TITLE: Follow the Leader (1/4)
AUTHOR:  Jo-Ann Lassiter
EMAIL ADDRESS: jolassi555@cs.com 
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  Post anywhere. Thanks.
SPOILER WARNING:  "Fire," "Redux II."
RATING: PG-13 for swear words and violence
CLASSIFICATION: S, A
KEY WORDS: Mulder/Scully/Skinner friendship
SUMMARY: When an informant offers Skinner a piece of vital
information that must be obtained at any cost, the X-Files agents
strive to prevent that cost being the AD's life.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Although this has an actual plot, with a resolution
and everything, it's (as usual) more a character study than an
action-adventure story.
THANKS: To my beta readers: Gerry, Jill, Cheryl, Darla and Jackie.
Their help, as always, was invaluable. 

Follow the Leader (1/4)
by Jo-Ann Lassiter
70302.3654@compuserve.com

Thursday, December 4, 1997
5:05 p.m.
Renald Medical Building
Third Floor
Washington, D.C.

"Mulder! Keaney!" Assistant Director Walter Skinner walked the long
corridor of the deserted building, searching for the last of his
agents. The tap, tap of his heels on the hardwood floor, after the
deafening explosion of a minute ago, sounded eerily loud in the
silence that had settled over the building. 

"In here, sir." 

Keaney's voice came from his right, and Skinner poked his head into
the doorway of a partially-destroyed laboratory.  He motioned to
the agent at the far end of the room. "Come on. We're getting out.
There's no deal going down here. The whole building's rigged."

The man nodded. "I thought it was a little suspicious that this
place would be completely devoid of life this early."

"Have you seen Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked.

Keaney nodded. "About ten minutes ago. With Agent Scully. They were
checking the fourth floor." Distaste flavored the man's words, and
Skinner pierced the agent with a look; professionalism immediately
replaced personal antagonism. 

"Agent Scully's out," Skinner told him, "but Mulder's still in
here. You get out; I'm going to search for him." Although Keaney
did not voice it, Skinner sensed a 'Why?' 

"He's not answering?" the man asked instead,  nodding to the walkie
talkie in Skinner's hand, and Skinner recognized the effort the
agent was exerting to appear concerned.

The AD shook his head. "This damned building's been playing havoc
with communications. They've got more protected rooms than the
Pentagon." Keaney stood in front of him now, hesitating. Skinner
knew that if he ordered him to, the agent would assist him in his
search for Mulder.  He met the man's questioning eyes. "Go on. Get
out," he told him.

Keaney didn't have to be told twice. A quick nod, and he headed for
the stairwell. Skinner followed the agent's progress, waiting for
him to disappear through the door to the stairwell. Just as
Keaney's hand closed around the doorknob, another explosion rocked
the AD off his feet; Skinner found himself on his stomach, sliding
face first toward a gaping hole in the lab Keaney had just vacated. 
Desperately, he clawed at the chewed-up floor, grasping for a
handhold. A shard of wood spiked under his fingernail, and he let
out a cry. He barely noticed when he toppled over the edge.

*****
5:12 p.m.

"Sir, help!"

The plea jarred him back to consciousness, and he gasped as the
sliver of wood in his middle finger made its presence known.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of the protruding end and
pulled. The fragment wouldn't budge, and he nearly passed out from
the pain. Jesus, he'd had shrapnel wounds that hurt less.  Forcing
his mind away from the throbbing in his hand, he rasped, "Keaney?"

"Up here."

Dazedly, Skinner took in his surroundings: water gushing from burst
pipes in what was left of the walls beside him, plaster filtering
down from the destroyed floors above him, debris all around him.
"Keaney? Where are you?"

"I'm up here."

The AD's eyes picked out his agent two floors above him, on the
only piece of the third floor still intact, a now-exposed steel
beam its sole support. Keaney was lying beneath a huge chunk of
plaster. "Are you hurt?"

"Not too bad, I think. But I can't move. I think the whole damned
wall landed on me."

Skinner nodded shakily. At least Keaney was still on the same
floor. Skinner should have gotten the hell away from that
half-collapsed room as soon as he had sent Keaney on his way.
Instead he followed the lab down two stories--along with all the
damned equipment. He winced. Was that a Bunsen burner in his back?
He reached behind him and almost fainted when the wood in his
finger brushed against the floor. Panting, he closed his eyes,
feeling himself go limp. His hands splashed into the water pooling
beneath him.

"Sir? Are you awake? Sir?" Keaney's voice oozed concern, yet even
in his half-conscious state Skinner got the clear impression that
none of it was for him. "Sir, are you there?" Annoyance, and this
time it *was* for him.

"I'm here." His voice sounded faraway, disconnected, and he was
having trouble focusing; a two-story fall would do that to a guy,
though, wouldn't it? He supposed he ought to be happy that he
landed on top of all the equipment instead of vice versa. He
struggled to a sitting position. "Shit," he muttered, looking
around him. "Let me see if I can raise someone on my cell," he
called up to the agent. "I lost my walkie talkie." 

