Subject: Crossing the Line 4
Sent: 28/01 11:48 AM
Received: 28/01 9:29 PM
From: Sharon Nuttycombe, avalon@terranet.ab.ca
To: dobbo@c031.aone.net.au
Crossing the Line 4 - Memories of Last Night part 1/2
Sharon Nuttycombe
celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca
May 1, 1996
************************************************************
This is part four of an ongoing story arc called "Crossing the
Line" which is a Scully and Skinner romance. It will probably
make more sense if you read Friday Night, Celestial
Intervention, and Cold Comfort first. (These should be on the
gossamer archive under "Crossing the Line".) Also, this takes
place in a universe in which Avatar never happened. (PS - I
thought of the bar scene long before Avatar aired. Honest.)
It is not NC-17 (but it is starting to heat up...)
I would appreciate any comments or criticism, about story,
style, or anything else you care to mention. Thank you.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Linda Campbell my co-conspirator
and unofficial, unpaid research assistant.
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...?
************************************************************
Crossing the Line 4 - Memories of Last Night part 1/2
Walter S. Skinner was hiding in his office. Again. He sighed. The way
his life was going, he was probably going to be stuck in here forever. The
walls of the office already seemed to be leaning a little closer than before.
Last night the Assistant Director had left Scully's apartment, holding
onto his ragged self-control by his fingernails. After their disastrous
"date" in the park, they had both ended up at her apartment, sheltering from
the storm. He had thought he could control the situation, and himself. He
was wrong. The smouldering undercurrents of attraction between them had
suddenly caught fire and it had taken everything he had to leave the
apartment.
So here he was, barricading himself in his office and going to extreme
lengths to avoid one small woman. It was all faintly embarrassing. He sighed
again, and looked down at the papers before him. Oh well. He couldn't hide
forever. He jabbed a finger at his intercom.
"Yes, sir?" His secretary's voice sounded slightly tinny.
"Have Agent Mulder come up, please."
"Yes sir."
That was another reason Skinner was in hiding. He had, after all, told
the man that Scully was in the shower when Mulder had phoned. He knew exactly
how it had sounded, knew the obvious conclusions Mulder would have leapt
to...Scully had promised to explain everything, but still...Skinner suppressed
an unlikely hope that the other man hadn't recognized his voice. Given a
choice, Skinner would have preferred not to have seen Fox Mulder for at least
a decade or two.
Fate, however, dictated otherwise. This report of Mulder's last
case...well, let's just say there were certain -- inconsistencies -- that
needed to be ironed out before he sent it on upstairs. Despite Mulder's track
record, Skinner didn't think his superiors would appreciate the allegation
that Elvis was a vampire, and that he was killed by other vampires for
misusing his powers. Even Skinner had a tough time swallowing that one.
Although that would certainly add a whole new dimension to "Burning Love"...
Skinner flipped through the report again. What next, Mulder? Chuck
Berry an alien? He suppressed a grin. At least life was never boring around
Mulder and Scully.
Scully. The smile faded. For once in his life, he was at a loss. He
had always believed that work and romance belonged in separate worlds. Even
ignoring the FBI sanctions against that sort of thing, his personal work ethic
would not allow him to involve himself with someone under his direct
supervision. So why was he hiding in his office, unable to get the woman out
of his mind?
The buzz of the intercom interrupted his thoughts.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, sir. Agent Mulder didn't come into work today."
"Thank you."
Skinner stared pensively at his desk for a moment. Where was the man?
He had to get this report off his desk and he refused to send it on in its
current state. Not only would Mulder (and his partner) be a laughing stock,
but this report could be used as yet another reason to attack the X-Files. He
could almost hear the committee members -- waste of government funding...some
sort of sick joke...a travesty of Bureau procedure...and so on. Skinner could
only protect the two agents so far, and this certainly wasn't making his job
any easier.
Skinner decided he could delay the inevitable no longer. For an instant
he considered calling her up to his office, but decided to go down to the
basement himself. His heart hammered a little faster in his chest. Don't be
a fool, he told himself, rising from his chair. This is FBI business.
Nothing else. As he left his office, he wondered if he would eventually
believe that if he said it often enough...
