REDRUM
AS8X11
Original teleplay by Steven Maeda
Original story by Steven Maeda & Daniel Arkin
Rewritten by Lara Means



FRIDAY, JANUARY 12


SNAP.  A squeal, or a squeak.

Walter Skinner opens his eyes and focuses on the source of
the noise -- a rat, caught in a deadly trap, its neck held fast
under the bar.  Skinner blinks a few times at the sight, then
shakes his head to clear it.  He sits up, too fast, and his
head scrapes against something above him.

"Dammit," he mutters, raising a hand to his scalp.  His
fingers come away a little bloody.  Only now does he take
in his surroundings, confusion evident on his face.  "What
the hell...?"

Walter Skinner sits on the lower of two bunks in a dingy
jail cell.  Sunlight streams in through a barred window
across the hall.  A dirty toilet, cracked sink, and of course
the rat trap in the corner complete the picture.  He looks
down at himself now and sees that he's wearing an orange
inmate jumpsuit.

A buzzer sounds and the door to the cell slides open.
Skinner leaps to his feet as a guard approaches.  "Let's go,"
the guard tells him, cutting off Skinner's question before it
can form.

They walk down a hallway, where Scully and Doggett are
waiting. Scully's arms are folded tightly and her mouth is
set in a thin line.  Doggett paces, agitated, his hands
clenching and unclenching.

Skinner sees them and calls out to them.  "Agents?"
Doggett stops his pacing, exchanges a glance with Scully.
Neither of them says anything.  "What's going on here?"

Doggett looks to Scully again, but she just glares at
Skinner and turns away.  Doggett speaks to the guard.
"Press got wind of the transfer.  Looks like Woodstock out
there.  Why don't we postpone, take him out later once the
crowd thins out?"

The guard shakes his head.  "They'll camp out for days.
We're going ahead with it now."

"What transfer?" Skinner asks his agents.  "Dammit, what's
happening?"

The guard takes Skinner's arm and attaches a handcuff to
his wrist -- Skinner tries to yank his arm away, but the
guard holds it firm and motions for assistance.  Skinner
struggles as Scully and Doggett step back, allowing him to
be handcuffed.

"Scully!  Doggett!  What the hell is this?  Will somebody
tell me what's happening?"

Scully's eyes are hard as she watches, not answering him.
Finally she turns and heads for an outer door.  Doggett
turns to Skinner, putting a hand on his arm.  He leans in
close.

"Sir.  Don't do this.  Just let them do their jobs, all right?"

He follows Scully out.  Skinner is shoved in that direction
too, and as he and his jailers trail the agents outside, he
stares at a calendar on the wall -- it's Friday, January 12th.

The guards surround Skinner, some gripping his arms
tightly, others with hands firmly on his shoulders.  Scully
and Doggett lead the way down the stairs and through the
throng of reporters and television cameras.  Spooked by
the chaos around him, Skinner allows himself to be jostled
by the guards as reporters shout questions.

"Mr. Skinner, why did you do it?"

"Mr. Skinner, do you regret your actions?"

"Mr. Skinner..."

The guards push the reporters back, clearing a path from
the bottom of the stairs to a prisoner transfer van.  Scully
and Doggett lead the way and open the doors to the rear
compartment.

For Skinner, time seems to slow...

...a flash of light catches his eye, from a rooftop across the
street...

...Scully and Doggett turn toward him, neither of them
looking at him...

..."GUN!" he shouts, points toward the rooftop...

...Scully and Doggett whirl, draw their weapons...

...the guards try to push him to the ground...

...he hears a dull popping sound that echoes in his head...

...Scully staggers back, toward him, arms flailing...

...he catches her as she falls...

The ambient sound comes rushing back, as if catching up
with what just happened -- screams from the crowd,
people running. The dull POP becomes the loud CRACK
of a shot fired from a high- powered rifle.

"Scully!"  Skinner's voice, loud and anguished.

Doggett and the guards try to control the chaos, protect the
public.  Skinner, in the eye of the storm, holds on to Scully.
Bright red blood flows from the gunshot wound in her
chest. Still shackled, he can't put pressure on the wound.
He frantically searches the crowd for Doggett or anyone
who can help him save her.

"I need some help here!"

He scans the rooftop, hoping for a glimpse of the shooter.
He thinks he sees someone running, a streak of blonde
hair, but it's gone before he's sure.  He turns his attention
back to Scully as her hand clutches at him.  Her eyes flicker
open for an instant and she looks up at him.  Her voice is
tiny and thin, but she manages a whisper...

