chapter 13.


Breakfast was thankfully uneventful. Doggett ate as much as he was 
allowed, making up for the night before. He sat alone, through choice 
as much as anything else. The men seemed to eat in stages, according 
to their shower routines. He was grateful for that. It gave him a 
chance to get the food inside him without threats of violence. 
Smothering a belch, he sat back in his chair to look around the room. 
Much as he cherished the moments respite from contact with the 
others, he really needed to find Keller again.

He dumped his tray and wandered out into the communal room. Rebadow 
seemed to have found someone else to talk to death. Maybe he had 
turned out to be a disappointment to the older man. 
Shame. He talked way too much, was weird as hell, but on the whole, 
seemed okay enough. But then, you never could tell.
Hands in his jeans pockets, Doggett walked between the tables, 
looking for Chris Keller whilst trying not to eyeball anyone in 
particular.

"Hey..."
Doggett looked up. A guard was standing on the stairs. He pointed at 
his chest.
"Yeah, dipshit, you. Come here."
As slowly as he could, Doggett wandered over. He could tell his 
tardiness irritated the guard.
"What?" he said. 
"Come with me."
Doggett frowned. "Where we goin'?"
"Just shut up and follow me."
Wary of another encounter with Officer Howell, Doggett followed the 
hack at a distance. No way he wanted to be caught in any corners with 
that crazy bitch. He wondered which shifts she had.

"Where we goin'?" he asked again after the third corner and second 
set of stairs.
"Peter Marie wants to see you."
Doggett frowned. Who the hell was Peter Marie? The Chief's name was 
Glynn. The next in command was McManus. So who was this guy Peter? 
And if he was an inmate, why was a guard coming to get him? It didn't 
make sense.

"Who is he?" he asked.
The guard laughed. "You'll see." he knocked on a glass door and 
opened up, waving Doggett ahead of him. Be back to get you later. 
Have fun."
Cautiously peering around the door, Doggett scanned the room. A man 
sat with his back to him, typing on a computer. He turned.
"Hi. You must be Jack. Come in, take a seat. Pete won't be long."

Doggett felt his heart lurch in his chest as if it wanted to climb 
out and run away. His mouth dropped open in anticipation of its 
escape and a small noise crept up his throat. 
Years slid away in a screech of white noise, leaving a name on his 
lips and a shortage of breath in his lungs. 
Rudy. Rudy Wallace. 
He took a faltering step into the room, his arms already starting to 
move up to take the other man in a hug. Oh, shit... Rudy.

His rational mind kicked in. No; that was impossible. He'd held Rudy 
in his arms while he bled to death. Cradled him, wiping the blood 
from his chin as it poured out of his mouth.
Shit. 
Doggett stared at the other man, trying to remember how to breathe 
properly.
He sat down slowly, wary of the emotions churning through him. He 
wanted to speak, to say the name that rested in his mouth, but he 
didn't trust his voice.

"I'm Beecher." The man smiled slightly. "Hi." 
Doggett cleared his throat, self-consciously. "Hi." 
This wasn't Rudy. He knew that; but he still had to blink a couple of 
times to clear the image of uniforms and dust from his eyes. Just a 
freaky co-incidence, that's all. He took a deep breath to clear his 
head. 

"Your first night, huh?"
Doggett nodded silently. 
"It gets better."
There must have been something written all over his face, because 
Beecher laughed and turned his chair around properly to face him.
"Yeah, I know what you're thinking, but believe me. It does." He 
shrugged. "Eventually."
"If I live that long," Doggett muttered. 
Nodding, Beecher crossed his arms. "Uh-huh. I heard about you and 
Malachi. You won't be popular with some people over that. He was a 
major dealer."

Doggett tried not to look too dismayed. He knew it went on in 
prisons. But it was just his luck to run into a major player so soon.
"But on the up-side, the Aryans will love you to bits." There was 
something bitter in Beecher's voice.
"Terrific." he said. "Just what I need."
"Ah... I dunno. Could be worse."
"You think?" Doggett looked at him. The fair headed man laughed 
again, surprising Doggett.
"Hey - always gonna be someone in here who hates you, Jack."
"Yeah? That's a real comfort. Thanks."
Beecher's smile faded. "What? You think you're any different from the 
rest of the scumbags who deserve to be in here?"