* * *
Scully had had no sleep at all, and was paying for it today. She had
lain awake all night, thoughts of Walter Skinner dancing across her mind and
almost driving her crazy. She had replayed the moment in her bedroom a
thousand times, until she was ready to throw something in frustration. He had
almost kissed her, and she had pulled away. Scully alternated between
feelings of relief and frustration. Why did she have to feel this way about
Skinner? Why not some nice, available man she met on the street? A taxi
driver maybe, or a construction worker. Or a mountie, like the one on the
commercials...It was at moments like these that Scully wished she were the
type to have a one-night stand and get all this sexual tension out of her
system. But of course she wasn't the type, and she didn't have the remotest
desire to have a one-night stand with anyone, except a certain tall, ex-
marine...
This time she did throw something. The "Sea Wolf" file went skittering
across the floor, papers flying everywhere. She stared at them blackly. That
was the problem with throwing paper. It wasn't very satisfying. No matter
how much force you put behind it, you only got a gentle rain of white sheets.
No. She needed something with a little more weight behind it...
Stop it, Dana. Act your age. Sighing deeply she got up from her desk
and began to pick up the papers, stuffing them haphazardly back into the file
folder. She would to put them back in order later. Honestly.
At least Mulder wasn't here. That was the only good thing about today.
Scully quelled a faint sense of disloyalty. He was her partner...and friend.
On the other hand, he also believed she'd spent a romantic weekend
with...someone, and had hung up before she could explain. Besides, she had
the sneaking suspicion that he had gone to British Columbia to investigate his
"Wasco" despite the fact that Canada was most definitely out of FBI
jurisdiction. And he had left her to cover for him. No, she didn't owe him
anything right now. She ran through a few choice phrases she would use when
he got back. If he hasn't been eaten by sea wolves, that is...
Scully pressed her fingertips to her forehead and tried to will the
pounding in her temples away. It didn't work. Succumbing to the pain, she
reached in her purse for some aspirin and swallowed them dry. She was still
shuddering a little from the bitter taste when the door opened and the
Assistant Director entered.
Scully twitched and fought the impulse to fling herself under her desk,
and a secondary impulse to fling herself at him. She remained where she was,
staring at the unexpected visitor.
For his part, Skinner had forgotten what he was going to say. He had
intended to come in briskly, get the information he needed, and leave just as
quickly. Instead, he found himself unable to say a word.
The silence between them stretched out interminably. Finally Scully
managed to still the pounding of her heart and, running her tongue across her
suddenly dry lips, managed to croak out:
"This is a surprise. Sir."
Skinner shifted a little, uncomfortably. "Yes. Well. I...needed to
know..." Why was he here? Oh, yes..."Do you know where Agent Mulder is?"
Now what was she supposed to say? She couldn't very well tell the
Assistant Director that she suspected her partner was disobeying FBI policy
and conducting an illegal investigation on foreign soil. Scully swallowed
deeply. She had lied to Skinner to protect her partner before, when the
Assistant Director had been just one more enemy and not yet a trusted ally
or...whatever he was to her. But lying to him now...it felt wrong. More than
wrong. Torn, she hesitated.
Skinner noticed her hesitation, but attributed it to the incredible
awkwardness (and sexual tension) between them. He had debated mentioning last
night, but decided discretion was the better part of valour. Ignore the
problem, and maybe it will go away...Not quite what the Marine Corps had
taught him, but probably the wisest course of action. Coward, a small voice
in the back of his mind accused him. Absolutely, he agreed.
"He, uh, didn't come into work today," Scully was saying.
Dragging his mind back to the conversation, Skinner responded.
"Yes. I know. Did he tell you anything when he called...?"
Bad idea, Walter, he thought. Flashbacks of himself standing shirtless
in her living room, Scully wearing nothing but a thick robe, her hair wet,
water dripping down her neck. His mouth went suddenly dry and his voice
trailed off. Scully stared at him, a stricken expression on her face,
obviously sharing the same memory.
Scully pulled the shattered remains of her self-control around her.
"He...didn't say."
"Do...you know where he is?"