"Bastard..."

Her eyes slip shut and her head falls to the side.  "No,"
Skinner chokes out, "Scully!"

He takes her hand in his, feeling for a pulse in her wrist.
Nothing.  His fingers move to her neck.  Again, nothing.

He pulls her body onto his lap, cradling her, rocking her.
The devastation he feels is evident in his voice.

"Dana..."

Her arm slips from his grasp and hits the hard concrete of
the sidewalk.  He takes her hand again, holds it tightly.
He catches a glimpse of her wristwatch as the second-hand
continues its sweep -- time, 8:40 and some seconds; date,
the 12th.  He stares at it, wondering if they'll mark this
down as her time of death.  He closes his eyes, bows his
head.  Then...

The watch begins to move backwards.

*   *   *   *   *

THURSDAY, JANUARY 11


Skinner wakes with a start on the jailhouse bunk.  He
glances around, spots the empty rat trap in the corner as a
free and very much alive rat skitters along the wall.
Everything else looks the same as before -- and he
remembers.  A shot.  Scully, staggering backwards.  Dying
in his arms.

Scully.  The baby.  Dead.  Because of him, somehow.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, fighting tears he doesn't
feel he has a right to shed.

The buzzer sounds loudly, the door slides open, and a
guard comes in.  He stands, waiting.  Finally, Skinner
looks up at him.  'This is how it started before,' he thinks.
'I walk out that door, into the hallway, to Scully and
Doggett.  Then we go outside.  Then...

'Is it happening again?  Do I have another chance?'

Skinner gets to his feet, leaving the cell with the guard.


DISTRICT COURT

Skinner is led into a courtroom in wrist and leg shackles.
He's hesitant, confused; this isn't what he thought was
going to happen.  His eyes search the gallery, looking
perhaps for Doggett, or even Scully, but he recognizes no
one.  The bailiff seats him at a table with a young female
attorney; he doesn't recognize her, either.

The attorney looks up from her papers.  "Do you know
Judge Kinberg?"

Skinner glances at her, uncertain.  "Kinberg?  No... no, I
don't think so.  I may have testified before him a couple of
times --"

"Good.  Good, he might remember you in a professional
capacity." She turns to face Skinner fully, and only now
takes in that deer-in-the-headlights look he wears.  "What's
wrong with you?" Skinner just shakes his head.  She grabs
his arms, gives him a hard shake.  "Look.  Our biggest
advantage here is you -- your status as an Assistant
Director with the FBI.  You have to be that man, Walter, or
we're screwed.  Now, whatever's got you spooked, you
need to snap out of it.  You are Assistant Director Walter
Skinner, dammit, and that means something."

The shift in Skinner is visible and immediate -- shoulders
back, head held high, hands folded on the table in front of
him, a determined gleam in his eyes.  Whatever the hell is
going on, he's got to fight it.

Everyone rises at the bailiff's instruction, and Judge
Kinberg takes the bench.  The bailiff continues, "District
court, Department 6-B is now in session, the Honorable
Benjamin Kinberg presiding.  Thursday, the eleventh day
of January, 2001."

Skinner's eyes narrow at that.  "Thursday?"  His lawyer
shushes him, but Skinner is insistent.  "It's Saturday.
Yesterday was Friday..."

"Today is Thursday.  Yesterday was Wednesday."  The
young lawyer takes another look at Skinner, brows
furrowing.  "Are you all right?"

Judge Kinberg gavels them silent, then reads from the file
in front of him.  "Case number AS8X11, District versus
Walter Skinner.  The charge is second-degree murder in
the death of Alexander Krycek."

Skinner goes pale, all the confidence he showed earlier
gone. He falls into his chair, grasping his attorney's arm
and pulling her down next to him.  "That's what this is
about?  Alex Krycek?"

The young woman nods, frowning.  "What did you think it
was about?"

Skinner shakes his head, runs a trembling hand over his
face. 'I killed Alex Krycek...'

The Judge silences the gallery's murmurs and glares at the
defense table.  "Ms. Wilson, is your client prepared to
continue?"

She nods, leans close to Skinner.  "Pull yourself together,
Assistant Director."

He nods in response, his jaw tight.  He rises again, more in
control now.  "My apologies, Your Honor."

The Judge returns his attention to the file.  "How do you
plead?"

Skinner's voice is clear and strong.  "Not guilty."

"Bail, Ms. Wilson?"

