Even as a teenager on a date Skinner had never felt so ridiculous as he did standing in front of Scully's door right now. Holding papers that did not have to be brought to her -- a courier would have worked just as well, especially if he'd waited until Monday -- and asking her to review documents that were not a rush. Any idiot could see it was all a cover for wanting to see her.
He'd called to let her know that Wilson had prepared the initial brief and was in contact with Krycek's lawyer. And then he'd hesitated, like a dolt, and asked if she'd mind if he brought the files by. The hitch in her voice made him realize that he was being pushy. But then it was too late, and she'd agreed to look over the paperwork.
He finally took his hand out of his jacket pocket and rang the buzzer for Scully's apartment.
Each step up felt like lead was attached to his feet. Just being in her presence held threats and promises. Walter still could not quite wrap his mind around what she'd said to him the other night. Could she really see him as courageous and strong? He certainly didn't feel that way. Everything he did for her was simply an obligation to an agent, a friend, not because he was heroic. But then, he would never tell her that. It wasn't in his nature to discuss what other people thought of him -- or even what he thought of himself. It was something he'd tried to change over the years, wanted to change, in fact, for Sharon, but never could.
Before he'd even knocked on the door, Scully answered it. The dark blue sling stood out against the pale green of her sweater, and her bare neck looked red near the shoulder where the strap had rubbed against the skin. Her hair was loosely pinned up in back, the ends exploding out in multiple directions.
"Can I take your jacket?" she asked, holding out her good arm.
He pulled it off, tossing it on a chair near the door. "Don't trouble yourself. You shouldn't be doing anything." He moved inside toward the couch and she followed. "How *are* you, anyway?" He sat down and put the stack of folders on her coffee table.
Still standing, Scully half shrugged, unable to get the bad shoulder up for the full effect, and grimaced. "I'm okay. Sleeping's the hardest part; I keep wanting to roll over on it. It hurts, but it's not unmanageable."
He motioned at her to sit down.
Casually, she asked, "Have you eaten yet?" Dana was going to say "sir" at the end, but stopped herself. This was an awkward grey area for both of them.
"No." Walter watched her. "Would you like me to get you something?"
Dana had been about to offer to make something, despite the fact that she wasn't able to cook very well. Her mother had stocked the freezer with frozen dinners, which within two days she'd already grown sick of. "I... uh, I was about to make something before you came over."
"Do you have some place around here you go for Chinese or something? What would you like?"
"There is a place just down the street, but they don't deliver. Just take-out. But I could--"
"What do you want? Let me know and I'll go get it. You can read through this stuff while I'm gone."
It was tough not to let out a huge, arcing sigh, but she kept it in check and only exhaled a little. "Ever since I went to work with Mulder, I've found that I have no free time. We're always running around the country, we're always in trouble, chasing after something. And there have been times I longed for the chance to just have a weekend to myself, to not be dragged into his obsessions and taken away from my own life. Well, actually, I don't *have* a life anymore. And yet here I am, finally home for three days, and I'm going stir-crazy. I gave Queequeg to mom until I'm better, so I haven't even had the excuse to take him for a walk. My arm hurts, but it doesn't hurt that much. I'd like to just go out, even for a few minutes."
"Age-- Dana. I still have a responsibility in my job, even if this..." he swept his hand through the air, indicating her apartment, "is a little outside the realm of everyday work. A large part of that responsibility is making sure agents are safe. Even if you've got cabin fever, you are still recovering from a gunshot wound, and I think you should stay put."
"I was shot in the shoulder, not in the legs. I *can* still walk, you know." She tried not to sound curt, but it came out snappish, anyway.
He stared at her. His eyes really were so sweet, she thought stupidly, realizing she wasn't paying attention to everything he said. "For once in your life, let someone take care of you."
As fast as the words were out, he pulled back; she could see it in his face, his eyes, his posture. He quirked his head sideways, moving into AD mode. "I will get you something to eat, you can review these files, and that's the end of it."
Opening her mouth to make another protest regarding her ability to walk, she suddenly realized how miserable she looked -- her hair was dirty and messy, she wore her grubby around-the-house clothes, and her makeup was minimal. "I..." How many times had she argued with him before, and always lost? There was no way he'd let her go; he was enjoying patronizing her. And then she realized why she didn't want him to leave without her.
If you go you might not come back and stay, she thought sadly. She moved for the phone. "I'll call and order. Do you have a preference?"
"I eat anything."
Dana smiled at that. Of course he would. Picking up her keys, she said to him, "Here. To get back in." She tossed them to him and he caught them in mid-air. "Go left out the door, it's down five blocks." She listened to the phone ring on the other end as she watched him go. Maybe casual would never work with them. Perhaps it was all too structured and formal, and they were too private, too concealed as people. It had been a girlish fantasy, Scully realized. She'd thought he was attracted to her, interested, but it was all just the immediacy of their jobs, the closeness of the investigative function on this case. They'd got too near each other and it was hard to separate reality from need and desire. She placed the order and hung up, dropping down on the couch in a huff.
Desire didn't seem so odd a concept to her, not after seeing him tonight. She'd always thought him handsome in an unusual way, complex and sensual behind the formal suits and the directorly reticence. And of course he was older, which appealed to her more than she cared to admit. He had that tinge of authority in his age alone, but coupled with his silent, powerful nature, it was overwhelming. And tonight, seeing him out of those suits, didn't diminish that aura of authority at all. Her heart had beat a little too fast when she opened the door to see him in dark jeans and an old Quantico sweatshirt. Not many people got to see him without his Bureau uniform, Scully imagined. She liked this side of him, a lot. It only added to her interest.
But where to go from here? Dana saw him dropping off the food, picking up papers and leaving. If he was even remotely aware of what appeared to be happening between them, naturally he would leave. Skinner wasn't the type to risk two careers for the sake of attraction. His life was such a mystery to her, she knew next to nothing about him. It was odd that he wasn't married; maybe the typical fast-track-career-ruined marriage that seemed prevalent in law enforcement jobs. Somehow Scully would find a way to ask him about that, find out more about him. Even if nothing came of this time alone together.
Forlorn, she dialed Mulder. It would keep her busy until Skinner returned. He answered on the third ring.
"Mulder, it's me."
"Scully. What's wrong?"
"Why do you assume something's wrong?" she asked peevishly.
"Your voice. It sounds... kind of sad."
"Mulder," she said, laughing, "I said three words. How do you get 'sad' out of that? I'm fine. Fine. I just... I wanted you to know something before you came home, so it wouldn't come as a surprise. Krycek wanted to make a deal, and Skinner and I were on our way to talk to him, and there were two men there. One I recognized, and Skinner said later they were the ones who warned him off the investigation. They were there to kill Krycek, I'm sure of it. There was a chase and... I was shot in the shoulder."
There was a long pause on the other end. "Look, I'll be down in a few hours. I'm sure I can get a charter and fly down right away--"
"No! No, Mulder, I'm fine. Really. It wasn't much, just ripped out a nice chunk of tissue but it's healing already and in a few weeks I'll be great. Don't cut short your vacation, please. Mom's taking care of me and, well, AD Skinner is too, believe it or not. I just didn't want you to come in on Tuesday and be surprised."
She heard the sound of a key in the lock and turned to see Skinner coming in the door. He noticed she was on the phone and quietly put the bags on the kitchen table, then noiselessly set the keys down. Mulder was saying something on the other end, but Scully was focusing on Skinner, watching him take off his jacket. So he was staying.
Slowly Mulder's words were sinking in. "No, no, it's not that big a wound," she said. Dana could see this conversation going on all night now; Mulder was always so quick to fuss, especially since her abduction. Maybe she'd known he'd want to comfort her, maybe that's why she called him.
Skinner wandered aimlessly around the apartment, looking at things, half-listening to the phone conversation. He guessed she was talking to Mulder, it was all the n sounds as she started to say no repeatedly but couldn't get a word in edgewise, that tipped him off. He stood in front of her stereo and looked at the CDs -- not a bad collection of early R&B and a lot of classical music. She'd had Sam Cooke on when he'd first come over, but that had played out, so he picked out some Van Morrison and put that on. Finding out about someone, learning that certain tastes matched yours, was always such an asinine little thrill. He could never figure out why it was so, but it had been that way with every woman he'd ever been involved with.
Skinner wondered if she had called Mulder or Mulder had called her. He couldn't imagine Scully running to the phone to tell Mulder about his visit, but there was enough uncertainty about his actions to wonder if that could happen. At the very least this whole thing felt awkward. Dana had turned away from him, and he watched her on the phone, the way her shoulders slumped the longer the call went on. Her hair shone bronze in the low light, in spite of its messiness. The times he'd wanted to touch her hair were too numerous to count.
