Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn't in Walter Skinner's nature to feel apologetic about his behavior or to live with regrets. He had the weight of much of the Bureau on his shoulders, the responsibility of his staff, and as if that weren't enough, his accountability to the public. He lived with his decisions, didn't concern himself with hindsight or regret for his actions, and avoided looking at things with an eye toward if-onlys.

Yet somehow Agent Mulder, and especially Agent Scully, seemed to bring out the apologist in him. He'd begun to notice it lately, this tendency to rationalize his decisions or actions to Mulder, as if currying favor with him. Which was really a joke when you considered it, because if there was ever an agent less worthy of receiving favor from, it was Mulder, considering the grief Mulder had caused him.

It was worse with Scully, though, for some reason. Maybe because she was a woman. Or perhaps because she was so young. Certainly the fact that she'd suffered so much since coming to the X-Files had something to do with it; perhaps he considered her fragile. As she'd stood there, boiling from that helpless rage that sometimes fought its way to the surface, lashing Skinner over the investigation into her sister's murder, he'd done it again. Fell all over himself to let her know that he wasn't going to let it drop. Almost implored her to believe that he would not let her down again.

Skinner did not understand this part of himself, this need to appease her and treat her specially above all other agents. If he were the type to look deeper, he might be able to see his definite attraction to her. But he deliberately chose to stay away from that part of himself. There was too much at risk to acknowledge her power over him, too much he could stand to lose by falling for an agent in his command. The ghost of his feelings for her hovered somewhere dark inside him, too far away to see clearly or to touch; yet far too close to avoid.

A knock on his door startled him; he was always surprised when someone got past the secretary without her buzzing for permission. He answered, "Come in," and Scully entered, alone, her face as stoic and unreadable as it always was. She gave so little away, he realized. *Just like me.* It was easier to keep a mask of distance than to show people what you felt; Mulder often gave away all his emotions, and he had been nearly destroyed because of that.

Color rose to Skinner's face as she entered, embarrassed at what he'd been thinking about her. He stood politely, still in pain. "Agent Scully, please sit down." He motioned towards one of the chairs facing his desk. When he'd come looking for her two days ago, to tell her the news about Cardinal, she'd been gone. He never had had the chance to speak to her personally about it.

As she sat down she gazed coolly at him. "Sir. I just wanted to... I hadn't had a chance to thank you for everything. The last time we talked it seemed we were too busy arguing about what to do. And I wanted you to know how much I appreciated what you went through. I would not like you to think I was ungrateful."

"I told Mulder this, and I'll tell you, too. It's not my crusade, Agent Scully. I was only doing what I thought was my job."

"I know. And you're good at that," she said, smiling. "Pushing away the thanks. But the fact is you didn't have to stand up to those men. And you didn't have do any of the things you've done to help Agent Mulder and me."

Skinner shook his head. "Nothing I wouldn't do for any of my agents."

She looked at him wryly, not believing a word of it.

"Is there something else, Agent Scully?" he asked, needing to bring this to a close. Everything felt too tight now, too restrictive. Things had bent and warped out of shape over the past weeks. The memory of her touch, the closeness of her breath as she'd leaned over him in the hospital. And the light in her eyes when she'd sat with him in the ambulance. It all felt too crowded with emotion.

"Yes," she answered, fidgeting just a little. That was something he usually expected from Mulder, not from her. He wondered briefly if Mulder had pushed her into coming here.

God, was she ever this nervous before, talking to him? Even when he'd taken her badge away, she couldn't remember feeling so anxious.

"We were thinking... well, I was thinking and Mulder agrees with me. At the missile silos in North Dakota, we were thrown out before we could find what we were looking for. There have been many times Mulder claims to have seen actual craft he considers UFOs before -- this wasn't an entirely unusual situation. But that man, the one who smokes the cigarettes, he wanted to keep us from something else, something other than a UFO. Once Mulder and I pieced the whole story together, we had come to believe that that's where Krycek ended up. Somewhere in those silos, perhaps guided by some other consciousness. Mulder believes there is some kind of intelligent life-force in that black oil. And Krycek may be the last one to carry it. And he may still be there."

"You sound like Mulder," Skinner said.

She laughed a little with an embarrassed tone, her head bowed, before she looked up at him. "I know. I do. But it makes a crazy kind of sense. And I want to go back there. We think we can get Krycek. We know he was there."

She was lovely, he thought, when she smiled. An entirely different person. Skinner looked at her skeptically. "For revenge?"

"No. Simple justice. I know it sounds like revenge. I'm not even sure I believe in justice, at least not man-made justice, anymore. Not after what happened to Luis Cardinal. But I believe there's a strong possibility that we can bring Krycek to something resembling justice. We have this long list of crimes. At the very least, isn't it worth trying to make him answer for them?"

"I'm not arguing with you, Agent Scully. I want him caught as badly as you do. But it's going to require some finagling to get you back there, at the very least, and then we have to find a way to get Krycek back here and to trial without the same men who killed Cardinal whacking him."

Scully pursed her lips together hard, trying not to smile again. "Whacking" was an unusual verb for an assistant director to use. Then he smiled himself, and she could feel the surprise register on her face. Levity in front of her was not something she expected, but this sudden unveiling of his nature she liked. She liked it a lot. Her anxiety finally faded with that smile.

"That's why I'm coming to you. Do you think you can get us back there, without everyone knowing? I have the strongest feeling he's still there, sir. Then maybe we can all put this behind us."

Something about the word "us" brought an ache to his chest. So casual and yet so laden with possibilities. If she had meant only Mulder with that 'us,' it would be one thing. But she was thinking of Skinner, too. One word that said all kinds of things. Things that could never be, things that made him realize how empty his life had become of late.

"I can try," he answered. "Will you let me look into it? I realize there's a time frame involved, but I don't know how far those men reach..." He trailed off, not sure what to say about them. All the secrets he had to keep and the knowledge of what those men were involved in was a heavy burden to carry. While there was much he could share with Mulder and Scully, there was still more he had yet to understand himself. And he was that kind of man: one who needed to understand a situation himself before he could help someone else.

"Yes, that would be fine. I appreciate your willingness to listen."

He almost wondered if she was dragging the conversation out. It was easier sometimes, when Mulder was with her. Being alone with her meant being shrouded in a dense cloud of feelings he didn't want to experience. It felt... unsafe.

It angered him when he thought about it. Men and women worked together all the time and it wasn't bogged down in romantic feelings or sexual urges. In fact, *he* worked with women all the time and never gave them a second thought. Yet everything about Dana Scully had to be different.

"Then I'll let you know." He stood, hoping to bring it to an end. But she sat for a moment, as if lost in thought.