"No." That wasn't a lie. She only suspected Mulder was in Canada but
he could be practically anywhere, given his recent predilection for dashing
off at a moment's notice. She ignored the fact that a lie of omission was
still a lie and met Skinner's eyes.
"I...see," he said. "Well...when he comes in, tell him I want to see
him."
"Yes...Sir."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Skinner retreated
behind the facade he had hidden behind for years. He squared his shoulders
and gave her a professional smile. "Thank you, Agent Scully." Without
hesitation, he turned and left.
Alone in the office, Scully sank back in her chair and closed her eyes.
The pain in her temples had returned. What was she going to do?
* * *
It had been a long, wearing day. Skinner climbed behind the wheel of
his car and stared blankly at the wall of the underground garage in front of
him for a long moment before turning the ignition and putting the vehicle into
gear.
His meeting with Scully had been enough of a strain to his self-
composure. The report that had come across his desk some hours later, though,
had truly been the crowning point of his day.
She had lied to him. Try as he might to ignore that fact, Scully had
lied to him. Her partner was in Canada, "investigating" the loss of several
fishing boats and alienating the Canadian authorities, the local native
population, and practically everyone else in sight. Skinner gritted his
teeth. For a while he had thought Mulder was singlehandedly going to start the
first war between Canada and the US in...well, years. It had taken some fancy
talking, but he had managed to smooth everyone's ruffled feathers. Angrily,
he loosened his tie, driving through the darkness one-handed.
It wasn't Mulder's actions that annoyed him, he realized. It was
Scully's. He knew he shouldn't feel betrayed, but he did. She doesn't owe me
anything, he thought savagely. He's her partner. Partners stand by each
other, no matter what. He knew that, accepted it, but still...it hurt.
The depths of his emotions surprised him. Or maybe he shouldn't be so
surprised, given recent events. He could still remember the sudden rush of
tenderness he had felt while watching her sleep during the movie, the theme to
Apollo 13 playing in the background. Maybe he should have realized it
then...Skinner's mind shied away from these thoughts. Ignoring the small
voice that warned him he would have to acknowledge what he was feeling, sooner
or later, he twisted the steering wheel and headed for the nearest bar.
* * *
Scully had gotten through the day in a daze. The meeting with Walter
Skinner had drained her. Her headache had finally started to recede, four
hours and two aspirins later, but she still felt as though someone had been
rubbing the inside of her eyes with sandpaper.
She had managed to avoid thinking about what had happened only by
focusing on her paperwork. Finally, several centuries later, she had gathered
up her briefcase and purse, and left the Hoover building.
Scully sat silently in her car for a moment then gave herself a mental
shake, her inner resiliency taking over. I can survive this, she thought. I
can survive anything. Flicking her hair back, she started the car, then wound
the window down all the way, ignoring the cool gust of air that curled down
the back of her neck. She snapped on the radio as she drove out of the
parking lot, switching it to a rock and roll station and turning it up. Loud.
Scully drove through the Washington evening, singing along with Elton
John and forcibly keeping her mind off everything but the car, the road, and
the music. By the time she reached her apartment, she was feeling much
better.
* * *
The first thing Scully did was turn on the radio. The second was draw a
long, hot bath. She emptied about half a bottle of bath salts into it,
watching the water turn Caribbean blue, and great clouds of bubbles form
instantly. She walked back to her bedroom, shedding clothing as she went, and
retrieved "Pride and Prejudice" and three vanilla scented candles from her
night table. She lit the candles then sank blissfully into the bathtub.
Scully was beginning to relax. The radio was playing something cheerful
and she hummed along happily. The song ended and "Can You Feel the Love
Tonight?" began. Scully sighed. Romantic love songs were not what she needed
right now. Actually, the romantic difficulties of Darcy and Elizabeth were
not what she needed either. Regretfully she put the book aside and tried to
ignore the music. Finally another song began. This time she had to struggle
to suppress her mirth. It was Ray Stevens' "I Saw Elvis in a UFO". A smile
curling around her lips, Scully sank completely under the water, feeling at
ease for the first time in days.