Doggett tilted his head on one side. Quick sense of humor like Rudy, 
but this man had a sharp edge about him that hinted at hard core. 
That was something his friend hadn't ever had. Rudy's soul had been 
pure sunshine. A little perverted in outlook in some areas, but 
shining and sweet, nevertheless. Beecher might look like Rudy's twin 
brother, but that was where the similarity ended. He wondered how 
long this man been in Oz; and what for. 
He shrugged. 

"Take a look around, pal. Prison is full of innocent men, didn't you 
know that?"
"So they say..." Beecher leaned forward, his voice softening.. "And 
what about you? Are you an innocent, Jack?"
Doggett wondered if there was a hidden agenda to those words. Was he 
trying to pry? Perhaps he was digging to see if Doggett was going to 
bite.

"I don't know," he said, raising his eyebrows. "You'd have to ask my 
ex-wife about that." 
Beecher laughed again, his good humor seemingly restored.
"Hey, I hear you. No man with an ex-wife is innocent."
Doggett smiled. Maybe he could stand to make a friend or two, after 
all.

The office door opened. Doggett turned, and felt his mouth open a 
touch at the sight of a tiny frizzy-haired lady of middle years 
enter. He stood up instinctively. Belatedly, he wondered if any other 
man in this place would have done that. He hoped he hadn't given 
himself away.
The woman smiled broadly at Beecher. Doggett liked the way her eyes 
scrunched up. 

"Thank you Tobias. Pleasee excuse us; I'll talk to you later." She 
turned as Beecher left the room. 
"Hello, I'm Sister Peter Marie." She held her hand out to him, and 
with a brief thought that if he was busted, he might as well be 
busted all the way, Doggett took it, shaking briefly.
"Hi," he said. 
He watched her take the seat around the other side of the table. A 
nun. Well, that explained the name.
"So you're Jack," she said, putting glasses on her nose.
"I guess."
She smiled again. "You guess? Is that an identity crisis we have 
here?"
Doggett smiled despite himself. "No. I mean... You know. Yeah. I am."
"Glad to hear it." All-business-like, she opened a folder on her 
desk. Doggett tried not to wince, knowing what she was reading about 
him. He found himself wishing she knew the truth. Wishing he could 
say something so she wouldn't think poorly of him. He was mildly 
surprised to find that he didn't want to disappoint her.

"I want you to know that I'm here for you, Jack. If you need to 
talk." She spread her hands out over the folder. "About anything. 
Everything."
"Yeah?" 
"Of course."
"I'm not Catholic."
"That doesn't matter. I'm here for every denomination."
He raised an eyebrow. "What about the atheists?"
She smiled back. "I'm available for them, too."
"You say that to all the boys?" he teased.
Laughing, she took her glasses off. "Yes, I do, actually."
"Aww. I'm kinda disappointed I'm not special." 

Doggett was amazed at what was coming out of his mouth. Was he trying 
to flirt with a nun? For God's sake, he'd only been in this place a 
night... He instantly cringed at that thought.

"All the men in here are special to me, Jack. It's both my job and my 
vocation. To listen. To help. You can come in here and talk to me at 
most any time."
He nodded. "Okay." 
"I mean it."
"Fair enough." 
"So... How are you settling in today?" She raised her eyebrows. "I 
heard about last night's little..."
"Problem?" he supplied. He shrugged. "It's nothing. But I don't take 
to being pushed around."
"Clearly." She peered at him, and he fought the urge to 
squirm. "Malachi isn't a small man. Yet you came out on top. Do you 
have a temper, Jack?"
He shook his head, smiling slightly. "Not especially. No more than 
most."
"No more than most in here, or in general?"

She was good. He had to give her that. He allowed the smile to 
broaden. 
"Touche." He inclined his head.
"You didn't answer the question."
"You always this tenacious?" he asked, no longer caring about fitting 
in to a cliche.
"Yes."
Doggett nodded. "Then I would say no more than general."
"Okay. That I can work with." She leaned back in her chair. "Tell you 
what, Jack. You keep out of trouble for the rest of the week and when 
you come back in here, we can talk about getting you a job in Oz that 
befits your obvious intelligence. Deal?"

