DISCLAIMER:

I bet you're feeling pretty silly right about now...

It was just like Kersh to order crepes for breakfast, Walter Skinner thought sourly as he left the elevator and bore down on his office. He normally enjoyed the Friday morning AD breakfasts, except for the one week in nine that Kersh got to select the menu. Up until today the most infamous Kersh breakfast atrocity had been the papaya-coffee-strawberry yogurt strewn with carrot and pineapple trail mix accented with happy little pine nuts. This morning's sissified selection of crepes with a variety of mucilaginous primary-colored syrups made Skinner feel as if he'd spent today's AD breakfast at the International House of Pancakes. The accident with the boysenberry syrup had made the disaster complete when one syrup dispenser with an improperly fitted lid had slipped loose and bounced down the rectangular table. Skinner rolled the folder in his hand into a tighter cylinder, hoping to squeeze out the coffee that had slopped from upset cups and saucers in the wake of the bouncing boysenberry container.

Kimberley knew him better than he knew himself. As Skinner strode into the outer office, she hurried from behind her desk, open aspirin bottle in hand. It was with visible dismay that she took his suit jacket from him, shaking her head at the splotches of sticky redness along the sleeve and front. The Bureau's favorite 1-hour drycleaners were used to getting out blood stains and powder residue. She wasn't sure what they would do with--

"Boysenberry syrup, sir?"

Skinner closed his eyes and shuddered. "Hit me," he growled, his palm open. Kimberley shook two, then a third aspirin tablet into his hand. Skinner popped them dry into his mouth and swallowed.

Kimberley hung his jacket over the back of her chair. Skinner tipped his head in the direction of the rolled mess of damp papers he'd put on her desk. "I need a new folder for those documents, sorry about the coffee stains. Did you find the rest of the files?" Kimberley nodded, picking up the folder by the dry edges. "You can tell Archives for me," Skinner continued as he rubbed the tight tension knot over the bridge of his nose, "one more screw-up with network backups like the one last week and I'll have them up in the dining room eating Kersh's papaya and pine nut special."

He glanced at his watch. "My 9:30 is here?"

Kimberley blotted excess moisture from one ink-smeared page, then placed the somewhat-repaired stack of pages in a crisp new manila folder. "Yes sir, they're in there," she confirmed, but her tone was punctuated with question marks. If anyone could give Kimberley fits, it had to be the X-Files problem children Mulder and Scully, Skinner thought as he walked into his office and closed the door behind him.

---

Five minutes. It had been five minutes since he'd taken his seat at the desk and mouthed a perfunctory 'sorry' for not starting promptly at 9:30. Then Skinner had opened the file and had begun to read, completely ignoring the two Agents in the process. They had filled the five minutes with stony silence, like rose granite cut to the quick with limestone.

Skinner cleared his throat, put the pages back in order, and folded his hands on top of the sheets. The Agents were taken aback by Skinner's sudden broad congenial grin.

"So, how are you?" Skinner's smile snapped between the duo like a searchlight.

Mulder's jaw had dropped to somewhere around his ankles. Scully choked out "Pardon?" past the stunned expression on her face.

.....<<The First Rule of Engagement -- Do the unexpected.>>

Skinner turned up the smile wattage from sunny to supernova. "How *are* you?" he repeated in a chipper tone. Skinner's eyes played Pong between their faces. He had to stifle a laugh as the two shot each other worried sidewise glances.

"Uh...fine, sir," Mulder began cautiously.

"Yes, fine, sir," Scully added.

"We're both fine" came out as an unintentional but perfectly timed chorus. Strained and uneasy smiles surfaced on their faces. Skinner pretended not to notice, and set his grin back to 'simmer.'

"Good," he responded, unlacing his fingers and looking down at the top page of the briefing set. "I have a new case for you. In fact, that's why I was late for our meeting this morning. AD Wolverton passed this along to me after some unusual and unexplained elements turned up in the course of his division's investigation. In light of your success with the Arcadia case, you'll be partnered again as husband and wife during an undercover investigation at the Flights of Angels Convalescent Community in Coralville, Iowa."

