Here you go. Classify the whole lot as short story romance humor
angst. Summary--A series that follows the developing relationship
between Scully and Skinner that begins in a post "Avatar" encounter.
BEWARE-- "AVATAR" SPOILERS AHEAD!!
Hello? David? Howard? Darin? Do you even _watch_ your own show? After seeing "Avatar"
I have to wonder. Your basic premise was sound, but guys, who the hell were those characters?
Skinner's married? He's *never* worn a ring, not just for the last eight months. Scully doubts his
innocence? He took a bullet for her sister, for crying out loud. And since when are Mulder and
Skinner so buddy-buddy? Oh, I get it. It's that whole trust everyone thing again, right?
Well, gentlemen, here is my attempt to fix some of the boo-boos that still glared on the screen in
spite of Mitch's stunning performance (drool!). And since this was Dana's idea in the first place
(if you haven't been haunted by these characters yet, you aren't really into writing fan fiction), I
think it's closer to what really could have happened. Do I go too far? Probably, but at least now I
feel better.
One note to those who have read "By Any Other Name", "Office Pool", and any of the "Tiki
Tales" by Bonnie Drew that are floating about--this story is completely unrelated to the timeline
those stories follow. "Day of Grace" is simply another possible quantum reality in the X-Files
universe.
All of the folks in this piece, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Maggie Scully, and Clyde
the Pomeranian (who will live forever in my universe), belong to Chris Carter and 1013
Productions. I will give them back, but only if they promise to treat them properly. Until then,
let's see what I can do with them, shall we?
PS--Thanks to Bonnie Drew, who as always, takes a pretty good idea and helps me make it great.
Comments and flames to Sally at amstone@ix.netcom.com.
Day of Grace
by
Sally Bradstreet
Dana Scully's Apartment
September 14, 1996
4:38 p.m.
"Pouting isn't going to help any, you know."
Her companion on the couch was silent.
Dana Scully sighed irritably. "I told you you had to go to the doctor yesterday. I don't
understand why you were so surprised."
More silence and a glare this time.
"Don't look at me like that. If you hadn't snapped at her it wouldn't have been so
unpleasant."
A low growl was her response.
She sighed again. This was ridiculous. "All right. If I take you for a walk, will you
forgive me?"
Clyde pondered this for a moment, then yipped excitedly and bounded into her lap, licking
her face in approval.
She laughed a little and placed the squirming furball on the floor. "Let me change first,
hmm? Then we'll go for a nice run."
Dana padded into her bedroom and quickly changed into her favorite running clothes.
She'd been running quite a bit lately, but it hadn't helped much. Maybe her mother was right.
Maybe she should just talk to him . . .
The Bamboo Garden
Same Day
12:34 p.m.
"Dana, what's wrong?"
She looked up from her sweet-and-sour pork to meet her mother's concerned gaze.
"Nothing, Mom. I'm fine."
Maggie Scully appraised her daughter with a practiced eye and raised her eyebrow. "No,
you're not. You've been brooding over something for last six months. What is it?"
So that's what that look looks like, Dana thought before she answered, "It's nothing,
Mom. I just . . . it's nothing."
"Is it work? Are you and Fox not getting along?"
"No, Mom, Mulder and I are fine. Work is fine." She fell silent, suddenly unable to
continue.
Maggie folded her arms and studied the woman across from her. She had watched her
youngest girl carefully over the last weeks, noting the occasional heaviness in her voice, the
almost haunted look that sometimes hovered in her clear blue eyes. Something was preying on
Dana's mind beyond the horrors of her job, Maggie knew, but she had no idea what. "Dana," she
repeated.
Dana recognized her mother's "I'll-have-the-story-now-thank-you" tone and knew it
brooked no opposition. She idly pushed the food around her plate with her fork then asked,
"Have
you ever betrayed anyone?"
"Betrayed?" Maggie couldn't hide her surprise. "That's a strong word."
"I don't know what else to call it." Dana focused on the napkin in her lap, her bright hair
falling forward, masking her face. When she spoke again, her words were barely audible above
the lunchtime chatter of the restaurant. "I honestly allowed myself to thing that he killed her,
Mom."
Maggie's mind spun, unsure for a moment, then caught hold of a memory. "Do you mean
the case against your superior? Dana, everyone thought he killed that prostitute. All the evidence
pointed to--"
"No, Mom," Dana interrupted, her words tight with bitterness. "It's more than that. What
happened is partly my fault."
"Your fault?"
Dana hesitated. Now that she had begun she wanted to unburden herself completely, but
she didn't want to subject her mother to the same painful disillusionment she had experienced. So
she chose her words carefully. "There are people who want to see the X-Files closed so badly
that
they are willing to do anything to achieve that end--kidnapping, murder. Ruining the life of a
good and honorable man like Walter Skinner is nothing to them. These people were punishing
him, though at the time I didn't realize it." She looked up, her pain shimmering unveiled in her
eyes. "He was being punished for helping us. For helping *me*."
"Dana, I don't understand."
"Skinner re-opened the X-Files after Can--, after they had been closed. He told me where
to find Mulder in Alaska and got the hell beat out of him for it. He was shot because he was
investigating Melissa's death after the case was closed. And then he was framed. If I hadn't
asked him for help, if he weren't so sympathetic to us, he would never have . . ." Her voice trailed
off and she took a deep breath, struggling to calm her swirling emotions.
"You can't take responsibility for this, Dana," Maggie said soothingly. "He made his own
choices according to his own conscience, just like you did."
"But I assumed--"
"You are a trained investigator, Dana, and a doctor." Maggie held her daughter's eyes,
communicating her earnestness with her penetrating gaze. "You based your conclusions on the
facts at hand, just like you've been trained to do."
Dana's fingers drifted up to her necklace and she slid the tiny cross absently back and
forth on its chain. "Well, maybe I'm just starting to realize that facts and training aren't always
enough."
"It was your investigation that eventually cleared him, Dana."
"I know. But after all he's done for me, I shouldn't have needed that investigation to
prove his innocence."
Maggie watched her daughter's struggle not without sympathy. Beneath her cool
demeanor Dana hid a sensitive heart, and she often felt responsible for what happened around her,
but Maggie had never seen her react so strongly to something that was out of her control. For a
moment she wondered if something else was fueling Dana's remorse, but decided that was a
conversation for another day. "Have you talked to Skinner about this?"
Dana gave a short, harsh laugh. "No. I wouldn't know what to say. How can you amend
for breaking a person's trust?"
Maggie reached across the table and squeezed her daughter's hand gently. "It's simple,"
she whispered with a loving smile. "You start by saying I'm sorry,' and go from there."
Washington D.C.
Same Day
5:30 p.m.
Two red-headed figures trotted easily across the green expanse of the Mall lawn, one
tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the other sniffing dutifully through the grass for
non-existent tracks. They made their way to a bench Dana had spied from the sidewalk--not the
one
that she and Mulder usually shared, but one that still offered a lovely view of the pristine
monuments that rose from the heart of the Capitol.
Dana stretched her arms over her head, giving her warm muscles a final pull before
dropping onto the bench with a sigh. Clyde followed her example, yawning widely, then settling
expectantly in the grass at his mistress's feet.
She reached into her fanny pack and fished out the Milkbones that floated between her
cellular phone and house keys. She bent over and held them under his velvety muzzle. "You're
spoiled, did you know that?"
Clyde did know that and he took the proffered treats with a little doggy sigh, munching on
them happily.
Dana gave him an indulgent smile as he snuffled through the grass for the last morsels of
his snack. Then the moment was spoiled as so many had before when the unbidden image of
Walter Skinner as he had looked that day at the police station again formed in her mind.
Looping Clyde's leash around her wrist, she folded her legs under her, propping her
elbows up on her knees. Why was she obsessing over this? She had drawn the same conclusion
that everyone else had--he had hired her, suffered a night terror, killed her, and was therefore
guilty. She had seen the same evidence that exonerated him. So why had everyone else, including
Skinner, been able to move on while she continued to dwell on it?
She sat up straighter as the thought abruptly crystallized. Because for her, it hadn't ended
there. Yes, she had felt guilty for doubting him, for putting him in that position, but instead of
facing her guilt, she had distanced herself from it, from him. It had been so easy. A rescheduled
interview here, a reprioritzied post-mortem there, and she never had to see him. Never had to be
reminded of her bad judgment. Never had to see in the blinding light her lack of faith in a man
she should trust.