Doggett regarded her carefully. Had she got the measure of him, or 
did she know something she wasn't letting on about? 
"Job?"
"Yes. Most of the inmates work in some capacity. We find it helps 
with self-esteem."
"Oh."
"You have a problem with working?"
He smiled again. "Not at all. I'd like to do something constructive. 
Might help pass the time."
"Good. Then we'll see how things go, then, shall we?" She stood 
up. "Same time, next week?"
Doggett stood. "Sure. I'll look forward to it, Sister." On impulse, 
he held his hand out to her, pleased when she took it and shook.
"Don't forget I'm here if you need me."
"I'll remember that, Sister."


chapter 16.


Placing another barely-read folder on the growing pile in his in-
tray, Skinner sighed and checked his watch. Quarter past four, way 
too early to go home. Too late to tackle the mountain of paperwork 
he'd been shuffling around all day. If he carried on like this for 
the whole time Doggett was undercover, he'd be out of a job. 
Four days and counting.
It felt more like four weeks.

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The lack of sleep was 
telling on him, despite Kim plying him with copious amounts of 
coffee. He glanced at the mug on his blotter. Was it too early to 
get another one? 
Someone knocked at the door. He blinked. How long had he been staring 
into an empty mug?
He cleared his throat. 
"Come."

He hooked his glasses back over his ears as Kim entered.
"I thought you might like these, sir. Gail from accounts brought them 
in." She approached his desk bearing a plate. Two fat cookies sat on 
a napkin. 
He glanced up at her, his mouth watering, a small smile tugging at 
his lips.
"And what makes you think I eat cookies?"
Kim grinned. "Oh, just the empty packets I find in the filing cabinet 
and the crumbs in the reports, sir."
Skinner lifted an eyebrow. "Are you looking for a job as an Agent, 
ma'am?"
Kim laughed. "Not likely. I value my sanity." She made to move the 
plate away. "So I take it you don't want these, then?"
Lightening-fast, his hand shot out to grab the plate. "A-ah. I don't 
think so. I'm going to enjoy these."
"I hope so." 

There was a long pause. Long enough for Skinner to look up from the 
cookie he had started to eat. He raised his eyebrows.
Kim blushed, making him wonder what was going on inside that red head.
"I hope you don't think I'm intruding..." She fidgeted.
Swallowing, he nodded. "Go on."
"But I noticed you've been really..." The blush grew. "Well... Sort 
of distracted lately."
Shit.
The crumbs were suddenly very dry in his throat. He swallowed with 
difficulty. 
"Oh?"
"It's just... I mean..." She was obviously struggling. Looked as if 
she wanted the floor to open up and devour her. Either that or wished 
she'd never opened her mouth. 
"It's just... Are you okay, sir?" she finished all in a rush.

Placing the remains of the second cookie on the plate, Skinner 
sighed. He wiped his mouth on the napkin, giving himself time to 
think. She didn't know about Doggett. No-one in the Bureau except 
Mulder and Scully knew, he hoped. But she obviously noticed something 
was wrong. He had to give her points for that, however irritating it 
was to be so transparent.

"I'm fine, Kim," he lied, keeping his eyes on the napkin screwed up 
in his hand. 
She didn't reply. He looked up into a face that said plainly, that 
she didn't believe him.
Sighing more loudly, he shook his head.
"You don't believe me."
"No, I don't..." She said quietly. "Sir."
"Oh." That was what you get for hiring good staff, he 
thought. "Well... I suppose I have been a little out of sorts'." He 
took a breath and told her a half-truth, hating himself for having to 
be less than honest, if only by omission.
"It's a difficult time of year for me," he said. 
"Oh?"
He looked at his desk, willing his voice to stay steady. "My... Um..."
Shit. This was the first time he'd heard himself say this. He'd been 
trying to push it out of his head. He sighed.
"It's the anniversary of my parent's death." He played with last few 
the crumbs on the plate. 