END OF PART 1
Crossing the Line 4 - Memories of Last Night part 2/2
Sharon Nuttycombe
celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca
May 1, 1996
************************************************************
This is part four of an ongoing story arc called "Crossing the
Line" which is a Scully and Skinner romance. It will probably
make more sense if you read Friday Night, Celestial
Intervention, and Cold Comfort first. (These should be on the
gossamer archive under "Crossing the Line".) Also, this takes
place in a universe in which Avatar never happened. (PS - I
thought of the bar scene long before Avatar aired. Honest.)
It is not NC-17 (but it is starting to heat up...)
I would appreciate any comments or criticism, about story,
style, or anything else you care to mention. Thank you.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Linda Campbell my co-conspirator
and unofficial, unpaid research assistant.
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...?
************************************************************
Crossing the Line 4 - Memories of Last Night part 2/2
The phone was ringing. Scully debated letting it ring then slowly
dragged herself from the tub. The water was beginning to cool anyway, and she
felt somewhat akin to a prune -- or her laundry when she had put off doing the
ironing. Wrapping a towel around herself, with water dripping from the
tendrils of her hair, she hastened to the phone, skidding a little on her bare
feet.
"Hello?"
There was silence. She tried again. "Hello? Mulder -- is that you?"
"Um. No."
It was Skinner. A tremor went through her and she unconsciously
clutched the towel tighter around her.
"Wal...Sir?"
There was another pause. "I...uh...I need a favour."
"Yes?" she asked cautiously.
"I...need a ride home."
"A ride home?" she repeated blankly.
"Yes. I've...had a little too much to drink."
"Oh." Whatever Scully had expected, it wasn't this. She wasn't sure
why she was so surprised. After all, if the man wanted to have a few too
many, well that was his business. And at least he had the sense not to get
behind the wheel. Actually, she felt a little pleased that he had called her.
It meant...well, she wasn't sure what it meant, but it did mean something.
"Where are you?" she asked, practicalities taking over.
He gave her the address and promised to wait for her. As Scully hung up
and began to towel herself off, she reflected on the conversation. He hadn't
sounded drunk. His speech was only slightly slurred and he had sounded
completely coherent. Somehow she had expected as much. Walter Skinner would
never lose control. And neither should she. Feeling more centred and in
command of her emotions than she had been in days, Scully finished dressing,
pulled on a coat and left her warm apartment once more.
* * *
Skinner sat, elbows on the bar, wondering at himself. Why had he called
her, of all people? Perhaps because he had no one else to call. He was a
solitary man and had few friends. As for family...His mind recoiled from that
thought and he gazed blankly into the half empty glass of whiskey.
He had not intended to get drunk when he came here. He wasn't even sure
why he had come to this bar. True, he had felt betrayed and depressed, but
that was no reason...And then to call her...He didn't want to see her. Yes he
did. His spirits had lifted when she had answered her phone, and her quick
willingness to venture out once more into the Autumn night -- for him -- had
filled him with elation. He found himself tapping the glass impatiently.
* * *
It was actually quite a nice bar, Scully decided. More of an English-
style pub, really, than a bar...She tucked her still damp hair behind her ears
and pushed open the door.
"Fare Thee Well Love" was playing on an old-fashioned jukebox, and the
smell of draught beer met her nose. A few patrons sat around wooden tables or
the bar, while in the corner, two men were playing a game of darts -- poorly.
They didn't seem to mind, though. Yes. She smiled. If Walter Skinner were
going to get drunk, this was the sort of place he would do it in.
Her eyes found him immediately, sitting at the bar with his back to her.
As her gaze fell on him he turned around and their eyes met.
Scully felt the now-familiar tightening of muscles in her stomach, but
ignored it. He looked...relaxed. The alcohol had taken the edges off the
self-control he always exhibited, had removed one of the barricades he
regularly erected around himself...She found she could read him much easier
now.
He was pleased to see her. As he rose to greet her, he swayed slightly,
but only slightly. She crossed the bar to his side and gave him a half-smile.
"So," she asked quizzically, "what's a nice guy like you doing in a
place like this?"
"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"
She grinned. "Shall we go?"
