To Sir, With Love
Feedback To: k2_fanfic@yahoo.com
Summary: A glimpse into a working relationship.
Keywords: Skinner/other UST, Kim Cook, a bit of Krycek, a
lot of angst
Spoilers: All, up to the end of S8, especially Avatar, Zero
Sum, SR 819, Requiem, Within/Without, and {shudder}
Existence.
Series/Standalone: standalone
Archive: anywhere okay, just let me know
Rating: NC-17 for loving discipline.
Notes: Per Xanthe's challenge , I tried to write a snippet about the real-life FBI missing guns and computer snafu, but this is what came out instead. Angst instead of humor - sorry about that. I guess you could say I'm still upset about the events of Existence, and this is my way of reconciling with that. Also, for my regular readers, I should warn you that this is a very different Skinner, Krycek, and Kim from the LAG universe.
Disclaimer: I certainly don't own them. If I did, I never
would have had to write this. CC and Fox can be blamed for
Season 8, not me.
Dedication: For Xanthe. As always, thanks to Ursula for her
beta.
Days like this made Kim wish she hadn't wasted all her
vacation time earlier in the year. Spending the day
lounging by the pool at her apartment building was a much
more appealing prospect than sitting here trapped at her
desk, trying to block out the yelling barely muffled by AD
Skinner's door.
Her beleaguered boss was getting reamed out by that nasty
I'm-the-DD-now-and-my-head-is-too-swelled-to-fit-through-
the-door Kersh. Words like "bad for the Bureau" and "blood
stains in my parking space" seeped through the wooden door.
The man infuriated her. Alvin, you big jerk, she wanted to
run in and scream at him, leave him alone! He didn't have
any choice! He's been through enough the last few months;
let him find a glimmer of peace.
Just when she thought it wasn't possible to loathe Kersh
more, he sunk to a new low. He didn't even have the decency
to dress Skinner down in his own office, instead opting for
destroying Skinner's one sanctuary within the Hoover. How
cruel was that?
The high regard she held for Skinner was thousand-fold in
comparison to the disdain she had for his boss. Whenever
Kersh would call Skinner's office and announce himself, it
took all of her self-restraint not to buzz AD Skinner and
say, "*Alvin's* on the line, Sir." Sometimes she wanted to
do it just to see Skinner's expression. Unbeknownst to
everyone else in the Bureau, Walter Skinner had a very
charming smile, and a deep laugh that flowed through her
veins like melted fudge whenever she was able to coax one
out of him. Lately, she hadn't succeeded often enough.
Her shaking fingers slipped against the keyboard, and she
stopped typing to clasp them together in her lap. It wasn't
fair that of all the people whose lives had been torn apart
by the X Files, Walter Skinner was the only one denied his
measure of happiness. Mulder and Scully were busy raising
their son, and Doggett and Reyes hadn't come on board until
after the hardest parts were over. Only Skinner remained of
the original group, battle-fatigued yet still defending
the fortress.
The yelling died down, and ol' Alvin stomped out, not even
glancing in her direction as he headed back to his office.
He left Skinner's door ajar, and after a few moments of
hearing no sounds emitting from the other office, Kim
screwed up her courage and peeked over the edge of her desk
to see inside.
Her boss sat at his desk, two fingers pinching the bridge
of his nose. His posture was ram-rod straight, and his
shirt and tie were immaculate as always, but all around him
hung an aura of defeat, as if he'd just gone fifteen rounds
in a boxing match and lost on a technicality.
Oh, no. This was very bad.
She hated when he looked like this. Failure and impotence
were two words she never associated with AD Skinner, and to
see him looking broken and weakened was a frightening
vision. Kim could count on the fingers of one hand all the
other times she'd seen him like this, and each one gave her
goose bumps.
Time to earn her keep, she thought sadly as she rose from
her chair and went to her outer door, locking it with a
snick of the button. The workday had ended for most people
already, but she wouldn't allow anyone to interrupt what
she knew was about to happen. This was too intimate, and
she knew Skinner would be horrified if his secrets lay
exposed to the public. She paused at the entrance to the
inner office. A few minutes passed before he acknowledged
her mute presence at the doorway.
"Sir."
She spoke his name as a statement, not a question. He knew
why she did it, and his response would tell her all that
she needed to know.