Shit. He wished John were here. He wished he could have been holding 
him the first time he said that out loud. 
Kim was instantly sympathetic. "Oh, goodness!" Her hand rose to her 
mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Skinner pulled a half-smile. "That's because I didn't say." He 
shrugged. "I'm not much good at sharing my personal life."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Skinner shook his head. "No. But thank you. I'll be okay." he 
straightened up. "Just takes time, I guess."
"Yes." Kim's eyes were wide, bright. "I'm sorry. You must miss them 
very much."
Skinner nodded, taking a deep breath. "It's okay," he lied. "I'll be 
okay."
"Perhaps you should go home early?"
He looked up, smiling a little. "Are you suggesting I should cut out?"
She grinned, picking up the now empty plate. "Yes, why not. Take some 
time for yourself. Go for a walk..." 
She turned to leave, glancing behind as she did. "Maybe you should go 
be with the rest of your family." 

Raising a hand and nodding as she left, Skinner fought down the 
pressure in his throat. The rest of his family? He had no family. 
Only child of dead parents.
And the only person in his life that he cared enough to want to be 
with right now, was locked away.
Damn.


Chapter 17.


He was starting to get the hang of this, Doggett thought as he pulled 
on the tiny weight-lifting gloves on. Getting the hang of how to be a 
hard bastard. 
Eat alone, shower alone. Those were the golden rules of self-
preservation.
He walked up to the bench-press, working his neck this way and that. 
A co-incidence in the gym the previous night had brought him back in 
contact with Keller. A happy chance that had raised his hopes of 
getting the information sooner rather than later.
Watching the other man for a chance to speak to him again, he'd been 
thrilled when he'd had asked him to spot while he lifted the bar. 
Seemed Chris Keller was a bit of a gym bunny.

It was perfect. He couldn't have planned it better. They had talked, 
laughed at the lame jokes John had told and started what he hoped was 
the tentative beginning of a friendship. 
To his surprise, Keller was easy to get along with. He even found he 
like the man, to some extent.
Wonders would never cease, he thought as he settled himself under the 
bar, pulling his shirt straight. He got along just fine with a man 
he'd have emptied his gun into a week ago.
All he had to do now after discussing sports, beer and women, was to 
bring up the subject of judges, sentencing systems and hopefully the 
other man wouldn't be able to resist spilling his guts. 
Well, that was the plan, at least. He'd go over to the free-weight 
section in a while and hunt Keller out.

Lifting, he grunted at the weight, enjoying the burn on his arms. At 
least he was getting some serious training in. He'd be buff when he 
got back home. Fit and ready to show Skinner how much he had missed 
him.
He grinned as he pushed, thinking of what he had in mind for the 
other man.

"What you grinning at, fool?"
Two black hands gripped his. The weight slammed down into the rests. 
Startled, Doggett pushed against the bar. "What the hell!?" 
Above him, the owner of the hands glared down and hissed: "Shut yo' 
mouth, muthafucka!"
Doggett heaved his arms up, to no avail. His hands were clamped to 
the bar. Panic fluttered in his belly.
His head snapped right and left, searching for someone to help. Men 
went about their training, oblivious. No-one was taking any notice of 
what was going down in this little corner. 

"What d'ya want, man?" he asked, with the nasty feeling he knew 
exactly what this was about. 
Because of him, Malachi was in the Hole, not out and about, dealing. 
"Got sumthin' for you, whiteboy."
Not bothering to ask what it was, Doggett started to struggle, trying 
to get his hands free, sitting up straighter. This did not look good, 
not good at all.
The face leaned closer and with a purse of lips, jerked down and spat 
a wad of spit in Doggett's face. As he screwed his eyes up, a large 
knee snapped up and made contact with his balls, hard enough to 
wrench a choked scream out of him and curl his body up like a salted 
slug.

