Subject: Crossing the Line 8
Sent: 28/01 11:52 AM
Received: 28/01 9:29 PM
From: Sharon Nuttycombe, avalon@terranet.ab.ca
To: dobbo@c031.aone.net.au
Crossing the Line 8 - Lines in the Sand part 1/2
Sharon Nuttycombe
celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca
June 5, 1996
************************************************************
This is the last chapter (finally) of "Crossing the Line", a
Scully and Skinner romance. It takes place in a universe in
which Avatar never happened. It is not NC-17.
I would appreciate any comments or criticism. Thank you.
Thanks also to the many people who have e-mailed me with their
comments. I'm glad you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've
enjoyed writing it. There will be another X-Files story out
eventually, along somewhat different lines than this (no pun
intended), but I need to recover from this one first.
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Linda Campbell, without whom
this would have been a much poorer story (besides being a heck
of a lot shorter!)
Disclaimer: Scully, Skinner, and Mulder belong to Chris
Carter...Do you think if I said copyright infringement was
intended then the FBI would come to investigate me? Would they
look like Skinner...? Oh no - Canada is out of FBI
jurisdiction. Whimper.
************************************************************
Crossing the Line 7 - Lines in the Sand part 1/2
By the time Scully arrived at the hospital, Celeste was a
mother. The labour had been quick and easy, so Mulder informed
her when she arrived. Actually, he had barely arrived in time,
despite driving like a contender for the Indy 500, and running
at least six red lights. For a moment, Scully forgot her own
problems as happiness and relief for her friend swept over her.
"Thank you for bringing her here, Mulder. Where's Jack?"
"He just got here. He's in with her now."
Scully nodded and sat down a little shakily. "I'm glad
everything is all right."
Mulder sat down beside her. "Are you okay?"
She looked away. "I'm fine."
"What did Skinner want?"
Scully hesitated, then decided to tell him the truth. "I
don't know."
"You don't know?"
"The phone kept ringing. And then you called. So I don't
know what he wanted." Scully was horrified to hear her voice
beginning to break, her throat tightening with unshed tears. "I
will not cry," she thought fiercely, "I will not..."
Mulder put a hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to talk
about it?"
The sympathy was her undoing. Unbidden, a tear gathered in
the corner of her eye and hung on the end of her lashes. She
shook her head, turning away from him, using her hair to hide
her face. Insistently, Mulder turned her back to face him and,
for the second time in her life, she burst into tears in front
of him. Once again, he gathered her close and let her clutch
his lapels, her tears dampening his coat.
Mulder could not say he was surprised. He had watched her
hanging at the end of her tether by her psychic fingernails for
so long now that it was a miracle her emotions hadn't gotten the
better of her earlier. He knew the unmistakable signs of stress
in his partner; knew when she had reached the limits of her
strength...and when to be there for her. That was what partners
were for. That was what family was for.
Mulder had reached a few inescapable conclusions over the
past few days and, sitting here in the hospital waiting for her,
had reached a few more. He had discovered that Scully was the
closest thing to a family he had left. He had asked himself why
he had felt such disquiet at the thought of Scully having a
relationship with Skinner, and had decided it was because,
despite everything, he still didn't trust the man. And if he
hurt Scully, well Mulder had already decked the Assistant
Director once...what did his career matter when his partner's
happiness was on the line?
He gently ran his hand over the back of her hair. Slowly,
her sobs subsided and eventually stopped. "Feeling better?" he
asked quietly.
"No." Her voice was muffled, and her face remained hidden
against his chest.
"Tell me."
Scully slowly pulled herself away from him and ran a
trembling hand over her eyes, which were red and swollen. "I
can't," she said.
"Sure you can. That's what partners are for. You can tell
me anything."
Scully shook her head. "I don't think so."
"Try me."
Scully could fight no longer. "All right," she said in flat
tones, "I slept with Walter Skinner last night."
Mulder blinked. That was a little...sudden. Sure, he had
suspected something was going on, but couldn't she have led up
to it more gradually? Maybe discussed the Dodgers game for a
while first? His mind was rambling. Shock tended to do that to
him. OK. She had slept with their boss. Fine. Take it from
there...
"All right," he said, "And...?"
Scully realized she had braced herself, waiting for the tide
of recriminations to come rolling over her. When it did not,
she was flung off balance.
"And? Isn't that enough? Didn't you hear me, Mulder? I
slept with Walter Skinner last night."
