It wasn't in Walter Skinner's nature to feel apologetic about his behavior or to live with regrets. He had the weight of much of the Bureau on his shoulders, the responsibility of his staff, and as if that weren't enough, his accountability to the public. He lived with his decisions, didn't concern himself with hindsight or regret for his actions, and avoided looking at things with an eye toward if-onlys.
Yet somehow Agent Mulder, and especially Agent Scully, seemed to bring out the apologist in him. He'd begun to notice it lately, this tendency to rationalize his decisions or actions to Mulder, as if currying favor with him. Which was really a joke when you considered it, because if there was ever an agent less worthy of receiving favor from, it was Mulder, considering the grief Mulder had caused him.
It was worse with Scully, though, for some reason. Maybe because she was a woman. Or perhaps because she was so young. Certainly the fact that she'd suffered so much since coming to the X-Files had something to do with it; perhaps he considered her fragile. As she'd stood there, boiling from that helpless rage that sometimes fought its way to the surface, lashing Skinner over the investigation into her sister's murder, he'd done it again. Fell all over himself to let her know that he wasn't going to let it drop. Almost implored her to believe that he would not let her down again.
Skinner did not understand this part of himself, this need to appease her and treat her specially above all other agents. If he were the type to look deeper, he might be able to see his definite attraction to her. But he deliberately chose to stay away from that part of himself. There was too much at risk to acknowledge her power over him, too much he could stand to lose by falling for an agent in his command. The ghost of his feelings for her hovered somewhere dark inside him, too far away to see clearly or to touch; yet far too close to avoid.
A knock on his door startled him; he was always surprised when someone got past the secretary without her buzzing for permission. He answered, "Come in," and Scully entered, alone, her face as stoic and unreadable as it always was. She gave so little away, he realized. *Just like me.* It was easier to keep a mask of distance than to show people what you felt; Mulder often gave away all his emotions, and he had been nearly destroyed because of that.
Color rose to Skinner's face as she entered, embarrassed at what he'd been thinking about her. He stood politely, still in pain. "Agent Scully, please sit down." He motioned towards one of the chairs facing his desk. When he'd come looking for her two days ago, to tell her the news about Cardinal, she'd been gone. He never had had the chance to speak to her personally about it.
As she sat down she gazed coolly at him. "Sir. I just wanted to... I hadn't had a chance to thank you for everything. The last time we talked it seemed we were too busy arguing about what to do. And I wanted you to know how much I appreciated what you went through. I would not like you to think I was ungrateful."
"I told Mulder this, and I'll tell you, too. It's not my crusade, Agent Scully. I was only doing what I thought was my job."
"I know. And you're good at that," she said, smiling. "Pushing away the thanks. But the fact is you didn't have to stand up to those men. And you didn't have do any of the things you've done to help Agent Mulder and me."
Skinner shook his head. "Nothing I wouldn't do for any of my agents."
She looked at him wryly, not believing a word of it.
"Is there something else, Agent Scully?" he asked, needing to bring this to a close. Everything felt too tight now, too restrictive. Things had bent and warped out of shape over the past weeks. The memory of her touch, the closeness of her breath as she'd leaned over him in the hospital. And the light in her eyes when she'd sat with him in the ambulance. It all felt too crowded with emotion.
"Yes," she answered, fidgeting just a little. That was something he usually expected from Mulder, not from her. He wondered briefly if Mulder had pushed her into coming here.
God, was she ever this nervous before, talking to him? Even when he'd taken her badge away, she couldn't remember feeling so anxious.
"We were thinking... well, I was thinking and Mulder agrees with me. At the missile silos in North Dakota, we were thrown out before we could find what we were looking for. There have been many times Mulder claims to have seen actual craft he considers UFOs before -- this wasn't an entirely unusual situation. But that man, the one who smokes the cigarettes, he wanted to keep us from something else, something other than a UFO. Once Mulder and I pieced the whole story together, we had come to believe that that's where Krycek ended up. Somewhere in those silos, perhaps guided by some other consciousness. Mulder believes there is some kind of intelligent life-force in that black oil. And Krycek may be the last one to carry it. And he may still be there."
"You sound like Mulder," Skinner said.
She laughed a little with an embarrassed tone, her head bowed, before she looked up at him. "I know. I do. But it makes a crazy kind of sense. And I want to go back there. We think we can get Krycek. We know he was there."
She was lovely, he thought, when she smiled. An entirely different person. Skinner looked at her skeptically. "For revenge?"
"No. Simple justice. I know it sounds like revenge. I'm not even sure I believe in justice, at least not man-made justice, anymore. Not after what happened to Luis Cardinal. But I believe there's a strong possibility that we can bring Krycek to something resembling justice. We have this long list of crimes. At the very least, isn't it worth trying to make him answer for them?"
"I'm not arguing with you, Agent Scully. I want him caught as badly as you do. But it's going to require some finagling to get you back there, at the very least, and then we have to find a way to get Krycek back here and to trial without the same men who killed Cardinal whacking him."
Scully pursed her lips together hard, trying not to smile again. "Whacking" was an unusual verb for an assistant director to use. Then he smiled himself, and she could feel the surprise register on her face. Levity in front of her was not something she expected, but this sudden unveiling of his nature she liked. She liked it a lot. Her anxiety finally faded with that smile.
"That's why I'm coming to you. Do you think you can get us back there, without everyone knowing? I have the strongest feeling he's still there, sir. Then maybe we can all put this behind us."
Something about the word "us" brought an ache to his chest. So casual and yet so laden with possibilities. If she had meant only Mulder with that 'us,' it would be one thing. But she was thinking of Skinner, too. One word that said all kinds of things. Things that could never be, things that made him realize how empty his life had become of late.
"I can try," he answered. "Will you let me look into it? I realize there's a time frame involved, but I don't know how far those men reach..." He trailed off, not sure what to say about them. All the secrets he had to keep and the knowledge of what those men were involved in was a heavy burden to carry. While there was much he could share with Mulder and Scully, there was still more he had yet to understand himself. And he was that kind of man: one who needed to understand a situation himself before he could help someone else.