Skinner turned back to the bar to pay for his drinks. As he did, one of
the dart players crossed the room. Scully stood aside to let him pass. The
man, who was young, well-dressed, and practically shouted the word "Yuppie"
paused, gave her a lengthy glance, then grinned.
"Hey," he said, "do you want to dance?" He had obviously had a few too
many as well.
Scully shook her head. "No thanks."
"Oh, come on. One dance." The Yuppie put a hand on her shoulder.
Before she could move, Skinner spun around and seized the unsuspecting man by
the throat, thrusting him against the wall.
"Do you speak English?" he asked quietly. The man swallowed.
"Yes...Sir."
"Then what part of 'No' didn't you understand?" Skinner tightened his
grip. The Yuppie looked as if he were about to faint. Nobody stirred.
Scully blinked. How could anyone move so quickly...? Then she pulled
herself together and touched Skinner's arm.
"It's all right, Sir...Walter. Let him go." The Assistant Director
shot her a glance, returned his attention to the hapless Yuppie, whispered
something menacing to him...then released him. Scully let out a deep breath.
"Come on," she said gently, "Let's go."
* * *
Scully had taken a cab to the bar, knowing she would have to drive
Skinner's car back, and it had taken her a few moments to familiarize herself
with the controls...and to adjust the seat. Then, realizing she had no idea
where he lived, she had spent some more time getting the address out of him.
The alcohol he had consumed was slowly beginning to take effect. He was a
very likable drunk though, she decided. More relaxed and carefree than she
had ever seen him, Skinner drunk was a far different person than Skinner
sober. Still, the singing came as quite a shock...
It was nearly midnight by the time Scully pulled the blue Taurus up in
front of Skinner's house. By now, her boss was leaning his head back against
the seat, staring out at the sky.
"Have you ever considered the stars, Dana?" he asked, blinking a little.
"Considered what?" She reached across and undid his seatbelt.
"The stars. Big glowing things up in the sky."
"I know what they are. What about them?"
"We're seeing them as they were millions of years ago. We're looking
into the past when we look up at the sky." He paused expectantly.
Scully wasn't sure what to say. "Yes," she agreed.
Skinner cautiously levered himself out of the seat, his sway becoming
more pronounced. "The past can be painful," he continued.
There was a long pause. "If you're waiting for me to say something
profound," Scully thought, "it's going to be a long evening." Taking his arm
she steered him toward the house.
"The past can be painful," he muttered again, then looked down at her
and grinned. "But the present's looking pretty damn good."
Scully ignored him. They had reached the front door.
"Key," she said.
"Largo." The grin grew wider.
"No. Where's the key?"
"To my heart?"
"To the door."
Skinner gave her a reproachful look then withdrew the key and unlocked
the door, fumbling only a little. He preceded her through the doorway and
switched on the light, then automatically flicked on a CD player with the
remote that was lying on a table nearby. Patsy Cline began to croon "I Fall
to Pieces" from the corner of the room.
Skinner's house wasn't quite what Scully had anticipated. It was
bright, airy, and spacious. Somehow Scully had expected something...darker.
More masculine, with lots of wood. She glanced about her curiously, then
returned her attention to the Assistant Director. He was looking more than a
little dishevelled and weary.
Scully smiled. "You should get to bed," she said.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I've had more seductive invitations, but
since it's you...I accept." Scully let out a startled squeak as he
impulsively swept her up into his arms and carried her towards his bedroom,
weaving only slightly.
Scully tried to still the emotional maelstrom his action had caused.
She pushed ineffectively at his chest. "Put me down."
"Certainly," he said, setting her down beside his bed. His large, king-
size bed. He did not remove his hands from her waist. Scully shivered.
Skinner backed up a step toward the bed, drawing her sensuously closer,
still gazing into her eyes. As he did, the edge of the bed caught him in the
back of the knees, and without warning he fell backward onto it, dragging
Scully with him. She suddenly found herself lying facedown on his chest.
*His large, muscular chest...*
"Pull yourself together, Dana," she thought. Now is not the time...She
struggled to get some leverage to remove herself from her boss's body, but he
had somehow thrown an arm across her back and was holding her close. She
looked up at him, tossing her hair out her eyes...and their gazes met.