Scully let only a faint groan slip past her lips; the noise was all but drowned out by a hyperactive Mulder bouncing in his seat. Surprised by Mulder's enthusiastic reaction, Skinner wondered just what had been left *out* of the Arcadia report. A stern look from his partner took a bit of the bounce out of Mulder's buns. Skinner continued with his briefing.

"There have been a number of patient deaths at Flights of Angels. The deaths were initially thought to have been murders or incidents of malpractice, however, there are staff and patient accounts that allude to visitations, visions of beings of light--for lack of a better term, 'angels.' Initial post-mortem results for two of the deceased suggests that each victim had been somehow cured of a serious chronic condition or congenital defect prior to death."

Mulder sat forward, his palms on his knees, a voracious excitement building in his eyes. Skinner knew all too well that Mulder was sifting through his mental store of arcane lore, ready to spin theories about the relevance of Eastern European mythic ritual and folk medicinal rites and history to the Iowa deaths.

Mulder wasn't ready soon enough.

"There's no reason to invoke the supernatural, sir," Scully mused aloud, her head tilted slightly as if considering the problem in her mind's eye. "The quality of care at convalescent homes and geriatric facilities can vary widely and there have been highly-publicized instances of neglect and abuse at some institutions. Moreover, if the deceased patients were elderly, it's possible that conditions or defects listed on their charts were the result of long-standing misdiagnoses that had never been properly verified with modern testing. In the medical literature there are some rather celebrated cases of patients having being treated for years for conditions that were later shown by autopsy to be absent. Those cases were attributable to poor record keeping, poorly funded medical care and scarce resources--"

Mulder's eyes narrowed. Clearly Scully had taken some of the wind out of his sails.

"If this fit the simple scenario of malpractice or clerical errors," Mulder said to Skinner, pointedly ignoring his partner, "AD Wolverton's division would have determined that immediately. There are the on-site accounts to analyze, as well as cultural records of angels and spirit guides of the Native American peoples--"

Scully hissed in frustration. "Mulder, I didn't say--"

Mulder didn't slow down for traffic and instead plowed right through the auburn-red light. "--to consider. Frankly, _sir_," Mulder built a steeple with his index fingers, "to limit ourselves to the too-obvious explanation of negligent nursing home syndrome would be...short-sighted." Mulder's ingratiating smirk served only to make Scully fold her arms in disgust.

Skinner looked from one to the other, nodding his head. "Good. Kimberley will send down your case packets this afternoon. Those will include the background information on Flights of Angels as well as the eyewitness accounts and the autopsy findings. There is a note in the review..." Skinner leafed through the pages, scanning quickly. "Here it is: Flights of Angels is well-funded and has an excellent staff to patient ratio. Most of their nursing staff comes from a nearby regional teaching hospital, where Flights of Angels is considered a prestigious appointment for new graduates."

Scully acknowledged the information with a sharp nod of her head. Mulder, scoring the information as a victory for his point of view, leaned toward Scully and stage-whispered, "I guess since we're going in as husband and wife, you won't let me chase the pretty nurses around the ward."

Skinner spoke before Scully could get a single word out. "Agent Mulder, you will not chase the nurses, pretty or otherwise."

Innocent contrition was written all over Mulder's face. "Of course not, sir. I understand."

"No, Agent Mulder, I don't think you do. Flights of Angels is a long-term care community that provides a live-in setting for patients and their families. Agent Scully will be able to monitor your care, but in the undercover role of your wife, not as your doctor. You will be admitted to Flights of Angels as a patient."

Mulder was doubtful. "Sir, I can hobble with the best of them, especially after a tough game of b-ball, but there's no way I can pass myself off as a 70-year-old nursing home patient."

"No one is asking you to, Agent Mulder. Flights of Angels is not a geriatric center. It's a community for patients who have suffered brain trauma and who are in a vegetative state."

Mulder's eyebrows inched upwards. At last, Scully's soft voice broke the silence.

"Sir, I have no doubt that Mulder could pass himself off as brain-damaged."

"Vegetative," Skinner corrected her.

"Of course, sir," she acknowledged with the tiniest rosebud of a smile.