For the past few days he'd done little except think about what it had felt like to kiss her cheek, to touch her skin. The feeling of her hand upon his. So adolescent, so preposterous for a man like him to fixate on that. He wondered what it would be like to walk over there and put his hand upon the curve of her hip.
But Dana's quick turning around to place the phone in its cradle snapped him out of his reverie.
"So," Dana said brightly, "let's eat." She went into the kitchen for plates, then put them on the coffee table, along with a few small bottles of condiments. Walter was perplexed and she caught the look. "I never eat in there. I like to sit on the floor, and besides, this is where all the files are."
She hadn't even read them yet, he was sure. But he grabbed the bags and she followed him with napkins and two wine glasses, and he noticed she'd already put a bottle of white on the table.
"If we have to work we might as well do it in style."
"Are you sure that's a good idea, what with your shoulder?"
"The advantages of being a doctor. I can do things I wouldn't necessarily encourage patients to do." She smiled mischievously. There were all sorts of facets he was seeing tonight, tiny glimmering parts of her personality. Skinner liked it. "Besides, I haven't had a painkiller all afternoon and evening, so I'm fine."
"How is it, anyway? I mean for real. Not the tough girl routine," he asked, sitting down on the other side of the table, pouring the wine.
"Mostly it's just a dull ache unless I forget and try to move it. I imagine there's lots of PT in my future, and it's going to be a while before I can shoot well."
Skinner indicated the pile of folders while he dished out some of the food. "You didn't even look at these, did you?"
She scratched her head and said, "No, I didn't. I guess I didn't want to. I feel like a petulant child, stamping my foot and saying no. But there's this huge part of me that doesn't want to know what Krycek's got to say. I imagine Wilson is ready to make a deal, within reason."
"Yes and no." Skinner half rolled his eyes. "To be honest, I think Krycek's information sounds more appealing to the AG than it would to any of us -- we know how useless the rest of the digital tape information is; Krycek's sold most of it by now. And we also know better than to believe we're going to catch any of those men on his word alone, assuming they don't succeed in killing him first."
Her eyes were downcast, and he winced at having disappointed her so badly. But she was the kind of person he felt he must be honest with. Skinner watched her dump rice vinegar on the vegetables. As she put the bottle on the table, she looked up at him, chagrined at being caught.
Aimlessly waving her left hand, she said, "I like sour and tart things. Always have. Missy and I used to eat lemons, actually. Mostly because it drove my mother mad, she couldn't even stand to look at us do it. At that age anything that provokes your mother is good." A cloud seemed to move across her face with that grey hint of memory. Then she looked down at the table, her fist clenching and unclenching.
Watching helplessly , Skinner didn't know what to say or do. This was always where he failed people. He could never tell Sharon what she needed to hear during their entire married life; he was abysmal at showing concern with his family. It wasn't that he didn't think it or feel it, but the mechanics of expressing comfort or caring stopped him in his tracks. Finally he reached out, lightly touching her arm. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.
But her eyes were dry when she looked up at him. "No, that's okay. I just get a little sad sometimes. I think eventually you get to a place where you still think of them every day, but you just don't talk about it all the time. Or at least, I hope that's how it works."
He nodded silently. It was hard to eat, he felt everything stick in his throat, along with his words.
She reached over and picked up a fortune cookie. Wishing to fill the gap of silence that had been created, she cracked it open and took out the fortune and thought to read it aloud, but changed her mind. After she read it and put it down, Skinner asked, "What does yours say?" He grabbed a cookie, too, but didn't open it.
Considering for a moment, she picked it up again. "Answer just what your heart prompts you."
"Hmm. Doesn't say when, or what the question would be."
"It's like astrology. Comfortingly vague." Dana gave him a half-hearted smile.
Again he noticed her scratch her head, and before he could catch them the words popped out. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" Scully was genuinely confused.
"You keep... scratching your head. Something else didn't happen to you that night, did it? No cuts or bleeding on your head?"
"Was I?" She was mortified. "I didn't realize." She could feel her cheeks color hotly. "I can't... it's just that I can't wash my hair. I tried the other day and made a mess everywhere. It's amazing how hard it is to live with one hand, and I shouldn't get the bandage wet, so... well." This was utterly humiliating, and she stopped herself from talking by eating some more.
Before he could halt himself he did it again, rushed out with something blindly. "Would you like some help? With washing your hair, I mean."
"What would you know about washing hair?" she laughed, and then her hand flew up to her mouth, her eyes going round with horror.
*Oh my God, oh Jesus H Christ,* Dana thought. *I can't believe I said that.*
"Women's hair, I mean. Washing women's hair." Oh shit. Suddenly she understood what it was like to be Mulder, what it was like to go around putting your foot in your mouth.
Fortunately Skinner only seemed to find that funny; his face was impassive but his eyes gleamed. "Hair is hair."
"I... that would be... helpful, actually. I should have asked mom today, but I forgot. I hadn't realized I was doing that."
Stop babbling now Dana, she told herself.
Skinner got up and went into the kitchen. He pulled a chair up to the sink. Then he held his hand out, palm up. "Shampoo?"
Scully pointed toward the bathroom. He walked away, then came back with two bottles. For a moment he stared at the sink and seemed to consider something. "You're too short to reach this. Where are your phone books?"
Something about this take-charge attitude amused her so much. Could this possibly get more surreal? she wondered. She pointed to the table, afraid that opening her mouth would make her laugh out loud.
He put a phone book on the chair and swept his hand in a grand gesture towards the sink. "Your chair." He'd even rolled up a towel and put it on the sink edge for her neck.
Laughing, Dana settled into the chair and leaned back with his assistance. His hands were gentle as he helped her maneuver into a comfortable position. "Hmm. Wait." He went away and came back with two towels from the bathroom, putting one over her shoulder and one on the counter.
"I have to admit to being a bit surprised by this."
Skinner tilted his head sideways. He tested the warmth of the water. "Last kid in a family of three girls. My dad died when I was twelve. That made me the only male in a household of women. Not much about the mysteries of womanhood fazes me." At least, the physical mysteries. The emotional riddles he'd yet to solve.
Dana laughed and to Walter it sounded like bells. She looked so beautiful lying back like that, her eyes staring up at him. Her mouth was the color of persimmons, and he considered what it would be like to lean down and kiss her -- spicy and sweet, maybe, just like the fruit. Instead he pulled off the clip she'd used to put up her hair and ran the water over her head.
She closed her eyes as he moved his hands through her hair. It felt like cool satin. He put the shampoo on her hair and moved his fingers gently through it, the tactile pleasure making his heart pound in his ears. As excuses to touch someone went, this was a fairly unusual one. He shook his head, completely disbelieving that he was even doing this, but diving down into the sensations, nevertheless.
So tenderly competent, Dana thought. It was the only thing she could think of to describe him; his hands were so kind and soft. Everything done slowly, deliberately, each step intimate yet formal. She lay back, taking in the sensations, memorizing his touch. At one point she opened her eyes and he looked at her then, his gaze melting into her but completely unfathomable. A trickle of soap was running down her temple; he reached over and gently rubbed it away. She closed her eyes then, because she almost couldn't bear to look at him.
Then he turned the water off and wrapped a towel around her hair, pulling her up by her good arm to a sitting position. She pulled the towel up and twisted it around her head. Kneeling in front of her, Walter took the other towel from around her shoulders and wiped off the water trickling along her neck.
If she could have moved, Dana wasn't sure she would have, he was so close. She pulled the towel off her hair, mopping at the ends of it to get rid of the excess water. The twisted strap from the sling dug into her neck. Reaching up behind her, she tried to untwist it, but it was damp and didn't budge. So she went back to rubbing at her hair with the towel, not really looking at Walter, who still remained motionless beside her. He put the towel down on the floor and moved behind her, untwisting the strap.
His fingers were galvanizing, she felt electric current racing through her body, and the warmth of him behind her was excruciating. Skinner did not move his fingers away from her neck; instead he took the towel from her and moved it gently along her hair with his other hand. His breath feathered over her skin and she shivered. Kiss me, she pleaded inside herself. Kiss me or put your hands on me, please.
He did neither, though, instead moving his fingers through her wet hair, combing it down straight. A new trickle moved down her neck, along her collarbone.