Skinner might be drunk, but he still had the most gorgeous eyes she had
ever seen. They were a deep melting brown, eyes she could drown in. And he
was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world...
"Dana," he murmured her name softly and then, with surprising speed he
rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed beneath him. For an instant she
felt fear. She was trapped beneath his weight, could get no leverage...but
then her alarm faded. She trusted him. He would not hurt her...
Scully did not struggle as he slowly lowered his head and brought his
lips to hers. Softly he caressed her lips with his own, then deepened the
kiss, his tongue urging her to respond. After a long, frozen moment, she did,
returning the kiss with equal passion. He tasted of whiskey. Her heart
racing, Scully surrendered to the moment, her arms going up to encircle his
neck.
Skinner kissed her long and deeply, one hand caressing her cheek then
gliding slowly down her body. Scully gasped as he blazed a fiery trail of
kisses down her throat. Slowly, sensuously, he unbuttoned the top button of
her blouse, and then the second. His mouth returned to find hers and the kiss
they shared as his hands roamed over her body was better than anything she had
ever imagined.
But then...some small fragment of sanity returned. She wanted this,
desperately wanted this, but a relationship between them was impossible. He
was still her boss. Scully tried to gather her fragmented thoughts, fighting
her body's instinctive response to him. She couldn't do this. He was drunk.
He didn't know what he was doing. She had to stop it.
Somehow Scully managed to gasp his name, trying to still the trembling
that his hand, now running up her thigh, was invoking.
"Walter," she whispered raggedly. "Stop. Please."
For a moment, a lifetime, there was no response, then he pulled himself
away and looked rather confusedly into her dilated eyes.
"Stop," she repeated, a little more forcefully this time.
"What?" he asked thickly.
"We can't do this. Let me up. Please."
"Dana..."
"Please."
She could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted this as much as she
did. More, if the tension in his body was anything to go by. But slowly,
reluctantly, the ex-marine gathered control of himself. Finally, he slid
aside, to roll onto his back beside her, staring up at the ceiling in silence.
A tear gathered in the corner of her eyes. This was why she lov...cared
about him. He was doing what she asked, simply because she asked it. Not a
word of recrimination, not one violent action. How many men would do the
same, she wondered?
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But I couldn't let us..."
"I know," he answered quietly, his voice still slightly slurred.
"You're right, Dana. You're right..." He was beginning to drift away now
that adrenaline was no longer keeping him awake. Even as she watched, his
eyes began to flicker shut.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't mean to take advantage..."
And then he was gone, falling into alcohol-soaked oblivion.
* * *
Scully lay still on the bed for a moment, her heart hammering against
her ribs. Then she levered herself off the mattress. She couldn't seem to
think coherently. The kiss they had shared had been...shattering. She
couldn't ignore the strength of her emotions anymore. Couldn't hope that the
situation would somehow resolve itself. Couldn't...
Wearily, with hands that shook, she straightened her rumpled clothing
and refastened her blouse. Everything had changed. With one kiss they had
stepped over the line that had been drawn for them by the FBI and their own
sense of duty. Once crossed... well, she didn't think it would be that easy
to get back to the other side. And suddenly she wasn't sure she wanted to...
She couldn't leave him here like this. Not thinking about what she was
doing, she carefully removed his shoes and tie, then folded a blanket around
him. He did not stir. She stepped away, her eyes hooded and troubled, and
switched off the light. She paused in the doorway, then, after a long moment,
quietly left.
* * *
Scully had considered calling in sick. She had also considered fleeing
the country, or taking some vacation time -- in Alaska. Or Tierra del Fuego.
Anywhere far away from Washington DC. If there had been a non-stop flight to
Neptune, she would have been the first on board.
In the end, however, she had scraped together the tattered remnants of
her courage and had gone to work...and waited. There had been a message from
Mulder on her machine that his flight was delayed, and he wouldn't be back
until the afternoon. Scully felt no relief. She badly needed some moral
support right now, despite the fact that he was probably harbouring the
mistaken impression that she was involved with someone. Or perhaps not so
mistaken...The silence weighed heavily on her.
