefree; a weekend
to himself.
     Once safely in his car, Walter Skinner let himself
start to relax.  He started the engine and backed his car
out of his parking space.  With a wave to the security guard
at the entrance to the parking garage,  Skinner eased his
car out into traffic and the ride home.
     D.C. traffic was it's usual snarled mess, but he didn't
care he was out of the confines of his office and away from
all the paperwork that went along with it.  He tapped his
fingers along to the music on the oldies station and
couldn't believe that the Beatles and the Stones were
considered oldies now.  It didn't seem all that long ago
that he was  listening to these songs brand new.  Still,
some groups just had a  timeless appeal to their music. Lost
in his memories, and before he knew it, he was home.
     He parked his car, got out and locked it behind him.
The apartment complex was in it's usual Friday hectic state
of flux as numerous people came and went.  Those going where
mostly made up from among the younger tenants, ready for an
evening on the town.  And the majority of those arriving
where among the older tenants, ready for a quiet evening at
home after a long, hard week of work.
     He nodded and waved a greeting to Mrs. Strelsky, who
was checking her box for mail.  She was an elderly widow who
he had helped with her garbage on more than one occasion. In
return she was always cooking him food saying that she had
cooked too much and didn't want to see it go to waste. She
would then tell him that he was such a nice young man and
needed to find a nice girl, settle down and get married and
that she had a sweet young granddaughter that would be
perfect except that she was enamored with some no good long
haired bum with a motorcycle and what was it with kids now-a
days anyway?  She just refused to register that he hadn't
given up on a reconciliation with Sharon.
        "Walter.  How are you?  How was work today?"
     "Fine Mrs. Strelsky, and you?"
     "Not to bad, my arthritis is finally starting to ease
up. It was really bad during the cold spell.  I took
Tylenol, ibuprofen, aspirin... nothing seemed to help and
the pain was something fierce.  Could hardly hold a spoon
for my chicken soup. I really want to thank you for taking
out the  garbage when the trucks were finally running the
other day.
      You're such a nice young man."
     "You're welcome Mrs. Strelsky."
      "It's Gladys dear," she frowned and shook a finger at
him. "How many times do I have to tell you; call me Gladys."
      "All right... Gladys."  He started to edge away from
her towards his apartment door.
    She smiled at him.  "That's more like it.  And don't you
worry, I'm still keeping an eye out for a wife for you.
There's a new girl in apartment 212.  She's single and
hasn't had any gentlemen callers.  She doesn't have any
children, although she does have a cat; a beautiful black
and silver Siamese.  It's much friendlier than your typical
Siamese though.  She doesn't come and go much, except to
work, I think she's a secretary or something like that. You
ought to introduce yourself.  Who knows, you two might hit
it off and decide to start a family.  There's nothing more
important that family, Walter.  My James and I had seven
beautiful children. Children are such a blessing, dear.  A
nice man like you would be a wonderful father.  It's never
too late to start a family you know."
     He nodded and smiled at her, slowly easing his way into
his apartment.  "I'll keep it in mind, Mrs... uhm.. Gladys."
"You do that young man.  It's such a shame to see such a
hard working man such as yourself without a family of his
own.  Breaks my heart.  Especially with all the good-for
nothing fathers that are out there now-a-days.  Now back
when I was a girl, men took responsibility and knew how to
be fathers."
     He nodded in agreement, he didn't want to be rude, but
he didn't want to encourage her either as he could tell that
she was in a mood to talk and once she got on a roll, it was
nigh impossible to get her to stop and right now all he
wanted to do was collapse on his sofa and watch the game.
Maybe even drink a beer or two and try to forget the
madhouse that the world was slowly becoming.  As an
assistantdirector in the FBI, Walter Skinner was in a unique
position to appreciate the many failings of the world today.
     "Why my father worked two jobs to provide for my
brothers and sisters and me.  But kids nowadays, all they
want to do is just have their fun and nevermind the
consequences."
     Skinner cocked his head slightly a look a concentration
on his face.  He then looked back at Mrs. Strelsky.  "Would
you excuse me Gladys?  I believe I hear my phone ringing."