"Yes, that would be fine. I appreciate your willingness to listen."
He almost wondered if she was dragging the conversation out. It was easier sometimes, when Mulder was with her. Being alone with her meant being shrouded in a dense cloud of feelings he didn't want to experience. It felt... unsafe.
It angered him when he thought about it. Men and women worked together all the time and it wasn't bogged down in romantic feelings or sexual urges. In fact, *he* worked with women all the time and never gave them a second thought. Yet everything about Dana Scully had to be different.
"Then I'll let you know." He stood, hoping to bring it to an end. But she sat for a moment, as if lost in thought.
"Since I came to the X-Files I've had so many of my notions about the order of the world shaken. I used to believe in justice, I used to believe in honor. That somehow good always vanquished evil and that your actions defined your character. I told Mulder that when Luis Cardinal was killed, maybe it didn't matter. Because maybe there was no real justice in this world. I don't know if I would go so far as to say my faith was restored, but the fact that you were willing to stand up for us... well, it's reminded me that there is still honor and integrity. That caring for people still matters. I wanted you to know it gave me a little of my faith back."
Skinner twitched his head slightly. He felt lost, at sea. Her words were like poetry. How could he answer her?
Scully rose then and moved towards the door, pausing to look over her shoulder. She wasn't sure how to tell him, really, what she thought of him. Or what she wanted from him, if she even knew what that was. "Things move so quickly, don't they? Life changes in an instant and you're left with whiplash, trying to take it all in."
He could still see her eyes above him when he'd come out of surgery, filled with fear and confusion, as she leaned close to hear his words. Those eyes were unforgettable. He nodded, unable to find the right things to say to her, as always. She closed the door and he sank into his chair, relieved, confused, and a little bit afraid.
The airplane was freezing cold, and its lack of passenger-plane comforts was beginning to give her a headache, but Scully bit her lip and tried to keep her chin up. Mulder was lying sideways across the jump seat, his head nearly in her lap. Sneaking off on a red-eye cargo flight to Bismarck was not her idea of a good time, and it annoyed her that Mulder seemed relaxed and at home in this flying freezer. She could swear he was asleep.
As if aware of her musings, he opened his eyes and gazed sweetly up at her. "What's the going rate these days for thoughts?"
"A damn sight more than a penny for you, buster." She wrapped her parka more tightly around her. "And I'm adding tax because of this meat locker."
"*I* didn't choose this. We asked Skinner, remember? Blame him." Mulder shifted, settled, then shifted again. There were times he reminded Scully of a dog, the way they walked patterns round and round until they found the right spot.
"I'm not going to blame him when he's doing us such a great favor. He could lose a lot if this goes south on us, you know." She thought suddenly of Skinner standing in Mulder's apartment, bleeding and bruised, with that sarcastic light to his eyes. "Unofficial channels," he'd answered when she asked where he got the information. Think of all the things he could have lost then, and has nearly lost since, protecting us. And still it had taken her so long to trust him. Skinner had to get shot to prove himself to her and to Mulder.
"So what are you thinking about? You've been... I don't know. Quieter than usual lately. There's a stillness to you. It's not a severity; I wouldn't even call it your normal repressed state." She laughed quietly at that. "Not the Enigmatic Dr. Scully. Just a kind of inward-looking quality. You didn't even say a word on the way to the airport, just grunted when I talked to you."
Mulder was fishing, which he realized she always found amusing. But he was casting a more serious hook here -- wondering about her coping skills, how they were after being so close to ending the investigation into Melissa's murder. Having the closure ripped away from her hands. He was more afraid for her than he wanted her to know.
She ruffled her gloved fingers through his hair as she'd done a dozen times before. "Nothing special. Just thinking about changes. How fate takes its own path and is completely uninterested in whether or not you follow along with it."
He closed his eyes again and she went back to her own reverie, listening to the plane's droning engine and feeling the movement reverberate through her body.
Of course Mulder was right, she had been having these periods of stillness more often. She was repressed, maybe, but she was also very self-aware, very attuned to her own mind and heart. It didn't take much thought at all for her to know that things had changed between her and Skinner, that there was some kind of feeling between them. A little beyond the norm, even the highly odd norm of his relationship to them as a team. When she could look within herself, when she had time to breathe and think, she saw how much the distance had closed between her and Skinner. There were times his frustration and anger with her had turned into a kind of baiting flirtatiousness. If Scully had thought there was something unusual there, her natural lack of trust had made her avoid it.
Skinner had looked as if he might cry when she'd walked out on him a few weeks ago. As if the weight of letting her down broke him. She'd thought about that for a long time, reflecting on it during her trip to San Diego, only to come home to find him hospitalized. Shot because of her quest, her need for answers. Everything seemed to change at that point, when his hand held hers. She'd felt such responsibility to him, such a need to care for him.
It could be easily dismissed as simple friendship. But she knew herself better than that.
Mulder's voice floated up to her, muffled by his coat. "Scully, are you in love?"
She sputtered. "What? Why?"
"I don't know. I'm just thinking that maybe that's what's going on. That it's more than just your sister. You give off a vibe that's kind of... I don't know. Like you're in love."
"Mulder, who has time for falling in love? It's not like either of us ever has a chance for a date."
"You could fall for someone at the office."
She could swear she heard regret in his voice.
Scully gave her most dramatic sigh. "No, Mulder, I'm not in love." Or at least, I don't want to think I'm in love. Especially not with my boss. My boss who's considerably older than I am, and could ruin my career.
"Well, if you find yourself heading in that direction, let me know."
"Mulder, it would be none of your business if I were." She poked a finger into his shoulder, hard.
"No, but I'd want to hear all the details. The *juicy* details." He shifted again, this time putting his head directly in her lap, curling up like a child.
"In your dreams."