"If you say it much louder the entire hospital will hear
you." Scully stared at him. "OK. You slept with Skinner last
night. I take it there were some feelings involved on both
sides, because quite frankly, if you were just looking for a
one-night stand, there are wiser choices out there." No. Now
he was being insulting. "I'm sorry," he added quickly. "I
didn't mean that last part. This has just come as a bit of a
shock to me."
"How do you think I feel?" She looked away.
Mulder tilted his head on one side. "I don't know. How do
you feel?"
Scully heaved a tension-filled sigh. "Confused. Depressed.
Stressed. Tired. Alone."
"You're not alone. I'm here for you."
She looked gratefully at him. "I don't know what I'm going
to do."
"Do you love him?" The question brought the conversation to
a stumbling halt. Scully shot him an astounded glance, opened
her mouth to answer, then closed it with a snap. All the
confused emotions roiling around inside her suddenly formed a
coherent whole. She did love Walter. She must. Nothing else
could hurt quite so badly. She felt as if her heart were being
torn from her chest and the pain itself was almost physical.
Her eyes flooded again with unshed tears.
Her silence was answer enough. Mulder reached out a gentle
hand and wiped the tears from the ends of her lashes. "It's
OK," he said, "we'll work this out together."
"How?" she asked quietly. "I can see only two solutions; I
either get over what I'm feeling and life goes on as normal, or
I leave town. And I don't want to do that."
Mulder had spent enough years ignoring his own feelings and
emotions to recognize denial on the face of the woman before
him. "There is a third possibility," he said. She looked
questioningly at him. "You and Skinner work something out."
Her jaw dropped open. "Work something...Mulder, just how do
you propose we do that? He's my boss, I have to work with him.
And the FBI doesn't exactly condone this sort of thing." Her
tone was sharp, the depression gone from her voice. Good. That
was more like his Scully. At least she was fighting again.
"I don't know," he said, running a hand through his hair.
"You could keep it secret."
"Right. Surrounded by some of the best investigators in the
world? I don't think so."
"There's no rule that says Assistant Directors and Agents
can't have a relationship."
"Yeah, and there's no rule that says Agents can't run naked
down Connecticut Avenue, but I haven't seen a lot of streakers
lately."
"Actually Scully, that would be disturbing the peace..."
"Mulder..."
"All right, all right. I just think that if this is
important enough to you, you'll find some way to work things
out. I don't like seeing my partner unhappy. And if going to
bed with Walter Skinner makes you happy, well...fine. Although
you could have found someone with a little more hair."
She threw a mock punch at him, thankful that he had
succeeded in lightening the mood somewhat. "I'll tell him you
said that." A thought struck her. "Speaking of which, what
exactly do I do the first time I get caught between you two?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the next time you break the rules and he rakes you
over the coals, whose side am I supposed to be on? You haven't
thought about all of the ramifications of this, Mulder. I
have."
"I don't break the rules, I just bend them a little."
"Mulder, you treat them like Gumby toys."
Mulder grinned, then looked at her more seriously. "I know
I haven't had a lot of time to think about this," he said, "but
I do know that if you see a chance for happiness, you should
take it. Happiness is a rare thing, Scully. I know. Don't
throw it away."
"I'm afraid." Her voice was no more than a whisper.
"I know. But you're not alone." He put an arm around her
hunched shoulders.
Scully's throat tightened once more. "Have I told you
lately that for someone who's usually pretty annoying, you're
all right?"
"No Scully, you haven't," he deadpanned. "And...for someone
who's short, you're not so bad either."
She didn't smile. "I mean it."
"I know. So do I. You're..well, I don't have a lot of
family left. You mean a lot to me."
She looked down at her hands, then straightened. "I should
go see Celeste and Jack." Mulder nodded and removed his arm.
She stood, pulling her purse over her shoulder. She looked
frail, careworn, and strained, but some of the tearing
unhappiness in her face was gone. "Thanks for the shoulder,"
she said.
His mouth quirked upward in a warm smile. "Any time. And
the other one's still dry." She returned his smile. "Oh,
Scully?"
"Yes?"
"You probably should do some repairs in there," he gestured
toward the ladies room, "or you might scare the baby." She
almost laughed, then turned to go. She had taken only a single
step when she stopped and looked back.
"Mulder?"
"Yes?"
"Don't go too far. I may need that other shoulder."
The plaintive request caught at his throat, and he had to
fight to keep his feelings hidden. "I'll be here," he said
softly. She nodded, then turned away and walked down the
hallway, her back straight and stiff.