     "Oh certainly Walter.  Now don't be a stranger.  Come
by and I'll cook you some dinner sometime.  It'll help you
to keep up your strength catching all those hooligans."
     He nodded slightly and closed his door behind him.  A
sigh escaped him as the door clicked shut.  Peace at last.
He made his way into the kitchen to get something cool to
drink and then sank into waiting arms of his recliner to
watch the t.v.  He surfed through several channels until he
found something tolerable to watch and then tried to put all
the days hardships behind him. Several long sips from his
beer and Walter Skinner was fast asleep.

***
     Walter Skinner awoke to a sharp sting across his cheek
and a bright light shining in his face.  It was hard to
concentrate at first but slowly the world came into focus.
What little of it he could make out that is.  He was sitting
in a soft padded reclined chair, his hands bound together
behind the chair's back and his head held facing forward by
a tight strap across his forehead. He couldn't see much
except for the light shining in his face, a small bowl next
to one of the arms of the chair with water swirling in it
and some smoke drifting in air.
     "Where am I?" he asked.
     "Ah, Assistant Director Skinner, awake at last I see."
came a familiar voice.  It was a voice he hadn't expected to
hear for a while, if ever again.  The Smoking man stepped
into view, cigarette in hand per usual.  "I have had you
brought here to discuss Agents Mulder and Scully and what
will happen should anything ill become of them.  More to the
point, I want to know the names of those who have knowledge
of the MJ files and what their trigger is?"
     "And if I don't feel like talking?"
     "I won't bore you with the details.  Let's just say
that the experience will be most unpleasant."
    "Should anything happen to me, the files will be made
public."
     "Aw, but the beauty of the situation is that as far as
you're concerned this weekend never happened."
     "And how do you plan to manage that?"
     "We have our ways.  If we didn't, you wouldn't be here.
But you are here and I want to know precisely what signs
your friends are looking for and who will be looking?"
     "You're bluffing."  Skinner sneered.  It took all his
composure to remain calm.  He knew that the man facing him
was capable of anything.  That he felt accountable to no
one.  And for good reason too: for as long as Skinner had
known the man he had done as he pleased and he was still
around pulling people's strings.
     "Didn't you ever read Mulder's report on his
experiences at Ellens Air force base looking for Colonel
Budahas and an aircraft built using UFO technology, how he
believes that the military erased his memory."  A smile
slowly spread across the Smoking man's face.  A cold smile.
Devoid of any warmth or friendliness. Pure, uncut, one
hundred percent Schadenfruede.  "It's true you know.  The
only question that remains is just how much pain do you wish
to endure?"
     Everyone had their breaking point.  And in the end
everyone talked.  Except in the few cases where the
interrogator got overzealous or sloppy.  It all depended on
an individual's pain threshold as to how long it would take
to get the information. And even if the person's mind was
strong enough to lie under duress, the body would talk.  It
would speak volumes.  Anything to stop the pain.  The urge
for survival so embedded into the human genetic make-up that
lying became impossible.  So it came down to one question,
how much pain do you wish to endure?
Skinner knew this all too well from his experiences as a
soldier in Vietnam.  He had seen buddies, strong and brave,
flush with the fearlessness of youth turn into screaming,
terrified animals in combat; the promise of death or
dismemberment looming in the air.  He had seen proud
warriors, begging and pleading, crying for someone to stop
the pain when they were wounded.  He himself had been
wounded,  almost fatally and it was an experience he did not
wish to repeat.
     But to turn on a another person just to save yourself.
It didn't sit well with Walter Skinner.  His time in the
military had also taught him a thing or two about loyalty
and personal integrity.  And the thought of helping this
venomous, cancerous thing in front of him...
     "I've already told you.  Should you do anything to
Mulder or Scully, Albert Holstein or someone he has talked
to will go public."
     The Smoking man made a mental note, Skinner hadn't
mentioned himself.  A slip of the tongue, that he probably
didn't notice. Stress was such a wonderful tool.  Skinner
could be harmed, but not just yet.  It was still too soon,
the whole MJ fiasco only in the recent past. But in time,
Skinner would be made to pay for his interference.  An
accident perhaps?  Natural causes, an embolism?  Or maybe
the victim of random violence?  The streets being so
dangerous nowadays who knew what could happen?