"Since I came to the X-Files I've had so many of my notions about the order of the world shaken. I used to believe in justice, I used to believe in honor. That somehow good always vanquished evil and that your actions defined your character. I told Mulder that when Luis Cardinal was killed, maybe it didn't matter. Because maybe there was no real justice in this world. I don't know if I would go so far as to say my faith was restored, but the fact that you were willing to stand up for us... well, it's reminded me that there is still honor and integrity. That caring for people still matters. I wanted you to know it gave me a little of my faith back."

Skinner twitched his head slightly. He felt lost, at sea. Her words were like poetry. How could he answer her?

Scully rose then and moved towards the door, pausing to look over her shoulder. She wasn't sure how to tell him, really, what she thought of him. Or what she wanted from him, if she even knew what that was. "Things move so quickly, don't they? Life changes in an instant and you're left with whiplash, trying to take it all in."

He could still see her eyes above him when he'd come out of surgery, filled with fear and confusion, as she leaned close to hear his words. Those eyes were unforgettable. He nodded, unable to find the right things to say to her, as always. She closed the door and he sank into his chair, relieved, confused, and a little bit afraid.

The airplane was freezing cold, and its lack of passenger-plane comforts was beginning to give her a headache, but Scully bit her lip and tried to keep her chin up. Mulder was lying sideways across the jump seat, his head nearly in her lap. Sneaking off on a red-eye cargo flight to Bismarck was not her idea of a good time, and it annoyed her that Mulder seemed relaxed and at home in this flying freezer. She could swear he was asleep.

As if aware of her musings, he opened his eyes and gazed sweetly up at her. "What's the going rate these days for thoughts?"

"A damn sight more than a penny for you, buster." She wrapped her parka more tightly around her. "And I'm adding tax because of this meat locker."

"*I* didn't choose this. We asked Skinner, remember? Blame him." Mulder shifted, settled, then shifted again. There were times he reminded Scully of a dog, the way they walked patterns round and round until they found the right spot.

"I'm not going to blame him when he's doing us such a great favor. He could lose a lot if this goes south on us, you know." She thought suddenly of Skinner standing in Mulder's apartment, bleeding and bruised, with that sarcastic light to his eyes. "Unofficial channels," he'd answered when she asked where he got the information. Think of all the things he could have lost then, and has nearly lost since, protecting us. And still it had taken her so long to trust him. Skinner had to get shot to prove himself to her and to Mulder.

"So what are you thinking about? You've been... I don't know. Quieter than usual lately. There's a stillness to you. It's not a severity; I wouldn't even call it your normal repressed state." She laughed quietly at that. "Not the Enigmatic Dr. Scully. Just a kind of inward-looking quality. You didn't even say a word on the way to the airport, just grunted when I talked to you."

Mulder was fishing, which he realized she always found amusing. But he was casting a more serious hook here -- wondering about her coping skills, how they were after being so close to ending the investigation into Melissa's murder. Having the closure ripped away from her hands. He was more afraid for her than he wanted her to know.

She ruffled her gloved fingers through his hair as she'd done a dozen times before. "Nothing special. Just thinking about changes. How fate takes its own path and is completely uninterested in whether or not you follow along with it."

He closed his eyes again and she went back to her own reverie, listening to the plane's droning engine and feeling the movement reverberate through her body.

Of course Mulder was right, she had been having these periods of stillness more often. She was repressed, maybe, but she was also very self-aware, very attuned to her own mind and heart. It didn't take much thought at all for her to know that things had changed between her and Skinner, that there was some kind of feeling between them. A little beyond the norm, even the highly odd norm of his relationship to them as a team. When she could look within herself, when she had time to breathe and think, she saw how much the distance had closed between her and Skinner. There were times his frustration and anger with her had turned into a kind of baiting flirtatiousness. If Scully had thought there was something unusual there, her natural lack of trust had made her avoid it.

Skinner had looked as if he might cry when she'd walked out on him a few weeks ago. As if the weight of letting her down broke him. She'd thought about that for a long time, reflecting on it during her trip to San Diego, only to come home to find him hospitalized. Shot because of her quest, her need for answers. Everything seemed to change at that point, when his hand held hers. She'd felt such responsibility to him, such a need to care for him.

It could be easily dismissed as simple friendship. But she knew herself better than that.

Mulder's voice floated up to her, muffled by his coat. "Scully, are you in love?"

She sputtered. "What? Why?"

"I don't know. I'm just thinking that maybe that's what's going on. That it's more than just your sister. You give off a vibe that's kind of... I don't know. Like you're in love."

"Mulder, who has time for falling in love? It's not like either of us ever has a chance for a date."

"You could fall for someone at the office."

She could swear she heard regret in his voice.

Scully gave her most dramatic sigh. "No, Mulder, I'm not in love." Or at least, I don't want to think I'm in love. Especially not with my boss. My boss who's considerably older than I am, and could ruin my career.

"Well, if you find yourself heading in that direction, let me know."

"Mulder, it would be none of your business if I were." She poked a finger into his shoulder, hard.

"No, but I'd want to hear all the details. The *juicy* details." He shifted again, this time putting his head directly in her lap, curling up like a child.

"In your dreams."

He looked up at her sideways. She was a sucker for this -- the light in his eyes illuminating his face. She could not help smiling back at him.

Earlier she'd mentioned the paths fate took. Right now, Dana knew, she was at a crossroads. One step in either direction would take her somewhere she had no map for. Even if they came back empty-handed from this mission, even if nothing was resolved and there was no closure for her on this case, signs were pointing her to new paths. One of them led to Skinner; another away from him. Both could have such frightening consequences.

Melissa would have urged her on a path toward love. That was all she thought about: finding the goodness in people, the love that might lie hidden within them. Melissa would have wanted Dana to, for once in her life, make a choice without analyzing or deconstructing it.

"Mulder, do you think I'm too stolid? That I can't be spontaneous?"

Mulder froze. Questions like that were much too dangerous; it was like being asked by your date if the jeans she wore made her look fat. Finally he answered tentatively, "I think you're always very cautious, and you're too smart to let yourself throw caution to the wind."

"In other words, yes, I have no spontaneity."

Mulder squeezed her knee. There was a reason for this question, he knew. "You're asking this because you've been thinking of Melissa's death, aren't you?"

"In a way, I suppose. She told me that once. And it's been on my mind, that I'm not open to things."

"I really liked Melissa, once I got over my initial mistrust. I think I reacted badly to her at first because she wasn't that unlike me in her beliefs, and right then I just wanted to wallow in my misery and guilt. And there she was, being all positive all over the place." He smiled at the thought. "But you know, I saw some of you in her. The focus and drive. The grounding in her own beliefs. Her confidence. And there's some of her in you. If you want to find it, maybe you just have to let it out. It could be there to discover inside yourself when you need it. You'll know."

She brushed her hand over his hair, and wondered at how she could find that part of her sister's kindness and forgiveness. This mission of retribution they were on would be something Missy would never embrace. So, she reckoned, then she must not yet know how to embrace that part of her sister. But opening her heart to Skinner, well, that was another matter. The heart had been her sister's arena of expertise. She wished Missy were here to prod her.