"Yes, Kimberly."
Message received. She tore her gaze away from the brown
eyes peering at her, grateful and weary, through his
wirerims, so he wouldn't see the sorrow in hers. The first
time he had asked her to do this, she had balked. She tried
to write it off as surprise, since he'd never come to her
apartment before, but he'd seen through her ruse. She
remembered how his shoulders had sloped downward as he had
turned to go, like a all-too-human Atlas, unable to support
the burden of the world a minute longer. How soft the
sleeve of his sweater had felt against her palm when she
reached out her hand to stop him from leaving.
He hadn't cried that time. He had only whispered his wife's
name with each crack of his belt. Sharon, he had said in
between the spaces. Sharon, I'm sorry.
Did Sharon used to do this for him, before she died? Kim
yearned to know, but knew better than to ask.
Another time, he had begged forgiveness from someone named
Jane. Kim didn't recognize the name, and she hadn't
inquired; it wasn't her place. Then he had whispered to
Mulder, after Oregon. When the name on his lips had been
Gibson, it was the only time she had heard Walter Skinner
cry. His tears broke her heart, and she had nearly stopped
the punishment right then and there. The one thought that
had kept her arm in motion was that this was what he
needed. It didn't matter to him that he'd nearly been
permanently blinded and killed for his efforts; all Skinner
saw was his failure. He'd lost a boy he had been entrusted
to protect. It was in listening to Skinner's tears that Kim
realized the person he was seeking absolution from was
himself.
The hushed slide of his chair wheels over the carpet
brought her attention back to the present. He was standing,
his hands hanging loosely at his sides, as if he didn't
know what to do with them. Walter Skinner wasn't a man who
functioned in idle gear.
She locked his office door, doubly insulating them from the
outside world, then stepped to the other outside door and
locked it as well. As she crossed back toward the desk, he
removed his glasses and rested them in his in-box. She had
purchased those very glasses for him while he lay
recovering in the hospital; she thought he looked very
handsome in the new style. Less aloof. The setting sun
glinted off one spectacle when she drew closer, blinding
her momentarily.
He stood statue-still as she stopped a few feet from his
side. Waiting for her signal. It struck her as strange that
in the few times they had done this, they had already
created rituals.
In accordance with their private tradition, she tapped her
index finger on his belt buckle. Words weren't necessary
now. He understood.
He looked at her with a grave expression for a long beat,
before nodding his head in submission and unbuckling his
belt, handing it to her folded in half. This was the only
area of their relationship where she was in charge, and she
supposed in some ways that was what appealed to him. Here,
in this moment that was just between them, he didn't make
any decisions. Nothing was expected of him, and no one
treated him with anything less than the respect and
admiration he deserved. There was no one to battle with
here, no one to protect and save. There was just Kim.
When the ceremony of transference was complete, he turned
toward the desk to get into position. She lifted her gaze
from a spot on the floor as soon as she saw his slacks and
briefs bunched around his ankles. His hands rested on
parallel empty spots on the front portion of his desk, the
tension in his arms holding up his upper body. In giving
him the time to get into place, she gave him back his
dignity. Yes, he was half-naked in front of her, and, yes,
she was about to spank him, but he didn't deserve to feel
demeaned.
He deserved anything he wanted, was her un-asked-for
opinion. If he wanted it, he could have her heart.
She lifted his shirt tail over the small of his back,
giving her access. Any other occasion, she might have
paused to savor the view. During coffee breaks, the phrase
"could bounce quarters off it" was often mentioned in
conjunction with his ass, but Kim never joined in on the
other secretaries' discussion. Maybe it was being snotty,
but she felt talking about this man in that way was beneath
both of them.
The loneliness in his quiet stoicism tore her spirit to
shreds. Her arms ached to hold him, to reach for his head
and pull him against her breast. To caress his torment
away. The awkward mental image of doing so, of him standing
there with his underwear hitting his wingtips and his broad
shoulders hunched over so he was lower than she was, was
disturbing and undignified.
Instead, she gave him the one thing he had ever asked of
her.
He remained mute when the first blow found its target, only
allowing a small gasp to escape between his clenched teeth.
Kim watched as a red welt formed over the upper contours of
his ass, then sent the belt ripping through the air again,
so it landed just centimeters below the first. Afraid of
doing permanent damage, she had practiced on a pillow after
the first time.
