Subject: Crossing the Line 3
Sent: 28/01 11:47 AM
Received: 28/01 9:29 PM
From: Sharon Nuttycombe, avalon@terranet.ab.ca
To: dobbo@c031.aone.net.au
Crossing the Line 3 - Cold Comfort part 1/2
Sharon Nuttycombe
celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca
April 29, 1996
************************************************************
This is part three 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 and Celestial
Intervention first. Also, in order to enjoy this, you must
accept one basic premise -- "Avatar" never happened!
It is not NC-17 (yet). Although there is a GCS - a gratuitous
chest scene...
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. The quote at the
beginning is from Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream".
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 3 - Cold Comfort part 1/2
"Lord, what fools these mortals be." Shakespeare was right. We are
fools, Scully thought. At least I am. She glanced
sideways at her companion, sitting huddled beside her under a
large black umbrella. Outside the shelter of their shared
umbrella, large rain drops spattered onto the grass. A cold
breeze wandered through the ever-diminishing crowd while, on the
slightly raised stage in front of them, several sodden actors
struggled gallantly through their lines.
Fortunately, the play was almost over. When the storm had
first made its presence known, it had seemed quite appropriate.
This was "The Tempest", after all. Rumbles of thunder had
punctuated Prospero's final speeches, and the fork of lightning
that had erupted from the sky as he broke his staff had added
some much needed drama to an otherwise lackluster production.
That is, the play had been lackluster. The company was not.
Dana Scully had spent the better part of a week desperately
trying to find an excuse to cancel the "date" she had found
herself trapped in. Of course, she had been unable to find or
devise anything that sounded even remotely plausible. The fact
that she had been unwilling (okay, afraid) to go up to Skinner's
office to confront him had not helped.
It wasn't that she was afraid of her boss. She was afraid
of herself. The undeniable sexual attraction that she had felt
last weekend had only intensified and smoldered. She had had to
drag her mind away from thoughts of the ex-marine several times
during the week.
It had truly been the week from Hell. She had jumped like a
cat every time the phone rang or someone came down to the
basement, and had peered rather furtively around corners
whenever she had to ascend to the higher levels of the Hoover
building. And her partner had not helped. Mulder had noticed
her odd behaviour (who hadn't?) and had spent the first few days
making jokes about it, and the last few watching her intently.
As if she weren't nervous enough already...
Scully sighed. What was she going to do about Mulder? she
wondered. So far she had managed to keep her feelings for
Skinner a secret, but that would certainly change. Mulder was a
trained observer - the first time he saw them together, he would
have to realize what was going on. Or not going on. That would
be the final straw. She realized she didn't have the faintest
idea how her partner would react, but she didn't think he would
take it well. Hell, she wasn't taking it well.
Scully decided she should have run screaming in the other
direction the moment her hormones somehow fixated on Walter
Skinner as the object of her desire. She had no wish to start
an office romance with anyone but fate seemed to be conspiring
to bring them together.
Scully had spent most of the morning convincing herself that
there was no reason she and Skinner couldn't see a play together
-- as friends. She had succeeded admirably...at least until he
arrived.
Scully had opened her door and a wave of desire (lust, to be
honest) had swept over her at the sight of the tall broad-
shouldered man in black leather and jeans. Maybe it's just the
leather jacket, she thought, casting him another look out of the
corner of her eye. It's the clothes, and not what's in them...
"Liar," she said silently and steadfastly returned her
attention to the actors who were wrapping up the play. It began
to rain harder.
Skinner shifted a little, trying to ensure that the umbrella
completely covered the woman at his side. He had bought it from
a foresighted peddler when the first stormclouds had rolled
across the sky.
Even discounting the weather, the day had been a disaster.
Scully had been tense and silent for most of the afternoon, and
conversation had been stilted. The rapport they had had last
week had all but vanished. That, plus the generally poor
quality of the play had sounded the day's death knell. Beside
him, Scully stifled a sneeze.