/Mulder, I'm going to get started on that autopsy./
/We've got a meeting with Skinner in ten minutes./
/I know, but it will save time if you talk to him while I'm working on the body./
/All right. I'll meet you in the morgue./
/Scully, Skinner wants that report before 5:00./
/Could you run it up to his office for me? I'm leaving right now to meet with that bus
driver./
/Sure, Scully. No problem./
/Skinner just called. The team from Violent Crimes is waiting for us./
/Can you handle this one, Mulder? I want to finish sorting through these past case files./
/Sheesh, Scully, any more you spend more time down here than I do. What? You're
growing mushrooms? You've become a vampire and have a severe allergy to sunlight?/
/Something like that, Mulder. Go to the meeting. I'll see you tomorrow./
But she did see him sometimes, in a hallway or alone in the elevator, and those painful,
inadvertent meetings stuck in her memory like shards of glass . . .
/You missed another meeting, Agent Scully./
/I'm sorry, sir. We're behind in our paper work and Mulder will never do it./
/I appreciated your diligence, but I need you at those meetings as well./
/Agent Scully, are you all right? You don't look like you've been sleeping well./
/I'm fine, sir, thank you. I'm just . . . focused on the case./
/Don't let Agent Mulder work you too hard./
/I'll try./
/I heard about your wife. I'm sorry, sir./
/Well, we tried a reconciliation, but . . ./
/I understand, sir. Relationships are difficult in our line of work./
/Yes, they are./
/Go home, Agent Scully. Even we get to watch to fireworks on the Fourth of July./
/Yes, sir. Enjoy your holiday./
/You, too./
Two months, she thought with a wry chuckle. I'm better at this than I thought. That brief
holiday greeting had been the last time she had seen him.
Dana rested her forehead in the palm of her hand, waiting for the rest of the flashes to
come. Skinner's face, bruised and bloody, when he told her where to find Mulder. The sympathy
in his voice when he told her that Melissa's case had been closed. The conflict in his eyes when
he balanced on that line between the X-Files and Cancerman. So many reasons to believe him, to
trust him, to . . .
The leash tightened around her wrist and she half opened her eyes to check on Clyde. He
was currently nosing around a pair of well-worn men's running shoes. She tugged on the leash.
"Clyde, leave the man alone."
"I didn't know you had a dog, Agent Scully."
She recognized the voice instantly and her head snapped up. It was entirely unnerving to
find that the object of her ruminations had materialized before her and she jumped to her feet,
very
aware of her sloppy ponytail and faded University of Maryland T-shirt. Walter Skinner didn't
seem to notice, however, and he waved back into her seat with a gesture.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's all right. I was just thinking."
Skinner hunkered down and held his knuckles out to the little dog. The animal sniffed at
them delicately, and apparently finding nothing objectionable, nuzzled his hand. He obligingly
scratched behind the silky red ears and the dog wagged its tail in appreciation.
"You've made a friend for life now. Clyde loves to have his ears scratched."
He looked up at his agent, grateful for the distraction of her pet. In the time he had spent
acquainting himself with the dog Scully had resumed her usual calm aspect, losing the
deer-in-headlights expression that had blossomed over her face when she had first seen him.
"Clyde?"
"He's named after the man I . . . inherited him from."
"Really?" He stood and moved toward the bench, then stopped. He didn't want to spook
her again. "May I?"
Scully nodded and scooted over slightly.
Skinner sat, keeping his gaze focused on the animal at their feet. "Was this Clyde a friend
of yours?"
Seeming to understand that he was the topic of conversation, Clyde proceeded to lie down
and bury his nose in the grass.
"No. We met during an investigation."
"I see."
Clyde rolled onto his back, watching them coyly with dark eyes.
"Who takes care of him while you're out of town?"
"Oh, Clyde's very good at foraging for himself."
He thought he heard a laugh in her voice, but wasn't sure.
"And sometimes my mother takes him."
"Of course."
Silence settled over them, thick and uncomfortable.
Scully stole a peek at the man sitting beside her. She'd seen him outside of the office
before, but never out of his customary suit and tie. He looked more relaxed and less stern than
she
had ever seen him. His T-shirt, emblazoned with the expected USMC, was just as faded as hers,
his sweat pants just as torn. And he wasn't wearing his glasses. Maybe that's what made the
difference.
Skinner glanced over at the woman beside him, and realized with a start that he had
missed her. That was unusual, considering that he didn't know her well, even as well as he knew
some of his other agents. He knew that she was one of the best shots in the Bureau. He knew he
would recognize her clear, distinctive writing style out of a hundred reports. He knew in vivid
detail the events surrounding her sister's death. But he didn't know her favorite color or her
favorite ice cream, and he found himself wondering if she preferred roses or daisies.
Dana took a deep breath. Now was her chance to absolve herself and she knew if she
didn't take it, it would be another two months before Fate contrived to throw them together again.
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends," she thought, and turned to face him before she lost her
nerve. "Sir, I owe you an apology."
Skinner jaw dropped slightly in surprise. "An apology? For what?"
She bit her bottom lip, hesitating for only a heart beat. "I thought you killed her."
"I know."
Now it was Dana's turn to be surprised. "You do?"
"Agent Scully, *I* thought I had killed her. Everyone did."
"But I should have known better. My instincts told me you were innocent, but . . ."
". . . all of the evidence pointed to me," he finished for her. Skinner studied her for a
moment, saw the tenseness in her face, the guilt in her eyes. "You based your conclusion on the
facts at hand. As an agent of the FBI that is what you are trained to do. And I would never
expect
you to act as anything other than the agent you are." Her hand rested on the bench between them
and he placed his hand gently over it. "Even for me."
His hand was large and warm and Dana remembered when he had taken her hand before,
the night in the hospital when he had been shot. Even though he was weak from loss of blood his
grasp had been strong and somehow reassuring. At the time her brain had been too clouded by
adrenaline to fully reflect on the sensation, but now, as she experienced it again, she could, and
she felt slightly dizzy.
"It's more than that," she whispered, dropping her eyes. "I feel responsible for what
happened to you."
"Responsible?" Again he couldn't contain his surprise. "How so?"
"If you hadn't been looking into Melissa's death, if you hadn't helped us with the X-Files
so much, They never would have targeted you." Unconsciously she turned her hand over and
closed her fingers around his. "You wouldn't have had to go through this."
"Maybe not now, but I would have been targeted eventually." He squeezed her hand in
return and ducked his head to catch her eye. "Cancerman and I don't exactly see things the same
way."
Dana smiled weakly. "I suppose not."
"Is this why you've been avoiding me? Because you felt guilty?"
"I haven't been avoiding you," she sputtered.
"You are a rotten liar, Scully," Skinner said with a small smile.
"I know. I just hoped you hadn't noticed that I was avoiding you."
"I noticed."
Something in his tone and the emotions that were burgeoning in his dark brown eyes made
her heart beat a little faster. He watched the answering emotions rise in her vibrant blue eyes and
his breath caught. They sat silent, both overwhelmed by what they saw in the other's face.
"It's late," he said at last, his voice rough. "May I see you home?"
"I'd like that," she agreed shakily.
They remained still, studying each other, both reluctant to move for fear of shattering this
new and fragile connection that had formed between them. At last he stood, drawing her to her
feet and placing the hand that he still held in the crook of his elbow. Comfortable with this
position, they fell in step together, their tennis shoes whispering through the grass. The little dog,
for the moment forgotten, followed obediently at his mistress's heels.
"Dana . . ."
He faltered over the unaccustomed use of her first name and she smiled encouragingly,
liking the way his rich voice blended the two syllables together. "Yes, Walter?" she prompted,
exchanging his discomfort for a little of her own.
"May I ask you a personal question?"
Dana thought for a moment, seeing an unexpected opportunity. "Yes, if I may ask you one
in return."
"That's fair." Skinner paused, choosing his words carefully. "I was just wondering if you
ever talked to anyone about what happened with Donny Pfaster."
He felt the shudder that rippled through her body as acutely as if it had been his own. Her
hand moved up his arm, clutching at his bicep, and he placed his other hand over hers
protectively. "Sorry. I was concerned. I didn't mean to . . ."
"It's OK." Dana took a deep breath and released her strangle hold on his shirt sleeve. "I
try not to think about it often, but it's OK. I did talk to the staff psychologist during the
investigation itself, but not afterwards."
"Why not?" He was constantly amazed by the strength of the woman beside him and
wanted to understand where it came from.