He looked up at her sideways. She was a sucker for this -- the light in his eyes illuminating his face. She could not help smiling back at him.
Earlier she'd mentioned the paths fate took. Right now, Dana knew, she was at a crossroads. One step in either direction would take her somewhere she had no map for. Even if they came back empty-handed from this mission, even if nothing was resolved and there was no closure for her on this case, signs were pointing her to new paths. One of them led to Skinner; another away from him. Both could have such frightening consequences.
Melissa would have urged her on a path toward love. That was all she thought about: finding the goodness in people, the love that might lie hidden within them. Melissa would have wanted Dana to, for once in her life, make a choice without analyzing or deconstructing it.
"Mulder, do you think I'm too stolid? That I can't be spontaneous?"
Mulder froze. Questions like that were much too dangerous; it was like being asked by your date if the jeans she wore made her look fat. Finally he answered tentatively, "I think you're always very cautious, and you're too smart to let yourself throw caution to the wind."
"In other words, yes, I have no spontaneity."
Mulder squeezed her knee. There was a reason for this question, he knew. "You're asking this because you've been thinking of Melissa's death, aren't you?"
"In a way, I suppose. She told me that once. And it's been on my mind, that I'm not open to things."
"I really liked Melissa, once I got over my initial mistrust. I think I reacted badly to her at first because she wasn't that unlike me in her beliefs, and right then I just wanted to wallow in my misery and guilt. And there she was, being all positive all over the place." He smiled at the thought. "But you know, I saw some of you in her. The focus and drive. The grounding in her own beliefs. Her confidence. And there's some of her in you. If you want to find it, maybe you just have to let it out. It could be there to discover inside yourself when you need it. You'll know."
She brushed her hand over his hair, and wondered at how she could find that part of her sister's kindness and forgiveness. This mission of retribution they were on would be something Missy would never embrace. So, she reckoned, then she must not yet know how to embrace that part of her sister. But opening her heart to Skinner, well, that was another matter. The heart had been her sister's arena of expertise. She wished Missy were here to prod her.
It was funny, she thought, that she felt less fear about facing a murderer than she did about finding her heart.
She settled back against the rumbling aluminum skin of the plane's interior and tried to sleep. Mulder was making her feel warmer and she wasn't shivering as much. Eventually she drifted off, waking to find Mulder's hand softly shaking her shoulder.
"You slept through the landing." He marveled at her.
Scully rubbed at her eyes. "Guess I must have been sleepier than I realized. Wow. I usually can't even sleep through an average plane ride. Are we in Bismarck then?"
Mulder nodded. "We need to connect with this guy Skinner put me in touch with. Then we'll get a car and head out to the silos. Scully," he said somberly, "I have this odd feeling. Like we'll finally get something that we want. I know he's down there. And I know we'll get him."
She nodded. "I know. I feel the same way. Like we're heading towards closure."
He pulled out his gun, double-checked the clip, checked that he had more clips at the ready, and stuffed it into his holster. While the cargo door opened, Scully checked hers, and looked into Mulder's gleaming eyes. "It's not revenge, is it?" she asked uncertainly.
"No. It's something deeper than that. Truth. Answers."
Nodding again, Dana put her gun in the holster. She was ready. She was fearless.
Skinner met them at the hospital where they'd taken Krycek, striding through the hall, using his angry expression and size to clear a path among the people around the floor. Mulder had called the Marshals in to guard their catch as he was supposed to, but Scully's first call had been to Skinner.
Skinner spotted her in the crowd and went immediately to her, jerking his head toward the door. "What's the situation?"
"He's in bad shape. Incredibly dehydrated, there may even be kidney damage. There are some anomalies I can't explain, either, but they've just started looking at him. They're giving him fluids -- he's not entirely lucid, although he's in decent enough shape to try to put up a fight." She watched Skinner's face for a sign that he was satisfied, but there was nothing written there.
Through clenched teeth he said, "I don't like this. It's too easy here. Let's get him locked up, *now.*" The last thing he wanted to see was Krycek mysteriously take a turn for the worse. He didn't want to risk Scully's disappointment in him again. And as much as he'd like to take Krycek apart piece by piece, keeping him alive right now was priority number one.
The doctor in Scully wanted to protest moving him, but another part of her didn't care what happened to him.
As if echoing her thoughts, Mulder came up behind Skinner. "Kind of hard to feel sorry for the little bastard, isn't it?"
"Yeah. My heart bleeds," Skinner said snidely. He turned his attention to Scully again. "You were gone long enough that I started to worry."
She wondered if he meant both of them, or just her alone. She shrugged. "It took a long time to find him." It was impossible to describe the depth of those silos, the overwhelming size of them.
Skinner pointed at Mulder. "Let's get him out of here. He's in Federal custody, and I want them to know he gets maximum protection. Let's not lose this one, too." He turned and walked to the Marshals closest the door, Mulder following him. The AD still had trouble walking, but he'd spurned the cane a while ago. There was no way he'd admit to weakness now, especially when they had a case breaking like this. He was good at hiding pain.
*How like me he is sometimes,* Dana thought, watching him walk away with difficulty, too stubborn to give in to his pain. All the times people -- especially Mulder -- tried to take care of her, or get her to take of herself, they failed. She could never let go of her control or lay off work to grieve or nurse physical injuries. It just seemed too soft to her, too weak.
Just as she started for the hospital room to talk to the doctor, she heard Skinner call, "Agent Scully. Good work. I'd like to see you and Agent Mulder in my office first thing tomorrow. We'll figure out where to go from here."
As much as it shamed her to admit, Scully had always labored under a strong desire to please anyone with authority in her life. All it took was the "good work" and she could feel the proud smile overtake her face. Mulder caught it and made a ridiculous, mocking face at her. Trust him to keep her reactions in perspective.
The next morning they sat across the desk from Skinner, along with a man named Wilson from the Attorney General's office. Skinner outlined all the information they would need to put together a solid case against Krycek, and Wilson outlined the charges.