Abruptly he decided. "Let's go," he said, climbing to his
feet. She started a little and looked up at him. She had
obviously been a million miles away. Right now, he wished he
were elsewhere too. He wished he had been better company. He
wished...
Wishing was pointless. Let's just put this behind us and
go on with our lives. Pretend none of this ever happened...
He reached a hand down to help her up and she struggled
awkwardly to her feet, the cold sapping her strength. Now that
she was standing, the wind seemed to tear at her. She had been
protected a little by his body before, but that protection was
now gone. Her teeth began to chatter.
"You're freezing," he said a little more gently. "Let's
go." She nodded in agreement, tucking her hands deeply into her
jacket pockets and hunching her shoulders against the wind. He
moved closer, angling the umbrella over her and together they
hurried through what was left of the crowd, toward the parking
lot.
"I wish I hadn't brought the motorcycle," Skinner thought.
Behind him, Scully climbed onboard and wrapped both arms around
him. "Then again," he mused as she tightened her grip, "it does
have its merits."
* * *
Whatever merits the motorcycle had quickly vanished during
the ride home. The steady drizzle became a downpour. It was
like driving through a typhoon. The roads were slick with rain,
and Skinner's vision was drastically reduced. The weather
network has a lot to anwer for, he decided. Still, they were
almost at her apartment.
Scully pressed even closer to Skinner's body, trying to warm
her frozen fingers by wrapping them even more tightly around
him. Avoiding pneumonia was beginning to take precedence over
embarrassment or maintaining an aloof distance. Right now, she
would crawl inside his leather jacket if she thought it would
help...and if it weren't already occupied.
Despite the fact that the man seemed to be radiating heat
like a supernova, Scully was thoroughly chilled by the time they
reached her apartment. Any remotely romantic thoughts had been
replaced by a strong desire just to be warm again. A hot drink,
warm dry clothes, a raging bonfire in the fireplace...Although
the last item would be a little difficult given she didn't
actually possess a fireplace, but the thought was attractive.
Scully sighed a little and felt the faint beginnings of a cough
tickling in the back of her throat. Great. A cold was all she
needed.
Skinner pulled to a careful halt outside Scully's apartment
and steadied her as she stiffly dismounted. The storm had
intensified in the last few minutes and seemed to be reaching
gale force proportions. He was having difficulty balancing the
bike. Scully looked at him. He had made no move to get off the
bike. She frowned.
"You're not planning on continuing in this weather, are
you?" She had to shout a little to be heard above the rising
wind. Great sheets of rain were now lashing at them both.
"I'll be fine."
"You'll kill yourself. Look - come in for a while and wait
for the storm to pass."
He hesitated visibly. No. Scully's apartment was
definitely out of bounds, given the feelings he had been
fighting all week.
She could see the refusal on his face and spoke quickly.
"If you wrap yourself around a tree, think of all the
paperwork...and the cost to the FBI to find a new Assistant
Director." She could tell he was beginning to waver. She
played her final card. "I've got over twenty varieties of
herbal tea in there..."
Her invitation was irresistible. Besides, he wasn't
altogether confident that he could get the Matchless home
safely. Any port in a storm, he thought, as he swung a leg over
the seat and removed his helmet, ignoring the inner alarms of
caution that had gone off. He would have a quick drink
and go, weather or no weather. After the miserable day they had
had together, she would certainly not want him to linger. With
this thought firmly in mind he followed her up the path to the
apartment.
END OF PART ONE
Crossing the Line 3 - Cold Comfort part 2/2
Sharon Nuttycombe
celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca
April 29, 1996
************************************************************
This is part three 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 and Celestial
Intervention first. Also, in order to enjoy this, you must
accept one basic premise -- "Avatar" never happened!
It is not NC-17 (yet). Although there is a GCS - a gratuitous
chest scene...