By the time she reached the lower curve of his cheeks,
strangled grunts were emerging from his lips in time with
the rhythm of the leather. It took a moment to comprehend
his garbled murmurs, but when she did, Kim had to fight
back her own tears.
Her beloved Sir was muttering his dead enemy's name.
"Krycek," he was whispering. "I'm sorry, Krycek."
He killed you first, she wanted to remind him. He trapped
you into subservience, and murdered people, and lied to
everyone. He doesn't deserve your regret.
But the words never left her mouth. The facts of Krycek's
existence weren't the issue. Skinner's reactions to his
former nemesis caused him this anguish. Kim understood her
boss well enough to grasp that the "what-if's" haunted him.
His gentle soul rebelled against what he'd been forced to
do, and this was the only way he knew to make peace with
it.
Moreover, Kim believed that, perhaps, Skinner was right to
mourn Krycek in this way. Maybe the man did deserve a
farewell, however unconventional it was. A faded memory, of
a young agent with flashing green eyes, slipped through her
mind. The image was difficult to reconcile with the jaded
and hard man, his gaze dulled with pain, that she'd seen
just days ago. On her way into work this morning, she had
deliberately parked on another floor, not wanting to see
the yellow police tape fluttering around the spot where he
had lain only three nights prior. For the first time, Kim
wondered about his life, or lack thereof, and an arrow of
loss stabbed her heart. Maybe, in his death, Krycek found
the serenity that had been missing from his life, too.
She wiped her eyes dry with the back of her free hand, and
let her other hang helplessly by her side, gripping the
belt in her sweaty fingers. Skinner gasped once when it
became clear to him the punishment had ended, and his great
gulp of air shifted into a pained sob. His forearms shook
mightily, as if holding up his torso were too much for his
exhausted muscles. Her hand crept through the space between
them, until it found his clenched on the desk, and came to
rest on the top of his knuckles. Experience had taught her
this was the only time he would allow her to touch him, and
she was careful not to overstep her boundaries.
Sometimes she feared speaking at this moment, that he would
hear the love in her voice, and draw away from her. This
was when they were the closest, and yet there was always a
distance between them. He didn't want her love or her
kindness or her respect. He had them, of course, but such
intimacies made him shy away, so she took great pains to
hide them. They emerged anyway, whenever she said the word
she thought of as his name. Everything she felt for him was
bundled into one tiny syllable.
"Sir."
At her soft-spoken tone, his entire body seemed to release
all its tension at once. A loose paper on his desk
collected the teardrops that ran down his face, tears he
didn't bother to wipe away on his own. With his face turned
away from her, Kim understood that if she tried to comfort
him any more than she was, she would be swiftly rejected.
This was as far in as he could let her, and she convinced
herself that it was enough for both of them.
His hand relaxing under hers a few silent minutes later,
flattening against the desk, was his signal that he was
ready to stand up on his own again. Kim stepped away from
his side, staring at the same spot on the carpet as he re-
dressed, willing herself not to flinch when she heard him
hiss as he tugged his briefs back over his hips. He cleared
his throat when he was composed, and she handed him the
belt, thus ending the ceremony, and restoring power to its
rightful owner.
With a sense of dread, she waited as he looped the loose
end of the leather into his slacks. The last ritual was the
most painful for her, yet she couldn't *not* let him do it.
If only, she thought fleetingly and hopelessly as he took a
step toward her and cradled her face in his large hands, if
only he would kiss me anywhere else.
He tilted her face upward, and she met his gaze for a brief
second. It gave her hope when she saw the life in his eyes
again. She couldn't make him happy, or be the woman he
reached for when he woke up in the middle of the night, but
this...this she could do, and she did it as well as she
could.
His lips were warm and soft against her forehead. She tried
not to imagine how they would feel against hers, and
failed.
"Thank you," he breathed against her skin, and she nodded
her head, feeling like a fool because it thrilled her so
much to hear the restored confidence in his voice.
"You're welcome, Sir," she replied.
They separated, and Kim headed back to her desk, still
feeling the warmth of his hands against her cheeks.
She told herself that she had helped him in a way that no
one else could, and that she was as important to him as he
was to her. By the time she got home that night, she almost
believed it.
THE END