Skinner shifted to the side, taking the towel away, and his fingertips traced over the tiny rivulet of water, rubbing it away. He moved his hand along her collarbone, then along her neck. Her skin was the ivory of a gardenia blossom, smooth, cool, scented and pale. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her collarbone, then to her neck where his fingers had been. A sigh escaped her and he could feel her lean forward, her body relaxing toward him. Moving between her knees, he brought himself close as his hand traced the edge of her sweater, up along the strap of the sling.
He looked at her then, his brown eyes so questing, and she merely nodded, not understanding the question but knowing that yes was the answer to anything. Walter undid the strap of the sling and slowly slid it off, followed by a kiss along the exposed part of her shoulder. Fire arced through her. Her own good hand moved up his shoulder to his neck, and she pulled him forward finally, meeting his lips hungrily.
When he drew away from the kiss, Skinner stared at her. He moved his hand to the first button of her sweater and slowly, methodically, undid each button until he pushed the sweater to each side, carefully maneuvering it around the bandage on her right shoulder.
It was so stark white against her skin, and the feelings of guilt over her shooting swept through him again. He touched the gauze lightly with his fingertips, careful not to put pressure on it. She turned her head to look at his hand. "It's not your fault," she whispered to him, bringing his face towards her, and he took her mouth in another fierce kiss.
Her hand found the edge of his sweatshirt and tugged on it as he kissed her again and again, lost in the swirling eddy of her passion. His fingers traced the edge of her bra, up the strap, hovering over her neck and shoulder. Unsure what to do next, he hesitated, afraid if he tried anything more he could break this spell. Instead she did it for him, pulling his head forward into another deep kiss. He then followed the path of his fingers with his lips, down to her breasts, along the edge of her bra. She breathed deeply and arched against him, her hand fluttering over the back of his head, along his neck, inside his shirt.
Finally he stood, pulling her up gently. Taking steps backwards, he held onto her, and she followed in between kisses. When they reached her bedroom, he stood back shyly. Skinner was terrified of hurting her, of the damage to her shoulder. But she took the lead and peeled off the sweater slowly, tossing it on the floor.
She seemed to consider him for some time; he felt as if she were sizing him up. Finally she said, "Walter." Nothing else, just making her claim, he thought, making his name hers.
*I never thought of her as so tiny and so fragile*, he realized. Everything felt so exaggerated suddenly. He was acutely aware of how much shorter she was than he, aware of her delicate bone structure, the smallness of her hands and feet. She would despise that, he knew. He had always hated it when someone commented on his size, asked him if he played hoops or football in school. So she too must have heard it every day of her life, and he would not be just one more person to say the same cliches. His own hands felt like paws, he was clumsy and awkward and too big for the room.
Scully moved forward a step, pushing at the shirt with one hand, moving it up his chest as her hand slid up underneath it. He pulled it off over his head and she wrapped her arms around him, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. His hands played up and down her back and he could feel the short hitching breaths she took as he moved his mouth against her neck, her ear, her jaw. Walter undid the clasp of her bra.
Sitting on the edge of the bed he pulled her close to him, sliding the bra down along her arms and letting it fall to the floor. Of course her breasts are beautiful, he thought absurdly, everything about her is beautiful. One hand trailed up along her neck. He traced his thumb across her jaw, over her ripe mouth, his other hand cupping one exquisite breast. His fingers tangled in her wet hair. She was swaying against him, standing between his knees. His tongue teased out along a nipple before he took it in his mouth.
This was the last thing she should be doing, she knew, but she didn't care. Everything burned in her, she was a furnace. I am never spontaneous, I never let go and just feel, isn't that what you told me, Missy? she thought giddily. But now, now she *was* spontaneous, she felt wild and open and crazed by desire, unsafe and lunatic, and it was so good the way his hands moved on her. Dana felt unfettered, free of the rigid control with which she lived her life. *Answer just what your heart prompts you,* she thought madly.
For once Dana was listening to her heart rather than her head. Consume me, her heart repeated over and over, consume me as fire consumes air.
His mouth worked magic on her body, she was alight from within, clutching his head against her, unaware if there was pain in her arm or not. Who cared? This was perfect, for once something was perfect. Every movement he made was so careful and sweet, he did nothing roughly, but there was such power and passion behind his motions. It had been so long since she had felt something build like this, felt need grow and grow within her until she could burst from it. Dana tilted his head up to her, taking his mouth in hers, teasing his tongue, biting his lip. His hands worked her leggings down her hips, she wiggled against Walter as he pulled them off.
Carefully, Walter maneuvered her onto the bed. His eyes were filled with worry.
"I don't... did that hurt your arm? I don't want to hurt you," he said, kissing her forehead, smoothing her hair back. She clamped her hand around his forearm, feeling the muscles so strong underneath her bones.
"No, not at all. You're such a gentleman," she laughed lightly.
His face was somber but she could hear the smile in his voice. "You make that sound like a bad thing."
Leaning up, she ran her tongue along his ear, down his neck, kissed the hollow of this throat. "Oh, no. No, it's not. I like it. I like everything about what you do."
He dove down, covering her face with kisses, tracing his lips down her chest, to her flat belly, along the top of her right thigh. Her hand twisted out and pulled at the buttons on his jeans, tugging at them. "No fair," she said.
As she undid the buttons and pulled at his briefs, Dana saw the angry red scar on his lower abdomen. She traced it with the back of her finger, then placed the flat of her palm over it, her hand brushing against his erection. The scar still looked so new to her, it carried with it the story of what he was willing to do for her. So now they both wore wounds that spoke of guilt. Eventually Dana looked up at him and saw him watching her, so she returned to tugging at his jeans, but she could not get them down his hips with just her one hand.
So he helped her, pulling them off, and she ran her hand up and down the length of his cock. He'd thought he might feel embarrassed if he were in this position, but he wasn't, he was just lost in the loveliness of her and gave little thought to himself.
"You are so beautiful," he said, unable to focus on anything save her blue, blue eyes. "What do you want? Tell me."
"Anything. Everything."
He traced his mouth along the top of her other thigh, then parted her legs and slid his hand between them, along the hidden silk of skin, and he heard her gasps above him. She was the tide and he was a wave within it, and he let her carry him out, caught by the undertow.
Dana looked around the room for the old oxford cloth shirt she had been wearing to bed, since she couldn't pull the t-shirt she usually slept in over her head. It finally turned up under the chair in the corner and she pulled it on, stopping to look at Walter, asleep in the bed. He was a fitful sleeper, once he'd finally fallen asleep. That wasn't something she'd expected. But he was full of the unexpected.
There was a content warmth inside her as she padded out to the kitchen for some water. Her arm hurt, but she didn't want to tell him that, because he would be overcome with guilt. So this was why he took on all that worry for her, all that care -- he felt for her, he wanted to be her savior and her saint, and her lover, too.
She knocked back a pain pill with the water, then picked up the towels lying on the floor. They'd left things everywhere; the food was still on the coffee table and their clothes strewn about the bedroom. It brought a smile to her face, thinking of the way the night had gone. She'd not even expected him to stay. He'd stayed, though, turning everything upside down. And it was their secret; this was nothing she could tell Mulder, nothing Walter could let show at work. That appealed to Dana for some reason -- this dangerous secret, this private world. She took the fortune cookie he'd cracked open but had not read aloud, and looked at the paper, smiling. *Love and respect must both be earned.* She liked that. It suited him.
After dropping the towels into the hamper, she went back to the bedroom, where she found Skinner already pulling on his jeans and sweatshirt. Her mouth opened and closed, words failing her.
Catching her glance, he grabbed his shoes and socks, a look of chagrin on his face. "I should go, let you get your sleep." He didn't know how to tell her of his fears, all these regrets so fresh and deep. He felt for sure this was just another way of failing her -- that he'd taken advantage of her
She shook her head. "I was fine. I mean, you can stay." So that's it? she wondered bitterly. Wham, bam, thank you Agent Scully?
He walked forward, dropping what was in his hands. "What happens if your mother shows up tomorrow morning, early? Or suppose Mulder decides to come home after all to check up on you? He'd do that. How would you explain this?"
"No one is going to show up, and anyway, my life is my life. I don't owe anyone explanations."
Skinner wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "I've already put you in an untenable situation." He stroked her hair.
Dana said into his chest, "You didn't put me anywhere. This was what I wanted." How did she spell that out? What would he listen to? Pleading? Her language was limited, she didn't know how to say the things she needed to. To convince him that right now, he was all that mattered. "Stay."