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. The quote at the
beginning is from Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream".
Disclaimer: Scully, Skinner, and Mulder belong to Chris
Carter...Do you think if I said that copyright infringement was
intended then the FBI would come to investigate me?...Would they
look like Skinner...?
************************************************************
Crossing the Line 3 - Cold Comfort part 2/2
Scully opened her apartment door with fingers that shook.
The cold seemed to have seeped into her very bones and she tried
gallantly to stifle a sneeze. Finally the lock turned, and she
led the way into the apartment, flicking on a light to dispel
the gloom cast by the storm outside. At that moment, the sneeze
escaped her and she sniffled a little. Skinner glanced at her.
"You should get out of those wet things," he said. "I don't
want to lose one of my agents to pneumonia...think of the
paperwork," he added with a grin.
She glanced up at him and gave him her first genuine smile
of the day. "Not two minutes inside my door and you're already
trying to get me out of my clothes," she complained mockingly,
pulling off her wet jacket.
Skinner cast her a quick smile as he bent down to remove his
shoes, which squelched slightly. "I move fast, Agent Scully."
"I'll say. Although it's going to take more than suggestion
to prise these wet jeans off me."
His eyes wandered slowly back up her legs and the wet denim
covering them, then, realizing what he was doing, he hastily
averted his gaze. After a moment he met her gaze and they
stared at each other in some confusion. Abruptly she turned
aside and went to the linen closet.
"Here," she said, tossing him a towel.
Behind her Skinner shifted uncomfortably, searching for
something to break the renewed tension between them.
"I'm dripping on your floor," he said tentatively.
She turned back to him. "I could make you stand in the
bathtub."
"You could try." She hazarded a small smile. Skinner
continued. "I don't suppose you have anything dry that would
fit me?"
"If you fit into my clothes I'm throwing myself into the
Potomac." She paused. "I'll see what I can find."
Scully vanished into the bedroom leaving Skinner on her
doormat, puddles of water collecting around his feet. Briskly
he towelled off as much excess water as possible, then peeled
off his wet jacket. He was looking for a place to hang it when
Scully returned with a pair of men's jeans and an old blue
sweatshirt that looked like they might fit him. Barely. He
took them from her and cast her a questioning glance.
She blushed slightly. "It's a long story."
"That's the best kind."
She heaved a sigh. "They're Mulder's."
A pang shot through him. Mulder. Did that mean...?
Scully was explaining. "Do you remember when Mulder and I
went to Oregon last month?"
"Yes." He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear this.
"Well, we ended up traipsing through the forest looking for
Bigfoot."
He raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't in your report."
"No." After a pause, she continued. "Well, Mulder and I
went to Oregon, but my luggage went to Guatemala."
"I see."
"And it was Sunday, so all the stores were closed."
"Go on."
"And then he dragged me up to the forest to investigate a
recent sighting."
"And..."
She grimaced. "And I had an...incident...with a creek. And
some mud."
A smile began to appear on his face. "So he lent you some
clothes" he conjectured.
Scully nodded. "Yes. I brought them home to wash and
haven't got around to returning them."
Scully wasn't sure why she had gone into such detail over
what was essentially a fairly embarrassing episode in her life.
At least she hadn't told him about the poison ivy, or the
goshawk that had attacked them when they had wandered too close
to its nest, or the hours spent walking in circles when they
found that Mulder had been reading the map upside down. Scully
really hated the forest...
Skinner let out a faint sigh of relief. The thought that
had flashed through his mind when she had brought out Mulder's
clothes had evoked a fairly primitive reaction. He shook
himself inwardly. He had no right to be thinking these
thoughts...
He reached for the clothing. "Did these actually fit you?"
he asked offhandedly.
"Only when rolled up about a foot on each limb and tied on
with an exceptionally secure belt. And I still felt like I was
wearing a tent." Another sneeze punctuated her speech.