She fixed her eyes on the sidewalk, gathering her thoughts, sorting through the terrifying
images that still haunted her at night. "I went to Dr. Kosseff because I had lost my faith in my
ability to do my job. I had never encountered someone like Pfaster, someone who was so entirely
evil, and I didn't know how to react. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to do anything if I ever
had to confront him.
"But when it came to the moment of decision, when I could either acquiesce or fight back,
I didn't even think. I fought. I wasn't paralyzed. Even though I knew he could and would kill
me, I knew that I could trust myself again. I knew that the evil would never beat me again."
"Dana," he whispered, pulling her closer.
"However," she continued, trying to lighten her tone as she pushed her personal demons
back to their lair, "after Mulder and Boch found me I did have a nice fit of hysterics. Poor
Mulder," she said with a wry laugh. "He thought I was having a breakdown, but he held me
while I cried. And he didn't even charge me for his psychiatric services."
Skinner felt a sudden, illogical surge of jealousy and wished he had been the one to hold
her while she cried out her fear and anger. He forced the feeling away. "Well, that does explain
one of Agent Mulder's expenses on that case."
"Oh?"
"He said one of his silk ties had suffered water damage during the investigation and
wanted the Bureau to replace it."
Dana looked askance at her companion. She had never known Walter Skinner to crack a
joke, and now he was proving that he was really quite good at it. His strong features were
serious,
but the light dancing in his brown eyes was contagious. She flashed a small, amused smile. "It
was an ugly tie. No big loss."
They stopped at a busy intersection, waiting for the light to change. A quiet whine floated
up from near their ankles.
"Oh, Clyde!" Dana declared. "You poor baby!" She bent down and picked up her pet,
settling him securely in the curve of her elbow. "You usually don't walk this far, do you?"
Skinner watched Dana cuddle the tiny animal and thought how easy it would be for him to
do the same for her, to scoop her up and cradle her close to his chest and murmur comforting
things into her hair. He knew what her hair would smell like, clean and feminine, and wondered
when he had been close enough to her to learn it.
He reached over to scratch Clyde's ears again and was rewarded with a series of doggy
kisses on his wrist. "Your turn."
"Hmm?" Her attention was still centered on the warm, furry body in her arms.
"It's your turn to ask a personal question."
"Oh." Dana appraised the man beside her, noticing, not for the first time that evening,
how well he filled out the battered T-shirt he wore. Then again, she reflected, what he did for a
white dress shirt shouldn't be allowed in the professional world. Moving that thought forcibly to
the back of her brain, she asked bluntly, "Why did Kimberly call me instead of your wife when
you were shot?"
He hadn't been expecting that. "Kimberly chose who to notify. I was not in any condition
to make that decision."
She arched a bronze eyebrow at him. "I talked to Kimberly. She said you asked her to call
me specifically. Why?"
He had asked himself the same question several times, wondering why he had told his
assistant to call one of his agents instead of the woman he was married to, and he still hadn't
found an answer that satisfied him. "I don't know, Dana," he answered finally, toying with
Clyde's collar. "It seemed . . . appropriate at the time."
"Oh." Dana smiled, impressed once again by this man's integrity. If he could be that
honest with himself and with her, Dana knew that she could trust him. With anything. She
looped her arm through his again and leaned her temple against his shoulder, feeling the heat of
his skin through his shirt. "I was just curious."
The quiet of dusk wrapped around them, obscuring them, making them look like any other
couple walking home after a day in the park. They strolled along slowly, nodding to passers-by,
chatting amiably of nothing and everything, enjoying the chance to simply be themselves, not
agent and superior.
"You're kidding! You actually turned the dean's office into a working morgue?"
"It took a bit of doing, but we pulled it off. And when I assured the dean that I had
nothing to do with it and didn't know who did, they chalked it up to a fraternity prank and let it go
at that."
The stars came out one by one, barely visible through the urban tangle of lights, and their
pace slowed even more.
"You go rollerblading? I'm sorry, but I can't quite picture that."
"I could give you a list of people that I've mowed down who will attest to the fact. I'm
told that it's really quite an impressive sight."
"I'm sure it is."
They arrived at her building long before either was ready to part company, but with the
original goal of seeing her home accomplished, neither could think of a reason to delay their
good-byes.
Dana placed a sleepy Clyde carefully on the floor outside her apartment and pulled her
keys from her fanny pack, sorting through them for her door key. Skinner reached out and took
the keys from her hands and moved past her to unlock and open the door. She looked up at him,
surprised by this old-fashioned gesture, and smiled.
"I'm sorry, Dana. It's a habit I picked up from my father."
"It's all right, Walter. I don't mind."
She held out her hand and for an instant he considered kissing it, but thought better of it.
He placed the keys gently in her palm.
Dana closed her hand around the keys, grasping his fingers as well. She watched him,
her mind swirling with half-formed possibilities. Then she pulled on his hand, bringing him
closer to her. She tilted her head back, keeping her eyes locked with his, and placed her hand on
the center of his chest.
Walter raised his free hand and traced the line of her cheek, then leaned carefully over her
and pressed his lips to hers.
Both sighed, trying to fit a lifetime into the space of a single kiss. He wrapped a strand of
her hair around his finger, memorizing its texture. She slipped her hand over his shoulder,
memorizing its strength.
He pulled away first, and gazed down at her, regret and desire battling in his eyes. "I trust
you'll be at our next meeting?"
She brushed her trembling fingers lightly over his lips. "Count on it."
Then both stepped away, he into the hallway, she into her apartment. They ruefully put
aside the charm of evening, knowing that their day of grace had come to an end.
Skinner squared his shoulders. "Good night, Agent Scully."
Scully replaced her careful mask. "Good night, sir."
And she closed the door between them.
The End
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------
"We won't have much time together, not even 300 days. But we must take what we're given.
Three hundred days. A few months."
"Or a single night."-- "Masques", Beauty and the Beast
"Day of Grace"
Sally Bradstreet
amstone@ix.netcom.com
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------
In my defense, this wasn't my idea. "Day of Grace" was supposed to be a single piece, a chance
for me to vent my frustration over "Avatar" and then move on. But noooo! They couldn't leave
it
alone. They said, "We want to explore this. We want to see how our relationship develops.
Write more." And when your main characters start yelling in your ear, you have to pay them
attention. So in the tradition of the Great Ones--Paula Graves, Juliettt, Kelli Rocherolle--whose
hard drives I am unworthy to access, I humbly present the second installment in my new "Day"
series.
In this 14 story (at the moment!) series, I'll be developing the relationship between Dana Scully
and Walter Skinner that I started in "Day of Grace", which means, of course, that you need to
read
that first. Now if the very thought of Scully ending up with someone other than Mulder gives you
apoplexy, relax. These stories take place in an alternate universe that has nothing to with the
current episodes, save that "Avatar" is their starting point. That means that in another quantum
reality Mulder and Scully will be together, so sit back and enjoy this alternative for the time being.
One other note--in this universe, the characters are much softer. They laugh. They have senses of
humor. But there will be healthy doses of angst and UST and flashes when they are very much
themselves, so never fear. All is not new and unfamiliar.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, Fox Mulder, and Kimberly do not
belong to me. They are all the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox. I am, of
course, terribly jealous that they are not mine, but what can you do?
Thanks to Bonnie for sympathizing with and critiquing my plight.
Send comments to Sally c/o amstone@ix.netcom.com
And now that I'm done babbling (really!) . . .
Day at the Office
by
Sally Bradstreet
J. Edgar Hoover Building
X-Files Division
September 16, 1996
8:43 a.m.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
"Hey, Scully."
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
"What?"
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
"How many cups of coffee have you had this morning?"
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
"Just one. Why?"
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
"Because it sounds like you're doing the drum solo from Wipeout'."
Tap-tap-ta . . .
The noise stopped abruptly as she put the pencil she held to work, jotting notes in the file
she was reading. "Sorry."
Fox Mulder sprawled back in his chair to observe his partner. In the three minutes he sat
watching her, she raised her hand to smooth imaginary stray hairs into place, brushed non-existent
lint from her tailored linen suit three times, and glanced at her watch twice.
Mulder moved his gaze to her face. Her expression was calm, but that was rarely an
indication of her emotional state. He had known Dana Scully long enough to realize that it was
the little physical things she did that accurately reflected her feelings, and based on what he had
seen this morning, she must be practically beside herself. As if supporting this silent conclusion it
started again.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
"Scully, is there something bothering you?"
She set the tale-tell bit of wood and lead carefully on the table and kept her eyes focused on
the papers before her. "No. I'm fine, Mulder."