"I'm sure Your Honor recognizes that Mr. Skinner's
position as an Assistant Director with the FBI -- an officer
of the law -- makes him a target while in custody.  We
request he be released on his own recognizance."

The prosecutor, a silver-haired man, shakes his head
indulgently.  "The District is adamantly opposed to an
O.R. release.  Mr. Skinner will be well protected while he's
in custody."

The young attorney turns to him.  "You could at least
transfer him out of the general population."

"No!"  Both attorneys and the Judge stare at Skinner,
reacting to this second disruption of court procedure.
"You can't transfer me.  That's when it happens."

"When what happens, sir?" the Judge asks.

"If today's really Thursday, and tomorrow's Friday, then...
then tomorrow morning, as I'm being transferred, there'll
be an incident.  An innocent person will die."

Judge Kinberg exchanges a sympathetic glance with
Skinner's lawyer, then nods toward the bailiff.  Two
officers move in on Skinner.

"No, you don't understand!  Listen to me!  Someone's
going to die!"  A third officer joins the others.  They move
Skinner out of the courtroom as the Judge tries to restore
order.

VISITORS ROOM

Skinner paces the room, back and forth behind the small
table, trying to figure things out.  'Krycek's dead.  Who
killed him? Why am I charged?  Scully's alive... isn't she?
But for how long?  If I really saw it happen, can I prevent
it?'

The door opens, admitting Doggett and Scully.  Skinner
exhales, relieved, when he sees her.  "Scully.  Thank God."
He goes to her, tries to take her arms -- but she steps back,
hands in front of her, out of his reach.  She just glares at
him, angry, practically seething.

Doggett's expression isn't any friendlier.  He looks
extremely pissed off, but about what, Skinner has no clue.
Doggett pulls a sealed evidence bag from his pocket and
holds it out to him.

"Is this yours, Sir?"

"Agent Doggett, I want some answers.  What the --"

"*You* want answers?" Doggett roars.  "Why don't you
start givin' *me* some damn answers for once?"  He shoves
the evidence bag in Skinner's face.  "Is this yours?"

Skinner stares at Doggett, unsure just what provoked his
agent's outburst.  He takes the evidence bag -- inside is his
FBI identification badge, the one he wears clipped to his
suit coat every day.  He looks back to Doggett.  "Where
did you get this?"

That's apparently not what Doggett wanted to hear.  He
seems disappointed, almost subdued.  "It is yours then?"

"Yes.  Where was it?"

"Clutched in Alex Krycek's hand."  Scully's voice is icy.

Skinner considers her answer -- considers his agents.  He
has to figure out what's going on, and to do that, he needs
their help. But they're both so tightly wound...

He sits down at the table, motions to the empty seats
across from him.  Scully turns away, but Doggett joins him.
Skinner speaks to both of them anyway.

"Agents... I need your help with this."

"That's what we're trying to do, Sir," Doggett tells him.

Skinner nods at this, presses on.  "I need to know
everything you know.  Starting from the beginning."

"You don't remember?" Doggett asks, incredulous.

Skinner meets his gaze steadily.  "Assume I don't."

A look passes between Doggett and Scully, a look that
Skinner can't read.  Although she stays back, away from
the table, Scully watches Skinner carefully as Doggett
answers.

"Alex Krycek was found dead early Monday morning, in a
vacant lot just across the river in Arlington.  Two gunshot
wounds to the torso... and one to the head.  As Agent
Scully said, that," he indicates Skinner's ID badge, "was
found in his hand."

"Murder weapon?"

"They're testing your SIG now.  They're also..."  Doggett
looks away, glances back at Scully.

"What, Agent?" Skinner demands.

"They're checking out your car, Sir.  Looking for trace
evidence."

Skinner takes a moment to consider what he's just been
told. How did Krycek get his ID badge?  How did his
body end up in Arlington?  How did the police connect
him to the murder?

'Could I have done this?'

Scully takes a step closer.  "You really don't remember."
Skinner looks up at her, grateful that she seems to have
thawed a little.  "What's the last thing you *do*
remember?"

'You dying in my arms' is on the tip of his tongue, but he
holds it in.  He thinks about her question -- really thinks
about it, for the first time since this ordeal started.  What
*does* he remember?

"Sunday," he tells them.  "Sunday night, I was home,
watching TV.  Nothing unusual, same stuff I always watch.
I went to bed...  Then I woke up in a cell on Friday
morning."

"Friday," Doggett says, dubious.  "Today's Thursday, Sir."