Walter pulled away and looked at her, his jaw moving back and forth. How could he get her to see how much this could affect them? he wondered. Walter didn't want her to be reckless, to throw all caution to the wind. He still had so many things to tell her, things he couldn't talk about or else didn't know where to start. He'd gone too far without telling her the entire truth of his life. And now she was undeniably a larger part of his life. Partial truths would not suffice.
She recognized it easily, that look -- the one he got when he was going to deliver something bad. She put her hand to his mouth. "For once don't argue with me. Just stay."
Walter took her hand in his, kissed her palm, and she placed it back against his face. His rugged, outsize features felt so strong and masculine under her hand, she wanted to study each geometric plane and arc, memorize the structure of him. Then Dana pulled him towards the bed, tugging him down with her. Maybe words weren't needed, since they failed her so often. This could be all that was necessary with him -- only with him.
He moved above her and she slid her arms around him, then her legs, drawing his mouth to hers. "Your wish is my command," he said against her mouth.
Walter could feel her smile against his lips.
They filed out of his office and Skinner couldn't help but grin to himself as he watched them disappear through the outer door. There had been that little nod he'd made at her, nothing much, and all Dana had done in return was give him an arch of her eyebrow. Every time they met to have him review their reports or to deal with the Krycek situation, there was that small ripple of pleasure running through him at seeing her, of sharing their secret.
It wasn't that they ran into each other often at work; they rarely saw one another unless it was specific to a situation. Naturally she was perfectly behaved then, always above-board and composed. Sometimes Skinner wondered if he were less composed than she was; he felt foolish at times, like a boy.
But he wasn't anywhere near wanting it to end. They'd never formalized the relationship as such. After that first night Walter had stood at her door saying good-bye, and he'd said simply, "I want to see you again."
All Dana had done was nod and answer, "Of course." They'd set no date, there was no hint of when "again" was, and it seemed to work perfectly for her. She was the kind of woman who liked her space, he knew that.
What he couldn't quite figure out, though, was why she was interested in him. He was most certainly not a handsome man, he was much older than she was, and possibly worst of all he was too distant and closed off. Scully had always seemed to him, once you peeled off the protective layer of the scientist, to be very sensitive and deeply caring. He'd seen how she worked with people, the way she responded to them. There was in her almost an altruism, a humanistic nature that she couldn't disguise with the distance of science. So why me? he kept asking himself.
In her file he'd once seen information about Jack Willis, and it was clear that she'd been involved with the agent. What had interested him most was that Willis was a fair bit older than Dana. So if Dana had a thing for older men, Skinner was certainly happy to be the beneficiary of it.
The opening of his door brought him out of his daydreaming as his secretary brought him some papers. Unsure at first what they were, he opened the envelope as she said, "And Agent Scully said there was something she forgot to mention. She's waiting outside." She waited for his answer.
"Oh. Send her in." He'd barely heard her.
Scully seemed impatient as she entered, or maybe it was just nervousness. Skinner continued to stare at the envelope in his hands. The first round of the divorce papers. They were expecting him to approve the plans for splitting the estate.
Finally he looked up at Dana.
"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked.
Shaking his head, he snapped the folder closed and tucked it back in the envelope and answered, "Nothing. Nothing that concerns you. What did you need?"
"I was wondering." She dropped her voice. "Did you want to have dinner?"
His brain felt so foggy he couldn't quite concentrate on her words. "Yes. Sure, that would be good."
"Any place in particular? 2 Quail?"
"That sounds fine. I'll be there." He hadn't spent time with her in over a week and a half. Why couldn't he just concentrate on her? Instead bitterness overwhelmed him. Walter had known this was coming, but it still felt like being tackled from behind; it knocked the wind right out of him.
She nodded. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Fine. I'll see you at, what, eight?"
"Eight's good." She left quietly and he watched her go, pained.
This job required him to be a responsible adult, to be sensible. He knew, unequivocally, that this should stop. He was playing both ends against the middle.
Men are so pathetic, he thought. He'd let his marriage dissolve under the weight of his inability to do the right things, to say the right things. And he hadn't exactly fought it when Sharon kicked him out. He'd been stoic and distant, unable to let her see that he wanted to die at the thought of not waking to those blue-gray eyes, that soft voice, each day for the rest of his life. And now that it was coming to the final round, he wanted to fight, to punch and yell and grab it all back. It was stupid, macho pride, and he couldn't even get it under control.
All this time he'd thought in some willful, egotistical way that maybe the divorce wouldn't go through. That Sharon would still love him; she had to, simply because he loved her. Instead he'd chosen to put his energies into romancing a subordinate. It seemed too cruel that life could allow you to care so much for two people at the same time, to not know which way to turn when you had finally backed yourself against a wall and were forced to choose.
In spite of his joke to Scully, women were such a mystery to him, and he was worse about understanding them than most men. Communication was a dance he had never learned the steps to. He'd failed Sharon utterly and completely, driving her away with his inability to understand what she needed or to even ask her what that was. He had entertained the notion when he'd first thought of being with Dana that he would ask if she were interested, and Dana would say no, and that would be that. He was unprepared to have her understand his inarticulate soul. And now he didn't know which way to turn.
Skinner dropped the papers into his briefcase, and picked up the phone to call his attorney.
Dana flew to his place as if she had wings on her feet. There hadn't been a time she'd wanted his presence more. Walter would put it all in perspective, he would make it all right. There was clarity in her relationship with him; it was so focused and tightened, this narrow, nearly wordless universe they shared.
Mulder had almost shot her. Almost, she kept reminding herself, almost. How did she forget that, though? She'd told him when they were talking about Modell, "I say we don't give him any more of our time." But she *had* given Modell more of her time. She couldn't stop thinking of Mulder pointing the gun at his own head, then at her.
She'd taken Mulder home, listened to him ramble until he fell asleep, and now all she wanted was to see Walter, hear his baritone rumble against her ear, be absorbed by his strength. He would understand what this felt like.
As she pulled up to the curb, Dana realized she hadn't been to his place before; every moment they'd spent together was in a public place or her apartment. She hadn't even warned him she was coming, but somehow Dana knew he'd expect her.
When she knocked he opened it right away, as if he'd been waiting there for her. Stepping in, Scully looked around. The place was filled with boxes. He closed the door behind her, still wearing his dress shirt and trousers from work, but no tie. Although, she thought wryly, taking his tie off was one of her favorite things. It was like removing part of the FBI uniform he hid behind -- those ties and his glasses.
"I heard." He didn't say any more, and that was okay, his words contained volumes. Walter placed his hand against the side of her head, ran his thumb along the curve of her ear, twined his fingers through her hair.
Dana peeled off her coat and set her bag down on top of a box. She took her gun out of the holster and dropped it into her bag. Obviously he'd moved recently, and that in itself seemed odd. Why would a man of his age and status be moving into a new place at this time? Again it forced her to realize how much they didn't say to each other, how little she really knew about him. She knew him, she believed, but she didn't know *about* him. Their intimacy was of a different sort.
It convinced her that her suspicions were correct, that he must be divorced or separated. It was in the way he talked sometimes, the way he deftly avoided certain subjects. But anyone in the Bureau who had risen to a position like his would have to have been married; they just didn't trust unmarried men. Dana could get him to talk. That was not an issue; if she asked he would tell her. But then she looked at him, his hands in his pockets and the bruises on his face from the attack that day, and whatever she'd been thinking felt unimportant and trivial. She didn't *care* about his life before, she cared only for the here and the now, for what he meant to her.
"I just took Mulder home," she said, "and let him talk it out, let him go to sleep. He won't forgive himself, not for a long time."
"It wasn't his fault. It wasn't your fault. You did the best you could." A part of him wanted to say so much more, to remind her that they were the best agents he'd ever known, that if it had been anyone else, more damage would have been done. No one else he knew would have pulled that fire alarm. He wanted to tell her that, to tell her how deep his admiration ran for her, but that was all he could say, really.
She was pale. Skinner wanted to hold her and remind himself she was alive. He slid one arm over her shoulders and pulled her to him for one moment, his other hand stroking her hair. He could feel the tension easing out of her.
"I just finished eating, would you like me to get you something? I would bet you haven't eaten."
"Just something to drink," Dana answered quietly.
Walking to the kitchen, he suddenly remembered something and dug around on the table, before tossing her a small cellophane bag. "I was walking down M street and I passed this candy store. I thought you might enjoy these. They're deadly."
A huge smile crept over her face as she opened the bag. "Lemon drops! Oh my God, *real* lemon drops!" she said as she popped one in her mouth. "I can't believe you remembered that."