After Wilson was through, Skinner removed his glasses. "The main thing is keeping him alive. I'm doing everything I can, but the fact remains that the people he was originally working for won't be happy we have him. Krycek told Mulder they once tried to kill him -- presumably for not doing the job right in regards to... to harming Agent Scully." He looked at her sadly, his eyes so soft and kind once he wasn't hiding behind the glasses. It was odd, she thought, how he'd avoided saying "killing." There was a funny chivalric streak to him.
Skinner indicated the meeting was over by telling them to get started. As they left, Skinner said softly, "Agent Scully, may I have a word alone?"
She hesitated and looked at Mulder, who arched an eyebrow at her. The two men left and Scully turned back to Skinner, who walked over to her, rolling his shoulders a bit, stuffing one hand in a pocket. Scully had paid enough attention to him lately to know this was his "I'm-uncomfortable" stance.
"Agent Scully, I wanted to make sure it wouldn't be a problem for you to pursue this prosecution. I know this is a difficult situation, and I'm asking you to dredge up some painful events. Are you all right with this?"
It had been just this kindness, this concern that had thrown her the first time he'd exhibited it. Knowing he was on their side had been a difficult understanding to come to. It opened up channels between them she wasn't sure how to navigate.
"It's no less painful for Agent Mulder, sir. He lost his father."
"I know. It's just... Mulder somehow didn't seem as affected. I suppose it may have something to do with the fact that he and his father weren't close, and you were to your sister. Or maybe I'm just misreading things."
"I think it may be the residual effect of my temper tantrum." She smiled up at him, but it was hard to keep from feeling the weight of it all with this reminder -- both she and Mulder had lost so much.
Skinner smiled back. "That was not what I'd call a tantrum. You were perfectly justified in being angry. But yes, maybe that's why I'm a little concerned about how this will affect you." Or maybe I'm lying to myself, he thought, because what I really want to do is just be near you. He couldn't believe the lapses in judgment he was making with regards to her lately. Could she see right through him?
Looking out the window, Scully avoided answering him. It had always been easier for her to deal with grief or loss through silence; what made it harder were the caring comments and gentle pats on the back, the worried looks and murmured words of sympathy. She wanted to suffer privately and not talk, because talking brought out emotion. And showing such emotions made Scully feel weak and childish.
The worst part had been her return to work after her abduction; Scully had wanted to put it all behind her and trudge forward, but the well-meaning yet intrusive sympathies of co-workers had left her feeling drained and vulnerable. There had been times she'd gone into the women's room just to cry and get it over with. Now Skinner's words were pushing her in that direction; she could feel the tremble of her lip as thoughts of Melissa washed over her.
Skinner could tell that he had trespassed, and the look of embarrassment on his face must be written in neon. But it was too late for him to take back the words and the sentiment, as he watched a tear spill out of her eye to run down her cheek.
He reached forward and brushed the tear away with the tips of his fingers. It was a sudden movement, almost jolting for both of them, and he heard her breath catch in her throat.
She breathed deeply and audibly. For a moment it was as if he'd moved from darkness into light. But it was so quick, and he obscured himself as quickly as he'd opened up.
Skinner said, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry. That was inappropriate of me--"
But Dana cut him off, babbling out her own apologies. "No, sir, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, that was entirely unprofessional. I don't know what happened, I guess talking about it still has the power to bring it all back." She brought herself to a stop, unable to look at him. This kind of behavior only gave credence to his concerns for her emotional stability.
"I know what that's like," he said softly. "Some people want to talk about things as a means to get through them. But some people just don't want to, it makes it harder still to cope, to maintain."
Twisting up her face into what she hoped was a somewhat braver look, she finally met his gaze. Who'd have thought, she marveled, that I could feel so close to him, that we could understand each other so well? Scully nodded. "That about sums it up," she said softly.
Skinner returned the nod. "You'll be fine once you get something to put your back up against."
She'd said those exact words to Mulder once, about herself. It amazed her that Skinner would say the same thing, as if he knew her just that well. And part of her wondered, why *did* he know her so well? Did he think about her? Dana wasn't sure what she wanted the answer to be right now.
She said only, "I will," and stepped towards the door. It felt good, though, this connection. It felt like... truth.
Heading downstairs, Scully walked through the hallway lined with boxes until she reached Mulder's office. He was standing by his desk, hurling file folders out of the cabinet.
"What did Skinner want to talk to you about?" Mulder asked a little too eagerly.
"He was worried about how this would affect me." Scully sat down opposite Mulder, who had already begun compiling notes for their depositions, judging by the papers on the desk. Every folder was something Krycek had been involved in. "I told him it was no worse or better for me than for you."
They each knew that Mulder was the more emotional of them; the one who was the most fragile, who wore his heart on his sleeve. But it didn't take a genius to look in those blue eyes and see how things affected Scully, and Skinner would be likely to want to comfort or care for her. Skinner had always seemed soft on Scully, at least to Mulder's eyes. "Skinner probably thinks us big strong manly men can take care of ourselves."
"Obviously he's never seen you cry," Scully said pointedly. They looked at each other and laughed.
"Seriously. I think he's got a soft spot for you. The look of contrition on his face when he came to tell you about Cardinal..."
"He does not have a soft spot for me." But her heart nevertheless gave a small leap at that statement.
"Yes he does! I think he's always been kinder to you, expected the most from you. He took a bullet for you." He grinned at her. "Scully, you're teacher's pet. I bet you were *always* teacher's pet."
Favoring Mulder with her most sour look, she changed the subject. "You seem almost goofy today. Like an excited kid. Instead of making you somber, it's made you giddy."
He tapped his pencil on the desk. "I *am* giddy with relief at catching the bastard. Maybe he'll find out in prison what playing hardball's really like."
"He might not make it that far."
"There's a kind of justice in that, though, too, isn't there? Or am I turning into Clint Eastwood?"
"It's funny how much you've come to hate him because of all the things he's done to you. For a while it almost seemed like you might have trusted him. Is that why you despise him so much, that he let you down?"