"So I've been told.  Look, I'm just telling you what I know.
I don't remember Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday..."
He looks into Scully's eyes.  "But I remember Friday."

Scully just holds the look, a touch of anger creeping back
in. "Have you recently suffered a head injury, Sir?"

Skinner gives her a tiny, indulgent smile.  "Matter of fact, I
have.  Scraped my head on the top bunk when I woke up
yesterday... Friday... whenever.  It bled a little, but
otherwise --"

Scully goes to him, the doctor in her momentarily winning
out over whatever else she's feeling.  She examines his
scalp, then steps back again.  "There's nothing there.  No
cuts, no scrapes, no scars."

His hand moves to recheck what she just checked --
nothing.  He remembers the blood on his fingers, as warm
as her blood...

He shakes off the memory, looking up at her again, at the
set of her jaw and those tightly folded arms.  Her anger
puzzles him -- he doesn't know the reason for it, nor can he
think of a way to diffuse it.  "I don't know what else to tell
you, Agent."

Scully's eyes narrow slightly, and with a glance to Doggett,
she turns.  The slamming of the door echoes off the walls
of the tiny room.

Skinner now looks to Doggett, his eyes asking for
understanding. Doggett meets his gaze for a long moment.

"Sir... did you kill Alex Krycek?"

"I don't know."

"Look, if you're laying a foundation for some kind of
insanity defense --"

"Come on, Doggett, you know me by now --"

"I don't know anything, Sir -- except that today's Thursday,
yesterday was Wednesday, and tomorrow's Friday."

Doggett gets up to leave, but Skinner's hand on his arm
stops him.

"If that's true... if tomorrow really *is* Friday... then I need
you to do something.  I need you to keep Agent Scully
away from here."

"You know better than I do that nobody keeps Agent
Scully from going anywhere she wants to go."

"It's important, John.  Her life depends on it."  Doggett is
taken by Skinner's serious tone, his sincere concern for
Scully. He nods, then goes.

Skinner returns to his chair by the table and sinks into it.
His breaths are ragged, his hands trembling.  He can
almost feel the nanites coursing through his veins.

*   *   *   *   *

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 10


...Krycek, laughing...

...Scully, shouting...

...a gunshot...

...Krycek, stunned...

...another shot...

...and another...


The now-familiar buzzing sound wakes Skinner, who sits
up carefully so he doesn't bump his head on the top bunk.
The cell door slides open and he stands as the guard
enters.

"I'm not going," Skinner tells him, defiant.

"'Scuse me?"

"I'm not going.  If I go, someone will die.  You cannot
transfer me."

"I don't plan to," the guard responds.  "You got a visitor."

VISITORS ROOM

Skinner is led into the room and finds Scully there, alone,
pacing.  Her head snaps around when he enters, and he's
taken aback at what he sees in her face.

Fury.  Her body trembles with it, as if the wrong word or
touch could cause her to splinter apart.

He's never seen her like this before.

His eyes drop to the gentle swell of her abdomen.  Surely
this level of anger can't be healthy for the baby.

"Dana, please --"

"*Don't*," she hisses.  "Don't pretend that you care about
me, or my child.  I think you proved two days ago where
your priorities really lie."

Two days ago?  "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Krycek."  The name comes out as an epithet, and he
almost expects her to make the Sign of the Cross and spit
after she says it.  "I thought you were my friend, *his*
friend --"

Confused, Skinner tries to reach out to her.  "I *am* your
friend..."

"-- and now *this*!  I never expected this, not from you.
How could you do this to me?  To Mulder?  Don't you
realize what this means?"

Scully's breathing heavily, her rage not dissipating enough
to suit Skinner.  He speaks to her softly, gently.

"Scully.  Please."  He pours her a glass of water from the
pitcher on the table, holds it out to her.  After a moment,
she reaches out for it, her hands shaking.  Skinner sits
down, hoping that she'll sit too.  Eventually, she does.

"There are some things I need to know, things that might
seem... odd."  She looks at him, her eyebrow rising.  "Agent
Scully... what day is it?"

The eyebrow goes up another couple of millimeters.  "I'm
sorry?"

"Is it Friday, or Wednesday?"

"It's Wednesday."

Skinner closes his eyes, somewhat relieved but still a bit
bewildered.  "It's still happening, then."

"What's still happening?"

"Tell me about Monday," he asks, ducking her question.

"Why?  So we can get our stories straight?"

"Because it hasn't happened yet!" he tells her.  "That's what
I *think* is going on, anyway."