It was funny, she thought, that she felt less fear about facing a murderer than she did about finding her heart.

She settled back against the rumbling aluminum skin of the plane's interior and tried to sleep. Mulder was making her feel warmer and she wasn't shivering as much. Eventually she drifted off, waking to find Mulder's hand softly shaking her shoulder.

"You slept through the landing." He marveled at her.

Scully rubbed at her eyes. "Guess I must have been sleepier than I realized. Wow. I usually can't even sleep through an average plane ride. Are we in Bismarck then?"

Mulder nodded. "We need to connect with this guy Skinner put me in touch with. Then we'll get a car and head out to the silos. Scully," he said somberly, "I have this odd feeling. Like we'll finally get something that we want. I know he's down there. And I know we'll get him."

She nodded. "I know. I feel the same way. Like we're heading towards closure."

He pulled out his gun, double-checked the clip, checked that he had more clips at the ready, and stuffed it into his holster. While the cargo door opened, Scully checked hers, and looked into Mulder's gleaming eyes. "It's not revenge, is it?" she asked uncertainly.

"No. It's something deeper than that. Truth. Answers."

Nodding again, Dana put her gun in the holster. She was ready. She was fearless.

Skinner met them at the hospital where they'd taken Krycek, striding through the hall, using his angry expression and size to clear a path among the people around the floor. Mulder had called the Marshals in to guard their catch as he was supposed to, but Scully's first call had been to Skinner.

Skinner spotted her in the crowd and went immediately to her, jerking his head toward the door. "What's the situation?"

"He's in bad shape. Incredibly dehydrated, there may even be kidney damage. There are some anomalies I can't explain, either, but they've just started looking at him. They're giving him fluids -- he's not entirely lucid, although he's in decent enough shape to try to put up a fight." She watched Skinner's face for a sign that he was satisfied, but there was nothing written there.

Through clenched teeth he said, "I don't like this. It's too easy here. Let's get him locked up, *now.*" The last thing he wanted to see was Krycek mysteriously take a turn for the worse. He didn't want to risk Scully's disappointment in him again. And as much as he'd like to take Krycek apart piece by piece, keeping him alive right now was priority number one.

The doctor in Scully wanted to protest moving him, but another part of her didn't care what happened to him.

As if echoing her thoughts, Mulder came up behind Skinner. "Kind of hard to feel sorry for the little bastard, isn't it?"

"Yeah. My heart bleeds," Skinner said snidely. He turned his attention to Scully again. "You were gone long enough that I started to worry."

She wondered if he meant both of them, or just her alone. She shrugged. "It took a long time to find him." It was impossible to describe the depth of those silos, the overwhelming size of them.

Skinner pointed at Mulder. "Let's get him out of here. He's in Federal custody, and I want them to know he gets maximum protection. Let's not lose this one, too." He turned and walked to the Marshals closest the door, Mulder following him. The AD still had trouble walking, but he'd spurned the cane a while ago. There was no way he'd admit to weakness now, especially when they had a case breaking like this. He was good at hiding pain.

*How like me he is sometimes,* Dana thought, watching him walk away with difficulty, too stubborn to give in to his pain. All the times people -- especially Mulder -- tried to take care of her, or get her to take of herself, they failed. She could never let go of her control or lay off work to grieve or nurse physical injuries. It just seemed too soft to her, too weak.

Just as she started for the hospital room to talk to the doctor, she heard Skinner call, "Agent Scully. Good work. I'd like to see you and Agent Mulder in my office first thing tomorrow. We'll figure out where to go from here."

As much as it shamed her to admit, Scully had always labored under a strong desire to please anyone with authority in her life. All it took was the "good work" and she could feel the proud smile overtake her face. Mulder caught it and made a ridiculous, mocking face at her. Trust him to keep her reactions in perspective.

The next morning they sat across the desk from Skinner, along with a man named Wilson from the Attorney General's office. Skinner outlined all the information they would need to put together a solid case against Krycek, and Wilson outlined the charges.

After Wilson was through, Skinner removed his glasses. "The main thing is keeping him alive. I'm doing everything I can, but the fact remains that the people he was originally working for won't be happy we have him. Krycek told Mulder they once tried to kill him -- presumably for not doing the job right in regards to... to harming Agent Scully." He looked at her sadly, his eyes so soft and kind once he wasn't hiding behind the glasses. It was odd, she thought, how he'd avoided saying "killing." There was a funny chivalric streak to him.

Skinner indicated the meeting was over by telling them to get started. As they left, Skinner said softly, "Agent Scully, may I have a word alone?"

She hesitated and looked at Mulder, who arched an eyebrow at her. The two men left and Scully turned back to Skinner, who walked over to her, rolling his shoulders a bit, stuffing one hand in a pocket. Scully had paid enough attention to him lately to know this was his "I'm-uncomfortable" stance.

"Agent Scully, I wanted to make sure it wouldn't be a problem for you to pursue this prosecution. I know this is a difficult situation, and I'm asking you to dredge up some painful events. Are you all right with this?"

It had been just this kindness, this concern that had thrown her the first time he'd exhibited it. Knowing he was on their side had been a difficult understanding to come to. It opened up channels between them she wasn't sure how to navigate.

"It's no less painful for Agent Mulder, sir. He lost his father."

"I know. It's just... Mulder somehow didn't seem as affected. I suppose it may have something to do with the fact that he and his father weren't close, and you were to your sister. Or maybe I'm just misreading things."

"I think it may be the residual effect of my temper tantrum." She smiled up at him, but it was hard to keep from feeling the weight of it all with this reminder -- both she and Mulder had lost so much.

Skinner smiled back. "That was not what I'd call a tantrum. You were perfectly justified in being angry. But yes, maybe that's why I'm a little concerned about how this will affect you." Or maybe I'm lying to myself, he thought, because what I really want to do is just be near you. He couldn't believe the lapses in judgment he was making with regards to her lately. Could she see right through him?

Looking out the window, Scully avoided answering him. It had always been easier for her to deal with grief or loss through silence; what made it harder were the caring comments and gentle pats on the back, the worried looks and murmured words of sympathy. She wanted to suffer privately and not talk, because talking brought out emotion. And showing such emotions made Scully feel weak and childish.

The worst part had been her return to work after her abduction; Scully had wanted to put it all behind her and trudge forward, but the well-meaning yet intrusive sympathies of co-workers had left her feeling drained and vulnerable. There had been times she'd gone into the women's room just to cry and get it over with. Now Skinner's words were pushing her in that direction; she could feel the tremble of her lip as thoughts of Melissa washed over her.

Skinner could tell that he had trespassed, and the look of embarrassment on his face must be written in neon. But it was too late for him to take back the words and the sentiment, as he watched a tear spill out of her eye to run down her cheek.