"You should take a hot shower and put something dry on."
Scully nodded. Normally she would have felt slightly odd
about taking a shower while her boss was in her apartment, but
she was so cold she didn't care. She could almost feel the cold
germs beginning to invade her body.
"You can change in the bedroom," she said to him. "It's
through there." She pointed then stood aside to let him pass.
He gathered up the clothing then followed her direction,
squelching slightly as he walked down the hallway. Still
shivering, Scully headed to the bathroom.
* * *
Skinner tried to ignore the feminine paraphenalia scattered
around her bedroom. Several books lay open on the bed and
exotically scented candles stood on the night table. Closing
his mind to everything he disrobed quickly then struggled into
the jeans. If he stood very straight and breathed in deeply, he
could get them done up. Just. He took a couple of cautious
breaths. They should hold. Sitting might be an adventure
though.
He was reaching for the sweatshirt when the phone in the
living room rang. He paused a moment, wondering if she would
hear it, but the sound of running water from the next room did
not cease. The phone rang insistently.
Skinner picked up the sweatshirt and hurried back out to the
sitting room, a draft playing across his bare chest. He picked
up the phone.
"Hello?"
There was a long silence on the other end. "Hello?" he
tried again.
Finally, a man's voice said:
"Sorry. Wrong number."
"Who did you want to speak to?"
"Dana Scully."
Skinner spoke without thinking. "She's in the shower." The
silence on the other end lasted an eternity this time. At that
moment, Scully emerged wearing a thick robe and towelling her
hair. "Just a minute," he told the caller, and held the phone
out to her. Scully looked at him quizically then took the
receiver.
"Hello?"
"Um. Hi Scully."
"Mulder."
Skinner suddenly went cold. He had just told her partner
that Scully had been in the shower. He knew exactly what would
be going through the other man's mind...
Scully half turned her back on Skinner as Mulder continued.
"I didn't mean to interrupt anything."
"You didn't."
"Well, anyway, I just wanted to call you about a new lead on
this case, but it can wait. I'll tell you on Tuesday."
"Tuesday?" There was another voice on the line in the
background, announcing something. Scully frowned. "Mulder,
where are you?"
"I'm at Dulles airport. Look, I'll tell you everything
later. And...I'm sorry I called you on the weekend. Bye
Scully."
"Mulder, you're not..." It was no good. He had hung up.
Scully slowly replaced the receiver then turned back to Skinner.
If a six-foot something ex-marine could be said to look
sheepish, then Skinner sheepish.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I think I gave him the wrong
impression." She looked at him questioningly. "I...told him
you were in the shower," he continued.
"Oh." Oh, indeed. She could guess what was going through
her partner's mind. He had probably just confirmed Mulder's
suspicions. Oh dear.
"I'm sorry," Skinner was saying.
She looked up at him and smiled weakly. "That's okay. I'll
explain it to him at the office."
Skinner nodded and a awkward silence fell. Scully suddenly
realized that the Assistant Director was standing before her
wearing very tight-fitting jeans...and nothing else. For a
completely innocent situation, this one seemed to be fraught
with peril.
Ignoring the pounding of her heart and the slight trembling
of her fingers that had nothing whatever to do with the cold,
Scully clutched her robe more tightly around her and began to
move toward the kitchen.
"I'll make some tea," she said, stammering slightly.
Skinner abruptly realized that he was still half-naked and
hastily dragged on the sweatshirt.
"Let me do that." He blocked her path and tried to ignore
the scent of her shampoo wafting toward him. He put a tentative
hand on her shoulder. "You still look cold. Why don't you sit
down, wrap yourself in a blanket, and let me make the tea?"
Scully found herself unconsciously swaying toward him, the
tremor that his touch had ignited rippling through her body.
Catching herself, she moved back a little.
"All right," she said breathlessly. "Thank you. The tea's
in the cupboard to the right, cups on the left. Kettle's on the
counter."