Scully stares at him, incredulous.  He presses on, talking
through his theory.

"I go to bed Sunday night, nothing out of the ordinary.  I
wake up *Friday*, in a jail cell, with no recollection of
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday...  The next time
I wake up, it's Thursday.  I still don't remember Monday,
but Friday is clear as a bell.  And today... today's
Wednesday.  I don't know what happened Monday or
Tuesday, I don't know how Alex Krycek died or if I killed
him, because I haven't lived those days yet. Somehow,
time is moving backwards."  Skinner leans closer to her,
takes her hand in his.  "I think I'm being given a second
chance -- a chance to put something right that goes wrong
on Monday.  But I don't know what that is."

She slowly pulls her hand from Skinner's grasp, watching
him carefully.  "Did you plan this?  Because it's brilliant.
You'll spend years in a hospital, but at least you won't go
to prison."

Disappointment is etched on Skinner's face.  "I expected
you to believe me on this, just a little."

Her voice, her features grow harsh now.  "Why is that, Sir?
Because my role in the X-files has changed?  Because I'm
the Believer now?"  Scully shoves her chair back and
stands, maybe a bit too quickly.  She sways, holds onto the
table, then looks Skinner straight in the eyes.  "I am a
*scientist*.  And as a scientist, I know that time does not --
*cannot* -- move backwards."

She storms out, slamming the door behind her.  The sound
reverberates through the room, just like it did Thursday.

Like the sound of the gunshot did Monday.

As if in a dream, he sees it in his mind.

...struggling with Krycek...

...his ID badge coming off...

...Scully behind him shouting...

...pulling his weapon...

...squeezing the trigger...

Exhausted, baffled, Skinner rests his head on the table.
After a moment --

"You all right, Sir?"

He looks up to see Doggett standing in the doorway.  He
scrubs his face with his hands, motions to the chair
opposite him. "Yeah.  Did you see Agent Scully in the
hallway?  Did she look okay?"

Doggett closes the door and sits, shaking his head.  "I just
caught a glimpse of her going into the Ladies Room.  Why,
did something happen?"

"That's the trouble, Agent Doggett.  I don't know what
happened."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did I do this, John?  Did I kill Krycek?"

Doggett's confusion shows in his face.  With a glance
around the room, he responds, "I wouldn't know, Sir --
we're still investigating."

"Right," Skinner nods.  "Have you gotten the ballistics
report on my weapon?"

Doggett shakes his head slowly.  "They're getting a court
order right now to test it."

'That doesn't happen until Thursday,' Skinner reminds
himself. "What about my car, did they find anything?"

"Should they be looking at your car, Sir?"  Doggett
responds cautiously.

Skinner shakes his head absently -- he's starting to confuse
what happens when.  He closes his eyes, trying to think
straight.

...Scully behind him shouting...

...Scully, her weapon trained on Krycek...

...Scully in the basement hallway, her weapon trained...

Skinner's eyes pop open.

The basement hallway.

Suddenly, the need to know is overwhelming.  "Agent
Doggett, I need your help."

"That's what I'm trying to do, Sir."

Skinner takes a breath, knowing that what he's about to say
may change his relationship with his agents.

"In the basement office... in the smoke detector above
Scully's desk... there's a camera."

Doggett's eyes narrow.  "You spying on us, Sir?"

"No," Skinner shakes his head.  "The Deputy Director
ordered it, not long after we found Mulder."

"Kersh is surveilling us?" Doggett asks, his voice rising.
"And you knew about it?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Agent, I take orders from him
the same as you.  In any event, this may work to our
advantage."

"I don't see how," he shouts, his agitation growing.

"I need to know what happened Monday.  There may be
some information on that tape to help me figure that out."

Doggett nods, calming.  "Where's the tape?"

"There's a locked metal cabinet in the hallway outside
your office.  The tapes and equipment are in there.  You'll
have to pick the lock, I don't have a key."

Doggett nods again, heads for the door.

"Agent Doggett."  He stops, looks back.  "Whatever's on
that tape... I need to know."

Doggett goes.  Skinner sits back and closes his eyes,
waiting for the guard to come and take him to his cell.

*   *   *   *   *

TUESDAY, JANUARY 9


...shouting, coming from the basement office...

...Scully's voice, furious...

...another voice, deeper, laughing...

...Krycek, leaving the basement office...

...Scully, following him, her weapon drawn...

...a gunshot...


Skinner wakes with a start, the sound of the gunshot still
ringing in his ears.

Something feels different this morning.  He takes in his
surroundings.

