Title:  Sleepless in Annapolis

Author: Agent L

Classification: V, post-ep

Rating: Nothing objectionable

Spoilers: DeadAlive

Distribution: Archive anywhere, but keep my name and 

e-mail attached please! 

Disclaimer: To Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Fox:

I know they're not mine, and no money, gifts or even chocolate would be

expected or accepted for this. 

Summary: Skinner's thoughts as he watches Scully and Mulder.

Feedback: Yes, please! LHoward388@aol.com. 





Sleepless in Annapolis



I watch them both sleep, like a starving man gazes at 

diners at a banquet. I haven't slept since the night we 

exhumed the grave, Doggett standing beside me calling 

me a madman, as I questioned my own sanity, wondering 

how to tell her what I had done -- but as convinced as 

Mulder had ever been that I was on the path to the truth. 



So much has happened since then. A reminder of my own 

mortality, my fate not in the hands of God but of a man named 

Alex Krycek; a miracle born out of my own desperation to 

save an unborn child; redemption undeserved. If they only knew...



She won't leave his side. She won't even let go of his hand 

except when sleep overtakes her and her fingers slide away 

from his. I stay away as much as possible. The guilt and shame 

overwhelms me in this room, particularly when she looks at me 

with such gratitude in her eyes -- looks at him with such love. 



I would have killed him for her. I tell myself it's what he would 

want. But maybe it's what I wanted. Would it be so bad, to 

end his suffering, perhaps even my own...? To ensure her 

pregnancy comes to term? And he does suffer, although he 

smiles for her and tells her he's fine. I can see it in his eyes 

when she's not looking, in the way he escapes so quickly into 

sleep moments after waking. I've seen the x-rays, the damage 

that's been done that must leave him in constant pain. 



His body is still bloated, discolored and scarred. I don't 

know how she can stand to stroke his marred cheek or 

clasp the chilled flesh. Or perhaps the chill I feel comes 

from within. He sleeps most of the time, waking only to 

have her feed him ice chips and reassure him -- yet again -- 

that this is not a dream. She was awake for nearly twenty-four 

hours during the course of anti-virals, as if convinced somehow 

that her presence alone, her energy, would bring him back 

as much as any medication. But at the slightest twitch from him, 

the smallest change in breathing, she is immediately alert. 



I wish I had her faith. Her strength. I'm nothing more than a 

puppet for Krycek now, and whatever his latest agenda is. 

He literally holds my life in his hands. 



Mulder stirs and she awakens, her fingers moving from his 

hand to wrist, automatically checking for a pulse before her 

eyes are even fully open. She glances at me but does not 

seem to see me, as if I'm just another piece of equipment in 

the room, a memory hovering on the edge of her consciousness.



She murmurs something to him as he opens his eyes. He sees 

her and smiles. He never looks at anything else in the room, 

has not asked where he is or what happened to him. He seems 

content to simply watch her, obediently swallowing ice chips 

or whatever small thing she might ask him to do. 



Within moments, they are both asleep again, their fingers 

twined together, a physical representation of the bond 

between two souls, two lives.



I walk out of the hospital, squinting in the glare of 

another new day.



The End