     "And who has Mr. Holstein talked with?"
     "I didn't ask." Skinner growled.
"A sensible precaution, I wish I could believe you." "It's
to my benefit not to know their names.  If I knew
them, I could give them up.  Then what bargaining chip would
I have?"
     "Logical.  But then how would you know if I hadn't had
them all eliminated unless you knew who they were?"
     "You wouldn't be here wasting your time with questions.
I would be dead already."
     "You know Skinner, it's too bad you're not in the game.
You would have made a fine player.  I could have used
someone like you.  Such a waste."
     Skinner stared silently.
     "Oh well.  I still need to know what sign they will be
looking for."
     "I've told you, should anything happen to Mulder or
Scully the MJ files will be made public."
     "That's unacceptable.  What about an accident?  Or in
the line of duty?"
     "You had better hope that never happens.  Should they
die of anything other than old age, the files will be made
public."
     The Smoking man glared in rage at Skinner.  This was
intolerable.  But with Holstein and his family gone from
their reservation, Skinner was the only one accessible who
had any information.  He looked past Skinner.  "Do it!"
     Two hands appeared from behind the chair and placed a
bib around his neck.  Then a soft voice.  "There, there,
wouldn't want to ruin the suit."
     A high pitched whine filled the air.  It sounded very
close. A  figure stepped up from behind Skinner, a dental
drill held in a rubber gloved hand.  He pried open Skinner's
lips to expose the clenched jaw hidden beneath.
     "We'll speak later, when you're feeling a little more
cooperative."  promised the Smoking man.  He stepped out of
Skinner's view.
     The masked and goggled face before him spoke in a
friendly voice. "Now this may sting a little, but try and
hold still.  We wouldn't want any accidents to happen now
would we?"
     The man pressed the drill against the side of one of
Skinner's molars.  Smoke rose from his mouth and water
sprayed against his cheek and dribbled down his chin.
     At first it was a rough, grinding sensation, annoying
but tolerable.  But as the drill got deeper, closing in on
the nerve, sweat began form under the strap that held his
head in place, the veins in his neck started to bulge and
throb, his face becoming a deep red and he began to tremble
violently.
     Skinner tried to turn away from the man, but his head
was held firmly in place.
     The dentist stopped briefly.  "Feel free to scream if
you like. The walls are soundproofed."  He then resumed his
work humming a little tune.
     The drill bit into the tooth, the nerve throbbed it's
agony. Tears began to stream down Skinner's face as he
fought the pain. Fire shot up and down his jaw as the
drilling continued until Skinner couldn't stand it anymore.
     Air found it's way to the exposed nerve and the
shrieking began. The dentist smiled and the whine of the
drill stopped.  He stepped out of view, leaving Skinner to
his misery.
     Skinner moaned and wailed for what seemed an eternity,
his jaw pulsating wave after wave of torment through his
body.  The pain was excruciating and would renew with each
breath he took. In reality, the Smoking man let him wallow
for half an hour.
      The dentist returned with a syringe and spread open
Skinner's lips again.  He took the needle and squirted a
bitter tasting liquid into the tooth, then stepped away.
     Gradually the pain began to recede.
     The Smoking man appeared in front of him, reeking of
the smell of tobacco smoke.  "So Skinner, shall we resume
our conversation?"
     Skinner huffed air in and out trying to calm himself as
the anesthetic took hold.  Through red, teary eyes he stared
at his adversary.  Finally he spoke with a panting voice.
"I've told you everything I know."
     "You've told me nothing." accused the Smoking man.  He
stared intently at Skinner for several long moments.  "The
shot won't last very long, it works better if it's injected
into the tissue instead of given  topically.  If you tell me
what I want to know, we can end this."
     "I've told you, should anything, (pant) I'm mean
anything, happen to Mulder or Scully the files will be made
public." Skinner tried to compose himself.  "Should the
brakes on their cars go out, should a drunk driver run them
down, should they get shot, whatever, if it isn't old age,
the files will be made public."
     "I see.  Is that your final answer?"
     "It's the truth."