END OF PART 1
* * *
Crossing the Line 7 - Lines in the Sand part 2/2
Sharon Nuttycombe
celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca
June 5, 1996
************************************************************
This is the last chapter (finally) of "Crossing the Line", a
Scully and Skinner romance. It takes place in a universe in
which Avatar never happened. It is not NC-17.
I would appreciate any comments or criticism. Thank you.
Thanks also to the many people who have e-mailed me with their
comments. I'm glad you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've
enjoyed writing it. There will be another X-Files story out
eventually, along somewhat different lines than this (no pun
intended), but I need to recover from this one first.
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to Linda Campbell, without whom
this would have been a much poorer story (besides being a heck
of a lot shorter!)
Disclaimer: Scully, Skinner, and Mulder belong to Chris
Carter...Do you think if I said copyright infringement was
intended then the FBI would come to investigate me? Would they
look like Skinner...? Oh no - Canada is out of FBI
jurisdiction. Whimper.
************************************************************
Crossing the Line 7 - Lines in the Sand part 1/2
Several days had passed. Scully had spent them all in a
state of nervous anticipation, expecting to be called up to
Skinner's office at any moment. But he had left her alone.
Why? She knew there was something he wanted to say, presumably
regarding the other night, but he was once again avoiding her.
And that bothered her. A lot. For a moment, she considered
going up to his office, flinging open his door, and shouting "We
slept together, damn it, and I think we should talk about it."
Of course, with her luck, he would probably be in a meeting with
the all the Section Heads. That would certainly give them
something to talk about by the water cooler...
Scully frowned and bent her head, trying to focus on the
papers before her. It was ironic that their situations had
become reversed. Three days ago, the day immediately following
their lust-filled night, Skinner had been the one who had wanted
to talk while she would have gone to the ends of the Earth to
avoid him. Hells, she would have left the planet if she could.
Now, though, Scully was more than ready to discuss what had
happened, but the man was completely incommunicado. She had
even tried to book an appointment with him through his zealous
watchdog, Kimberley, only to be told that "the Assistant
Director is in a series of meetings and will be unavailable all
week." Meetings. Hah! He was avoiding her. Well, he couldn't
avoid her forever.
After their discussion at the hospital, when Scully had
confessed everything (well, almost everything - she had left out
a lot of the more...intimate...details), Mulder had been strong,
supportive...and silent. Of course, he _was_ drowning under an
ocean of paperwork. The punishment that Skinner had set for
Mulder as a result of his unauthorized jaunt to Canada was
getting out of hand. Which was another reason Scully wanted to
speak to the Assistant Director. The paperwork just kept
coming. They had started to build piles along the walls,
indulging in a running contest over whose pile could grow the
tallest without falling over. Technically Scully did not have
to help him with any of it (she hadn't gone to Canada, after
all), but he was still her partner. Partners helped each other
-- through good times and bad.
The bad was beginning to outweigh the good. Scully had gone
home at 5:30, but Mulder had stayed, unwilling to let the
paperwork win. And so she had come back after supper, knowing
he would probably be there until midnight without her help. So
here they were, spending yet another Friday night entombed
beneath the Hoover building.
Another manilla folder slid off her desk. They were both
becoming more than a little punchy. After the third cartload
had arrived, Mulder had begun adding...embellishments...to the
work. Little editorial notes in the margins...small additions
to names...song titles thrown in at odd places...
The trouble was, Scully was beginning to join in. Normally
she treated paperwork with the utmost seriousness, but it was
difficult to take reports like the last one as anything but a
joke. Why in the world did the FBI care about some old British
police box they had found on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial,
anyway?
It had become an impromptu contest. When Mulder had begun
adding fifties song titles to the reports, Scully couldn't
resist joining him. She re-read her notes. "Beat this one,
Mulder," she thought with satisfaction.
The witness claims he saw great balls of fire, there was a
whole lot of shaking going on, and that the car shook,
rattled, and rolled.
Scully stared appreciatively at her handiwork then sighed
and crumpled it up, lobbing it toward the overflowing garbage
bin. So much for her lofty claims of professionalism. All it
took to bring her down to Mulder's level of irreverence were
three days stuck in a basement office with stacks of paperwork.
And no end in sight.
A paper Lear Jet clipped her in the ear and she jumped, then
scowled at her partner. A small biplane whizzed past her nose.
That did it. Scully hurriedly began to fold a requisition for
three dozen parkas into a Spitfire. A battle began in earnest.