"Mmm-hmm," he said good-naturedly, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his
desk. "Let's try that again. Scully, is there something bothering you?"
Dana Scully looked askance at her partner and wished not for the first time that he wasn't
a psychologist. Even her considerable self-control couldn't suppress all of the natural quirks that
betrayed strong human emotion. She swallowed a sigh and decided that she might as well tell
him. "I'm a little apprehensive about this meeting with Skinner, that's all."
"Really? I thought you told me that you saw him on Saturday and that everything is O.K.
now."
That's true, she thought, but did I tell you that I kissed him? Did I tell you that I kissed
our boss and that I spent the rest of the weekend wondering what it would be like to . . . She
slammed that thought forcibly to the back of her mind. That was what she was afraid of, that she
would say something or do something that would embarrass them both. So far nothing had
transpired between them that couldn't be ignored. But even knowing that, she was well aware
that this first meeting would be . . . awkward.
To Mulder she only said, "We did talk on Saturday, and I apologized, and things are fine.
But I've kept myself out of the loop for so long that it will take awhile to get used to it again."
"Well," Mulder drawled as he stood and pulled on his suit coat, "let me remind you about
what usually happens. We go into Skinner's office, hand in our report, which he reads while
scowling sternly, and then he proceeds to tear it apart sentence by sentence. At this point I
usually
make a smart-assed remark that earns me a verbal lashing from Skinner . . ."
"And I spend the next 15 minutes trying to explain our findings and your behavior without
alienating our superior officer." She stood and straightened her skirt. "It all comes back to me
now."
Mulder grinned at her. "And you were worried."
She drew strength from the familiar banter and arched an eyebrow at him. "Gee, Mulder, I
guess there are some skills you never forget."
He knew she was deliberately baiting him and he couldn't disappoint her. He flashed his
best leer and whispered huskily, "Are there any skills in particular that you'd like to brush up on?"
Scully opened her mouth to make a suggestion, but decided that one indiscretion a week
was her limit. She smiled slightly instead and replied, "Not at the moment, but I'll keep you
informed."
"Promises, promises," he muttered.
They stepped into the hall and he locked the office door behind them.
Office of Assistant Director Skinner
September 16, 1996
8:43 a.m.
Walter Skinner re-adjusted his blotter for the fourth time that morning and looked again at
his appointment calendar: 9:00 a.m. Mulder and Scully. It had said the same thing all morning.
He kept hoping that maybe it would change, or that he would look at his watch and find that 9:00
had come and gone without them appearing, but both possibilities were unlikely in the extreme.
He stood and paced across his office, unconsciously straightening his tie and checking the
creases in his trousers. What was he going to say when he actually saw her? Never before had he
committed such a breach of conduct with a co-worker, and he still wondered what had motivated
him to kiss Dana Scully. Probably the same thing, a wry voice said in his head, that motivated
you to think about her all weekend, her thick red hair . . . No! he thought. That was an avenue
that was entirely unacceptable, not only because he respected her as a person, but also because he
respected her work too much to risk her career with his foolishness.
Skinner looked at his watch again. 8:55. When he had been dealing only with Mulder he
could always plan on having an extra five minutes before their meeting began, but now that Scully
was back he knew his agents would probably be early.
A file sitting unobtrusively on the corner of his desk caught his attention and he eyed it
dubiously. After he had left Dana on Saturday, a little euphoric, he had gone home and dug the
folder out of his personal files. At the time it had seemed like a clever idea, but now . . .
BUZZ!!!
He pushed the intercom button. "Yes, Kimberly?"
"Agents Mulder and Scully are here, sir."
He glanced at his watch one last time. 8:57. "Send them in, please."
She preceded her partner into the office, as usual, and in that brief instant when they were
alone together Dana Scully looked up at Walter Skinner.
Their eyes met, wary and uncertain, but beneath the confusion they recognized what they
had always had--admiration and respect and professionalism. And they knew that everything
would be all right.
"Come in," he said brusquely, gesturing toward his desk. "Take a seat."
"We have our report on the Harris murders, sir." Mulder slid a folder across the desk to
his superior. "Our initial theory was correct. Harris was hunting down people he had known in
college."
Skinner didn't look up as he perused the report. Scully had written it, her style clear and
precise. "And the motivation?"
"Harris had a history of mental instability, sir," Scully replied, her tone cool and even,
"and was able to function normally only with carefully monitored prescriptions. When he was
unable to attain a job on a level that he thought he deserved, it was too much for him to handle
and he snapped. He saw his college classmates as representations of everything that had been
denied to him and he followed what he thought to be the only course of action available to him."
"I see." He flipped through the sheaf of paper, then looked at them over the rims of his
glasses. "I don't see your expense report here, Agent Mulder."
Mulder shifted in his chair. "I'll send it up later, sir."
"Hmm." Skinner closed the file, placing it on his desk and picking up another.
"Everything seems to be in order here. This is your next assignment." He handed it across the
desk to Mulder.
The two agents bent over the file, quickly assessing crime photos and police reports.
"Another serial murder case?" Scully asked.
Skinner shrugged. "So it would seem."
They recognized the unspoken dismissal and rose to leave.
"Oh, Agent Scully?"
She waved Mulder on and turned to face her superior. "Yes, sir?"
He hesitated for a moment, then handed her the file from the corner of his desk. "Here's
the information on that case we discussed this weekend."
Scully raised an eyebrow in silent question, but his eyes were inscrutable and he sat again
behind the fortress of his desk.
"Thank you, sir," she muttered. Her brow still wrinkled in confusion, she pulled the door
shut behind her.
X-Files Division
Same Day
12:03 p.m.
"No. We had a deal. I wrote the report which means lunch is on you."
Mulder sighed and tossed his pencil to his desk. "All right. Fine. What do you want?"
"Sweet and sour pork." She knew he had a weakness for Chinese food and offered the
choice as an olive branch.
He hopped up and grabbed his suit coat. "Great. Can I have your fortune cookie?"
"Always, Mulder."
He waved and was gone.
Scully waited until the echoes of Mulder's footsteps died in the corridor, then took out the
file Skinner had given her at the end of their meeting. She stared at it a moment, as if it would tell
her its contents without her opening it, but the buff cardboard remained mute.
Chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip, Scully tried to remember the case they had
discussed together on Saturday and failed. She tapped a finger on the file's cover, then flipped it
open.
The folder contained a single color photograph. It had been taken in a park during the late
spring from the number of blossoms still on the cherry trees. The figures in the picture, mostly
children around 10 or 11, were clustered around a white-faced clown who was tying long,
brightly
hued balloons into animals. Altogether it was an unremarkable photo.
Unremarkable though it may appear, there was obviously something there that Skinner
wanted her to see. Intrigued, Scully slipped on her glasses and began to scrutinized the figures in
the background. A young woman with a baby carriage. A man on roller blades. A man walking
while reading a newspaper.
Her attention flitted back and forth between these last two images, laughing a little when
she realized what must have happened in the moment after this picture was taken. The man with
the paper was absorbed in what he was reading. The man on roller blades was bent over,
examining one of his skates. They were headed straight for each other and the collision of the
two
was inevitable.
Scully let the photo flutter to her desk. So what am I supposed to see? she asked herself.
What am I missing? And then she saw.
The man on the roller blades was Walter S. Skinner.
Scully began to laugh quietly. Of course. He had told her that he roller bladed and she
hadn't believed him, so now he had offered her proof. The photographer must have had a sense of
humor to offer the victims a record of their mishap, and Skinner obviously had one to accept it.
A slow smile spread over her face and she thought, Well, two can play at this game. A
quick glance at her watch, however, told her that she only had 25 minutes before Mulder made it
back with their food. That wouldn't be enough time for her to dash to the store and stop in at
Pathology. But, the Bureau did employ a swarm of aides and interns that often ran personal
errands for the agents.
She picked up the phone, and hoped that at least one eager young soul had decided to work
through lunch.
Office of Assistant Director Skinner
Same Day
1:13 p.m.
"How was your meeting, sir?" Kimberly asked as her boss walked determinedly passed
her desk.
"Fine," he growled.
Kimberly smiled sympathetically and reached into her bottom desk drawer. She knew
how much Skinner hated lunch meetings, and she held a foil-wrapped object out to him. "This
might help."
Skinner peeled back a corner of the foil and sniffed cautiously. His expression brightened
a little. "You've been baking." He sniffed again. "Mmm, chocolate. Brownies?"