     The Smoking man nodded in understanding and left the
room. He sat in a chair in the observation room, lit up a
Morley and began watching Skinner.  The man couldn't
possibly expect him to believe that any freak occurrence to
Mulder or Scully would result in the release of  the MJ
files.  No one would be stupid enough to unleash the
contents of the files on the public due to a fluke of
nature.  No one.
     Minutes passed and the anesthetic started to wear off.
The dull ache in Skinner's jaw started throbbing.  He
strained against his bonds to no avail.  Soon the dull ache
was alive, growing with each passing breath.  Tears started
to trickle down his face and he began to moan.
     The Smoking man could see the effort on his captive's
face. The effort to control the pain.  The effort to get
free of his bonds.  An hour or two of this should loosen his
tongue.
     Two hours later, the Smoking man stood before Skinner
again an expectant look on his face.  He crossed his arms
and looked at the pain wracked individual squirming in the
chair before him. He looked like hell.  Perhaps now he would
tell him what he wanted to hear.
     "I've told you everything  What more do you want?"
gasped Skinner.
     "The truth."
     Skinner's mind swam for an answer that would satisfy
his tormentor.  What did he want to hear?  "Anything that
hints of murder." he took a ragged gasp of air and regretted
it.  "The files will be made public if it looks like they
died from anything of a suspicious nature."
     The Smoking man eyed him closely.  "I think you're
telling me what I want to hear now.  What's the truth?"
     Skinner began to weep.  It was hopeless, he was dealing
with a paranoid idiot.  "It's all shit!  The Navajos didn't
have time enough to memorize the files.  You can do whatever
you want."
    The Smoking man shook his head in disappointment.  "I
don't believe you're trying hard enough.  Perhaps the
dentist should come back and see if he can motivate you some
more."
     "WHAT CAN I SAY?!!!" screamed Skinner.
     "The truth."
     "I've already told you the truth!"
     The Smoking man nodded to the side.  A few moments
later the whine of the drill filled the air again.
      Skinner cringed in the chair.  Panic in his eyes.
     The dentist stepped up to the other side of Skinner
this time.  He pried apart his lips and drew the instrument
near.
     "NOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
     The Smoking man cocked an eyebrow at him.
    The dentist straightened, holding the drill ready. "It's
like I've said, should anything happen to them the files
will be made public.  Should they commit suicide, should
they die in a plane crash, should they get hit bit
lightning, the files will be made public!"  he babbled
almost incoherently.  If he could, Skinner would have
slumped in the chair from the effort.
    The Smoking man dismissed the dentist and then he leaned
in close to Skinner.  "Are you insane?" he hissed.  "Do you
know what will happen if those files become public?"
     "What?  Chaos and anarchy?  The world will come to an
end? Then you better make sure that nothing happens to
either of them."
     The Smoking man showed quite a bit a restraint just
then. The urge to kill Walter Skinner filled every fiber of
his being. But it was too soon.  He loomed even closer to
the man strapped in the chair before him and gave him a cold
stare.
     "You've put me in a very unpleasant position Skinner."
He stepped back and then was gone, the words hanging
ominously in the air.
    In the room next to the one he just left, the Smoking
man talked to the dentist.  "Let him enjoy the pain for
several hours then fix the tooth.  After that have the
technicians wipe his memory and return him to his home."

***
     Walter Skinner awoke face down in his bed, still
wearing the clothes he had worn to work.  He peeked through
one eye at the clock on the night stand, it showed 11:32 pm.
He let out a groan and turned over to sit up.  Damn he hated
it when he cat napped like that.  He felt drained and beat.
At least the pillow wasn't covered in drool.  He  rubbed at
the back of his neck trying to get some of the stiffness out
and slowly shuffled out of bed.
    He made his way to the kitchen, hunger pains gnawing at
his stomach.  Making a sandwich, he then grabbed a soda and
went into the living room to watch Leno or Letterman.
     Flipping the remote on, he switched through the various
channels but neither Dave or Jay were on.  He continued
until he reached the channel that listed the days
programming.  At the top it read Saturday.  He rubbed his
temples.  Had he really slept through Friday night and all
of Saturday?  He let out a sigh, work and Sharon leaving
must be really taking their toll.