He reached forward and brushed the tear away with the tips of his fingers. It was a sudden movement, almost jolting for both of them, and he heard her breath catch in her throat.

She breathed deeply and audibly. For a moment it was as if he'd moved from darkness into light. But it was so quick, and he obscured himself as quickly as he'd opened up.

Skinner said, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry. That was inappropriate of me--"

But Dana cut him off, babbling out her own apologies. "No, sir, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, that was entirely unprofessional. I don't know what happened, I guess talking about it still has the power to bring it all back." She brought herself to a stop, unable to look at him. This kind of behavior only gave credence to his concerns for her emotional stability.

"I know what that's like," he said softly. "Some people want to talk about things as a means to get through them. But some people just don't want to, it makes it harder still to cope, to maintain."

Twisting up her face into what she hoped was a somewhat braver look, she finally met his gaze. Who'd have thought, she marveled, that I could feel so close to him, that we could understand each other so well? Scully nodded. "That about sums it up," she said softly.

Skinner returned the nod. "You'll be fine once you get something to put your back up against."

She'd said those exact words to Mulder once, about herself. It amazed her that Skinner would say the same thing, as if he knew her just that well. And part of her wondered, why *did* he know her so well? Did he think about her? Dana wasn't sure what she wanted the answer to be right now.

She said only, "I will," and stepped towards the door. It felt good, though, this connection. It felt like... truth.

Heading downstairs, Scully walked through the hallway lined with boxes until she reached Mulder's office. He was standing by his desk, hurling file folders out of the cabinet.

"What did Skinner want to talk to you about?" Mulder asked a little too eagerly.

"He was worried about how this would affect me." Scully sat down opposite Mulder, who had already begun compiling notes for their depositions, judging by the papers on the desk. Every folder was something Krycek had been involved in. "I told him it was no worse or better for me than for you."

They each knew that Mulder was the more emotional of them; the one who was the most fragile, who wore his heart on his sleeve. But it didn't take a genius to look in those blue eyes and see how things affected Scully, and Skinner would be likely to want to comfort or care for her. Skinner had always seemed soft on Scully, at least to Mulder's eyes. "Skinner probably thinks us big strong manly men can take care of ourselves."

"Obviously he's never seen you cry," Scully said pointedly. They looked at each other and laughed.

"Seriously. I think he's got a soft spot for you. The look of contrition on his face when he came to tell you about Cardinal..."

"He does not have a soft spot for me." But her heart nevertheless gave a small leap at that statement.

"Yes he does! I think he's always been kinder to you, expected the most from you. He took a bullet for you." He grinned at her. "Scully, you're teacher's pet. I bet you were *always* teacher's pet."

Favoring Mulder with her most sour look, she changed the subject. "You seem almost goofy today. Like an excited kid. Instead of making you somber, it's made you giddy."

He tapped his pencil on the desk. "I *am* giddy with relief at catching the bastard. Maybe he'll find out in prison what playing hardball's really like."

"He might not make it that far."

"There's a kind of justice in that, though, too, isn't there? Or am I turning into Clint Eastwood?"

"It's funny how much you've come to hate him because of all the things he's done to you. For a while it almost seemed like you might have trusted him. Is that why you despise him so much, that he let you down?"

Mulder thought for a moment. He could pull out his usual sarcasm and flip her question off lightly, but the truth was, he'd never really told her how much her loss had bothered him. "No, I never got that far. Grudging acceptance of him, at best. Besides all the things he's done? I despise him most because he took you away from me. And I almost didn't get you back."

Scully let a smile cross her lips, but dropped her head so he couldn't quite see it. She enjoyed being cared for by him -- when he let it show, that is. She'd grown up feeling loved by her family, but her adult life had seen a conspicuous absence of that same warm affection. Mulder's odd and endearing devotion to her was one of the few manifestations, outside the center of her family, of love in her lonely life. There was a way to tell him how much she cared, she was sure, but it had yet to appear to her. *If only I were better at saying it myself.*

When Scully looked up again, he was grinning at her like a fool. "What?" she snapped with false annoyance.

"Just thinking about how much you inspire the men in your life to do things for you. We're all devoted to Dana."

The only way to deal with his silliness sometimes was to deflect it with her own sarcasm. "Mulder, are you trying to get into my pants? Because if you are, I can tell you that the harder you try, the less likely you are to succeed."

He wanted to snort with laughter. "Does anyone ever get into your pants? Because I-I'd like to know, just for research purposes, you being my partner and all. Such a beautiful woman, all alone..." He heaved a dramatic sigh.

He never could seem to say anything more than that, even in jest. That it wasn't just her beauty which made him love her. Without teasing, he had no idea how to let her know what he thought; he was uncomfortable with the raw emotional truth of the words. That it was the light within her, the laser brilliance of her mind and her wide open heart he adored so very much. But how did you tell Dana Scully you cared about her? That she was the rare glimpse of the aurora, shimmering for a few moments without warning, visible only to a few souls who knew where and when to look? She wasn't the type you said that to.

She smiled a beatific smile at him. "Well, you'll never know, partner."

He prodded, "Who's your pet? There's got to be someone, right? I mean, besides Willis, who's gotten into your pants lately?"

"Oh, knock it off." Scully rose, grabbing her keys. "I'm going to lunch. I'll see your later."

She heard him snort behind her. "Teacher's pet!" he called after her as she closed the door.

Skinner was looking over the file on Krycek, trying to find the courage to call Mulder and Scully up to his office to tell them about this latest development. It was not going to be easy, and he expected -- at the very least -- to have Scully blow up at him again. His anxiety was short lived. Scully had beaten him to the punch; she was sitting in his outer office as he came through the doors, and looked up at him in surprise.

He looked at his secretary, whose finger was poised on the button of the speakerphone. She stammered at him a moment before announcing the obvious presence of Scully. He motioned at Scully to follow him into his office. She rose, smoothed her skirt and tugged on the hem of her jacket. Skinner noticed, no matter how much he tried not to, how polished and stylish Scully was these days. In the short time he'd worked with her, she'd grown increasingly more chic with her clothes and hair, fitting her tastes in with the dictates of the Bureau's dress codes. Maybe it wasn't something a male superior was supposed to notice about a female subordinate, but there it was. Mulder had always had his own unique personal style; Scully's had evolved with her confidence in her position as an agent, he thought. And as she sat, Skinner also couldn't help noticing how beautifully her hair reflected the sunlight pouring through his window.

"Agent Scully, I was just about to call you up here."

"I had the first of the reports Mulder and I put together for the Attorney General's office. I just wanted to bring them by and check to see if anything else was needed right now." She looked at Skinner, wondering for possibly the five hundredth time what was going on behind his eyes. Did he think her excuse was as lame as it sounded to her ears? She'd tried out a number of different ones before she came up here; now, sitting across from him when he had that inscrutable boss-face on, she assumed she sounded pathetic.