Mulder thought for a moment. He could pull out his usual sarcasm and flip her question off lightly, but the truth was, he'd never really told her how much her loss had bothered him. "No, I never got that far. Grudging acceptance of him, at best. Besides all the things he's done? I despise him most because he took you away from me. And I almost didn't get you back."
Scully let a smile cross her lips, but dropped her head so he couldn't quite see it. She enjoyed being cared for by him -- when he let it show, that is. She'd grown up feeling loved by her family, but her adult life had seen a conspicuous absence of that same warm affection. Mulder's odd and endearing devotion to her was one of the few manifestations, outside the center of her family, of love in her lonely life. There was a way to tell him how much she cared, she was sure, but it had yet to appear to her. *If only I were better at saying it myself.*
When Scully looked up again, he was grinning at her like a fool. "What?" she snapped with false annoyance.
"Just thinking about how much you inspire the men in your life to do things for you. We're all devoted to Dana."
The only way to deal with his silliness sometimes was to deflect it with her own sarcasm. "Mulder, are you trying to get into my pants? Because if you are, I can tell you that the harder you try, the less likely you are to succeed."
He wanted to snort with laughter. "Does anyone ever get into your pants? Because I-I'd like to know, just for research purposes, you being my partner and all. Such a beautiful woman, all alone..." He heaved a dramatic sigh.
He never could seem to say anything more than that, even in jest. That it wasn't just her beauty which made him love her. Without teasing, he had no idea how to let her know what he thought; he was uncomfortable with the raw emotional truth of the words. That it was the light within her, the laser brilliance of her mind and her wide open heart he adored so very much. But how did you tell Dana Scully you cared about her? That she was the rare glimpse of the aurora, shimmering for a few moments without warning, visible only to a few souls who knew where and when to look? She wasn't the type you said that to.
She smiled a beatific smile at him. "Well, you'll never know, partner."
He prodded, "Who's your pet? There's got to be someone, right? I mean, besides Willis, who's gotten into your pants lately?"
"Oh, knock it off." Scully rose, grabbing her keys. "I'm going to lunch. I'll see your later."
She heard him snort behind her. "Teacher's pet!" he called after her as she closed the door.
Skinner was looking over the file on Krycek, trying to find the courage to call Mulder and Scully up to his office to tell them about this latest development. It was not going to be easy, and he expected -- at the very least -- to have Scully blow up at him again. His anxiety was short lived. Scully had beaten him to the punch; she was sitting in his outer office as he came through the doors, and looked up at him in surprise.
He looked at his secretary, whose finger was poised on the button of the speakerphone. She stammered at him a moment before announcing the obvious presence of Scully. He motioned at Scully to follow him into his office. She rose, smoothed her skirt and tugged on the hem of her jacket. Skinner noticed, no matter how much he tried not to, how polished and stylish Scully was these days. In the short time he'd worked with her, she'd grown increasingly more chic with her clothes and hair, fitting her tastes in with the dictates of the Bureau's dress codes. Maybe it wasn't something a male superior was supposed to notice about a female subordinate, but there it was. Mulder had always had his own unique personal style; Scully's had evolved with her confidence in her position as an agent, he thought. And as she sat, Skinner also couldn't help noticing how beautifully her hair reflected the sunlight pouring through his window.
"Agent Scully, I was just about to call you up here."
"I had the first of the reports Mulder and I put together for the Attorney General's office. I just wanted to bring them by and check to see if anything else was needed right now." She looked at Skinner, wondering for possibly the five hundredth time what was going on behind his eyes. Did he think her excuse was as lame as it sounded to her ears? She'd tried out a number of different ones before she came up here; now, sitting across from him when he had that inscrutable boss-face on, she assumed she sounded pathetic.
At first he didn't answer, and her stomach twisted. *He sees right though me.* Well, she was acting like an apple-polishing, crush-on-the-teacher kid. Why shouldn't he be uncomfortable? A random thought flitted through her mind: What do you do about discipline when an employee is personally and romantically involved with you?
"I'm surprised," he finally said. "I wasn't expecting anything so quickly."
God, he really *does* think I'm lame, she realized, flinching.
"I know. Agent Mulder was heading for Massachusetts today, it's his mother's birthday tomorrow and he was taking a four-day weekend. So I thought we'd run this by you -- sort of a draft, I suppose. When Mulder's back you can give us your comments. You know, get it all out of the way early."
This speed, this desire to get the case moving, made Skinner feel even more sharply the sting of disappointment at the news he had. "Agent Scully. I was going to call you and Mulder here because... well, I'm afraid there's been a bit of a twist to the prosecution." The look of fear on her face, her eyes opening wide, made him bolt from his chair. "No, it's not that." He moved around the desk, saying, "I had a call from Krycek's lawyer today." He sat down on the chair next to her, facing her. "He wants to make a deal. In exchange for no death penalty he's prepared to give us the rest of the digital tape he's been dealing, give us the men he's been working for. And I assume the people who are responsible for your sister's death, ultimately, as well as Mulder's father." He paused, trying to read the look on her face.
All she did was gaze at him, the icy blue of her eyes cutting like diamond.
"I wouldn't agree to anything until I spoke to you. Wilson is going there this afternoon to see what he has to offer. We could join him." He waited, certain of the disappointment she must be feeling.
"I don't know what to say," Scully finally answered. "Someone murdering him, I expected. His calling us as a delaying tactic, I didn't, somehow."
Skinner nodded. He put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "I mean it. I won't make a move without your, and Mulder's, approval." He knew he shouldn't do this, cross the invisible line between them, again, but he seemed unable to control the emotions that overtook him so often these days.
Dana shifted, leaning into his hand a bit. She felt more in control now, and her momentary lapse into panic had abated. She studied Skinner, who seemed as resolute and grim as ever. She wondered if the tenderness of the other day, that intimacy that had passed briefly between them, was a figment of her imagination.