Scully was thoroughly enjoying herself for the first time in
weeks when the door abruptly opened. Assistant Director Skinner
was hit on both sides by a Hurricane and a Lancaster. He
stopped under the dual barrage and looked at them both. Silence
immediately fell. Slowly he bent and unfolded the Hurricane,
smoothing the wrinkles from it and looking up to meet her eyes.
Oh yes. That was one of hers. It had been a surveillance
report from Texas. Oops.
Skinner was...surprised. He hadn't expected her to be here
so late. And he hadn't expected to be hit by a barrage of paper
airplanes either. For a long moment, he forgot what he had come
to say. The sight of Scully behind her desk, hair tied back, a
half-folded airplane in her hands, caught at his throat and, for
a moment, his good intentions wavered.
After his abortive attempt to speak with her three days ago,
Skinner had come to realize that he would have been mad to say
what he had planned. He had wanted to tell her they should try
to work something out, try to...be together... But twenty-four
hours of intensive self-scrutinization had changed his mind.
She had been right all along to try to keep their relationship
on a professional footing, and he had decided to do everything
in his power to help her accomplish that.
Skinner broke the silence. Wrenching his gaze away from
Scully, he turned to her partner and said:
"Security said you were still here, Agent Mulder."
Mulder fought to keep the anger from his voice. For the
first time in what seemed like ages, Scully had been laughing.
Happy. Now, just one word from Skinner and her happiness had
vanished completely. He could feel the tension beating out of
her, could see the pallor of her face from the corner of his
eye...and it made him furious. What right did Skinner have to
make her life miserable? But then his powers of observation
kicked in and he noticed similar signs of tension and pain in
the Assistant Director. Mulder's ire faded and his mind began
to churn over in thought, even as he answered him.
"Yes, sir. I'm working late. I've got rather a lot of
paperwork. Sir." He emphasized the last two words. Skinner
shifted uncomfortably and refused to look at Scully, who sat
frozen in her chair, unable to move or speak.
"Yes. Well," Skinner said, "That's what I wanted to talk
to you about." Putting the Hurricane down on the desk, he
removed a page from the file folder he was carrying. "The
Coroner's Office would like to know why this autopsy has 'We are
the Monkees' written over and over down the side, and why the
complete lyrics to 'Cuts Like a Knife' appear on the back."
Mulder looked innocent. "I guess the Coroner isn't a Bryan
Adams fan, then?"
Skinner sent him a quelling look. "No, Agent Mulder, she is
not."
"Oh. Well. I'm not sure how that happened, but I'll be
happy to fix it up. Right away, Sir." Mulder gave him a
phoney smile.
Skinner could have cheerfully murdered him. Any other time,
and he would have immediately squelched the Agent's barely
-disguised insolence. But not now. Not while Scully was
sitting there like a silent ghost, staring at him with eyes full
of pain. Part of him wanted to go to her, take her in his arms,
and do whatever it took to remove that pain, no matter what
Mulder what might think. But that part of him was outweighed by
the components that made him Assistant Director Skinner, the
same components that had made him a Marine. Skinner was not
aware that his own eyes reflected Scully's anguish.
Mulder's suspicions were confirmed. And the plan inside his
mind continued to take form.
Skinner glanced from one to the other, then put the autopsy
report on Mulder's desk.
"See that it doesn't happen again, Agent Mulder," he said,
striving for some sense of formality. He tensed. "Agent
Scully." She said nothing, only looked stricken. "I...good
night." And then he was gone.
Scully let out a long breath and sagged in her chair. She
could feel Mulder's eyes upon her and picked up a pen, barely
noticing that her fingers were shaking.
"Are you all right, Scully?"
She nodded but said nothing. Silence descended once more on
the office.
* * *
An hour later Scully rose and stretched. "I'm going home,
Mulder," she said.
He looked alarmed. "You can't. Not yet."
She stared at him tiredly. "Why not? This will all still
be here on Monday." She waved an arm around the office.
"Don't go. Not yet. Just a little while longer. Please?"
He gave her his most appealing puppy dog smile.
"Mulder, I'm tired..."
"Pretty please...?"
She sighed. "All right. Fine. I'll stay. But when they
have to lead me out of here because I've gone blind, it'll be
your fault."
"I'll buy you a guide dog."
"Great. Thanks."
She sat down again. Several minutes later, Mulder rose.
She looked up.
"Just where do you think you're going?" Her tone was sharp.
"Little boy's room."