As soon as his fingers left the cold water, Skinner bit back a
hiss; he looked at his hands and found that they were a swollen
mass of splinters.

"Sir?" The voice came from the open doorway behind him and was
laced with worry. Thank God, he thought, as Mulder came in and
knelt beside him, not noticing or not caring that he was kneeling
in three inches of water.

"Are you hurt?" the agent asked.

"I'll be fine," Skinner said, purposely brusque, slipping his hands
back into the soothing water. "But Keaney is trapped upstairs."

The agent looked up, walked around the area, then returned to
Skinner. "We can't get to him," he said quietly. "That last blast
took out the remaining staircase."

"Do you have your walkie talkie? Put in a call for assistance."

While Mulder did as requested, Skinner closed his eyes and
concentrated on breathing. Mulder touched him on the shoulder, and
Skinner blinked his eyes open. Was that frown on Mulder's face for
him, or was the news bad? 

"What did they say?"

"Your evacuation order stands. Everyone's out, and the fire
department won't let anyone back in."

"I heard yelling. Who was yelling at you?"

The agent's eyes met his briefly, and then looked away. Mulder
looked like a man evading an answer. "No one was yelling at me."

Skinner didn't have the strength to pursue this right now. "It's
just us, then?"

"Yes, sir."

The AD nodded. He'd order Mulder out, but it would only be an
exercise in futility. Unlike his fellow agent, Mulder would not
abandon them. "Can  you get us out, Mulder?" he asked quietly.

"I'm going to try, sir," the agent answered. He lowered a coil of
rope from his shoulder. At Skinner's raised eyebrow, Mulder
shrugged. "I borrowed it from a fireman. He was leaving, so I
persuaded him to give it to me."

"Can you use it to reach Keaney?"

Mulder looked up, and Skinner watched as his agent once again
surveyed the area. "I can't," he finally said, lowering his head,
avoiding Skinner's eyes. "I'm sorry."

Skinner closed his eyes. There were times he really hated this job.
"All right, Mulder." 

Then Skinner let himself sink into welcome oblivion, away from
pain, and destruction, and dying agents.

*****
5:40 p.m.

His first thought upon waking was that Mulder was holding his hand.
His second thought was that his hand hurt a hell of a lot less than
when Mulder wasn't holding his hand.

"You got it out."

Mulder nodded. "It looked painful." 

"It was."

"You were unconscious, so I took advantage." Although Mulder smiled
on the last word, Skinner didn't detect any humor in the agent's
eyes. Mulder's gaze drifted to Skinner's handkerchief-covered hand.
"Bleeding's almost stopped." 

"Thanks." Skinner sat up with his agent's help.

"How'd you get all those splinters?" Until he asked, Skinner hadn't
noticed how carefully Mulder was cradling his hand.

"Before I took my nose-dive down here. Damned wood floors," Skinner
muttered.

The agent looked alarmed. "You fell down here?" Mulder turned his
head skyward. "From where?"
"I was with Keaney."

"You fell two stories? Jesus, sir, you could be hurt a lot more
than you think."

"Some bruises maybe. But it doesn't feel like I'm bleeding
internally." His eyes met his agent's.  "I do know the feeling,
Mulder," he said softly. "Christ, those damned splinters hurt." He
tried to pull his hand free, but Mulder grabbed his wrist, then
stopped him from plunging his other hand into the cold water.
"What--"

"The water's swelling the wood. That's why they hurt so much now."
He removed the handkerchief and indicated the finger from which he
had pulled the piece of wood. "The splinters are harder to remove
when they're wet, too. I don't think I got it all."

"You got most of it." He smiled grimly. "It felt like there was a
whole tree under there."

"A little while longer in that water, and you would have had one,"
Mulder said.

Suddenly Skinner remembered that there were three of them in that
building. "What about Keaney? Did you come up with a way to get him
down?"

Mulder shook his head, looking away from Skinner. "There was
another explosion up there. I haven't heard anything from him
since."

The agent wouldn't come right out and say it, but his inference was
that Keaney was dead. Skinner squinted at the smoke starting to
drift around them. "Is there a fire?"

"Yeah." Skinner thought he detected a tremble in his agent's voice.

"Are you all right, Mulder?"

A grim smile flashed across the agent's face. "I don't like fire
much," he said, and Skinner sensed that it was more than just a
healthy respect for the dangerous element. "Come on, sir," he said,
helping Skinner to his feet. The AD swayed and Mulder grabbed hold
of him. "Lean on me. I'll wager you've got a concussion to go along
with that lump on your head."

"No bet," Skinner croaked.

Mulder laughed, but sobered immediately. "Come on. Let's go," he
said quietly, and Skinner knew the agent purposely avoided looking
up. As did he.