She shook her head, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Nope. It's my
better-than-sex cake."
"Not that I would I know," he muttered to himself.
"What was that, sir?"
"Nothing. Did Agent Mulder bring by his expense report?"
"No, but Agent Scully dropped off a package for you."
Skinner's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really."
Kimberly appraised him curiously. "She said you would be expecting it."
"Oh, of course," he replied. "Thank you, Kimberly."
He saw it as soon as he opened the door, a large brown cardboard box sitting in the middle
of his desk. Skinner approached it carefully and bent over to place his ear on the lid. Nope, it
wasn't ticking.
Lifting the lid and setting it and the cake aside, he began to remove the items from the box
one by one. Blue paper medical scrubs. A pair of rubber gloves. A set of scalpels in a protective
plastic case. A jar containing murky liquid and something that looked suspiciously like a human
liver. And at the very bottom of the box was a smaller box, this one colored yellow and red.
From
its top a cartoon man with a glowing red nose looked up at him in despair. He was lying on a
gurney beneath a single word--Operation.
Skinner took the children's game out of the box with a puzzled frown. He should have
expected Scully to repay his riddle with one of her own. So what was the answer to hers?
He put the box on the floor and lined up its contents on the desk. Scrubs. Gloves.
Scalpels. An internal organ. A man on an operating table . . .
Of course. An autopsy. He chuckled, a deep, unaccustomed sound that bounced off the
wooden paneling of his office. He had told her about roller blading, and she had shared a story
about turning the dean's office into a coroner's examination room. Maneuvering a corpse upstairs
to his office would have been impossible, so she had done the best she could.
Skinner placed the items back in their box and slid it under his desk. This could prove to
be interesting, he thought, and wondered if he had a file dealing with the mysterious
disappearance of 30 goldfish on the campus of the University of Texas at El Paso.
X-Files Division
Same Day
5:30 p.m.
The phone rang just as she reached the door and she dropped her briefcase with a pained
sigh. Mulder had managed to slip out early, but she couldn't even contrive to leave a half and
hour late.
"Scully," she snapped.
"Agent Scully, this is Kimberly. Is Agent Mulder there?"
Scully plopped into her chair. "No. He escaped about 45 minutes ago, leaving me with a
mountain of old files to sort through."
"Well, did he happen to leave your last expense report on his desk? A. D. Skinner wants it
tonight."
She gave another sigh, suddenly understanding Mulder's hasty departure. "Tell A. D.
Skinner that I'll bring it right up."
"Thank you, Agent Scully."
"Sure."
She hung up the phone and glared at her partner's empty chair. Coward, she thought.
By the time she reached Skinner's office, Kimberly, too, had gone for the evening, leaving
behind an neat desk and a solid oak door. Scully knocked firmly on the latter.
"Come in, Agent Scully," came a muffled voice.
She slipped inside his office and purposefully crossed to his desk. "Here is our expense
report, sir. I should warn you that you won't like it."
Skinner stood, circling his desk and perching on its corner. He produced a yellow legal
pad and scribbled something while he asked, "What won't I like about it, Agent Scully?" He
handed her the pad.
*No examining table?*
She read the question and wrote her reply, not surprised at this confirmation that his office
was bugged. "Agent Mulder incurred an unusual expense, sir."
*Couldn't get it into the elevator. Sorry.*
Skinner sighed in exasperation. "What has he done now?"
*Please tell me this isn't the Tooms' liver.*
"He totaled a rental car."
*No. It's a classroom model.*
"Some how I'm not surprised. It was only a matter of time. What happened?"
*This is too distracting. We'll discuss it later.*
She nodded, and he put the pad back on his desk.
"Well," she began, "we received a tip that Harris had been seen at a diner outside of town.
Mulder was attempting to apprehend him when he skidded on a patch of gravel and hit a tree."
Skinner finally opened the report and located the charge in question. He sighed again. "I
didn't know the price of a Taurus had risen so much."
"At least we didn't burn down a hotel, sir." She gave him a small smile.
"True." He smiled back. "Thank you for bringing this by, Agent Scully."
"You're welcome, sir." She was half way to the door when she felt something poke her
back. The yellow pad appeared over her shoulder.
*Have coffee with me?*
Scully whirled to face him, her eyebrow raised in surprise. She was flattered and pleased
by the invitation, but was unsure of how to respond. She studied him for a moment, considering
her choices. His face was expressionless, but she saw hope and a little bit of fear floating in his
brown eyes.
After handing her the note, Skinner decided that he really needed to curb his impulses
more firmly. As the action was already taken, however, he watched her reaction carefully. He
was oddly pleased when she flushed delicately and lifted her eyes to meet his.
She gestured for the pad and he handed it to her.
*Yes.*
They stood smiling at each other, both glad and a little shy, then Skinner moved to get his
coat.
"When will you preliminary report on your new case be ready?" he asked, shrugging his
arms into the sleeves.
"By Wednesday, sir." She waited for him at the door.
"Good. I'll see you then." He turned the doorknob and let her precede him into the
reception area.
"Good night, sir."
He closed the door, and they left together.
The End
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------
"Miss Yakamoto, you're beautiful!" -- "She Blinded Me with Science"
Next story-- "Day in Court"
"Day at the Office"
Sally Bradstreet
amstone@ix.netcom.com
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------
Hey, howdy, y'all! Here is the third installment in my "Day" series. Now, for those who are very
quick, you'll notice that I didn't write this one. My partner in creativity, Bonnie Drew, did and
she did a much better job with this one than I could have. Am I jealous? Terribly, but she's so
good, who am I to turn down the help?
Though this is a self-contained story, you need to have read "Day of Grace" and "A Day in the
Office" (both by me, Sally Bradstreet) in order to catch the feeling of the series. Warning--Scully
and Skinner romance under construction ahead.
One final note--if you, in your immense creativity, want to finish Mulder's and Skinner's limerick,
go for it. We just DON'T want to see it. As for Scully's limerick, we'll leave that up to you. And
we don't want to see that either.
DISCLAIMER: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and Kimberly all belong to Chris
Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox. Bonnie and I are only borrowing them and would NEVER
claim to have created them ourselves.
Comments to Bonnie c/o amstone@ix.netcom.com
Day in Court
by Bonnie Drew
(with the blessing of Sally Bradstreet)
Federal Courtroom #2
Washington, D.C.
October 9, 1996
"It's hot in here."
"I know."
He stretched his long legs below the seat in front of him and wished he could take off his
suitcoat and tie. He glanced at his partner enviously. She always looked cool. It could be 98
degrees with humidity of the same and she would look perfect. He scowled at the courtroom at
large. Though the temperature outside was still hovering in the 80's, some over-anxious soul had
turned the courtroom heater up too high and no one had had sense enough to turn it back down.
Therefore, it felt like it was 90/90 and she did look exactly the same. Her royal blue suit with the
cream-colored shell. It always looked so nice on her, flattering her small, curvy figure. Had he
told her that today? Naw. Wasn't his place.
He fidgeted.
"Mulder. Cut it out."
"What?"
"Fidgeting."
"I wasn't fidgeting." A pause. "It's hot in here."
"Really? You hadn't mentioned it." This time, a trace of tartness wormed its way into her
tone. "Mulder, sit still and listen."
"Why? This is so boring, C-SPAN should film it. Look at this clown. Who told him that
the three-hair combover fooled anyone?"
Scully swallowed a smile. "The same one who sold you that tie."
"What's wrong with my tie?"
An elderly couple sitting in front of them gave them a half-turn and a disgusted glance.
Mulder felt like sticking his tongue out at them. They probably came to these trials for fun.
Maybe they were hoping for a glimpse of Judge Wapner. He stuck his tongue out at their backs
and fidgeted some more.
"Mulder!" She hissed. "Stop fidgeting."
"Why do we have to be here?" He whined. "It's hot. And this was an open and shut
case."
"Because it's white-collar crime, Mulder. They need all the testimony to convince a jury."
"Why?" He whined again.
Scully sighed, suddenly feeling a pang of sympathy for her mother. She was presented
with an exceptionally vivid image of Bill, Melissa, Charles and herself as squirming siblings in
church, while her mother tried desperately to listen to the sermon and keep them from kicking one
another surreptitiously. She reached into her pocket and he jumped.
"Scully! Here? Now?"
She looked a dagger or two at him and he subsided. "Take this." She ordered. "Put it in
your mouth."
Meekly, he accepted the Werther's and sucked on it placidly. Scully was able to listen to
the trial for a few minutes.