Funny what had the time to go through your head, he thought to 
himself as his hands were released and his creased body was pulled 
from beneath the bar.
It didn't hurt too much when he was thrown on the hard wooden floor, 
not in comparison to how his balls felt, anyway.
He could smell bacon in the spit on his face and counted dust-bunnies 
under the machinery next to him as his face hit the floor. Then he 
could taste blood as his mouth split. 
Fists and feet rained down on him, jarring on bone and sinking into 
soft flesh. But immobilized by the raging pain in his balls, Doggett 
could only lie on the dusty floor and take the beating.


*


Skinner closed the microwave door and turned the dial.
He hated microwave food, but without an appetite, he'd not been able 
to bring himself to order anything in. So microwave pizza it was. 
He leaned against the counter, wondering what Doggett had had to eat 
that day. What was food like in prison?
There were so many questions that had never occurred to him before. 
Was he in a cell by himself? Did he get to go outside? He knew 
Doggett loved the outdoors, being locked away was going to be a tough 
thing for the other man.
He sighed and rubbed his face. 

This was just ridiculous. Even the staff was noticing things. After 
Kim, the parking attendant had asked him if he was feeling okay, for 
god's sake! Did he really look as bad as other people obviously 
thought?
How the hell had he managed before Doggett? 

The ding of the microwave sounded at the same time as his house 
phone. Glancing at the tired food on the plate, he reached for the 
receiver instead.
"Skinner."
"Hello, sir."
Skinner nodded. "Hi, Agent Scully. What can I do for you?"
"Not a lot..." There was a little huff of laughter. "I was just 
thinking about you."
An eyebrow rose. "Really, Agent Scully? And why would that be?"
The laughter grew, then tailed off. "Well, you know... wondering if 
you were..." She paused.
"If I was?" 
If she allowed the word `lonely' slip out of her mouth, he was going 
to put the phone straight down.
"Um... In the mood for company, I suppose," she finished.

Skinner closed his eyes. Yes. He was. But not the sort she could 
provide, however good her intentions.
"I'm fine, Dana. Thank you." 
"Really?"
"Really." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm just heating 
myself some food, then I have some reports that I've been neglecting. 
My evening is pretty much mapped out."
What he really wanted was to go to bed, but it was ridiculously early.

"Okay, then. I'll leave you to it."
"Okay."
"See you at the budget meeting tomorrow?
"Uh-huh." Shit, that was something Doggett said, not him. He screwed 
his face up. "I mean, yes. I'll be there."
"Night, sir."
"It's Walt, off duty."
A small chuckle. "Walt. Goodnight. Sleep well."
"Good night, Dana. And thanks."
Placing the receiver down, Skinner snorted softly. Sleep well, 
indeed. Fine chance.


*


Curled up and grunting in pain, Doggett eventually became aware of a 
scuffling above him, and as time went by without another kick or 
punch, he ventured to open his eyes and look up.
The black guy was in head lock with another man. Doggett vaguely 
recognized him from the communal area.
He struggled to sit up, still clutching his wounded crotch , one hand 
wiping the spit from his face.
He slowly levered himself up on the bench, grimacing. 

Two more black men were approaching, the looks on their faces letting 
Doggett know he wasn't gonna be asked to be a spotter. Grabbing up 
one of the hand-held weights, he pulled his aching body into a 
defensive stance. He stood facing the two.
"You wanna try for a piece of me, too?" he shouted, holding the 
weight up. "Huh?"
They stepped closer, one either side. There was no way he was going 
to be able to take them both. He jerked his hand back and forth, 
wondering which one was going to make the first move.

A flash of blue and two men leapt in from behind, taking the two down 
in a mess of arms and legs. They hit the floor with a satisfying 
sound. He watched the four struggle as it became obvious that the 
white guys were in better shape.
Who the hell were they? He'd been here long enough to know that no-
one helped anyone without good reason, or obligation. He glanced 
around. 
There were several faces he recognized; some he'd even had 
conversations with, but none of them were coming to help him. Even 
Keller was standing at the back, watching silently. 
Doggett lowered the weight. It was making his arm ache. 
He glanced over to where his first assailant was still held a 
headlock. What was behind him helping out? Doggett stared. There 
were an astounding amount of tattoos on the man. Hardly an inch of 
spare skin. Doggett narrowed his eyes. He remembered seeing that man 
before... Hoyt, was it? 
Shit. The penny dropped. He was one of the...