"Agent Mulder... is on the road by now. I could call him. But I know what he'd say -- let's hear what Krycek wants to spill." She nodded her head. "So let's hear it. If it's any good I'll ask Mulder. And if not, then no deal." Let him rot in prison, she thought harshly.
Skinner removed his hand and sat back. "Sounds like a plan. How about I meet you in the garage in fifteen minutes? We'll go over together and meet Wilson there." He wondered if somehow Krycek had known Mulder would be out of town, as if he'd planned it for that exact moment, hoping to prey on Scully's aloneness, her separation from her partner. Skinner hoped he had the capacity to shore up Scully's emotional reserves, to step in where Mulder would usually be relied upon.
He watched her walk out of the office. *Way to go, Walt. Open yourself up to a sexual harassment lawsuit at the worst; lose the trust of a good agent at best, just because you can't keep your hands to yourself.* He grabbed his jacket and phone, threw on his raincoat and quickly wrote down his itinerary for Kimberly. His disgust with himself must be palpable; he was sure it clung to him like Pigpen's dust cloud. He wasn't the first man in the Bureau to fall under Dana Scully's spell, he knew, but he was surely the last man who should be acting on it.
Skinner couldn't help but wonder what was happening to him lately, why sense had so cruelly deserted him. He'd been undergoing a separation from his wife for some time; hell, Sharon hadn't even been to the hospital to see him when he'd been shot. While he felt desolate and alone, was that enough to start fixating on a subordinate? It would be utterly foolish to bounce from one painful situation to another, even if in his wildest dreams Scully returned his interest. But Walter could never tell with Scully just what her feelings were. She seemed to invite his closeness lately, but how much of that was simply that they'd been thrown into such proximity?
There was too much danger in finding out. There could simply be no answer to his question; he should never know whether she felt even an atom of interest. And who was he to think he could inspire that, anyway? A man technically old enough to be her father, someone so unhappy and lonely he couldn't separate the personal part of his life from his work life, someone so afraid of his future it was easier to fantasize about an affair with a staff member than deal with reality. If all that didn't make Skinner unworthy of someone like Dana Scully, then he certainly didn't know what did.
Scully was standing by his car when he reached the garage, looking in her pocket for something. She didn't see him yet, and for a moment he watched her silently. His heart seemed to beat a little faster and it felt so ridiculous, as though his emotions were betraying him. Of course he was only reacting like this because his marriage was breaking up, of course that was the reason. It had to be. It was the only reason that made sense.
She looked up just then, straight into his eyes. He could feel it, like ions snapping in the air after a lightning storm. It charged him, made him feel lightheaded and clean. She just looked at him, so confident, so strong in her solitariness. It was as if she were saying yes, but he wasn't sure what questions he'd asked. Clearly she'd seen a question in his eyes. He found it hard to move, as if he'd grown roots to this spot.
The slam of a car door nearby brought him back. By the time he got to the car, she had stopped staring at him. Skinner unlocked the doors and they entered the car wordlessly. Maybe that was the oddest thing for both of them, that they seemed to be comfortable in silence. Skinner had so rarely been around anyone who didn't feel compelled to fill up time with talk; it was unusual for an employee especially, when stuck with their boss, not to want to make small talk. It wasn't a long drive, but it was some time before either of them said a word.
"You've already spent a lot of time with Krycek," Skinner said. "I can't imagine that you're looking forward to this."
"Has to be done."
"None of this *has* to be done." Skinner paused. "You have a lot of reasons to want him dead. It'd be easy to just let one of them whack him some night in his cell."
Scully was silent. Skinner couldn't read her right now.
"You know," Skinner continued, "it seems like people always get the impression when they first meet Mulder that he's sort of a day late and a buck short. I did. Though all you have to do is spend a little time with him and you know how sharp he is. But Krycek, he was like a blank slate. Blanker than blank. It was like there was no soul in him, I guess."
"He attacked Mulder when we first found him," Scully said slowly. "It was easy for Mulder to just beat the hell out of him, though. A few punches and that was it. But you know, I wanted Mulder to keep hitting him -- hit him until he was nothing but a bloody pulp." She looked over at Skinner, who glanced sideways, watching her carefully. "It shocked me, how close I came to pulling the trigger on Cardinal. I *wanted* to shoot him. I could see it, feel the hammer pull back, the recoil of the gun. It's a hard thing to reconcile yourself with, especially as a doctor and as someone who works for the Department of Justice. Wanting to take a life instead of save one. I don't like wishing I could kill someone."
There was more silence for a while before Skinner said, "I don't know. I've fantasized about killing people plenty of times. Given half a chance and the opportunity not to get caught? Sure, I can think of handful of people I'd twep in a heartbeat."
Scully looked over at him, her mouth open, but caught his hint of a smile. They both laughed lightly out loud, just as Skinner pulled up to the security entrance.
As he flashed his badge and the guard let them through, something caught Scully's eye. Two men were leaving a car parked nearby. The man on the driver's side looked so familiar to her; it was like a word on the tip of her tongue.
"Sir. Those men." Suddenly she remembered him. She'd seen him before her abduction, she was sure of it. She bolted from the car, drawing her gun. Skinner was right behind her, either on blind faith or because he also knew who they were. The men both turned toward Skinner and Scully. Her voice may have carried far enough in the growing darkness that they heard her, or it was the sound of the car door that alerted them. But both men bolted for the street, splitting in different directions.
Skinner hollered, "Stay with him," pointing in the direction of the driver, while he chased after the other one. They were there to kill Krycek, she knew that much, but why she felt the need to stop them she didn't know. Still Scully ran as hard as she could. "Stop! Federal agent!" she shouted, her gun trained on him. She knew she didn't stand a chance of hitting him as out of breath as she was, but when he didn't stop Scully planted her feet and fired. The bullet went wide and hit the wall nearby, throwing chips of mortar from the brickwork. The man stalled, wheeled, and pointed his gun at her.