Crinkle. Crinkle.
"Mulder."
"What?"
"Quit playing with that." She gave the elderly couple an apologetic glance.
Crinkle. Crinkle.
"Mulder!"
"What?" He looked up from his task, all innocence.
"What are you doing?"
He opened his hand. "Origami. See, it's a crane."
She eyed the folded gold cellophane. "Is this the crane before or after the tornado hit it?"
He grunted and set to work again.
Crinkle. Crinkle.
"Scully."
"Hmm?"
"Check it out." He had folded the paper lengthwise and lengthwise and lengthwise again.
"What is it?"
"A pup tent for a dachshund."
She choked on her laughter and he grinned.
Crinkle. Crinkle.
"Scully."
"What?"
"Ever read about Curious George?"
"I'm partnered with him."
"Very funny. Do you remember the little paper boats he made? Look. See?"
She looked and saw. "What are you going to call it?"
He looked at her, and answered as though surprised she should ask, "The Sea Monkey."
She bit her lip and snatched the cellophane away. He slumped into his seat again. Dana
gave another little sigh, and glanced at her partner pityingly. Geez, what a terror he must have
been as a kid, she thought.
Feeling like a new mother with a five-year-old, she took out her evidence notepad and
wrote:
*Complete the next couplet. Words you may not use: "Nantucket" and "Venus."
There once was a red dog named Clyde.
With long fur all over his hide.*
Mulder took the proffered pad, frowned a bit, and scribbled rapidly. Then he returned it to
her.
*Soylent Green was his snacks
Cause his mistress was lax.*
Scully frowned, and finished with a flourish:
*Because her partner was a nut bona fide.
Try this one.
There once was a woman named Phoebe. . .*
Mulder arched an eyebrow and bent his pencil to the challenge.
Scully shook her head and gestured for the notepad: *I wouldn't let this moron be a
witness at a wedding.*
*Why? What's wrong with him?*
*You must be joking. He keeps trying to look down that law clerk's blouse.*
*I repeat, what's wrong with him?*
A glare.
*Hey, Scully. Try this one:
There once was an AD named Skinner
Who's hair couldn't get any thinner--*
"Mulder?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you wearing cologne?"
"No, why?"
" Cause it's my favorite and-" Scully closed her eyes suddenly as a voice above and
behind her cleared it's throat softly.
Mulder flinched and asked Scully with a look, He couldn't possibly be standing right
behind us, could he?
Scully nodded, wincing.
A.D. Skinner calmly sat down next to Mulder, who was forced to scoot down. Then their
boss held out his hand.
"Busted." Mulder muttered as he surrendered the contraband.
Skinner glanced over the notes impassively. Then he removed a black fountain pen from
his breast pocket and began to write. After a few lines, he returned the notepad to Mulder, his
handsome, rather stern face expressionless.
Gingerly, he opened the cover. Scully looked over her partner's shoulder to see.
*There once was an AD named Skinner
Who's hair couldn't grow any thinner.*
Then, in Skinner's thick, strong hand:
*He'd tear it out in tufts
Yelling, "Stop, That's enough!"
Cause Mulder and Scully were sinners.*
The two partners exchanged puzzled looks. They found themselves in the bizarre situation
of having been sent to the principal's office for shooting spitballs in class, only to find the
Principal giving them a lecture on their inefficient technique and offering them a replacement
shooter. They were utterly at a loss as to what to do.
Then, Skinner ran a hand nonchalantly over his scalp and the giggles started. This time,
the defense attorney favored their general direction with a quelling stare. His glare took in an
elderly couple of courtroom groupies, three reporters taking notes, a petite, pretty redhead who
appeared to listening with assiduous attention, a tall man with dour good looks, a grey suit and a
ghastly tie who was gazing back at him without guile, and a grave older man whom the defense
attorney recognized as A.D. Skinner of the FBI. The attorney sat up a little straighter.
Skinner motioned for Mulder to give him back the paper.
*Just stopped in to see if the DA can put this guy away. Had heard the Defense was
sharp.*
Mulder took the pad.
*No need to worry, sir. The Defense has seen a little too much L.A. Law. He keeps
preening.*
Skinner gave Scully a quick look, who nodded her agreement of this assessment, then he
scrawled:
*Not preening, Agent Mulder. Molting. Place is like an oven.*
Scully ignored the triumphant look Mulder shot her and made grabby motions with her
hand. The pen and calf-covered notepad were pressed into service as she chewed thoughtfully on
the former. Both men sat. Mulder sighed heavily and thrust his hands in his pockets, resigned to
another few hours of unrelieved boredom. His eyes traveled over to the fire alarm. Maybe . . .
Skinner considered leaving, but he was rather hoping to speak to Agent Scully alone for a
few minutes. There was no reason in the world to do so, of course. His gaze strayed over to her
face, resting on the bright hair. He wondered absurdly, and not for the first time, if it burned to
the
touch. Catching himself staring at her, he guiltily transferred his attention to the walls and found
himself looking at the fire alarm. For a moment, he contemplated . . .
Dana caught the movement of two male chins out of the corner of her eye. She followed
their path. She bit back a gasp, took the pen again, and scribbled hastily:
*There once was a mutant named Tooms*
Mulder grinned, temporarily diverted from a misdemeanor.
*Who liked to make newspaper rooms*
*On livers he'd lunch . . .*
A crease appeared between Mulder's eyebrows. He was stuck. "On livers he'd lunch. . .
Munch . . . Crunch. . ."
Skinner pulled the pad from his fingers and added:
*And sleep a whole bunch.*
Mulder nodded his approval and gave Scully the pad for the finishing touches.
*But his bile made Mulder swoon.*
Mulder's hazel eyes narrowed as he replied:
*The meter's wrong.*
*It is not.*
*It is so. That meter only works if you're Emily Dickinson. And it didn't work all
that well for her either.*
*Fine.* Scully huffed and scratched out a word, then added two more.
*But his bile would make Mulder swoon. Are you happy now?*
*Deliriously.*
Skinner intercepted.
*Do I have to separate you two?*
Chagrined, they both stared at their feet. Skinner had taken charge and he wrote:
*There once was a man of few words*
*Who's lies were patently absurd.*
He passed the notepad to Mulder with the challenge of a raised eyebrow.
Mulder gnawed on his pencil thoughtfully, gazing down at the black ink.
*On Morleys he'd smoke . . .Scully?*
*On his fumes we would choke . . .Sir?*
Skinner's long, black eyebrows beetled together and he completed the rhyme:
*Behind our backs we flipped him the Bird.*
The back row had erupted into suspicious-sounding coughs, but when the DA craned his
neck to see the disturbance, he could only find three composed faces dutifully observing the
proceedings. He shook his head. Must have imagined it.
Mulder bit the inside of his cheek, and prayed he wouldn't embarrass himself. Scully
could feel his shoulder shake against her own.
Finally, Mulder could be still long enough to write:
*Who are you and what have you done with Assistant Director Skinner?*
*I'm not a pod-person, Agent Mulder.* Came the acerbic reply.
Dana smiled at them both and reclaimed her notepad. The heat had made her a little
light-headed. At least, that's what she told herself as an excuse for why she was passing notes like
a
junior high school girl in English class.
*Mulder, I've got one for you:
There once was an agent named "Spooky"
Who's ideas were decidedly kooky
He was looking for truth . . .*
Scully paused. She really didn't want to hurt his feelings. She could not, for the life of her,
think of a way to get out of this gracefully. She was spared the trouble by Mulder removing the
pad from her hands.
*But found only vermouth*
A matched pair of red eyebrows arched expressively.
*I thought it was vodka.*
*Vodka doesn't rhyme with truth,' Scully.*
*True.* Scully pondered for a moment on the Comity case and completed the limerick
with a touch of malice.
*And blonde bimbos definitively ooky.*
Skinner puzzled over the completed limerick and a black question appeared on the page:
*Could you explain for me, Agent Scully, the scientific definition of the word,
"ooky"?*
Mulder turned his face to his partner and mouthed, "Ha ha ha ha ha ha."
Undaunted, Scully replied, *It is very much like "icky", only more so, sir.*
The two men considered her answer, and Skinner whispered, "I take it redheads can make
up their own definitions?"
"To pretty much anything, sir." Mulder's lips twisted up. "Which gives me an idea.
Scully, give me the pad."
*There once was a redhead named Dana*
Scully caught the first line and was effectively shielded from the rest by Mulder's back as
the two heads, one dark, one balding, conspired together.