"Well, what do we have here?" Doggett closed his eyes briefly. 
Yeah, might have known.
Vern Schillinger. The man who greeted him in his pod the first night. 
The one Rebadow was so afraid of. Chief Nazi.
"Nothin' much.' he said, wiping his mouth with his free hand.
"Sure doesn't look like nothing to me," Vern smiled. He looked one 
way then the other. "Looks to me like my friends here have stopped 
you getting a beating from these here fellas."
Holding his head up, Doggett squared his shoulders, trying to look 
less like he'd been run over by a truck.
"I can take care of myself."
"Well, now, Jackie, I don't think you can." Vern stepped closer. "And 
you might want to be a little more gracious, if you know what I 
mean." 

Doggett looked at him. Seemed it was time to take sides. 
Unfortunately, he didn't much like the look of either side.
"I said: I can take care of myself."
"Really?" Vern cocked an eyebrow. "You think so?" 
"Yeah. I think so."
Vern snapped his fingers and released, the three black men unfurled 
themselves from their captors.
Doggett swallowed and braced himself. Shit. Not one of his better 
ideas.
He hefted the weight again. Back to square one.

The largest of the three, the one that kneed his balls shrugged his 
shirt and cracked his neck to the side, stepping away from Hoyt 
without a second glance. 
"Yo' stupid fuckin' white trash," he grinned.

Set-up, Doggett's mind screamed! It was a fuckin' set up. He licked 
his lips, the sudden squirt of adrenaline making his mouth dry.
He was going to get seriously messed up.
There were no shouts, just the occasional sounds of weights 
clanking. The gym was hushed - waiting. Doggett could sense the 
anticipation.
This wasn't the civilized world. Rules didn't apply. If he backed off 
now, he'd be a target for the con with something to prove.
And there was no way he wanted to be indebted to the Nazis.
He was aware that all eyes were on him. Waiting to get the measure 
of him. 
So be it. 

He sucked hard in his mouth, gathering up as much as he could, then 
pulled his head back and spat the mouthful of blood into the black 
guy's face, startling him.
Man wanted to play hard-ball? Well... John Doggett would oblige.
He took a step back and lifting the hand-held, drove it into the 
other man as hard as he could.


chapter 18.

The reports still weren't getting done. They sat accusingly on the 
dining table, open and exposed, but unread.
Skinner sat on the sofa ignoring them all. In one hand he held a 
scotch, in the other a photograph.
It was faded, taken in the early eighties and exposure to sunlight 
hadn't done it any favors, but the lake behind the two people in the 
picture still glittered from the morning sunshine. 
Skinner ran his thumb over the image of a woman. Almost as tall as 
his father with the inches of tangled curly hair piled high on the 
top of her head.
He smiled. His mother always looked so happy in photographs. Not like 
Sergei, frowning a dour-looking, despite his gentle nature. He 
could never get his dad to smile for pictures.

The phone rang again, making him jump slightly. Placing the photo 
where he could still see it, he reached for the receiver. Would the 
woman never take no thank you, for an answer?
He sighed into the handset. "Agent Scully, I have eaten properly and 
am now struggling through these reports. I'm fine."
There was a long pause at the other end.
He frowned. "Dana?"
"No, Walt. It's Sally."
Sitting up straight, Skinner put his drink on the table. "Sal? I'm 
sorry... I thought you were..."
"Agent Scully. Yes, I gathered."
"Hey, how are you doing? It's good to hear from you."
Another long silence tickled the edges of Skinner's nerves. This 
wasn't the Sal Doggett he knew.
No jokes, no laughter.
"Is something wrong, Sal?" 
"Yes, there is." She sighed. "Can I speak to John, please?"
"He's not here right now." Skinner shook his head. "He's... working." 

A small omission, but she didn't need to know where her brother was. 
"I really need to speak with him, Walt. Will he be back later?"
"No, I'm sorry. He's working out of town."
"Damn..." Sal's voice sounded tired.
"Can I help?"
She sighed down the line. "No... not really."
The tickling had grown into all-out alarm bells. "Sal. What is it? 
What's wrong?"
"When's Johnny going to be back, Walt?
"I don't know." That much was true.
"Shit."
"Sal... Please. What is it?"