Her face was so open and genuine, it almost hurt. Here she was, in the midst of the detritus of his former life, looking happy and at ease, trusting. It was the time to tell her everything, to let her know what she was getting into, what they were dealing with. Walter thought she suspected he was not letting everything out; well, of course she did. But she would never ask. It was as if they had an unspoken contract.
"I remember everything you've ever said to me."
He was embarrassed to tell her that he had everything about her memorized. The way she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face with just her two middle fingers; the crease in her brow when she worried over something; the quiver in her voice when she feared for her partner. His heart was a catalog of movement and gesture, word and sound.
She looked for something in him. His face was impassive but she could see something in his eyes, something dark, hidden behind the light. Love? she wondered. Only a lover remembers everything.
"I hope not. I've said so many things I wouldn't want remembered."
"Not to me. It all counts." And he quickly went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. She was still standing there in the same spot. In most places, you'd plop yourself down on the couch. This wasn't a comfortable place, he had to admit, not the kind of place to feel at home. Standing a few steps away from her, he handed her the glass.
"So all this time hiding inside that gruff, snarling exterior was a hopeless romantic waiting to get out."
"Well, now you know my horrible secret. You know what that means."
"What?" she asked.
"I'll have to kill you." He twitched his lips lightly into something like a smile.
She wanted to laugh, badly, but stopped herself.
"So you've told me how Mulder is doing," he said. "How about you? I don't think this is easily overcome."
She swallowed the candy and sipped at the water, then put the glass down on another nearby box. "I'm fine. Really, I'm..." she dropped her head. "Not fine. I'm not, you know that." Dana stepped forward, resting her forehead against his chest. His arms came up in an instant, cocooning her. God, she loved how big he was, how safe he felt. She clutched at his arms with her hands.
"Breathe," he told her. "Just breathe." His hands soothed her, stroking her hair, moving across her back and her neck. One hand moved between their bodies and he unbuttoned her jacket, sliding it off her before wrapping her up again in his arms. He wanted to hold her as closely as he could, remove everything standing between them.
Thoughts roiled around in her head, of how much she loved Mulder, how desperately afraid she'd been of losing him, of how hard he fought when Modell tried to force him to shoot her. He'd fought harder against shooting her than he had against turning the gun on himself. Oh, Christ, she thought, how can I have the energy to survive these things? How can I fight all these things?
Skinner's warmth around her seemed to return her strength, she could feel it in her, coming back slowly like blood to a sleeping limb. "I don't know why I let this get to me," she said. "Why it frightened me so much."
Walter pulled her chin up, something close to a smile in his eyes. "It's simple. You love Mulder."
All she could do was nod.
Then he leaned forward and kissed her, lightly but deeply, a deliverance.
Caution to the wind. Every time he touched her, kissed her, she threw it all away, let herself be swept up in passion, in the thrill of being unconstrained. Dana stood on tiptoe, twining her arms around his neck and greedily kissing him. Abandoned. She was abandoned, throwing out everything that had happened, letting go of its hold on her.
His hands were on her blouse, undoing each button, then they were in her hair, which cascaded around his fingers like warm water. He wanted to pull her inside him, but all he could do was touch her; he felt so limited by physical laws. He stared at her.
Christ, he wanted to tell her how lovely she was. That touching her was like holding a star in the night sky, that kissing her was like water to a man dying of thirst. But she would hate that kind of sentimental bullshit. It would make her laugh or sneer, he didn't know which. Either way it would be horrible. He took her mouth again, hungry for everything she could be.
Walter pulled her up, and she was light to him, a feather. She held her arms tightly around his shoulders as she glided up his body, then wrapped both her legs around his hips. He could feel her kick off her shoes. He laughed under the kisses, then she gripped him tighter with her legs, which only made him ache more with desire. He took a few steps forward, carrying her, and pushed her against the wall. Dana's back was pressed tightly there as he tore at her blouse, finally sliding it over her shoulders so he could kiss her breasts where they were exposed.
In turn, she fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, finally letting herself slide down to put both feet on the floor. He was working at her trousers, pushing them down, just as she opened his, her hand moving inside. Again he pulled her up and she held on to him. He ground himself against her and his fingers dug into her back as he held her.
Walter seemed to stop then and Dana opened her eyes, looking down into his. She knew what he was doing; he was afraid this was too raw, too rude, considering the state she'd come here in. He couldn't know how much she needed this craziness, this passion to overwhelm her. "Yes," she said in a whisper.
"You always seem to be answering questions I haven't asked," Walter said lightly, and she laughed in response.
Her hand moved down again inside his trousers and she found his cock, held its hardness and moved her hand up and down.
His knees were shaking, he wasn't sure whether it was the strain of holding her or what she was doing to him with her hand. Pressing her tightly against the wall, he moved one hand down between her legs and she gasped, arching higher against him. They were a wild tangle of limbs. He pushed himself into her and she moved more tightly against him, as if they were fused together.
So hot and almost painful within her, she thought, so right. She bucked against him, mad with the sensations of everything: his cock inside her, his arms clutching her so tight she could scream, his mouth on her mouth. They were both covered with sweat, panting and trembling. She heard him gasp and then felt him shudder, his hips pounding into her over and over as he came, and eventually his movements brought her there, too. She came in waves, her body pulsing over and over with pleasure.
When he finally helped her slide down she could barely stand, her legs weak, her whole body quivering. She pulled her blouse up over her shoulders again, laughing. Walter leaned over her, taking deep breaths, his fingers tracing circles along her collarbone.
"Oh God," was all he could say. "God."
Dana kissed the palm of his hand. "You know we always said in Sunday school that God is good," she said wryly. She wanted a hot bath. She wanted to stay the night with him. Would he ask her to stay? She wouldn't ask him to ask her.
"Do you have to go? Are there... things you have to do, like walk the dog?"
"Mm," she breathed in the musky scent of him, tucking her head into his shoulder. "Mrs. Jackson is dutifully taking care of him. And no, I don't have to go."
"The bedroom's back that way," he said, turning her around. "I had an extra toothbrush, just in case."
She clung to him as they walked towards it. "That's why you're AD. You're good at planning and strategizing." She couldn't care less about all the damn boxes.
Lying in bed later, Dana was content to just have Walter hold on to her. She wasn't interested in sleeping, and they talked off and on, idly and without focus. They were just happy to be together. There really hadn't been that many nights together since the first time; if she wasn't off chasing after strange phenomena with Mulder, then Walter seemed to be working or dealing with some crisis or another. But in just these few months their time together had taken on a huge role in her life.
What she enjoyed most of all, besides actual physical time together, was integrating it into her work life. Mulder had often remarked about her secretive, private nature, and this was almost a lark for her -- to sit in a meeting with Skinner, to talk to him as though nothing had changed, as though she didn't know what it was like to lie entwined with him at night. They might glance at each other, or catch each other's eye in a meeting, and there was a slight thrill in that. She let go of her staid existence, she was living contrary to her own rules. And she liked it, for now at least.
It had surprised her, too, how deep her interest was in him physically. Bodies had almost become trivial to her after medical school, but his was a source of endless fascination. Dana loved to feel the curves of muscle on his arms and shoulders, to wrap her arms around that wide, strong ribcage and place her palms on the valley of his back, so warm and smooth. She had examined every scar, heard its history and connection to the pain in his life. He felt so strong above her, next to her.
In the back of her mind Dana knew that if she wanted to continue this, she would have to look at alternatives, figure out how her job fit into this, and whether she should move somewhere else. The thought of leaving Mulder did not appeal to her, not now, but it might have to be done.
And then of course there was the less appealing study of why she felt like this. She still wondered if it had been simply that she cared for him because they'd been thrown together so intensely, that they were passionate together because their lives were consumed with a ferocious tension. But she could never know whether that was true unless she changed the situation.
Life demanded change, Dana knew, it moved on with or without you, and to thrive you adapted and changed. How these shifts and transformations had come about almost left her reeling, so she tried not to think too much about them. To live one moment to the next, spontaneously, had been so foreign to her at first. Somewhere she felt Melissa's presence in this, encouraging her to be free of control; she liked it, she liked feeling that for once she understood her sister. Mulder had been right; all she'd had to do was try and she had found the part of her that was Melissa.
Walter rested his head on one hand, leaning up above her, just watching her. She didn't seem to mind. Her hands worried over his bruises. "Those look worse now than they did before. How awful for you."
"I'm fine. Although I have to admit, I'd forgotten how damn bad pepper spray really is. That stuff is evil."
"I hope you remembered to put ice on that some more tonight once you got home."