"Give me that." She demanded, sotto voce.
"No." Mulder's face was beet red from the effort it took to keep from laughing. Skinner
seemed to be having trouble breathing as he asked,
"Really?"
Mulder affirmed it with a nod.
Skinner gave a silent whistle and eyed Dana with renewed respect. It infuriated her.
"Give it back, Mulder!"
"No. You're too young."
"I mean it. Hand it over!"
"No."
Scully clicked her thumb on her blue-inked pen button and exposed the point. "Now,
Mulder!"
"No."
A muffled yelp came from the back of the courtroom. The judge peered over the rims of his
glasses into the serene azure eyes of Dana Katherine Scully. His Honor Arthur Weiss returned to
the certainty of the papers in front of him while Mulder rubbed his wounded thigh and Scully
leafed through her notebook.
Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner tried to make himself smaller than his 6'2",
solidly-muscled frame would allow him, and waited for the inevitable explosion. It never came.
Dana captured his eyes. He flushed over the tops of his ears, and stared at his feet. She's
gonna kill me. She's already maimed Mulder. I'm gonna get into trouble . . . He stopped that
thought abruptly. Wait a minute! I'm the one that gives trouble! I am the trouble!
Agent Scully pursed her lips at the limerick, shook her head at the crude accompanying
pencil illustration, and turned it 180 degrees to the right. Then 90 to the left. Two coppery
crescents climbed to her hairline. She regarded both men balefully and thumbed a red button on
her pen. Then she corrected the spelling, adding another "g" to "toboggan," completed the
drawing by giving it her birthmark, and wrote a few lines in red pen. She then closed the
notebook and allowed Mulder to take it back while she sat demurely. The two men gulped, and
read:
*82/100 Imaginative, but check your physics.
Amateurs!*
Then there was inscribed a five-line poem of such vulgarity that their eyes literally popped.
The two men looked to the notepad, to one another, then, as if pulled by an invisible string,
swivelled their heads to the right to Dana Scully, cool, at ease, utterly unperturbed. The same
Dana Scully who had written this filthy limerick. It was not possible.
Under their combined gaze, Dana Scully turned her chin to the left,
And smiled like an angel.
A beat of silence passed. Then two. Then three.
Finally, Skinner wrote three words:
*Sailor's daughter, huh?*
"Oh, yeah." Mulder breathed.
"Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning at 9:20 a. m." A gavel pounded and people
began to stir.
Skinner took advantage of the noise to tear out the pages and pocket them. He stood aside
to let Mulder pass, and Dana Scully's delicate shoulder brushed over his breast.
"Agent Scully?"
She paused and bent her neck to look up at him. "Sir?"
"Do you know any hardware stores that are open at this hour?"
She frowned. "No, sir. Why?"
He leaned forward, his lips barely feathering her ear. "I'm thinking about getting a
toboggan."
She managed to hold the giggle in check, but the laugh rushed out of her eyes into his, and
they floated together on that mirth for a moment.
Then Mulder returned and touched her back lightly to lead her from Skinner and the
courtroom.
Later, in A.D. Skinner's office
"Ah-choo!"
Skinner smiled sympathetically at his assistant's cold. "Bless you."
"Thank you." Kimberly snuffled.
Skinner stood and retrieved his jacket that was hanging over the side of the chair. He
tossed her the garment. "There's some Kleenex in the right pocket, I think. I'm gonna grab a
soda. You want one?"
"Sure."
He nodded.
A few minutes later, he returned to the AD office sipping at his Coke. He plunked the root
beer in front of Kimberly, who was sitting at her desk, smiling a Cheshire Cat smile. He spared
her a puzzled glance and walked past her to his own inner office. "You find what you needed,
Kim?"
"Yes, sir." He heard what sounded like a hastily swallowed giggle.
"Those Ellison files on my desk?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Thank you." He stepped in and was about to close the door when her voice
arrested him.
"Sir, Agent Scully was right."
He looked at his assistant's guileless face suspiciously.
She continued, "There are two g's in toboggan.'"
Walter Skinner closed his eyes, squared his shoulders and marched into his own office.
Kimberly waited until the door shut behind him with more force than usual before she
threw back her head and laughed.
The End
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------
"This highly rapid and unintelligible chatter
Is so very rarely understood
That it really doesn't matter." -- Ruddygore
Next Story-- "Day at the Market"
"Day at Court"
Bonnie Drew
Comments c/o amstone@ix.netcom.com
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------
Here it is at last, the next installment of my "Day" series. I know it's been a long time in coming.
I'm a teacher, and I'm afraid I'm enjoying my summer vacation a little to much. And as Bonnie
told me earlier this week, writing is a lot harder when it's your job and not your hobby. Thanks
for your patience and for the cyber kicks in the butt you've been sending me. (You know who
you
are, Linda. ;)) This story is what I call an ugly little transitional piece. It has to be written so I
can
get on to the fun stuff, but it does offer some insight into the past of Walter Skinner.
Thanks, forever and always, to Bonnie who gave me the idea for the last scene and a few
well-deserved boots to the head for my laziness.
DISCLAIMER: Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, and Fox Mulder are not mine. I've tried to
convince Chris Carter and 1013 Productions that I can take better care of them than they do, but
they refuse to believe me, insisting that these three darling people belong to them. Drat.
Send all comments (writers love feedback) to Sally at amstone@ix.netcom.com.
Previous story: "Day in Court" by Bonnie Drew
Day at the Market
by
Sally Bradstreet
The Food Mart
1:04 pm
October 28, 1995
It was the list that was Dana Scully's undoing.
Had it not disappeared into the depths of her pocket, she would not have clenched her key
ring between her teeth and juggled three brown bags full of groceries into one arm while she
plumbed the uncharted regions of her trench coat for the elusive slip of paper. Had it stayed on
top
her gloves where she had placed it earlier, she would not have looked down as she headed toward
the door to determine whether what she held was her recalcitrant list or a stray ticket stub. And
had it simply cooperated, she would never have crashed loudly into that unyielding display of
Halloween costumes.
She dropped her keys with a yelp and scrambled unsuccessfully to keep her collection of
shampoo, dog food, and toilet paper from scattering all over the floor.
"Oh, for crying out loud!" she wailed as she stooped down to gather up her recent
purchases. She was never going to get to the airport at this rate.
"Can I give you a hand with that?" asked a male voice from several feet above her.
Dana's eyes traveled up over tennis shoes, faded Levis, a leather bomber jacket, and
stopped at last on the face of Walter Skinner.
a wry voice in her head chuckled,
She smiled up at him. "Thanks, sir, uh, Walt."
He hunkered down beside her, placing his bags of groceries, which were behaving
themselves perfectly and not rolling all over the battered tile, on the floor, and looked askance at
her. "You're still having trouble with my name?"
She shrugged. "You're still sir' during office hours, Walt," she replied, emphasizing his
name, "and my brain is still adjusting to the after-hours difference." She snapped a sagging paper
bag back into shape. "It's rather like meeting one of your high school teachers 10 years after
graduation and having them ask you to call them by their first name."
Walt sat back on his heels and appraised her a moment before responding, "Or like having
your best friend's kid sister insist that you call her by her name instead of Squirt'."
Dana had the good grace to flush a little. "I suppose I deserved that."
"So," he asked with a smile, dismissing the subject of age, "is there any particular reason
why you're in such a hurry, Dana?" He expertly tossed soup and pasta back into a bag.
Dana rolled her eyes. "Mulder bumped up our flight, without consulting me." She
rescued an orange from the middle of the aisle. "Therefore, I have only two hours in which to run
a full day's worth of errands before I have to be at the airport."
"Oh."
The run-away groceries now retrieved, both struggled to their feet, shifting their bags as
they did so, then stood and looked at each other for an awkward moment. Their out-of-work
friendship was still new, and each tended to treat it like a child with a brand new toy--they were
anxious to play with it, but were afraid it would break with too rough of use.
At last Walt spoke, his tone carrying a confidence he didn't feel. "Do you have time for
lunch?"
Dana smiled, glad for the invitation, and glanced at the Coca-Cola clock glowing red and
white above the store's exit. "If it's something I can eat in less than 18 minutes, yes."
"The lunch counter here is OK, and it's usually pretty fast." He gestured to the small
cluster of booths behind her with his elbow.
"Great, but let's find a cart to put these in first. They're getting a little heavy." As if to
prove her point, one of her bags slipped from her grasp and she deftly caught it with her knee,
balancing precariously on one foot.