When the summons from the Assistant Director's Office came, Scully felt
a sense of release. They could discuss what had happened, get it out in the
open, find a solution...somehow... Squaring her shoulders, she went up, if not
with a light heart, then at least calm resignation.
Scully was ushered into Skinner's office by his secretary. The agent
paused by the door, only the faintest of tremors going through her. He looked
rather the worse for wear, she noted. Dark shadows rimmed his eyes and there
was a haggard expression on his face. As Kimberley left, he slumped back a
little in his seat, his rigid posture and self-control vanishing. Now he
looked like death warmed over. It was evident from the way he moved his head
and squinted against the light that he was suffering from one hell of a
hangover.
"Please," he said, obviously trying not to speak too loudly. "Have a
seat."
Scully crossed to the chair and folded herself into it. She did not
meet his gaze, concentrating instead on the 'no smoking' sign on his desk.
"Agent Scully...Dana..." She tensed. "I was hoping you could...tell
me...exactly what happened last night."
"Last night?"
"Last night. Comes after yesterday afternoon, before this morning. I'm
really not in the mood to play word games with you." He sounded cranky and
tired. She looked up then and met his eyes.
"He doesn't remember," the thought jolted through her and she sagged a
little in relief. "He really doesn't remember. Thank Heavens." She sighed
softly and relaxed.
"How much do you remember, Sir?"
He cautiously leaned his forehead on the back of his hands. "I went to
a bar and had too much to drink."
"Yes."
"And I have a vague memory of phoning you to ask for a ride home."
"Yes."
"And after that..." He looked up at her and winced. "Tell me...was
I, or was I not singing?"
A brilliant smile crossed her face, made up of half relief and half
amusement.
"Yes, Sir. The Marine Hymn. Loudly."
He winced again. "Really?" There was a wistful tone in his voice, as
if he hoped that perhaps she remembered the events of last night incorrectly.
"I'm afraid so. But for someone who never sings... ever...you do it
very well."
He shot her an anguished glance and said in a voice not above a whisper:
"What else?"
"'Blue Suede Shoes'..."
"Besides the singing..."
"Oh. Well, you hit a man in the bar who tried to pick me up when I
arrived."
"I hit him?"
"Not so much hit him, as grabbed him in a chokehold, pushed him up
against a wall, and threatened to do something anatomically impossible to him
if he didn't leave me alone."
Skinner swallowed. "What did he do?"
"He left me alone."
He dropped his gaze again, holding his head. Almost afraid to ask, he
said:
"Anything else?"
There was only the slightest hesitation before she replied "No, Sir".
Few people would have noticed it, but he looked up sharply, cringing a little
inwardly as the mariachi band thumping away inside his head suddenly switched
to heavy metal. He peered at her face, or at least the one doing the least
weaving in front of him, and frowned. There was something he was missing in
this conversation. Of course, given his current state, he'd probably miss a
couple of dozen camel-herders wandering through his office asking the way to
Adis Ababa. Still, there was something hovering on the edge of his mind.
Something important. And it concerned Dana Scully...No, it was no good. It
was gone. He tried to focus once more on the agent sitting before him.
"Don't feel too badly," she was saying gently, "All you did was sing a
few songs and threaten a drunken Yuppie. It could have been a lot worse. And
besides, the Yuppie deserved it."
"Thanks," he said dryly. He leaned back. "Well, if that's all..."
She arose and said, "That's all." She gave him a small smile and
crossed to the door.
"Dana." She froze, and for an instant, he could almost feel the tension
beating out of her. Slowly she turned around. He felt surprise at her
reaction, but couldn't seem to get his mind focused enough to guess at a
reason for it. Once more he gave up.
"Thanks for the ride."
Her smile returned, and the tension vanished from her shoulders.
"You're welcome," she said, and then she was gone. Skinner stared at the now-
closed door for a long moment. That nagging feeling returned. What was it
she wasn't telling him? Whatever it was, he would remember, he knew. Given
time, he would remember.
THE END (FOR NOW)
Sharon Nuttycombe
avalon@terranet.ab.ca
--"I have as much respect for the chain of command as the next guy.Only if you're standing next to Fletcher Christian." -- Adderly
-- (
geocities.com/hollywood)