He cast her a mocking glance. "I was a trained FBI
operative, Agent Scully. I think I can find a few cups and a
kettle."
She smiled weakly. "I don't doubt your abilities for a
minute."
* * *
Scully crossed to her sofa, pulled off the quilt draped
across the back of it and wrapped it tightly around herself,
shaking inwardly. What had she done? She had come perilously
close to crossing an unwritten line just now. I will not cross
that line, she thought raggedly. I can't. Nevertheless, her
body continued to tremble.
In the kitchen, Skinner cursed himself. What was he doing?
He should leave. He was too close to breaking all the rules.
Assistant Directors of the Federal Bureau of Investigation do
NOT sleep with Special Agents, he told himself firmly. Blindly
he plucked a teabag from the tin he had found in the cupboard
and poured steaming water over it. Only then did he look at the
label - "Romantic Interlude". A reluctant smile creased his
lips. He couldn't win. Even the beverages in this place seemed
to be conspiring against him.
One cup of tea, he promised himself firmly, and then I'm
going. After a few minutes he poured the hot liquid into two
mugs and carried them out to the living room.
Scully was curled up on the sofa like a dormouse, an
enormous quilt wrapped around her. She made an effort to
untangle herself when Skinner emerged from the kitchen, but he
forestalled her and handed her the steaming drink. She took a
deep swallow, burning her tongue, then another as warmth slowly
began to creep back into her body. Or perhaps it wasn't the tea
that was warming her...
Skinner sat down awkwardly in the chair beside the sofa.
Another long, painful silence fell between them. Then they
both spoke at once.
"Sorry," said Scully. "What were you going to say?"
"You first."
Scully paused. "I was just going to ask if you wanted to
throw a video on, or something."
Skinner drained his mug in one gulp, ignoring the hot liquid
as it scorched his throat. He put the mug down.
"I should be going."
At that moment, a crash of thunder loud enough to shake the
walls echoed through the room. The wind must have shifted,
because cascades of water suddenly pelted against the window and
outside the sky darkened yet further. Skinner and Scully both
jumped at the noise then looked at one another.
"Then again," Skinner said ruefully, "a movie sounds good
too."
* * *
Scully's tastes were nothing if not eclectic, Skinner
decided. He examined her video collection which, though small,
was varied. "The Exorcist," "The Fugitive," and "A Town Like
Alice" stood side by side with "Notorious," "Captain Blood," and
"Sabrina" (both versions). In all, there was quite a selection.
"Any preference?" he asked.
"I've seen them all. You choose." A chill suddenly shot
through Scully. What if he chose one of the sentimental,
romantic ones? She didn't think she could sit calmly beside him
if "A Walk in the Clouds" or "It Happened One Night" was on.
She was having difficulties enough keeping her imagination under
control without any outside influences. Action, she thought at
him forcefully. Lots of action and violence -- "Die Hard," or
"Under Siege"...
Skinner straightened, a video in his hand. "I've been
meaning to see this."
He was holding "Apollo 13". Scully exhaled a tiny sigh of
relief. That was safe enough. She smiled.
"Disasters in space it is."
Skinner inserted the cassette. "Are you a Tom Hanks fan?"
"Ed Harris."
He cast her a quick sideways look, then sat down in the
chair again, trying to relax. As the opening credits rolled by,
each steadfastly tried to ignore the other.
* * *
Now that she was warm again, even the perils of the Apollo
astronauts and the even more disturbing presence of her boss
couldn't quite keep Scully awake. The cold, plus several recent
sleepless nights were finally catching up to her. She found
herself drifting off, waking up when the soundtrack grew louder,
then falling ever deeper into slumber. Finally, while Tom Hanks
was rounding the moon in a crippled spaceship, she fell asleep
altogether.