Turning, she threw herself sideways as the bullet went above her. Again she shouted, "Federal agent!" and this time she punctuated it with a shot of her own, just as he turned to run again. He stopped then, made as if to put up his arms, and as she took one step forward, he turned and fired. It was close enough this time. The bullet tore into the edge of her right shoulder, knocking her off balance. Just as it hit her shoulder she had pulled the trigger, and the gun flew out of her hand, her arm suddenly useless. Pain charged through her, and with wide eyes she saw the man walk towards her, gun up, ready to fire. As he moved to shoot, she heard the report of another gun, and watched the man fall to the ground in front of her.
Scully covered her shoulder with her left hand, then pulled it away, staring at the thick, almost black blood covering her palm. She slumped against the wall, sliding down, her head spinning from the pain. Nauseated, woozy, she tried to look up, but all she could manage was to lean sideways against a garbage can. Those were Skinner's shoes in front of her, she realized. Smoke was curling from the muzzle of his gun. He crouched down next to her, and vaguely she noticed he was holding his phone in one hand, his gun in the other.
Saying something, he was saying something to her. Then he was taking off his coat and pillowing it under her, laying her down, covering the wound with his hand. Almost laughing, she thought, my hero. Then the pain pumped through her and she fell into a kind of fuzzy darkness.
The paramedics worked on her as she went in and out of that darkness. It was the wail of the ambulance that jolted her firmly back into reality. But Skinner was not in the unit as she looked around. Her voice felt thick and fuzzy. "Where's the AD?"
The medic looked at her, confused. "I think he stayed behind because it was a crime scene," he answered, as if talking to a slow child.
Scully lay back. Of course he'd stayed behind. But it didn't stop her wishing he was here.
At the emergency room she talked them into not keeping her overnight, just having them patch her up and move her out of there. While she waited for the tests and x-rays to be returned, she dozed on and off. At first Scully thought of calling Mulder, but decided against it -- let him have some time alone without all this stuff infesting his life.
It was so odd, she thought. A few hours ago I was in a car, laughing with a man I've never even seen smile before a few days ago. Next thing I'm flat on my back, wishing he'd just pick me up in his arms and carry me to safety. I really have to get a life, she mused.
The nurse went to get a sling to keep the arm immobilized, and closed the curtain as she left. Idly wondering if she'd see Skinner again, Scully fell into a light sleep, worn down by the pain.
When Skinner arrived at the hospital he was in a black rage, furious with himself for letting things get out of hand; regretful that yet again Scully had been hurt and he'd been unable to prevent it; and mostly pissed off because he'd had to stay behind to clean up the mess. What he'd really wanted to do was ride to the hospital with Scully. The shooting had been merely an annoyance to deal with. Skinner reflected on how bizarre his life had become, wondered how it had taken such a left turn to reach a point where it was mundane and unexceptional to have shot and killed someone.
Scully was dozing when he entered the room, her brow creased even in sleep. She would be fighting pain, he knew. An ache to touch her, to smooth her forehead or hold her hand swept over him, replacing the black rage with a kind of blue sadness. She woke with a start and looked up at him, rubbing her good hand over her eyes.
"Did you get the other one?" Scully asked, trying to sit up.
"One down, one to go," Skinner answered bitterly. He wasn't about to let on that he could have caught the other one if he hadn't heard her gun go off. He'd wheeled, running back towards her, all thoughts of doing his job pushed to the back behind fear for her safety.
Skinner waited while the doctor came in to confer with her, then the nurse followed with a dressing for her wound, and pain medication. He tried not to eavesdrop and moved toward the back of the room, but he felt fretful and worried, fighting the urge to hover.
When they left, he moved forward and put his arm under her, gently pulling her up. He grabbed a pillow off the other bed and pushed it behind her back. "What's the prognosis?"
"Flesh wound," she said. "I've always wanted to say that; for some reason it's the first time I've had the opportunity." She smiled at him shyly. They were both still so awkward just simply being people. He wondered if they could ever stop tiptoeing around each other. "But I need to keep it immobilized for a while, it's numb and it will take a while to get the feeling back. If I don't keep it in a sling, it'll just drag, painfully."
"Are they keeping you overnight?"
"No, I've managed to talk them into letting me go. Being a doctor has its advantages. I need to get prescriptions for painkillers and antibiotics filled, but otherwise I'm ready to get out of here. Can you hand me my phone? I'll call my mom and have her come get me."
Leaning his head sideways, Skinner considered for a moment. "Why don't you give me that prescription and I'll go take care of it, then I'll take you home. You can ask your mother to just meet you at your place, then she won't have to drive so far." He handed her his phone.
"All right," she answered, her voice slightly tremulous. "Thank you. I -- I really appreciate this. And what you did back there."
Walter wandered down the hallway to find the pharmacy. He could shoot and kill someone he knew to be an assassin. He could take a bullet in the guts. But he was terrified of Scully, of his feelings for her and the way things were playing themselves out. He kept pushing himself further and further into her life, picking up on signals he thought he was receiving from her, knowing full well it was the stupidest thing he could do.
He still loved one woman, who no longer loved him; and he was falling in love with another woman, whom he should not care for. There were times he wondered why common sense always seemed so uncommon in people. Skinner was not normally this insensible, this rash. But given the opportunity he would have taken Dana home with him, and happily devoted himself to caring for her until she was back to normal. What a ridiculous fantasy.
There were so many things about the impending divorce that he was in denial about; things he knew he must face if he wanted to understand what was happening now. He'd never really accepted the idea that Sharon could fall out of love with him. When he looked at her he still saw the young, vibrant woman he'd fallen for, but he wondered if all Sharon saw was a stiff, miserable, and emotionally bankrupt man when she looked at him. When she'd come to him, finally, telling him she wanted the marriage to end, he'd almost laughed. All the years Walter had tried to protect her by shutting her out had made it almost impossible to understand her needs, and even then, in the midst of emotional collapse, he couldn't hear the agony behind her words. In the past few months he'd thought of it over and over, wondered whether if he had finally broken down, showed the pain written in his heart, would Sharon have forgiven him and take him back? He would look at her lovely face, so delicate and sharp like fine bone china, and think that it was his duty to protect someone so fragile. That was what he believed a husband did. And yet the strength in her when she'd asked for a divorce was terrifying; it made him feel weak and useless.