Mulder's unhappy grumbling finally resolved itself into words. "It's not funny," he muttered darkly.

.....<<The Second Rule of Engagement -- Level the playing field.>>

"This is far from a joke, Agent Mulder." There was no trace of humor in Skinner's voice. "It will be a difficult and dangerous assignment for you both. Flights of Angels is based on the communal model of assisted care. You'll be playing your roles 24/7, in a setting that will afford you as little privacy as you'd get in an intensive care ward. The patients in such a facility are incapable of self-care and must be bathed, dressed, fed, wheeled around, and otherwise attended to by their live-in family members or the center's staff."

Skinner focused on each of the Agents in turn. "Agent Mulder, this role requires that you be completely and utterly dependent upon other people for all your needs. At the same time you will need to remain alert to catalog what you see and hear at the center. Agent Scully, I'm sure from your medical training that you have some idea of the amount of time and effort required to care for patients of this type. In this case, not only will you be acting as Agent Mulder's primary caregiver, it will also be necessary for you to discreetly question the staff and other resident families at Flights of Angels."

Skinner sighed heavily as he leaned back in his chair, his face full of misgivings. "Frankly, Agents, if there were any other way to do this, I wouldn't be sending you out there. Someone high up is giving this matter priority and won't accept any delays. It's a lot to ask of both of you. This case will be a test of your professionalism and courage. We don't stand a chance in Hell of making this work unless we send our best team out there. That's you two."

He sat forward again, and paged back to the first sheet in the review, pen in hand.

"You'll receive the case packets this afternoon, and the Chicago field office is working with us on your identities and cover stories. Agent Mulder, you'll need to learn about cerebral trauma and the variety of symptoms of a vegetative state patient. To that end you will be meeting with a neuropsychologist from the Head Trauma Unit at DC General. Agent Scully, the Flights of Angels center is extensively computerized, with workstations in patient and staff areas. You will have Bureau support for some refresher courses in compromising computer security."

The pen moved three times in checkmark fashion over the top sheet, and the silence that followed seemed to dismiss them. The Agents traded questioning glances, then put their hands on the chair armrests.

Skinner stared at the paper, seeing the Agents in his imagination.

He heard them lean forward, weight shifting to the balls of their feet, hands braced to push upward.

He waited until they were halfway out of their seats before he spoke.

"Which brings me to item 4."

The Agents froze, then sank slowly back into their seats...Bambi and Faline caught in the glare of oncoming headlights.

"Computer security can sometimes be as simple as not leaving electronic documents in plain view. Prudent practice calls for saving personal complaints and allegations into subdirectories other than those meant for official Bureau business. You never know when your supervisor will find it necessary to access the official subdirectories...say, for example, when Archives pulls one of their 'oops, we restored an old backup' stunts. Imagine *my* surprise when I stumbled across charges and counter charges that constitute work and personnel grievances. Lest you've forgotten, it's Bureau policy that when personnel matters, particularly complaints, come to the attention of a direct supervisor, the supervisor has no choice but to act, for the integrity of the division and the safety of the agents."

He shook his head as if gravely disappointed. "How the two of you conduct your personal off-duty relationship is your own affair. How you function as partners at the Bureau is *my* business. What I read in those files is a clear indication of a dysfunctional partnership. Not only can a dysfunctional partnership lead to declining solve rates for this division...it can also get one or both of you killed. So I'm going to assist you in solving your partnership problems. Right now.

.....<<The Third Rule of Engagement -- Timing is everything.>>

"Agent Mulder--"

Mulder winced slightly at hearing his name. No, sir, I don't have my homework, sir. The dog ate it, sir.

"Agent Mulder, since you joined the Bureau you've worked in Investigative Support, Behavioral Science, Violent Crimes, and now the X-Files. You've suffered personal losses related to this work and there have been more than a few times when you've put your life on the line for what you believe in." Skinner leaned toward Mulder. "You know what that gets you, Agent Mulder?"

"No, sir."