His apartment.  He must've fallen asleep on the sofa, the
TV still on.  God, what day is it?

"In other news this morning, District police have released
the identity of the man found dead in a vacant lot in
Arlington yesterday."

The TV.  Local news.  A quick glance at the lower right-
hand corner of the screen tells him it's 7:38 a.m. on 1/9/01.

Tuesday.

He sinks back into the sofa.  'At least I haven't been
arrested yet,' he realizes.

The newscaster's voice, and a photo of Krycek, draw his
attention back to the TV.

"Alex Krycek was a former FBI agent wanted by federal
authorities and police in several states for questioning in a
number of crimes.  Police have declined to name any
suspects at this time, but say that the investigation is
continuing."

Skinner fumbles for the remote as the too-perky
weatherman tells of a winter storm moving in.


FBI HEADQUARTERS

Walking through the hallway, feeling more secure in his
charcoal-grey armor than in jailhouse orange, Skinner nods
hello to several agents as he approaches his office.  His
assistant greets him with a "good morning" as he passes
through.

She brings in his mail and turns to go, but he stops her.
"Do you know if Agent Scully is in yet?"

"No, Sir, I don't.  Would you like me to find her for you?"

Skinner shakes his head.  "I'll find her myself.  Thanks."
He slips past her, back into the crowded hallway.

BASEMENT

Skinner exits the elevator and heads for the metal cabinet
he described to Doggett on Wednesday.  He pulls a
lockpick from his pocket, opening the cabinet.  Inside is a
bank of video recorders.  He ejects the tapes from two of
them -- then, almost as an afterthought, he turns off the one
that's recording in the office now.

Inside the office, Skinner puts one of the tapes into the
VCR and turns on the monitor.  He rewinds the tape a
little, then pushes 'play.'  Doggett, doing paperwork.  The
time code indicates it was recorded on January 5th, last
Friday.  Skinner ejects that tape, puts the other one in.

This tape's time code reads "01/08/2001  03:26:14" as the
fuzzy black-and-white image comes up on the screen.  It's
the middle of the night, early Monday morning.  No one
should be in the office at that hour -- but Skinner clearly
sees Scully, sitting at her desk, going through a stack of
files.  From the looks of them, they're old files, cases she
and Mulder investigated together, but he can't make out
any details.  She continues this for another two or three
minutes, then rises, stretching out her back and running a
gentle hand over her belly.  Skinner looks away at this,
embarrassed and a little ashamed to witness such an
intimate display of affection.  His attention is drawn back
to the screen at the sound of a voice --

"Very touching."

Krycek.

Scully's head spins around on the screen just as Skinner's
does in the office.  "What do you want?" she hisses.

"Just want to see how you're doing," Krycek says as he
walks into the office.

"Liar."

"I'm genuinely concerned about you, Scully.  You and
your baby."

"You're concerned about no one but yourself, Krycek."

"You're wrong."  He takes a few steps further into the
room. Scully reacts by drawing her weapon.

"Stop."

"I'm not going to hurt you.  I want to help you.  I have
information you need, information about Mulder --"

On the monitor, Scully cocks her weapon and advances on
him.

In the office, Skinner turns to see her standing in the
doorway, staring at him.  "Where did you get that?"

"Deputy Director Kersh has had this office under
surveillance for the past month," he tells her, hitting the
'pause' button.

"You son of a bitch," she whispers.  "We never should've
trusted you."

"I'm trying to help you, Agent.  Based on what I've been
able to piece together the last two days, it's looking more
and more like you're responsible for this."

"What?"

Skinner grabs her upper arms, his need to know
overpowering everything else.  "Did you do it, Scully?
Did you kill Krycek?"

She easily breaks free of his grasp.  "I never got the
chance." She reaches for the VCR and disengages the
'pause' button.  The tape starts up again.

"-- his name to me!  You led him to Oregon!  You got him
killed!" the Scully on-screen shouts at Krycek.

"Scully, no -- listen to me --"

"I'm done listening to your lies."

She takes aim at Krycek, moves her finger to the trigger.

In the office, Scully can't watch it happen again.  She moves
behind her desk, leans against it, staring at Mulder's "I
Want To Believe" poster.

Still watching the tape, Skinner's eyes widen as *he* enters
the office, his weapon also drawn and pointed at Krycek.

"I've got him, Scully," he tells her, then gestures to Krycek
with his gun.  "Let's go."

"No!"  Scully moves toward them, tries to put herself
between them.