Nodding, he answered dryly, "Yes, Dr. Scully. Really, it was more embarrassing than painful. You and Mulder got it much worse."
Dana shook her head. "I feel like, physician, heal thyself, today. I'm still shaking, I think."
"After what you've been through, I think it would okay to take the day off tomorrow," he said. The clock read two-fifteen a.m. and they still hadn't slept.
"You don't think my supervisor would mind?"
"I could put in a word for you. You're generally pretty well-behaved, he'd let you take a mental health day."
"Details, details." Dana smiled, moving her fingers along the edge of his jaw. "Don't you worry about this? About the awkwardness, I mean. Every time we've met to discuss this case against Krycek, I think I'm going to feel odd, embarrassed. But then I think how much I like it -- a secret between us."
A part of him twisted inside at that. He was keeping so many secrets from her, things he ought to be telling her, things that would change everything drastically. He'd known all along this could happen; perhaps he'd wanted to pretend she might not really care for him. But instead he had pushed this relationship and now he had the potential to hurt her badly. And there was no one to blame but himself.
He had no doubts that she knew something of his life, that she knew he was married. She probably knew more about him from research than he would ever even tell her himself. But she wouldn't talk to him about it, and he knew why. They talked like this each time they were together, mixing silence and words, understanding between the quiet. They had talked about thoughts and ideas, about issues that were larger than things like divorce. He knew, for instance, how she had come to join the Bureau and what it had cost her with her family, but he still didn't know why such a beautiful young woman was not married or with someone. It was as if there were different levels of intimacy with each other; there were places they could go that were far more profound than just recounting a history with lovers. Perhaps he should care, but he didn't. He wanted her to lead him, to show him how much she wanted to reveal. They would talk that way for hours, saying everything and nothing. But the truth was of course that he could listen to her recite random words from a medical text and still be happy. He would go wherever she went.
"You do a good job of hiding everything. It scared me today, Dana. Hearing that. Knowing what could have happened. Anyone else, the worst might have happened, but you two are better than that."
"I think... I think it's Mulder who's going to have the worse time of it. There's something about him, the guilt he carries. He's like Atlas, you know -- carrying the world on his shoulders, or something."
"The thing about Mulder is that he sees himself in relation to his failures and mistakes. He doesn't judge himself by his successes -- and there have been a lot of those. When he looks at himself, he sees the boy who let his sister be taken away, he sees the man who almost shot you because someone else tried to make him do it."
She stared at him, almost wanting to cry. How did he know them so well? It had never occurred to her before they became involved that he thought about them, that he analyzed their behavior or considered their character. And every time he did this she was amazed, stunned by how he could cut to the heart of who they were. He knew them both, through and through, and it moved her terribly. She would swear she could hear Melissa whisper inside her heart then, telling Dana to say it, telling her to say the three words she had so much trouble saying.
Leaning up, she wrapped her arms around Walter's neck and pulled him down into a kiss. When he drew away, she said "I love you."
Walter's gaze in return was unreadable; he pulled her close to him and buried his face in her hair.
Words he'd never dared hope she would say to him, and things he was terrified she *would* say. He'd let this go so far, too far, and the worst part was that he loved her, too.
He traced kisses along her neck, moving his hands along her body, then down her chest, between her breasts, to her belly. She moved against him, wriggling like a cat.
"The worst thing on earth would be to lose you," he said in between kisses.
Her heart beat too fast, she could feel it hammering erratically in her chest. Walter was doing so many things at once -- arousing her, melting her, making her love him. His fingers were a whisper on her skin, his mouth a caress. She let go, sailed out on the emotions and the sensations, the trade winds carrying her across a warm sea.
Later, Skinner woke when Dana shook him gently, saying, "Walter" over and over in a soft voice. Covered in sweat, panicked, he was disoriented at first until he saw her face clearly in the darkness. He put his hands up over his eyes, rubbed at them with the heels of his palms.
"I was having another nightmare." He tried to be matter-of-fact.
"Another?" she asked, surprised.
"I've had... a few in the past couple of months."
She threw an arm over his chest and rested her chin on his shoulder. "I haven't noticed them before."
"Mm. I haven't had them when I've been with you. And it's not like we're together that often, anyway."
"Have you thought about getting them checked out?"
He made a face at her. "I don't need a psychiatrist."
Dana smacked him lightly on the arm. "I didn't mean a psychiatrist. I meant there's a sleep disorder clinic I know about. It might be worth it."
He shook his head. "I can't see me doing that."
"I can. You were thrashing around fiercely. It's a frightening thing to watch. Night terrors aren't something to take lightly."
The nightmares had started when he had begun seeing her. But there was no way to tell her that without making her feel guilty.
"I'm so sorry," was all he could say, and he covered her with his arms, drew her close. He was sorry about everything lately, and helpless to do anything about it.
The property between him and Sharon was being neatly divided. Everything was in order, it all looked fine, every t crossed and i dotted. And still he didn't sign the papers. Yet inside himself, somewhere hollow, he'd found some resolution. All these months, Skinner had not known which way to move. As soon as he'd decided Dana was the answer, then he would find himself regretting the loss of Sharon. If he wanted to try again with Sharon, then suddenly Dana loomed large in his path. So he'd been forced to make a choice. He'd picked a path. It was a lousy path, no doubt about it. But the answer was obvious. He had to end what he had with Dana at least for now, put it on hold until he knew which life would accept him, which was his for the taking -- and maybe, just maybe, in taking steps, he'd figure out how he was going to get there.
If all it had been was a quick fling, that might have been so much easier. It would make for an awkward working relationship, certainly, but they could have got past that. Everything was different now. She'd told him she loved him; he had fallen in love with her. Or perhaps he'd always been in love with her, but had only finally seen it outside of his dark center, bright and clean as sunlight.
It was impossible to put a name on something you couldn't understand or explain. Neither of them could explain it; it just was. Not quite a relationship, not quite a love affair, far beyond friendship. Communication not spoken, feelings expressed mostly through touch and movement and action. And now he had to find a way to tell her this unnameable, wonderful thing was off, at least for now. For the first time in his life he saw himself as a coward.
Skinner knocked on Dana's door and she let him in, her face creased with concern. She'd known, he could tell, that something was up when he'd called earlier to see if she would be home.
Scully offered him a drink and went into the kitchen to get some wine. She'd been thinking of this for the past hour, wondering if he were making a pre-emptive strike against her, offering up his job first before she could sacrifice hers. Perhaps he'd found out that she'd been looking into returning to Quantico to teach again. He might try to steer her away from that. But he had to know that if they continued this, something had to change for at least one of them. And she had the least to lose.
Sitting down on the sofa next to him, she placed her hand against his cheek and kissed him, a soft, light kiss not freighted with sensuality as they so often were.
"Do you remember," he began, slowly and deliberately, "a while ago, you asked me if it ever bothered me, keeping this secret?"
She nodded, numb, realizing already that this was going in a different direction than she'd thought.
"Well, it only bothers me in that I don't want anything to affect you negatively. And of course it would, if it got out." He took her hand in his. Had it only been a few months since she had put her hand over his, and told him in that gesture that she cared for him? "But most importantly, I have a lot of things going on personally that are just completely out of control. I don't think this happened because I'm running away from those problems, but I need to sort them out first before I know that I'm not making a mess out this, out of what I have with you, just because everything else is so screwed up."
Scully took her hand away, keeping her face impassive. Well, of course he was ditching her. How could she have possibly thought this could go on? When had she ever been rewarded for loving someone? All she could think was, *but I love you*.
But Walter continued. "I guess what I'm asking is if you can give me a little reprieve to work this out. Then I can concentrate on what... what this means for us." He wanted to tell her so it was clear what those personal problems were, but he felt such shame over everything. "The truth is, I'm in the process of a divorce, among other things--"
She put a hand up. "Don't. I don't want to know. I mean, I already know, I think."
His stomach clenched. "Whatever I need to work out..." he drew his mouth into a tight line. "Well. When I finally figure it all out, I want to come back and tell you everything. I just... I can't drag you into this too." *As if I haven't already blown everything. As if I could come back.*
"No, I understand," Dana said sadly. "You need some time. You need a break. I've been thinking that myself recently." But all she could think was, *but I love you.*
She wanted to ask him how and when he would know that everything was normal again. How on earth any of them -- her, Walter, or even Mulder -- would ever know what normal was. She hadn't a clue. As certain as Dana was that she knew what was wrong -- really, hadn't she already guessed? -- she couldn't have asked him, absolutely wouldn't have asked him.