They'd traveled no more than twenty feet when a crash behind them
shook the floor. They turned instinctively toward the sound, and
Skinner felt his stomach churn at the sight of Keaney, a bloody
gaping hole where his right arm should have joined his socket.

"Mulder..." Skinner stopped the agent's approach to Keaney.

"I know," the agent said softly. "But I need to check."

Skinner braced himself against the wall and let go of Mulder. The
agent was halfway to Keaney when a flame leaped out an open doorway
a foot in front of him. Mulder stopped dead in his tracks.

The flame receded, and Skinner waited a few seconds, expecting
Mulder to continue to his goal. "Mulder?"

The agent shuddered, then turned away and hurried back to Skinner.
"You're right. He's dead." 

The AD's eyes flicked along the smoke-filled path to Keaney and
then back to Mulder. "We should go," he said quietly. 

Mulder grabbed onto him more firmly than Skinner thought was
necessary, and he moved his eyes up to look at his agent. Mulder's
eyes met his, and the agent's grip eased slightly. "Sorry," Mulder
said softly. 

Either the concussion was taking its toll, or the smoke was getting
to him, but Skinner began to feel very lightheaded. "Mulder..."

"Don't pass out on me, sir." The agent was almost begging.

"If I do... you get out."

The agent shook his head. "You know I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?" It was absurd, but he felt angry that Mulder
wouldn't leave him to save himself. "That's an order, Agent
Mulder."

"Yes, sir." 

"Good." Skinner was silent a few seconds while they skirted a
section of sagging floorboards, then he looked at his agent.
"Mulder, you're so full of shit your eyes are brown."

Mulder turned to him and gave a faint smile. "They aren't but I'll
concede the point anyway." The smile faded as a horrendous creaking
sounded all around them.

"Oh, God," Skinner breathed. "I'm too scared to pass out, Mulder.
Let's get the hell out of here."

"Can you run? Because if you can't I'm pretty sure I can pick you
up and carry you under my arm."

"I can run a marathon right now," Skinner said, breaking into a
trot.  He looked at the man beside him. "Let's book it."

Mulder nodded and sprinted toward the building's entrance; somewhat
absently, Skinner noted that the agent's grip on his arm had not
loosened. Just as they reached the doorway, a muffled explosion
sounded behind them.

"Down!" they yelled in unison, diving out the door, tumbling down
the stairs; heat seared Skinner's back, and a roar filled his ears.


After the din faded, Skinner lifted his head. He had landed on top
of Mulder and felt the younger man shaking beneath him. "It's all
right, Mulder," he said softly, moving off him. "It's over. We're
out."

"I know. I know. I'm fine." Skinner made no mention of the quiver
in his agent's voice. "We..." Mulder took a deep breath. "We need
to get you checked out by the paramedics."

"You, too."

"I'm..." The agent was still shaking. "Maybe you're right. Although
I'm pretty sure this is just because I'm still scared shitless."

Mulder rose to his feet and gave Skinner a hand up. The AD's mouth
dropped open at the sight that met his eyes. "Oh, God," he uttered.

Beside him, he heard Mulder's, "Holy fucking shit."

The building they were in just a minute ago was a pile of rubble.

*****

As they hobbled toward the assembled fire equipment, ambulances and
agents, Skinner smiled at the sight of Scully breaking through the
police line to make her way to them.

"Mulder, you jerk!" Her glare switched to Skinner, and he was
surprised when her anger changed to relief. The anger, now tinged
with affection, turned back to her partner. "You're damned lucky
you both came out of this alive."

Skinner had a horrible thought, and he moved around to stare at
Mulder. The innocent look on the man's face told it all. "Mulder,
you jerk!"

Scully and Mulder exchanged amused glances, and Skinner felt his
face redden, more from the thought that Mulder had willingly
returned to that death trap to find him, than from his agents'
mirth. The truth of the matter was, though, that if Mulder hadn't
been there, Skinner knew he wouldn't have made it out. "Thanks," he
said, quietly.
His agents grins' softened, and Mulder met his eyes and nodded.
"Let's get you checked out, sir," he said, directing him to the
pair of paramedics waiting behind the police line.

The adrenaline rush abruptly left him, and Skinner didn't protest
when his agents reached out to support him. "Mulder, you'd--"

"I'm fine, sir." Then, softly, "It's an old phobia. Passes quickly
once the threat is gone."

The AD saw no reason to disbelieve him--Mulder looked perfectly in
control once again--so he just nodded. They reached the ambulance,
and Skinner didn't need to be told to lie on the gurney; it was
calling him like a siren. He had just closed his eyes when an angry
voice accosted his ears. 

"You left him in there, didn't you? You bastard! You left him there
to die!"

Oh, God. Skinner had nearly forgotten. He opened his eyes. It was
Michalski. 

Keaney's partner.

*****

End of part 1/4