At first he didn't answer, and her stomach twisted. *He sees right though me.* Well, she was acting like an apple-polishing, crush-on-the-teacher kid. Why shouldn't he be uncomfortable? A random thought flitted through her mind: What do you do about discipline when an employee is personally and romantically involved with you?

"I'm surprised," he finally said. "I wasn't expecting anything so quickly."

God, he really *does* think I'm lame, she realized, flinching.

"I know. Agent Mulder was heading for Massachusetts today, it's his mother's birthday tomorrow and he was taking a four-day weekend. So I thought we'd run this by you -- sort of a draft, I suppose. When Mulder's back you can give us your comments. You know, get it all out of the way early."

This speed, this desire to get the case moving, made Skinner feel even more sharply the sting of disappointment at the news he had. "Agent Scully. I was going to call you and Mulder here because... well, I'm afraid there's been a bit of a twist to the prosecution." The look of fear on her face, her eyes opening wide, made him bolt from his chair. "No, it's not that." He moved around the desk, saying, "I had a call from Krycek's lawyer today." He sat down on the chair next to her, facing her. "He wants to make a deal. In exchange for no death penalty he's prepared to give us the rest of the digital tape he's been dealing, give us the men he's been working for. And I assume the people who are responsible for your sister's death, ultimately, as well as Mulder's father." He paused, trying to read the look on her face.

All she did was gaze at him, the icy blue of her eyes cutting like diamond.

"I wouldn't agree to anything until I spoke to you. Wilson is going there this afternoon to see what he has to offer. We could join him." He waited, certain of the disappointment she must be feeling.

"I don't know what to say," Scully finally answered. "Someone murdering him, I expected. His calling us as a delaying tactic, I didn't, somehow."

Skinner nodded. He put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "I mean it. I won't make a move without your, and Mulder's, approval." He knew he shouldn't do this, cross the invisible line between them, again, but he seemed unable to control the emotions that overtook him so often these days.

Dana shifted, leaning into his hand a bit. She felt more in control now, and her momentary lapse into panic had abated. She studied Skinner, who seemed as resolute and grim as ever. She wondered if the tenderness of the other day, that intimacy that had passed briefly between them, was a figment of her imagination.

"Agent Mulder... is on the road by now. I could call him. But I know what he'd say -- let's hear what Krycek wants to spill." She nodded her head. "So let's hear it. If it's any good I'll ask Mulder. And if not, then no deal." Let him rot in prison, she thought harshly.

Skinner removed his hand and sat back. "Sounds like a plan. How about I meet you in the garage in fifteen minutes? We'll go over together and meet Wilson there." He wondered if somehow Krycek had known Mulder would be out of town, as if he'd planned it for that exact moment, hoping to prey on Scully's aloneness, her separation from her partner. Skinner hoped he had the capacity to shore up Scully's emotional reserves, to step in where Mulder would usually be relied upon.

He watched her walk out of the office. *Way to go, Walt. Open yourself up to a sexual harassment lawsuit at the worst; lose the trust of a good agent at best, just because you can't keep your hands to yourself.* He grabbed his jacket and phone, threw on his raincoat and quickly wrote down his itinerary for Kimberly. His disgust with himself must be palpable; he was sure it clung to him like Pigpen's dust cloud. He wasn't the first man in the Bureau to fall under Dana Scully's spell, he knew, but he was surely the last man who should be acting on it.

Skinner couldn't help but wonder what was happening to him lately, why sense had so cruelly deserted him. He'd been undergoing a separation from his wife for some time; hell, Sharon hadn't even been to the hospital to see him when he'd been shot. While he felt desolate and alone, was that enough to start fixating on a subordinate? It would be utterly foolish to bounce from one painful situation to another, even if in his wildest dreams Scully returned his interest. But Walter could never tell with Scully just what her feelings were. She seemed to invite his closeness lately, but how much of that was simply that they'd been thrown into such proximity?

There was too much danger in finding out. There could simply be no answer to his question; he should never know whether she felt even an atom of interest. And who was he to think he could inspire that, anyway? A man technically old enough to be her father, someone so unhappy and lonely he couldn't separate the personal part of his life from his work life, someone so afraid of his future it was easier to fantasize about an affair with a staff member than deal with reality. If all that didn't make Skinner unworthy of someone like Dana Scully, then he certainly didn't know what did.

Scully was standing by his car when he reached the garage, looking in her pocket for something. She didn't see him yet, and for a moment he watched her silently. His heart seemed to beat a little faster and it felt so ridiculous, as though his emotions were betraying him. Of course he was only reacting like this because his marriage was breaking up, of course that was the reason. It had to be. It was the only reason that made sense.

She looked up just then, straight into his eyes. He could feel it, like ions snapping in the air after a lightning storm. It charged him, made him feel lightheaded and clean. She just looked at him, so confident, so strong in her solitariness. It was as if she were saying yes, but he wasn't sure what questions he'd asked. Clearly she'd seen a question in his eyes. He found it hard to move, as if he'd grown roots to this spot.

The slam of a car door nearby brought him back. By the time he got to the car, she had stopped staring at him. Skinner unlocked the doors and they entered the car wordlessly. Maybe that was the oddest thing for both of them, that they seemed to be comfortable in silence. Skinner had so rarely been around anyone who didn't feel compelled to fill up time with talk; it was unusual for an employee especially, when stuck with their boss, not to want to make small talk. It wasn't a long drive, but it was some time before either of them said a word.

"You've already spent a lot of time with Krycek," Skinner said. "I can't imagine that you're looking forward to this."

"Has to be done."

"None of this *has* to be done." Skinner paused. "You have a lot of reasons to want him dead. It'd be easy to just let one of them whack him some night in his cell."

Scully was silent. Skinner couldn't read her right now.

"You know," Skinner continued, "it seems like people always get the impression when they first meet Mulder that he's sort of a day late and a buck short. I did. Though all you have to do is spend a little time with him and you know how sharp he is. But Krycek, he was like a blank slate. Blanker than blank. It was like there was no soul in him, I guess."

"He attacked Mulder when we first found him," Scully said slowly. "It was easy for Mulder to just beat the hell out of him, though. A few punches and that was it. But you know, I wanted Mulder to keep hitting him -- hit him until he was nothing but a bloody pulp." She looked over at Skinner, who glanced sideways, watching her carefully. "It shocked me, how close I came to pulling the trigger on Cardinal. I *wanted* to shoot him. I could see it, feel the hammer pull back, the recoil of the gun. It's a hard thing to reconcile yourself with, especially as a doctor and as someone who works for the Department of Justice. Wanting to take a life instead of save one. I don't like wishing I could kill someone."

There was more silence for a while before Skinner said, "I don't know. I've fantasized about killing people plenty of times. Given half a chance and the opportunity not to get caught? Sure, I can think of handful of people I'd twep in a heartbeat."