Walt did as she requested, quickly dumping his bags into the wobbly-wheeled shopping
cart and taking two of hers before they again hit the ground. "Better?" he asked as she placed the
last bag in the metal cage.
"Immensely." Dana took charge of the cart and pushed it brusquely to the lunch counter,
reading the menu aloud as she went. "Hamburger, cheeseburger, fried chicken, chef's salad. That
doesn't sound too bad."
"If you're a rabbit," he grumbled good-naturedly.
She arched an eyebrow at him. "You sound like Mulder. All right, fine. I'll have a
cheeseburger, fries, and a large diet Coke." This was addressed to the waitress who had
materialized behind the cash register. Under her breath she added, "If I die young, it will be your
fault."
He ignored this and told the teen, "Make it two. And can you rush that?"
The girl grinned, revealing braces laced with blue elastics. "Sure. That'll be $10.26."
Dana found her billfold and pulled out a five dollar bill, but when she looked up Walt was
already tucking the receipt into his wallet. She raised her eyebrow at him again, this time in
question.
Walt caught her expression and was confused by it until he saw the money she still held in
her hand. He slid his wallet back into his pocket with a shrug. "Sorry. Male instinct dictates that
when eating with a woman, the man pays the bill."
"That's all right," she replied, putting her money away. "I'll get the next one."
"Great. Dinner at Angelo's? I haven't had a T-bone in a long time."
"Ha, ha. If you want to go the Angelo's, we'll go Dutch."
The waitress reappeared with a loaded tray and Dana smiled appreciatively. "Thanks.
Walt, get the food."
He saluted her smartly and picked up the tray. "Yes, ma'am."
They picked their way through a mass of eating shoppers and loaded carts, catching
snippets of conversations here and there, most of which centered on the joys of crowding grocery
stores on a Saturday. Finally they found a booth in a back corner and Dana dropped into the
chair
with a grateful sigh. "I hate shopping, especially when I'm in a hurry."
Walt divided up the food, placing a paper-wrapped burger in front of each of them. "Then
why not wait until you get back?"
"Because we're flying back in on Tuesday afternoon and I wanted to be sure that I had
candy for the trick-or-treaters." She sniffed delicately at the cheeseburger she held and took a
cautious bite.
"You must live in a huge neighborhood if you need that much candy," he remarked,
thinking of the bags of miniature Butterfingers, Mounds, and Smarties that he had re-bagged for
her.
Dana swallowed quickly and wiped her mouth. "My neighborhood isn't that big, really.
The Tootsie Rolls will be enough for most of the kids that come by, and the miniature Hershey
bars are for me."
"Then who is the rest of it for?"
"Mulder," she answered with an exasperated sigh. "As you can imagine, he really gets
into Halloween, and he's been on a sugar high for the last two weeks. I keep hoping that he'll
make himself sick but it hasn't happened yet."
Walt shook his head at the thought of a truly hyperactive Mulder. "You're a brave
woman, Dana."
"You have no idea." She stuffed a couple of fries in her mouth. "You're right. This isn't
bad. And it's certainly better than what I usually get on the road."
He chuckled. "Ah, yes. I ate in my share of dives and greasy spoons, too. The memories
of a couple are still enough to give me heartburn." He glanced up to see her staring at him
quizzically. "What?"
"I'm sorry," she said with a smile. "It's just that I keep forgetting that you were a field
agent, too. I mean, I know that Assistant Directors don't spring fully grown and wearing armor
from the head of the Director of the FBI, but I've never seen you in any other context than that of
AD. I'm just trying to imagine what you must have been like in the field."
"You may find this hard to believe, but I was quite a bit like you and Mulder are now."
"What, you chased after non-existent ghost and ghouls too?" she asked drily.
"Hardly," he answered, just as drily. "But I did tend to give my superiors a rough time,
especially when I knew that I was right and they were wrong."
Dana propped her elbows up on the table and leaned toward him, very much interested in
this side of Walter Skinner. "For example?"
"Well," he said quietly, "there was the Hall case."
She shuddered. That case was required reading at Quantico, and she was familiar with the
details of the serial rapist/murderer. "I didn't realized that you had investigated that."
He nodded.
"How were your superiors wrong in that case?" she pressed gently.
Walt closed his eyes, trying to block out the vivid, unbidden images of crime scenes and
bodies that filled his mind. "If you remember the case, you know that Jimmy Hall committed 15
rape/murders before we apprehended him. He usually killed two women on the same block
before
moving on. Just before we caught him, we had found two more bodies. The Special Agent in
Charge of the investigation was sure that Hall was ready to find new hunting grounds, but I was
convinced that he still wasn't done with his current location."
"Why were you so sure?"
"He hadn't taken a trophy from his last victim. He took some part of the body of each
woman he killed, but the body of that victim was intact." The face of that woman, with curling
blonde hair and staring green eyes floated before him. "I knew that for some reason he wasn't
satisfied with the kill and that he would find another woman before he left. I presented my
evidence and screamed and yelled and all but hit the SAC before he agreed to give me one more
day. We knocked on every door, visited every business on that block, showing them Hall's
picture
and telling them to report anything unusual to us. But in the end it didn't matter. The woman he
attacked had been at work while we were canvassing the area, and she had no idea what was
going on."
Walt felt her hand, strong and warm, squeeze his arm in encouragement and he continued
in a strangled voice. "Someone in her building heard the screams and called us, but we got there
too late to help her. All we could do was surround the building and wait for him to come out. I
can still see the look in his eyes before we shot him. He was so sure that he had pulled it off again
that he was genuinely surprised to see ten agents holding weapons on him. Then he laughed. It
wasn't the laugh of a mad man, and I remember thinking that he should have sounded like Dr.
Frankenstein. Then he fired at my partner, and I shot the bastard between the eyes." He opened
his eyes at last and smiled without humor. "My only regret is that he didn't suffer more before he
died."
Dana studied the man before her with new insight. She had always wondered why he was
so willing to put himself on the line for her and her partner, why he time and again stood up to
Cancerman for their sakes. And now she understood. She squeezed his arm again. "He'll get his
chance to suffer, I promise."
Walt looked into her eyes, again amazed at her capacity to take in the horrors of the world
and offer strength in their place. "How can you be so sure?"
"I'm Catholic, remember? I have it on good authority." She smiled widely, telling him
that it was all right to laugh, and he did, fully and without reserve.
"Thanks, Dana," he said at last, returning her smile.
"Any time." She looked down at her watch. "I've got to go. I still need to pick up my dry
cleaning and take Clyde over to my mom's before I leave."
"All right. I'll walk out with you." Walt popped the plastic lid off his drink and filled his
mouth with ice before he stood and helped Dana pile the wrappers from their lunch on the tray.
Dana watched his jaw work on the ice for a moment. "You know, Mulder has a theory
about people who crunch ice like that."
Walt swallowed the ice in question and looked at her expectantly. "And what is this
theory?"
"That people who crunch on ice are sexually frustrated. Is that true in your case?" Her
blue eyes danced, daring him to answer.
In response, he grabbed his cup and filled his mouth again. "Shall we go?" he asked, his
words muffled by cubes of frozen water.
Dana giggled. "Yes, sir."
Somewhere over Tennessee
Same day
5:30 pm
Mulder looked over at his partner, who was currently reviewing the case file and playing
with the small plastic cup of soda and ice that the stewardess has left with her sometime earlier.
Scully was still irritated with him, he knew, but she couldn't be too mad at him. After all, she had
brought him a bag of Halloween candy to eat on the flight. So when he heard the familiar
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH of ice between back molars, he decided it was safe to say, "You
know what I always say about people who crunch ice, Scully."
She didn't bother to look at him. She just stuck her fingers into her glass and extracted
another piece of ice which she placed unconcernedly in her mouth. "What's that, Mulder?"
He nudged her arm and leered at her. "That they're sexually frustrated. Is there anything I
can do to help with that situation?"
"Actually, there is," she purred, glancing at him coyly and leaning closer to him.
Mulder blinked in surprise. "What's that?"
"Give me the rest of your ice."
He handed over the glass and crossed his arms over his chest, preparing to sulk. "You're
an evil-hearted woman, Scully, getting a man's hopes up like that."
She chose to overlook the double entendre and turned her eyes back to her file. "Sorry,
buddy. Maybe next time."
"Promises, promises."
She swallowed a laugh, and made a mental note to tell Walt about this particular
conversation when she got home.
The End
(
geocities.com/hollywood)