"Scully, back off!" Skinner barks, grabbing Krycek by the
collar and hauling him out into the hallway.  Scully
follows.

On the monitor, the office is empty -- but their voices can
still be heard from the hallway.  Shouting over each other.
Then, a gunshot.  Then another.  And another.

Skinner shuts off the VCR and turns to Scully.  Her back is
to him, but it's ramrod-straight.  He knows the source of
her anger now.

"I did it.  I killed him," he says softly.

"To *protect* me," she spits out.

"Yes.  To protect you.  I don't want you having this baby in
prison."  He takes a few steps toward her.  "I still don't
know why this is happening, but I think I understand a
little piece of it now."

That gets her attention, and she turns to look at him.  "Why
what's happening?"

He shakes his head, puts a hand on her shoulder, but she
shrugs it off.  "I don't want you investigating this.  Hell,
there's nothing to investigate anyway.  The police'll come,
I'll confess, and that's that.  Case closed."

Skinner goes back to the VCR and ejects the tape -- he
opens the front and rips the tape from the cassette.

"You're destroying evidence," Scully tells him, her voice
cold.

"I don't want this coming back on you."  He drops the tape
into the garbage can, then looks at her once more.  "Stay
away from this case, Agent Scully.  Stay away from me."

He walks out, heads toward the elevators.  The enormity
of what he's learned, what he's done, weighs heavily on
him.  'Doesn't matter what happens to me,' he thinks.  'All
that matters now is Scully.  Keeping her safe, keeping her
alive.'

As he nears the elevators, one of them 'dings' and the
doors open -- revealing Doggett and two District cops.

"Assistant Director," Doggett says.  "Your secretary said we
might find you down here."

Skinner nods, then boards the elevator with them.

*   *   *   *   *

MONDAY, JANUARY 8


...the snap of a rat trap being sprung...

...the clang of a cell door closing...

...the click of handcuffs being fastened...

...the cacophony of voices shouting questions all at once...

...the crack of a gunshot...

...the whispered last word of a dying woman...

...'bastard'...


Skinner tosses and turns in a king-size bed in a darkened
bedroom, sheets twisted around him.  Finally he jolts
awake, sweaty and out of breath.  He switches on the lamp
on the bedside table and looks around.

'Home.  I'm home.'

He fumbles for his glasses, then picks up his watch.  It's
2:51 -- on the 8th.

Monday.

'Was it all a dream?' he wonders.  'Or did I finally make it
back to Monday?  Is it still going to happen?'

He scrambles out of bed, realizing he has less than an hour
to find out.

FBI HEADQUARTERS

In the elevator on his way to the basement, an agitated
Skinner glances at his watch.  3:26 -- the time code on the
tape.  Only a few minutes left.

The elevator finally stops and he gets out, rushing toward
the basement office.  He stops just outside the door,
drawing his weapon and listening carefully.

"I want to help you.  I have information you need,
information about Mulder --"  Krycek.

Skinner hears a weapon being cocked, then Scully's voice,
full of anguish and rage.

"Don't you *dare* say his name to me!  You led him to
Oregon! You got him killed!"

"Scully, no -- listen to me --"

"I'm done listening to your lies."

Skinner rounds the doorframe and steps into the room, his
gun trained on Krycek.

"I've got him, Scully," he tells her, then gestures to Krycek
with his gun.  "Let's go."

"No!"  Scully moves toward them, tries to put herself
between them.

"Scully, back off!" Skinner barks, grabbing Krycek by the
collar and hauling him out into the hallway.  Scully
follows.

Skinner shoves Krycek toward the stairs.  "Get outta here."
Krycek looks at him, confused, as Skinner holsters his
weapon. "Go on, Krycek, before I change my mind."

Scully tries to get past Skinner, leading with her weapon.
"Skinner, no!  He gave Mulder to Them!"

She fires blind at Krycek, but the slug hits the concrete
stairwell.  Krycek ducks the shot, then runs up the stairs
while he has the chance.

Skinner grabs Scully's gun hand and holds it tight.  He
brings the weapon up to his chest, barrel pointed straight
at his heart.

"You want revenge, Scully?  Is that all you want?  Then
take it. Squeeze the trigger."

"You think I won't?  I sent you to protect him!"

"And I lost him!  So go ahead, shoot me!  It won't bring him
back!"

Scully gasps, her eyes wide.  She's trembling violently, her
breathing harsh and ragged.

"He's *gone*, Scully!  Mulder's gone and there's nothing we
can do about it."