Scully looked over at him, her mouth open, but caught his hint of a smile. They both laughed lightly out loud, just as Skinner pulled up to the security entrance.

As he flashed his badge and the guard let them through, something caught Scully's eye. Two men were leaving a car parked nearby. The man on the driver's side looked so familiar to her; it was like a word on the tip of her tongue.

"Sir. Those men." Suddenly she remembered him. She'd seen him before her abduction, she was sure of it. She bolted from the car, drawing her gun. Skinner was right behind her, either on blind faith or because he also knew who they were. The men both turned toward Skinner and Scully. Her voice may have carried far enough in the growing darkness that they heard her, or it was the sound of the car door that alerted them. But both men bolted for the street, splitting in different directions.

Skinner hollered, "Stay with him," pointing in the direction of the driver, while he chased after the other one. They were there to kill Krycek, she knew that much, but why she felt the need to stop them she didn't know. Still Scully ran as hard as she could. "Stop! Federal agent!" she shouted, her gun trained on him. She knew she didn't stand a chance of hitting him as out of breath as she was, but when he didn't stop Scully planted her feet and fired. The bullet went wide and hit the wall nearby, throwing chips of mortar from the brickwork. The man stalled, wheeled, and pointed his gun at her.

Turning, she threw herself sideways as the bullet went above her. Again she shouted, "Federal agent!" and this time she punctuated it with a shot of her own, just as he turned to run again. He stopped then, made as if to put up his arms, and as she took one step forward, he turned and fired. It was close enough this time. The bullet tore into the edge of her right shoulder, knocking her off balance. Just as it hit her shoulder she had pulled the trigger, and the gun flew out of her hand, her arm suddenly useless. Pain charged through her, and with wide eyes she saw the man walk towards her, gun up, ready to fire. As he moved to shoot, she heard the report of another gun, and watched the man fall to the ground in front of her.

Scully covered her shoulder with her left hand, then pulled it away, staring at the thick, almost black blood covering her palm. She slumped against the wall, sliding down, her head spinning from the pain. Nauseated, woozy, she tried to look up, but all she could manage was to lean sideways against a garbage can. Those were Skinner's shoes in front of her, she realized. Smoke was curling from the muzzle of his gun. He crouched down next to her, and vaguely she noticed he was holding his phone in one hand, his gun in the other.

Saying something, he was saying something to her. Then he was taking off his coat and pillowing it under her, laying her down, covering the wound with his hand. Almost laughing, she thought, my hero. Then the pain pumped through her and she fell into a kind of fuzzy darkness.

The paramedics worked on her as she went in and out of that darkness. It was the wail of the ambulance that jolted her firmly back into reality. But Skinner was not in the unit as she looked around. Her voice felt thick and fuzzy. "Where's the AD?"

The medic looked at her, confused. "I think he stayed behind because it was a crime scene," he answered, as if talking to a slow child.

Scully lay back. Of course he'd stayed behind. But it didn't stop her wishing he was here.

At the emergency room she talked them into not keeping her overnight, just having them patch her up and move her out of there. While she waited for the tests and x-rays to be returned, she dozed on and off. At first Scully thought of calling Mulder, but decided against it -- let him have some time alone without all this stuff infesting his life.

It was so odd, she thought. A few hours ago I was in a car, laughing with a man I've never even seen smile before a few days ago. Next thing I'm flat on my back, wishing he'd just pick me up in his arms and carry me to safety. I really have to get a life, she mused.

The nurse went to get a sling to keep the arm immobilized, and closed the curtain as she left. Idly wondering if she'd see Skinner again, Scully fell into a light sleep, worn down by the pain.

When Skinner arrived at the hospital he was in a black rage, furious with himself for letting things get out of hand; regretful that yet again Scully had been hurt and he'd been unable to prevent it; and mostly pissed off because he'd had to stay behind to clean up the mess. What he'd really wanted to do was ride to the hospital with Scully. The shooting had been merely an annoyance to deal with. Skinner reflected on how bizarre his life had become, wondered how it had taken such a left turn to reach a point where it was mundane and unexceptional to have shot and killed someone.

Scully was dozing when he entered the room, her brow creased even in sleep. She would be fighting pain, he knew. An ache to touch her, to smooth her forehead or hold her hand swept over him, replacing the black rage with a kind of blue sadness. She woke with a start and looked up at him, rubbing her good hand over her eyes.

"Did you get the other one?" Scully asked, trying to sit up.

"One down, one to go," Skinner answered bitterly. He wasn't about to let on that he could have caught the other one if he hadn't heard her gun go off. He'd wheeled, running back towards her, all thoughts of doing his job pushed to the back behind fear for her safety.

Skinner waited while the doctor came in to confer with her, then the nurse followed with a dressing for her wound, and pain medication. He tried not to eavesdrop and moved toward the back of the room, but he felt fretful and worried, fighting the urge to hover.

When they left, he moved forward and put his arm under her, gently pulling her up. He grabbed a pillow off the other bed and pushed it behind her back. "What's the prognosis?"

"Flesh wound," she said. "I've always wanted to say that; for some reason it's the first time I've had the opportunity." She smiled at him shyly. They were both still so awkward just simply being people. He wondered if they could ever stop tiptoeing around each other. "But I need to keep it immobilized for a while, it's numb and it will take a while to get the feeling back. If I don't keep it in a sling, it'll just drag, painfully."

"Are they keeping you overnight?"

"No, I've managed to talk them into letting me go. Being a doctor has its advantages. I need to get prescriptions for painkillers and antibiotics filled, but otherwise I'm ready to get out of here. Can you hand me my phone? I'll call my mom and have her come get me."

Leaning his head sideways, Skinner considered for a moment. "Why don't you give me that prescription and I'll go take care of it, then I'll take you home. You can ask your mother to just meet you at your place, then she won't have to drive so far." He handed her his phone.

"All right," she answered, her voice slightly tremulous. "Thank you. I -- I really appreciate this. And what you did back there."

Walter wandered down the hallway to find the pharmacy. He could shoot and kill someone he knew to be an assassin. He could take a bullet in the guts. But he was terrified of Scully, of his feelings for her and the way things were playing themselves out. He kept pushing himself further and further into her life, picking up on signals he thought he was receiving from her, knowing full well it was the stupidest thing he could do.

He still loved one woman, who no longer loved him; and he was falling in love with another woman, whom he should not care for. There were times he wondered why common sense always seemed so uncommon in people. Skinner was not normally this insensible, this rash. But given the opportunity he would have taken Dana home with him, and happily devoted himself to caring for her until she was back to normal. What a ridiculous fantasy.