Maybe because this failed marriage was all so out of control, he thought he could love Dana. Yet underneath it all he knew that to be the rationalization it was. There were so many outward facets Sharon and Dana shared. But Skinner had never met anyone completely like Dana, most likely never would again, and he was spellbound. There simply was no easy way to accommodate that truth.
When he returned with the bottles she was sitting on the edge of the bed, arguing with the attendant that she did not need assistance and being that as she was a doctor, she could damn well do as she pleased. Skinner flashed his ID at the attendant and said, "Might as well forget about it, son. I'll take care of her." He walked with her to the car, one hand steadying her by the elbow.
Dana's mother had said on the phone, a little too conversationally, that Skinner had a habit of taking care of Dana. Things were starting to make a kind of sense to her now, the pieces of the puzzle locking into place. It wasn't that Skinner was just brave and strong, he was brave and strong for others. His nature was protective; he rose to the occasion most when it was another person in danger, someone he cared for. Perhaps Mulder was right, maybe she was teacher's pet. She looked over at Skinner as he drove, his face silhouetted by the lights of passing cars. There were certainly worse things in life than to be protected by Walter Skinner. She tried that on for size in her head, thought of trying to say "Walter," wondering if she could say that instead of "sir." Wondering if he would let go of himself for one minute to be that personal. And mostly wondering if she could let go at all to tell him she wanted that.
Suddenly she realized that he was not wearing his coat and remembered him putting it under her as he lay her on the ground. Putting pressure on her shoulder. Of course the coat would have been irretrievable, filthy and bloody. Somehow that made her feel even worse; not only was she always causing him epic-scale misery, now even the little things weren't safe from her jinx. She was getting pleasantly buzzed, which made it easier to look at him in a different light, she thought.
Skinner unlocked to door to her apartment with the keys she gave him, guiding her gently inside. He pulled the coat off her shoulders, avoiding her injury. Her apartment, he noticed, was so much like what he would expect from her -- tidy, perfectly done, the kind of place that seemed a sanctuary from everything else. A dog came bounding out of the bedroom and Skinner did a doubletake.
"Queequeg!" she cried. "Oh Queequeg, have you been for a walk yet?"
Skinner's brows went up. "Queequeg?"
Dana rolled her head around, embarrassed. "Long story. I inherited him on a case." She picked up a note and looked at it for a moment before putting it back on the counter. "Oh good, Mrs. Jackson took him out. Mom must have called her." Queequeg was bouncing around at her feet and she wanted to bend down to pet him, but she was brought short by a pain that made her wince.
"Here," Skinner said, guiding her to the sofa. The dog bounced up on the couch next to her. "When will your mother be here?"
"Shouldn't be much longer," she answered. "Really, I'm fine, the drugs they gave me at the hospital kicked in nicely." She felt goofy, lightheaded and slightly dizzy. Scully leaned back against the couch.
"Dana," Skinner said simply. "You've been through a lot. Most people don't get shot every day. You need to process this, I think. You'll need some time to recover beyond just your physical injury."
"I know. I know that. But right now I'm getting just that side of silly. I promise I won't try to pretend it didn't happen."
"I'll be here if you need to talk." Geez. Why didn't he just plead, *please call me?*
"I appreciate that."
Skinner was perched on the edge of the sofa, idly scratching behind Queequeg's ears. He couldn't decide what to do: leave her alone here before her mother arrived, making sure he wouldn't get himself into further trouble, or stay and risk saying or doing something foolish.
"I think he likes you," Scully said happily. "Take off your jacket, you can stay awhile."
Shaking his head, Skinner said, "I should really go, I'm sure your mom will be here soon." He paused. "Do you want anything? Some water?"
"That would be nice," she answered slowly.
When he went to the kitchen, Queequeg followed him. "He really, really likes you," Scully teased.
"Animals always do. I don't know why."
This seemed to strike her as especially funny and she laughed out loud. Handing her the water, he realized he was completely non-plussed, not seeing that it was the meds making her laugh. He thought she was laughing at him. Then it finally dawned on him and he frowned as he sat next to her.
"You're just that kind of guy. You make people feel taken care of, and I'm sure animals must feel the same sorts of things people do. You're... you have that gentle strength. Like there's safety with you." She closed her eyes. "You're always rescuing me," Scully said idly, her hand moving out, closing around his. "My hero, my knight."
At no time in his life had he been as embarrassed as he was right now. He could feel his face turn red. Dana raised her head and opened her eyes, which were slightly glazed.
She didn't know she'd said it aloud. Thinking it, oh she was definitely thinking it. But in her haze she hoped that she'd kept it to herself. Still, Skinner was now looking at her as if she'd grown three heads. Or something. Whatever it was, the look was foreign in his eyes, she'd never seen it from him before.
He ran the backs of his fingers lightly along the blade of her jaw, stroking them along her cheek. They rested there a moment before he turned his hand over, sliding his palm against her cheek. Leaning over, he said softly, "Your mother will be here soon, so I'll go. I'll try to look in on you this weekend, let you know what's happening when I talk with Wilson. Take care of yourself." Then he brought his face to hers, pressing his lips firmly to her other cheek. It lasted what felt like hours, not milliseconds as it must have been.
Dana could feel the smoothness of his fingertips, smell the scent of his aftershave, feel the shadow of his beard against her skin. She closed her eyes and absorbed it all as best she could, her hand tightening around his.
Then in a flash he was up and gone. Queequeg danced in agitation by the door, as if Skinner had no right to leave him now that he'd made such a good friend. Scully put her hand on her cheek, feeling the skin burn like embers beneath her fingers.
End Part 1
11/13/98