Slowly, Skinner takes the gun from her and tucks it in his
jacket pocket.  As Scully's face begins to crumble, she
lashes out at him, fists pounding his chest.  "Bastard!" she
shouts at him.

Skinner's eyes shut tight, remembering, as his arms go
around her.  She repeats the word over and over, each time
her rage giving way to her grief.  Skinner just holds her as
the tears finally begin to fall.

SKINNER'S OFFICE

Skinner sits behind his desk, phone to his ear.  He waits a
moment, listening, then speaks.

"I understand the Deputy Director is busy, but I need to
see him as soon as possible.  Tell him..."  He should say,
'Tell him to get that damn surveillance equipment out of
Mulder's office,' but he's pretty certain Kersh's assistant
doesn't know about it. "Tell him it's about the X-files
office."

Hanging up, he leans back and squeezes his eyes shut,
contemplating everything he's experienced.  'Is it over?' he
wonders.  'Or am I going to wake up tomorrow and it'll be
Sunday?'

A knock at the door rouses him.  The door opens before he
can reply -- it's Scully.  He stands, goes to her.

"Agent Scully.  I thought I sent you home."

"Yes Sir.  You did."  She takes a deep breath, then looks
into his eyes.

"I need to know, Sir.  Why you did it.  Why you let him
go."

Skinner looks at her, then closes his eyes.  Her whispering
voice rings in his ears.  He shakes off the memory, looks at
her again.  She's waiting for an answer.

"It was the right thing to do."

Scully turns away from him, shaking her head.

"You may not believe that, Scully, but it was.  I couldn't
allow you -- either of us -- to act out of revenge."  He puts a
hand on her shoulder -- she allows it now, lets him turn
her to face him.  "I promise you, Krycek will pay for what
he did to Mulder, to you.  But not like that."

"How can you make that promise?  How can you hope to
fulfill it?"

"I don't know yet.  But I'll find a way."

Scully nods, but doubt is written on her face.  Skinner feels
it too -- by his actions this morning, Krycek may have
slipped through their fingers for good.

'But Scully's alive,' he reminds himself.  'That's what
matters.'

He gives her shoulder a squeeze, drawing himself up and
becoming A.D. Skinner once more.  "Go home, Agent.  Get
some rest."  He glances away from her, not wanting to say
what comes next, but knowing he has to.  "I'm putting you
on restricted duty for the rest of the week."

Scully arches an eyebrow.  "Sir?"

"You came back to work too soon after the funeral.  You're
still processing everything, still... still grieving."  *Finally*
grieving, he wants to say.

"I saw the grief counselor, as you ordered, Sir," she tells
him, her jaw tight.  "Are you telling me I have to go back?"

"No.  But I want you to talk to someone, Dana.  Your
mother, Frohike... me...  Someone who understands."

She lets out a deep sigh and looks away.  "No one
understands," she says quietly.  After a moment she
swipes at a tear, gives him a tiny nod.  "You'll tell Agent
Doggett?"

Skinner nods.  Her left hand on his arm, she turns to go.
He glances at her wristwatch.

"Your watch has stopped."

Scully looks at it -- the second-hand isn't moving.  She
shakes her arm a little, taps the crystal.  "There it goes."
She holds her wrist out for him to see the second-hand
moving forward again.

Time, 8:40 and some seconds.  Date...

The 8th.

Skinner nods, and she leaves.  Closing the door behind
her, he leans back against it, running a hand over his face.

Whatever happened before, it won't happen again.

END

- - - - -

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Thanks to CarriK for her transcript of
this episode, from which I drew rather more heavily than
I'd initially imagined.

You should know that I adore Joe Morton, who played
Martin Wells in the broadcast version of "Redrum."  That
said... "Redrum" was the only episode from last season
that I really, really didn't like.  Why?  It was about Martin
Wells.  Someone we didn't know, who was a friend of the
New Guy, who we'd never see again.  A series episode
should be about or driven by the series regulars -- for all
Scully and Doggett mattered in that version, it could've
been an episode of THE OUTER LIMITS.  (BTW, I didn't
care for "Hungry" in season 7 either, for the same reason.)
So when Kristel announced this project, I saw my chance to
'fix' the story, and to give Skinner something to do. <g>

A personal note regarding the events of September 11,
2001... I was going to write something profound here about
the futility of revenge and how retribution never rights the
wrongs it's supposed to... but I can't be profound right
now.

My thoughts are with those affected by what happened,
whether directly or indirectly.

Lara