There were so many things about the impending divorce that he was in denial about; things he knew he must face if he wanted to understand what was happening now. He'd never really accepted the idea that Sharon could fall out of love with him. When he looked at her he still saw the young, vibrant woman he'd fallen for, but he wondered if all Sharon saw was a stiff, miserable, and emotionally bankrupt man when she looked at him. When she'd come to him, finally, telling him she wanted the marriage to end, he'd almost laughed. All the years Walter had tried to protect her by shutting her out had made it almost impossible to understand her needs, and even then, in the midst of emotional collapse, he couldn't hear the agony behind her words. In the past few months he'd thought of it over and over, wondered whether if he had finally broken down, showed the pain written in his heart, would Sharon have forgiven him and take him back? He would look at her lovely face, so delicate and sharp like fine bone china, and think that it was his duty to protect someone so fragile. That was what he believed a husband did. And yet the strength in her when she'd asked for a divorce was terrifying; it made him feel weak and useless.

Maybe because this failed marriage was all so out of control, he thought he could love Dana. Yet underneath it all he knew that to be the rationalization it was. There were so many outward facets Sharon and Dana shared. But Skinner had never met anyone completely like Dana, most likely never would again, and he was spellbound. There simply was no easy way to accommodate that truth.

When he returned with the bottles she was sitting on the edge of the bed, arguing with the attendant that she did not need assistance and being that as she was a doctor, she could damn well do as she pleased. Skinner flashed his ID at the attendant and said, "Might as well forget about it, son. I'll take care of her." He walked with her to the car, one hand steadying her by the elbow.

Dana's mother had said on the phone, a little too conversationally, that Skinner had a habit of taking care of Dana. Things were starting to make a kind of sense to her now, the pieces of the puzzle locking into place. It wasn't that Skinner was just brave and strong, he was brave and strong for others. His nature was protective; he rose to the occasion most when it was another person in danger, someone he cared for. Perhaps Mulder was right, maybe she was teacher's pet. She looked over at Skinner as he drove, his face silhouetted by the lights of passing cars. There were certainly worse things in life than to be protected by Walter Skinner. She tried that on for size in her head, thought of trying to say "Walter," wondering if she could say that instead of "sir." Wondering if he would let go of himself for one minute to be that personal. And mostly wondering if she could let go at all to tell him she wanted that.

Suddenly she realized that he was not wearing his coat and remembered him putting it under her as he lay her on the ground. Putting pressure on her shoulder. Of course the coat would have been irretrievable, filthy and bloody. Somehow that made her feel even worse; not only was she always causing him epic-scale misery, now even the little things weren't safe from her jinx. She was getting pleasantly buzzed, which made it easier to look at him in a different light, she thought.

Skinner unlocked to door to her apartment with the keys she gave him, guiding her gently inside. He pulled the coat off her shoulders, avoiding her injury. Her apartment, he noticed, was so much like what he would expect from her -- tidy, perfectly done, the kind of place that seemed a sanctuary from everything else. A dog came bounding out of the bedroom and Skinner did a doubletake.

"Queequeg!" she cried. "Oh Queequeg, have you been for a walk yet?"

Skinner's brows went up. "Queequeg?"

Dana rolled her head around, embarrassed. "Long story. I inherited him on a case." She picked up a note and looked at it for a moment before putting it back on the counter. "Oh good, Mrs. Jackson took him out. Mom must have called her." Queequeg was bouncing around at her feet and she wanted to bend down to pet him, but she was brought short by a pain that made her wince.

"Here," Skinner said, guiding her to the sofa. The dog bounced up on the couch next to her. "When will your mother be here?"

"Shouldn't be much longer," she answered. "Really, I'm fine, the drugs they gave me at the hospital kicked in nicely." She felt goofy, lightheaded and slightly dizzy. Scully leaned back against the couch.

"Dana," Skinner said simply. "You've been through a lot. Most people don't get shot every day. You need to process this, I think. You'll need some time to recover beyond just your physical injury."

"I know. I know that. But right now I'm getting just that side of silly. I promise I won't try to pretend it didn't happen."

"I'll be here if you need to talk." Geez. Why didn't he just plead, *please call me?*

"I appreciate that."

Skinner was perched on the edge of the sofa, idly scratching behind Queequeg's ears. He couldn't decide what to do: leave her alone here before her mother arrived, making sure he wouldn't get himself into further trouble, or stay and risk saying or doing something foolish.

"I think he likes you," Scully said happily. "Take off your jacket, you can stay awhile."

Shaking his head, Skinner said, "I should really go, I'm sure your mom will be here soon." He paused. "Do you want anything? Some water?"

"That would be nice," she answered slowly.

When he went to the kitchen, Queequeg followed him. "He really, really likes you," Scully teased.

"Animals always do. I don't know why."

This seemed to strike her as especially funny and she laughed out loud. Handing her the water, he realized he was completely non-plussed, not seeing that it was the meds making her laugh. He thought she was laughing at him. Then it finally dawned on him and he frowned as he sat next to her.

"You're just that kind of guy. You make people feel taken care of, and I'm sure animals must feel the same sorts of things people do. You're... you have that gentle strength. Like there's safety with you." She closed her eyes. "You're always rescuing me," Scully said idly, her hand moving out, closing around his. "My hero, my knight."

At no time in his life had he been as embarrassed as he was right now. He could feel his face turn red. Dana raised her head and opened her eyes, which were slightly glazed.

She didn't know she'd said it aloud. Thinking it, oh she was definitely thinking it. But in her haze she hoped that she'd kept it to herself. Still, Skinner was now looking at her as if she'd grown three heads. Or something. Whatever it was, the look was foreign in his eyes, she'd never seen it from him before.

He ran the backs of his fingers lightly along the blade of her jaw, stroking them along her cheek. They rested there a moment before he turned his hand over, sliding his palm against her cheek. Leaning over, he said softly, "Your mother will be here soon, so I'll go. I'll try to look in on you this weekend, let you know what's happening when I talk with Wilson. Take care of yourself." Then he brought his face to hers, pressing his lips firmly to her other cheek. It lasted what felt like hours, not milliseconds as it must have been.

Dana could feel the smoothness of his fingertips, smell the scent of his aftershave, feel the shadow of his beard against her skin. She closed her eyes and absorbed it all as best she could, her hand tightening around his.

Then in a flash he was up and gone. Queequeg danced in agitation by the door, as if Skinner had no right to leave him now that he'd made such a good friend. Scully put her hand on her cheek, feeling the skin burn like embers beneath her fingers.

Chapter Text

Even as a teenager on a date Skinner had never felt so ridiculous as he did standing in front of Scully's door right now. Holding papers that did not have to be brought to her -- a courier would have worked just as well, especially if he'd waited until Monday -- and asking her to review documents that were not a rush. Any idiot could see it was all a cover for wanting to see her.

He'd called to let her know that Wilson had prepared the initial brief and was in contact with Krycek's lawyer. And then he'd hesitated, like a dolt, and asked if she'd mind if he brought the files by. The hitch in her voice made him realize that he was being pushy. But then it was too late, and she'd agreed to look over the paperwork.

He finally took his hand out of his jacket pocket and rang the buzzer for Scully's apartment.