She narrowed her gaze. "If you don't come back Mulder, I
will hunt you down and hurt you." Her tone was menacing.
"Promises, promises." He grinned, then left the office.
* * *
By the time Mulder returned her vision really was starting
to go. She looked at her watch. 9:30.
"Good night, Mulder."
"Half an hour more."
"No."
"Scully..."
"No. I'm tired. I want to go home."
Mulder thought for a moment. "I'll bring you a carton of
ice cream tomorrow."
She closed her eyes. "You can't bribe me with ice cream."
"What about triple deluxe chocolate fudge?"
She didn't even pause. "Nope."
"Butterscotch?"
"Uh uh."
"Hazel nut goo goo clusters supreme." She twitched. He
had her now. He played his trump card. "Two cartons."
Scully cast him a long considering look. "Three. And half
an hour. No more."
"Deal." He smiled then looked away. Scully shook her head
then picked up one final report.
* * *
10:00. Not for all the ice cream in the world would she
stay here a moment longer. Scully switched off her computer,
stood, and pulled on her coat.
"Good night, Mulder." She paused, wondering what argument
he would use this time.
"Good night, Scully."
Huh? He was letting her go? Just like that? Scully
frowned. Anticipating his actions was like trying to win at
Solitaire without cheating. It just couldn't be done. With one
more disbelieving glance at her partner, she left the office.
Scully wandered down the silent hallways and punched the
button for the elevator, wondering when the pounding in her
temples was going to go away. If she took many more aspirins
she was going to become an acetylsalicylic acid addict. The
elevator finally arrived and she climbed tiredly into it.
Scully was dragging by the time she reached the underground
parking lot. She trudged wearily toward her car, then stopped
in disbelief. A flat tire. Great. What else could go possibly
go wrong with her life?
For an instant she was tempted to go back and call a taxi,
but her pride would not let her. "Feminists everywhere will be
proud of me," she thought as she grimly removed her coat and opened the
trunk.
Everything went well until the moment came to remove the lug
nuts. Scully hauled on the tire iron with every last ounce of
her strength, but it didn't move a inch. "Who put these on?"
she wondered, "Superman?" The tool slipped, hitting her
knuckles painfully and she flinched.
A voice behind her startled her. "Car trouble, Agent
Scully?"
She turned around, a sense of deja vu washing over her. It
couldn't be...could it? It was. Skinner stood behind her,
carrying a briefcase, his coat over one arm. She caught her
breath at the sight of him then all thought fled.
Skinner had meant to leave much earlier, but had been
delayed by a long series of trivial and annoying events. It was
almost enough to make him believe in Mulder's conspiracy
theories. By the time he did manage to leave his office, he was
surly, disgruntled, and inclined to snarl -- if there had been
anyone to snarl at, that is. When he finally reached the
garage, he was in a thoroughly unpleasant mood.
He had spied Scully immediately and had seen the difficulty
she was in. For an instant he had paused. Surely it would be
better to let well enough alone. She was perfectly capable of
changing her own tire... But then the tire iron had slipped and he had
stepped forward without thinking. She stood up warily, holding
the tire iron before her like a weapon. He held out a hand.
"May I?"
Scully paused. She should say no, she could manage...
but... Closing her eyes briefly, she handed it over. "Thank
you," she said softly.
Skinner put his coat and briefcase on the hood of her car.
She watched him, pain gnawing at her heart and indecision
clouding her mind. She had wanted to speak to him, wanted to
try to resolve what had happened. And here he was. But...what
was she supposed to say? Her mind was annoyingly blank. All
she could think about was how much she wanted just to be near
him, how much she needed him.
Only part of Skinner's mind was on the tire. The rest was
consumed with equal desires to discuss what had happened three
nights ago; to get the hell out of there; and to take her on the
edge of the hood, right now. The latter two he discounted
(albeit reluctantly), which left only the first. Talk to her.
Find a solution. Except there were no solutions. She had made
her position perfectly clear and he knew how strong-willed she
could be. He would never be able to persuade her that this
relationship could work. He might as well save himself the
effort.
All too quickly, the tire was changed. Skinner had tried to
go as slowly as possible, to give himself a chance to think, but
short of taking the spare off again there was little else he
could do now. He straightened and dusted his hands off, then
retrieved his coat and briefcase...and paused. The silence
between them was becoming overwhelming. "Stick to the plan," he
thought, "Just go now." He turned to leave. "Well...
goodnight."
"Walter." Her voice stopped him.
"Yes?"