Everything seemed acutely bright, the colors too vivid and the sounds too harsh. He was wearing a pale blue sweater that seemed almost neon-bright, and she noted how the sleeves were pushed up on his arms. Scully wanted to reach out like she'd done dozens of times recently, run her fingertips lightly up and down his arm, teasing his skin into gooseflesh. But she held her hands tightly in her lap.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Walter said simply. "Blowing the one good thing I have right now." He wanted her to hate him, or at least flail a little and kick up a fuss. It would make his decisions easier, because then he could blame it all on himself, hate himself more. Instead she thought it was a good idea, and he was forced to realize that this had never really meant the same thing to her. She probably thought he was just using her to get through the separation. And maybe that had been all right with her, she got what *she* wanted out of it. Dana had said she loved him, but what were words, anyway? They meant nothing in the long run. Probably she would have dumped him anyway, when she'd tired of him.
She couldn't believe he was doing this, either. But instead she said, "You're always wanting to protect me, to save me. I guess this is no different, it's just that there are more... entanglements."
He rose from the couch and moved towards the door. "It wouldn't be long before Mulder knew, anyway. And then we'd have had to deal with that. But chances are that something in the future..." he drifted off, not sure what he wanted to say. His future felt utterly bleak to him. No matter which road he chose it was paved with misery.
Seeing him to the door, Scully stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She dropped her head for a moment, then looked up at him unhappily. "It seems worlds away from the day I came to see you about going back to North Dakota."
Skinner wondered then, how did a person love Dana Scully? She was so inside herself, he thought, so complete. Did she need anything from anyone? How had he been so mistaken to think he would ever have come to understand her, to know her? What a farcical fantasy that had been.
Walter placed his hand against her cheek and gazed sadly at her. She met his look, almost daring him to walk out. He leaned over to kiss her cheek and she leaned into him, pressing her body close along his. Finally she slid her arms around his waist, pulling him tight. The door was ajar and he pushed it closed with his foot, turning his mouth to hers, kissing her from somewhere hollow inside him, the saddest kiss he'd ever felt.
Dana's hands clutched at him, she was drowning and she scrabbled for something to hold onto. He was so warm and solid. She pulled at his clothes, her mouth searching his. They sank to the floor, rolling with each other, searching with mouths and lips and tongues, fueled by fear and desire and pain.
If she took her hands off him, Dana was afraid he would evaporate. Her hands ranged across his body, his strong shoulders. Walter's hands held her tightly, especially his right hand, which he had placed on her hip. He'd always liked to do that, situate his hand there. One time he'd told her he was staking it out as his territory, claiming it. Tomorrow, she thought, there will be bruises on his territory. But she did not want him to remove his hand, the way he touched her was electrifying and dangerous and that was what she wanted.
He ached for her, a sharp stinging pain, a knife in his chest. He knew he should stop this. But she moved above him and he could think of nothing sensible, only how her hair brushed over his chest and shoulders like a breath.
As he'd peeled her clothing away she had moved astride him, her knees pressed tightly against his hips. When he dared to look up into her eyes, they were haunted by something far beyond passion. Perhaps his eyes looked the same to her.
Taking him inside her she moved languidly above him, arching back, his hands cupping her breasts, moving all around her body. His breathing was harsh beneath her, she could it hear it above the ticking of the clock and her own shallow, panting breaths. The texture of his voice in the dark had always aroused her before, but she wanted him to remain silent; she could not bear words right now. Perhaps never. Finally she felt him pull hard on her, his arms yanking her down as he climaxed silently beneath her, his hips grinding into her while she straddled him.
She looked at Walter's face, his guilty eyes, and saw what she swore were tears. Her legs and arms were still wrapped around him, but he looked away, as far distant as he'd ever been to her.
"I'm sorry," she said, more for her own benefit than for his.
"We're always apologizing," Walter answered, taking her hand and kissing it. "Sometimes I think we have an awfully limited ability to talk for two people involved with one another."
"But we're not involved any more, are we?" She didn't like the tone in her voice, she sounded like the wronged woman. And that filled her with regret; she knew Walter was only doing what he thought best. Her savior, her saint. Only this time, he was killing her instead of saving her, as much as he tried not to. She could not let him know how deadly the hurt really was. It was best to let him go, because maybe he would come back, even if she didn't ask him to.
Finally Walter got up, helping Dana up with him. He pulled his clothes back on as she did hers, and then leaned his forehead against the door. How did he really say good-bye, especially after that? All she had to do was touch him and he lost all pretense of control. Her back was turned to him as he finally opened the door and slipped out.
When he left, Dana locked the door and turned out the lights. Grief was the most useless of emotions. It didn't change anything or help the situation. It just sat there, hard inside you like a fist, ready to rip you apart if you weren't strong enough to stand up to it. Her father, her sister, now Walter; all were just beating her down with this useless despondency. There was no healing for grief, she did not believe that. It just festered and grew until it enveloped your heart and choked your own life out of you.
After turning off the lights, she didn't do anything else -- clean up the glasses, wash her face or brush her teeth. She just peeled off the rest of her clothes and crawled into bed, where she curled up into a ball and cried until she fell asleep.
Skinner watched her apartment from his car for quite some time after he saw the lights go out. Thinking he'd done the right thing was not made any easier by her saying that putting things on hold was what she wanted, too. But making love on the floor, instead of leaving as he should have, threw everything into a tailspin. He wasn't sure what to believe any more. She'd tossed a match into a dry field, and he was nothing more than the blackened remains of despair.
Mulder was talking at her again. He'd been talking at her all day, since the moment she first got the phone call. She'd listened on her cell phone to the whole conversation with Mulder and the detective, the windshield wipers slapping back and forth and drowning out some of what the two men were saying. Then Mulder was telling her to go do a post-mortem exam and she couldn't quite focus on his words.
He'd been talking at her again later as they'd stood over the body; the body of the woman Skinner had had sex with the previous night. She'd given Mulder the autopsy details and he had just plowed right on, oblivious to how hard it was for Scully to make sense of it in her mind. She had looked up into his kind, gentle face while he was talking at her, thinking, well of course he doesn't know, how could he know? He just wants to save Skinner. Like Skinner always saves us. Scully felt so ugly, so tarnished. But Mulder didn't see the dirt on her.
Now he was talking at her some more, wanting to make sense of all the sleep disorder information she'd given him. He talked and talked and she went along with it, as if all this were another case. Pretending Mulder's lame jokes meant nothing more to her, acting as if she cared about the situation only because Mulder did. And pretending that none of it mattered, that all this wasn't personal and cruel in the most intimate way.
Now that they were racing the clock to find some kind of loophole in this situation, at least she had something to put her back up against. She could concentrate on the details, gathering evidence. That was what she was good at. Mulder had told her he wanted to talk to someone who might help them. Pendrell, she thought. But she finally saw a moment that would get her away from him. The need to keep herself from crying or blurting out the truth was choking her. Dana couldn't stand one more moment, she had to get away from Mulder.
She found herself driving over to Walter's place, knocking on his door, before she had the sense to stop herself. Walter looked awful when he answered, and he seemed resigned, too, as if he'd been waiting for this all along.
At first he couldn't meet her eyes. He knew why she was here. But still he didn't say anything.
"What do you plan to say at the hearing tomorrow?" she asked, wondering if he would try to save himself. So far he wasn't doing much about it.
"I'm not the one who'll be doing the talking." He looked away, then back at her, his face twisted with the effort of trying not to break down.
"God, all that time I didn't want to ask you. I knew what was going on, but I didn't want to hear it. I only wanted to be with you. To revel in that feeling I got from you. I was just so happy to let go, to be carried away by you. I was so willfully ignorant." She paused in her rage, breathing deeply. "I kept thinking of that perfect day we went to the shore, and how much I loved just sitting there in the sun with you, your arm over me. We hardly talked that entire day, and when we did, it was the whole world in those few words. I was a fool. The world was out there lying in wait for us, and we were pretending it didn't matter."
"I don't know who you're angrier at right now, me or yourself. I would hate to think you blame yourself for not knowing better. It would be easier for me if I was the one you hated. I earned that." Of course, he realized, she would not care whether it was easier for him or not.
"The nightmares. They're connected to this, aren't they?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Yes." He wasn't sure of anything anymore, except the sharp hot pain piercing him right now. "But it doesn't matter, does it? I've ruined everything I touch lately. Why shouldn't I fry for this?"
Scully didn't know how to answer that. Certainly she wanted him to be punished, to hurt. But not that way. "You won't fry for anything. Mulder is doing everything--"
"I know, and I wish that both of you would just leave it alone. Let it go."