There was another deep exhalation of breath and a long pause. "Our 
father had a fall yesterday. He's in the hospital."
Skinner pinched his nose. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Walt?"
"I'm still here. I'm sorry. That's terrible. How is he?"
"They think it may have been a slight stroke. Don't know for sure 
yet."

The scotch and pizza in his belly came burning to the back of his 
throat. A stroke.
"Oh God..."
"Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it? I need to tell John. He needs to know."
"Of course..." 
Fuck. How the hell could he give this kind of news to Doggett? And 
what the hell was he supposed to do? Back out of the operation? 
Shit.
"I tried his cell phone, but it's not on."
That was because it was lying upstairs on the dresser. Skinner 
screwed up his face.
"He can't use it where he is."
"He in Alaska or something, Walt?" There was a light banter to her 
tone. He knew it wouldn't last long.
"No. He's... Gone undercover ."
"What?"
"He's doing a joint operation with the Bureau and Justice Department, 
Sal. He's out of touch. I can't even call him."
Sal hissed through her teeth. "Shit."

Quite. 
He was at a loss for what to say to her. 
"Can't you find some way to get word to him, Walt? He needs to 
know." She was right. He did. Whether or not he would be allowed to 
jeopardize the operation by telling him, was another matter.
"Is your father..." He cleared his throat. "Is he very ill?"
"We don't know yet. He broke his hip again, but the doctors are more 
concerned with a slight aphasia in his left side. We'll know more in 
the next couple of days."
"Okay." 
A few days, maybe enough time for Doggett to get the job done.
"Thing is, Walt. I don't know if he's gonna get over this."

The food rushed back up to burn and make him belch. He swallowed.
"What?"
"He's not eating properly, they've had to put him on a drip... He's 
just lying there." There was a hitch in her voice. "I think he's 
given up."
Skinner closed his eyes against the sound of the soft tears coming 
down the line. 
"Oh Sal..."

After a while, she blew her nose. "So...I don't know. Maybe you need 
to get word to John sooner rather than later."
"Is that okay with your mother?" Skinner tried to keep any judgment 
out of his voice. Betty Doggett had maintained a stony silence ever 
since their ill-fated visit, refusing to speak to John, re-buffing 
his calls, returning any letters, unopened. Talking to his father on 
the phone was a trial, with his hearing; consequently, there hadn't 
been much contact.

"Not exactly..." There was hesitation in Sal's voice.
"Not exactly?"
"Well... she says she doesn't want him there."
"I see."
" She's a stubborn woman, Walt. She is adamant. Strange, Johnny was 
always her favorite."

Skinner was surprised there was no bitterness in her tone. She seemed 
perfectly accepting of her mother's favoritism. Skinner didn't think 
he'd be quite so understanding.
"You think she'll be okay about you telling him?"
"I don't know, but I think John needs to know what's happened."
He didn't want to think of how Doggett would take more rejection from 
his mother. He knew his lover tried to macho it out, but he also knew 
how much he'd been hurt by her refusal to speak to him for the last 6 
months. And he felt more than a little guilty that he was the direct 
cause.

"What if she won't let him see his dad? That's going to hurt."
"I know. But don't you think John should have the chance to decide 
for himself if he wants to go against her and come see daddy?"
"Yes. I think you're right. He ought to know." With any luck, the 
thing would be over and he could tell Doggett in person.

Sal sighed. She sounded exhausted. "I'd better get back. I just 
popped out of the hospital to call you."
"You need to take care of yourself, Sally," he said.
She gave a small chuckle. "Yes, sir."
Skinner smiled. "I mean it. Take care. And give my... regards to your 
parents."
"Maybe I'll just pass them on to daddy. All things considered."
"Okay." 
"Give John a big hug from me when you see him, okay?"
"I'll do that. `Bye." 
Skinner laid the phone down slowly. He sorely needed to give Doggett 
that hug, but had no idea when that was going to happen. Or how and 
if, he should tell the other man about his father.