"It gets you bragging rights, Agent Mulder. It does *not* give you ownership of the X-Files. Despite a six-year partnership with one of the finest agents to come out of Quantico, you still act as if the X-Files are your personal property. Your overt and unconscious actions continue to mark the X-Files as your territory, to the exclusion of your partner. Your partner is your equal, Agent Mulder. She is not your administrative assistant, nor is she your personal 911 number when your impromptu hunches don't pan out and you're up to your ass in little gray alligators. Partners *and* co-owners, Agent Mulder."

"Being assigned to the X-Files has cost Agent Scully so much in personal terms," Mulder glanced at Scully in apology, "and I felt that--"

"That what, Agent Mulder? That you'd belly up to the grief and responsibility trough and take on her share too? And just where does that leave Agent Scully? If what we are comes from the sum of our experiences--the good and the bad--then aren't you being more than a little presumptuous by trying to take her burdens as your own? That's the tough side of respect, Agent Mulder. If you respect her as a person--"

"I do!"

"--then you must respect her right to face the consequences of her own actions and to deal with her own grief." Skinner chuckled softly. "Sometimes, Mulder, you are one clueless SOB."

"Yes, sir. I believe that's been mentioned to me more than once, sir," Mulder acknowledged ruefully. Scully felt his eyes on her, but said nothing, pretending an inordinate fascination with the Bureau-issue stapler on the desk until Skinner cleared his throat.

"Agent Scully?"

"Sir?" She met Skinner's gaze without flinching.

"Agent Scully, what is the definition of 'codependency'?"

Startled, her eyes became brittle sapphire ice. "Medically speaking? Codependency is a psychological condition occasionally manifested by the families or friends of someone afflicted with a pathological condition. The codependent patient exhibits symptoms of behavioral control or manipulation." She paused, trying to control her indignation. "Are you suggesting that I've let Agent Mulder dictate my actions?"

"Agent Scully, you've been waiting for his approval, as if the mark of his acceptance of your work is for him to hand you the X-Files. You've been waiting for him to validate your participation as a sign of trust and respect. You have to stop waiting, Agent Scully. You already have the X-Files with no need for Agent Mulder's stamp of approval on your work. You are his equal, his partner. The question is, can you bring yourself to believe it?"

She didn't spring for the easy and angry retort. Skinner watched a puzzled frown pucker her lips then grudging realization light her eyes. Some passing thought made her take a peripheral peek at Mulder, who for once demonstrated phenomenal sense by simply nodding his head and giving her an apologetic smile.

"Agent Scully, one more thing--let him do his own paperwork."

Mulder pantomimed taking an arrow in the chest and sprawled backward in the chair, only to straighten up when Scully arched her eyebrow.

Problem children indeed, Skinner thought with a smile.

"Agents, I want you to think about what I've said today. The nature of your off-duty relationship is up to you, but it's clear you have some issues that need to be resolved. Great professional partnerships don't always mean close personal friendships. I remember Sloma and Stephens in VCU out at the LA field office. That pair had more decorations than Martha Stewart's Christmas tree. Sloma died at a courthouse shootout when a prisoner broke free. Stephens was at the memorial service, was given a vial of Sloma's cremated remains per the final instructions of the deceased. Stephens went home, put some briquettes on the grill, dumped on Sloma's ashes, and proceeded to barbecue an 18 oz sirloin. On duty, they were consummate professionals. Off-duty, they hated each other's guts."

Skinner stood, and the Agents took their own cue and rose from their chairs.

"Please contact Kimberley to schedule a time to see me after you've gone over the case packets."

Mulder nodded, and then reached across to Scully as if to take her hand. She ignored him, choosing to walk behind his chair and toward the office door, then stopped and looked back at Mulder. She reached to him, her fingertips wavering slightly.

"Coming, Mulder?"

Still caught up in figuring out the dynamics of an equal partnership, Mulder took her hand and followed her out of the office. Skinner watched the door close behind them, wondering if perhaps he should have told them about Bennett and Halvorson at the Albuquerque field office, a husband-and-wife team in honor of whom the phrase 'hot monkey love' had been coined.

Then again, it was probably just as well he hadn't told them that one, Skinner realized.

After all, why give Mulder and Scully ideas?