"I met Sharon."
This time he turned away, his arms crossed in front of his chest. There was no way on earth he could ever explain this. Having sex with one woman, a woman you didn't even know, simply to run away from the pain of another woman -- two, in his ludicrous case -- was just not something you could find words for.
She stepped around in front of him. She looked so blazingly bright to him, her cheeks red with anger, her eyes alight from inside. "She seemed like such a nice woman. She reminded me of myself, in some ways. Funny, isn't it?"
"A laugh riot." He paused. "Does Mulder know now?"
"I keep thinking everyone must know by now. Me wearing my clown's face, and all. But no, no one seems to see how I'm struggling with this. I feel like I'm walking through tar or something. I'm dragged down."
"I never used to apologize much before I met you. Now that's all I do. I've apologized so much to you already that I have no capital left. And still the only thing I can say to you is that I'm sorry."
Why was it, she wondered, that we fall when we fly? She'd taken tiny steps towards the edge of her safe little world. As soon as she'd spread her wings and leapt, she soared for one brief instant before tumbling down. The moment we take wing, we are doomed to fall. "Walter. I just want to know one thing. Why?" He voice cracked from the strain.
He clutched his arms tighter about his chest. "I don't know," he answered with finality. "I didn't *hire* that woman, Dana. I was just full of Scotch and self-pity, and something happened. It's the most uncharacteristic thing I've ever done, and I'll never do anything like it again. It wasn't me. Except... except I don't know who I am any more."
Her cell phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket, turning away from Walter. It was Mulder, of course, asking her to come back to the office.
Scully trembled with a helpless anger. She thought of their bittersweet lovemaking on the floor not so many weeks ago, of saying good-bye and rediscovering each other all over again. "I have to go," was all she said. Not the many questions she wanted to ask, greatest among them was *didn't you love me back?* Her bitterness was overwhelming, it stifled the breath in her chest. Love was an offense to the order of her life, the distance she had worked to achieve. How dare he make her feel that way?
"What are you going to say at the hearing?" he finally asked.
"I'll answer whatever I can answer. But I don't want them to use my statement to discredit you, no, if that's what you're getting at."
Walter shook his head. "That's not what I'm getting at. I just... I hurt you. I want you to know that I can understand if you... if you want to say..."
"This is private." She was so strong in her resolution, he always loved this about her. "Aren't you afraid of what will happen?"
As he opened the door for her, he leaned against the frame and looked at her. "Whatever happens tomorrow, it's what I deserve. I'll get what I deserve."
Scully stared back at him before she closed the door. She leaned against it for a moment, knowing that on the other side he was doing the same. No, she thought, this is not what you deserve. This is not what any of us deserve.
Even if it was all over, and they were back to business, Skinner knew Scully would return. She would come quietly back to his office, to ask him why, because that was her nature. That much he understood about her.
He'd sometimes loved the mystery of her, the way she held so much back but gave tiny glimpses of what she was hiding. There were times Walter had wondered if Mulder also saw that in her, if that was part of their unusual friendship. And wondered if Mulder would be attracted to it, more than frustrated. It had certainly attracted Skinner.
When Walter had been with Dana, it was as if the world had withdrawn. They were alone inside something they had created. All the chances he'd had to tell her everything -- how he felt about her, what was happening in his life, how much he clung to her -- seemed to evaporate with one glance or touch from her. He was lost inside the depth of her eyes, consumed by the heat of her passion. There were no pathways or signs, only something carnal or physical to show him the way. Just the beauty in the way her hair fell around her face and shoulders as she moved above him, or the luscious space between her legs, or the way her eager lips parted to him when he kissed her.
And Skinner had thrown that all away, just as he'd thrown away his life with Sharon, because he couldn't say the right things. Because he couldn't figure out how to let someone know the truths about him. How much did you have to lose before you hit rock bottom? Skinner wondered. Did he have anything left to lose? His job would have been nothing to him, no great disappointment. Staring at his regained desk now, his work felt meaningless.
Then he heard her knock, and called, "Come in," as he rose from his chair.
He tried to smile at her, but there was too much emptiness in him.
"I know you couldn't tell Agent Mulder about how you knew to be at the hotel. I wondered if you could tell me."
Skinner shook his head. "I was directed there. But I honestly don't know what happened beyond that. I'm not holding anything back this time. I just really don't know what happened or how to explain it."
"You saved my life. Again."
"You don't know that. He might have killed the girl and left you alone."
"Or he might not have."
"When did you--"
"When they told us about the car. If I'd had doubts about whether you could have killed that... woman, I knew the truth when they said you ran Sharon off the road. Mulder didn't need to convince me after that. You're simply incapable of such a thing."
Skinner stared out the window. How did he say good-bye to her for real, and stop dragging this out? How did he let her go? Well, what choice did he have?
She said quietly, "There were a dozen times I should have asked--"
"And there were a dozen times I could have told you."
"But I didn't want to ask, you see. I wanted to just live in this world that had only us in it, I didn't want to bring in an ex-wife or a family or anything else. I wanted it to be me, living just for the now, me with you. Only you."
"And I should have told you so you'd have had the choice. But I think I wanted the same thing. To pretend nothing else existed."
"So now it's back to work. Back to the way things were before."
He moved his head back and forth, his jaw clenching so hard he could feel tendons almost popping. His voice sounded raw and grating.
"Do you honestly believe I didn't care about this? That this meant nothing to me? You believe I didn't... don't love you? I know I don't talk about things, but were my actions really so obscure that you believe I didn't care? I was an idiot. My life was a mess, I was lonely and unhappy and I knew that I was risking your career, and mine -- if the conduct committee hadn't nailed me for this incident, they could have certainly done it for involving myself with a direct report if that ever came out. And instead of getting my life in order, I made an even more idiotic mistake. There's no way I can undo this mess I've made. At best you'll treat me with tolerance, maybe even friendship someday, but you'll never trust me again. And whatever I could hope you felt for me, you'll never feel it again. I was stupid and stubborn, I was thoughtless and confused and I made absurd, dangerous mistakes. But in all of it, the one thing that hurts me the most is that I hurt you."
In the entire time she'd known him she had never heard him talk so much at once. Words ricocheted around in her head -- you're not an idiot; the mistake was mine, too; I trust you -- but nothing came out. How did she begin to tell him what she felt, when she didn't know herself? Months ago, she would have tried to comfort him. Now she stood rooted to the spot.
Dana dropped her head, then looked up at him from under her brows. "We both didn't say the things we needed to. But I don't regret for one moment the things I did say."
He looked as if he would cry, the corners of his mouth twitching. But of course he would never do that.
Finally he said, "Can we work together, do you think?" But he thought inside, what a lie. He would never be able to work with her as just an agent again.
Scully nodded. "Yes. We just have to give it some time." She turned to go then, and as she opened the door, she looked over her shoulder. He couldn't forget what that shoulder felt like under his hand.
"Back to business," she said. *Back to being strangers.*
Standing outside in the hallway, people walked by her. There was the sound of talking and of business being done. As if it were all a normal day. Back to business. How, exactly, would that be done? How did she forget what it felt like to be wrapped up inside his strong arms, to hear his low voice in the dark? What his skin tasted like beneath her lips. She had no idea how to go about forgetting that.
When the door closed, he did not hear her footsteps receding, so he knew she was standing there. He wanted to open the door, to take her up in his arms and just hold her. She was right, he was always trying to save her. And look what he had done to her instead.
If fate controlled your destiny, if your actions really did reward you, could he make it up to her someday? It was too late now for him to change what he'd done to Sharon for seventeen years.
Skinner had not been Dana's hero, her knight. In fact he'd fallen so far from grace he wasn't sure of the meaning of the word any more. But if he worked at it, if he devoted himself to it, could he be those things to her? It might be enough to keep him going, he thought. Someday, if circumstances were right, and if he did it well, maybe he could change her mind about him.
Walter had to hope that he was not confined by mistakes and failures, and that he could be worthy of love again. That would be his life's work, then, his secret agenda. He would make it right by her, someday. He would earn her.
End
11/13/98
Author's blatherings:
Many thanks to Agnes and Lezlie for giving me two great lines, which I've used in this story. Such clever friends I have!
By having Mulder and Scully capture Krycek, I realize that I've set up something of an AU after Apocrypha, and that his imprisonment would negate many of the later episodes. I've purposely left his fate open-ended, so readers can make their own determination of what happens to him.
The title of this story is shamelessly stolen from the song of the same
name, by Big Head Todd and the Monsters.