Scully bit her lip. "What...what did you want to say to me
the other day?"
His expression softened, then he remembered himself and drew
back. "It's not important. Anyway, the reason no longer
exists." Once more he turned to leave.
Scully swallowed deeply. "Maybe it exists...for me."
Slowly he turned to face her. The four feet between them
had become an insurmountable chasm. He knew he didn't have the
courage to try to cross it alone.
Scully took the first step. She felt as if she were
teetering on the edge of oblivion, but she took it anyway.
"Walter." The word was a plea. Unconsciously she reached a
hand out to him.
Skinner stopped fighting the needs and desires that were
raging through him like a torrent and he too moved forward. She
stepped into his embrace, her arms tightening desperately around
him. She pressed her face against his chest and felt the knots
inside her begin to loosen as he enfolded her in his arms. His
briefcase was digging into her back but Scully didn't care. All
she knew was that, for the first time in ages, she felt safe
again. At peace. She couldn't give this up...couldn't walk
away from him again. She tilted her head upward, her eyes
shining with unshed tears in the fluorescent lights. "I...can't
let you go."
"You don't have to." There was a tremor in his voice.
"But what about...everything? Our work, the FBI,...
everything."
"To Hell with the FBI."
She made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob.
"That's something I never expected to hear you say."
He smiled faintly. "I bet you never expected to sleep with
me either."
"No," she said steadily, "that was probably the last thing
on my mind."
"Until recently."
"Until recently," she agreed.
He stared at her in wonder, running a hand up to touch her
hair. "So what changed?"
She shot him a look. "Must have been your motorcycle."
"So you're saying you're into leather, Agent Scully?" He
was trying to make her smile.
She did. "My deep dark secret."
"How many more do you have?"
"That would be telling."
He ran a sensuous finger down the side of her cheek.
Unconsciously she leaned into the touch. "I could probably find
a few ways to make you talk."
Her eyes widened. "Isn't that considered cruel and unusual
punishment...Sir?"
"Absolutely." And then he bent his head to plunder her
mouth, sliding his tongue inside her and pulling her body
tightly against his. Scully returned the kiss whole-heartedly,
feeling desire throbbing through her veins. He was...
intoxicating. Still, if they didn't want to repeat what
had happened on Tuesday, right here against the side of her car,
they should probably stop. There were still things that needed
to be said.
It was difficult, but Scully managed to break the kiss. He
looked questioningly at her. She swallowed and said:
"I was wrong."
Fear coursed through him. Wrong about this? About them?
She saw the alarm on his face and continued hastily.
"Before. I was wrong when I said we could go back to being the
way we were. We can't. I can't."
Relief shot through him. "I agree."
"So how do we keep our professional and personal lives
separate?"
Skinner didn't know. But he was willing to try. He said as
much.
Scully tilted her head to one side. "We'll still be
stepping over that line, Walter."
Skinner paused before speaking. "Maybe some lines aren't as
important as we thought."
"And some are set in stone," she shot back.
Skinner smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead. "This
one isn't. This one is written in sand." He deftly slid his
lips lower, capturing her mouth briefly with his own, then
moving down to nuzzle her neck.
Scully's eyes flickered shut. It was becoming difficult to
concentrate. "What...what are you saying?"
"I'm saying we haven't crossed anything." His voice was
muffled. "We've just moved the line."
Her mouth parted and her breath was coming fast. "Moved the
line. Yes..." And then he returned his lips to her mouth, and
she could not speak at all.
A lifetime later, Skinner released her to stare into her
dilated eyes. Her gaze slid over his shoulder to his car,
parked in the far corner, then returned to his.
"Would you like a ride home?" Her voice was little more
than a whisper.
He looked down at the keys in his hand, then back at her. A
smile creased his face. "Yes," he said simply. Reluctantly she
stepped out of his embrace. At the door, he kissed her again,
hard, then walked around to the passenger side. Their gazes
collided over the top of the car. Scully smiled. This
felt...right. It was going to be all right. _Everything_ was
going to be all right. Her heart at peace for the first time in
weeks, she climbed into the vehicle.
* * *
As the car pulled out of the parking lot, a shadow detached
itself from one of the pillars. Mulder watched them leave, a
satisfied smile appearing around the corners of his mouth. He
tossed a tire gauge once in the air then pocketed it and crossed
to his own car, whistling "As Time Goes By". As he drove away,
the echoes slowly fell silent behind him.
THE END OF "CROSSING THE LINE"
* * *
(
geocities.com/hollywood)