Skinner watched her out of the corner of his eye. He knew
when she fell into a deep sleep and he carefully reached for the
remote, lowering the sound. Let her sleep. He tried to
concentrate on the movie, but his eyes kept returning to the
sleeping agent. The guarded expression she usually wore was
gone, replaced by a look of serenity. Don't do this to
yourself, he thought. With an inward wrench, he averted his
gaze.
By the time the movie ended, Skinner was a wreck. He had
called himself every kind of fool, and had berated himself for
staying. Why put himself through this torture? Perhaps because
just sitting here beside Dana Scully and watching her sleep was
somehow enough. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt
this way about a woman. It had been...well, years.
Outside, the storm began to blow itself out. The rain no
longer lashed at the window with the same force and faint rays
of light had begun to pierce the clouds. It was time to go.
Silently, Skinner rose to his feet and gathered up both cups,
rinsing them out in the kitchen. A quick glance into the living
room showed she was still asleep, curled on her side. He
retrieved his clothes which were dry, if wrinkled, and changed
back into them in the bathroom.
She hadn't moved. Actually she looked a little cramped and
uncomfortable on the couch. Skinner paused. Should he...? No. Just go.
He started to cross to the door then halted, looking
back at her. It would only take a moment...
Acting on impulse, he returned to her side and gently
gathered her up, quilt and all. She murmured something but did
not awake. Walking as smoothly as possible, Skinner carried her
into the bedroom.
He had almost reached the bed when his foot caught on
something and he lurched a little. Scully abruptly awoke...to
find herself in Walter Skinner's arms. The Assistant Director
froze. She looked up at him in some confusion, her mind still
riddled with sleep.
Skinner found himself almost stammering. "I...was just
leaving...and you looked a little cramped on the couch...so
I..." She stared silently up at him, blinking a little.
Realizing he was still holding her, he abruptly set her down.
Unfortunately, the quilt tangled around her feet, and Scully
found herself falling forward...back into his arms.
It had been an unusual awakening for Scully to say the
least. She had been having an odd dream which involved sea
wolves, a Saturn 5 rocket, and half the cast of "The Tempest".
At some point Ferdinand had turned into Walter Skinner, and she
had found herself in his arms while he recited Shakespearean
sonnets to her. It had been quite a shock to wake up and find
herself really in his arms. He wasn't quoting Shakespeare,
though. Actually, he wasn't doing much of anything beside
holding her up. Against his own body. Tightly. Scully
suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
Skinner could feel her heartbeat against his own and he
stared at her for a timeless moment, one hand steadying her by
the shoulder and the other snaked around her waist. Locked in
the embrace he could feel his self-control slipping away.
Scully swallowed deeply. The heat radiating from his body
mingled with her own. The slightest motion, the merest word,
and he would be hers. They would be each other's...Skinner
slowly began to dip his head toward hers. For one endless
moment in time Scully hovered on the knife-edge between desire
and duty. But then, slowly, duty won. She stepped back,
allowing some space to come between them and met his eyes,
denial shining in her own.
For the briefest of moments, Skinner was tempted to pursue
her. It would not take much. One touch, one kiss...and they
would be -- lost. She knew it. And so did he. Painfully, he
too moved back a pace and they stared at each other, frustration
and desire evident on their faces. Finally Skinner found his
voice.
"I think I should go." His voice was hoarse.
Scully nodded. "Yes." It was no more than a whisper. She
opened her mouth, as if to say something more, then fell silent. What was
there to say, after all?
Skinner waited a moment then slowly turned and walked out to
the hallway. Scully did not follow. She listened to the sound
of him gathering up his jacket and putting on his shoes. There
was a brief pause, as if he were standing by the door, debating
returning to her. If he did, she would truly be lost. She
wouldn't have the strength to resist him a second time. But
then there came the sound of a door opening and closing quietly,
followed by silence. Scully sank onto the bed. Reaction set in
and she began to tremble.
"What am I going to do?"
Her only reply was the stillness of the room.
* * *
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)