Each step up felt like lead was attached to his feet. Just being in her presence held threats and promises. Walter still could not quite wrap his mind around what she'd said to him the other night. Could she really see him as courageous and strong? He certainly didn't feel that way. Everything he did for her was simply an obligation to an agent, a friend, not because he was heroic. But then, he would never tell her that. It wasn't in his nature to discuss what other people thought of him -- or even what he thought of himself. It was something he'd tried to change over the years, wanted to change, in fact, for Sharon, but never could.

Before he'd even knocked on the door, Scully answered it. The dark blue sling stood out against the pale green of her sweater, and her bare neck looked red near the shoulder where the strap had rubbed against the skin. Her hair was loosely pinned up in back, the ends exploding out in multiple directions.

"Can I take your jacket?" she asked, holding out her good arm.

He pulled it off, tossing it on a chair near the door. "Don't trouble yourself. You shouldn't be doing anything." He moved inside toward the couch and she followed. "How *are* you, anyway?" He sat down and put the stack of folders on her coffee table.

Still standing, Scully half shrugged, unable to get the bad shoulder up for the full effect, and grimaced. "I'm okay. Sleeping's the hardest part; I keep wanting to roll over on it. It hurts, but it's not unmanageable."

He motioned at her to sit down.

Casually, she asked, "Have you eaten yet?" Dana was going to say "sir" at the end, but stopped herself. This was an awkward grey area for both of them.

"No." Walter watched her. "Would you like me to get you something?"

Dana had been about to offer to make something, despite the fact that she wasn't able to cook very well. Her mother had stocked the freezer with frozen dinners, which within two days she'd already grown sick of. "I... uh, I was about to make something before you came over."

"Do you have some place around here you go for Chinese or something? What would you like?"

"There is a place just down the street, but they don't deliver. Just take-out. But I could--"

"What do you want? Let me know and I'll go get it. You can read through this stuff while I'm gone."

It was tough not to let out a huge, arcing sigh, but she kept it in check and only exhaled a little. "Ever since I went to work with Mulder, I've found that I have no free time. We're always running around the country, we're always in trouble, chasing after something. And there have been times I longed for the chance to just have a weekend to myself, to not be dragged into his obsessions and taken away from my own life. Well, actually, I don't *have* a life anymore. And yet here I am, finally home for three days, and I'm going stir-crazy. I gave Queequeg to mom until I'm better, so I haven't even had the excuse to take him for a walk. My arm hurts, but it doesn't hurt that much. I'd like to just go out, even for a few minutes."

"Age-- Dana. I still have a responsibility in my job, even if this..." he swept his hand through the air, indicating her apartment, "is a little outside the realm of everyday work. A large part of that responsibility is making sure agents are safe. Even if you've got cabin fever, you are still recovering from a gunshot wound, and I think you should stay put."

"I was shot in the shoulder, not in the legs. I *can* still walk, you know." She tried not to sound curt, but it came out snappish, anyway.

He stared at her. His eyes really were so sweet, she thought stupidly, realizing she wasn't paying attention to everything he said. "For once in your life, let someone take care of you."

As fast as the words were out, he pulled back; she could see it in his face, his eyes, his posture. He quirked his head sideways, moving into AD mode. "I will get you something to eat, you can review these files, and that's the end of it."

Opening her mouth to make another protest regarding her ability to walk, she suddenly realized how miserable she looked -- her hair was dirty and messy, she wore her grubby around-the-house clothes, and her makeup was minimal. "I..." How many times had she argued with him before, and always lost? There was no way he'd let her go; he was enjoying patronizing her. And then she realized why she didn't want him to leave without her.

If you go you might not come back and stay, she thought sadly. She moved for the phone. "I'll call and order. Do you have a preference?"

"I eat anything."

Dana smiled at that. Of course he would. Picking up her keys, she said to him, "Here. To get back in." She tossed them to him and he caught them in mid-air. "Go left out the door, it's down five blocks." She listened to the phone ring on the other end as she watched him go. Maybe casual would never work with them. Perhaps it was all too structured and formal, and they were too private, too concealed as people. It had been a girlish fantasy, Scully realized. She'd thought he was attracted to her, interested, but it was all just the immediacy of their jobs, the closeness of the investigative function on this case. They'd got too near each other and it was hard to separate reality from need and desire. She placed the order and hung up, dropping down on the couch in a huff.

Desire didn't seem so odd a concept to her, not after seeing him tonight. She'd always thought him handsome in an unusual way, complex and sensual behind the formal suits and the directorly reticence. And of course he was older, which appealed to her more than she cared to admit. He had that tinge of authority in his age alone, but coupled with his silent, powerful nature, it was overwhelming. And tonight, seeing him out of those suits, didn't diminish that aura of authority at all. Her heart had beat a little too fast when she opened the door to see him in dark jeans and an old Quantico sweatshirt. Not many people got to see him without his Bureau uniform, Scully imagined. She liked this side of him, a lot. It only added to her interest.

But where to go from here? Dana saw him dropping off the food, picking up papers and leaving. If he was even remotely aware of what appeared to be happening between them, naturally he would leave. Skinner wasn't the type to risk two careers for the sake of attraction. His life was such a mystery to her, she knew next to nothing about him. It was odd that he wasn't married; maybe the typical fast-track-career-ruined marriage that seemed prevalent in law enforcement jobs. Somehow Scully would find a way to ask him about that, find out more about him. Even if nothing came of this time alone together.

Forlorn, she dialed Mulder. It would keep her busy until Skinner returned. He answered on the third ring.

"Mulder, it's me."

"Scully. What's wrong?"

"Why do you assume something's wrong?" she asked peevishly.

"Your voice. It sounds... kind of sad."

"Mulder," she said, laughing, "I said three words. How do you get 'sad' out of that? I'm fine. Fine. I just... I wanted you to know something before you came home, so it wouldn't come as a surprise. Krycek wanted to make a deal, and Skinner and I were on our way to talk to him, and there were two men there. One I recognized, and Skinner said later they were the ones who warned him off the investigation. They were there to kill Krycek, I'm sure of it. There was a chase and... I was shot in the shoulder."

There was a long pause on the other end. "Look, I'll be down in a few hours. I'm sure I can get a charter and fly down right away--"

"No! No, Mulder, I'm fine. Really. It wasn't much, just ripped out a nice chunk of tissue but it's healing already and in a few weeks I'll be great. Don't cut short your vacation, please. Mom's taking care of me and, well, AD Skinner is too, believe it or not. I just didn't want you to come in on Tuesday and be surprised."

She heard the sound of a key in the lock and turned to see Skinner coming in the door. He noticed she was on the phone and quietly put the bags on the kitchen table, then noiselessly set the keys down. Mulder was saying something on the other end, but Scully was focusing on Skinner, watching him take off his jacket. So he was staying.

Slowly Mulder's words were sinking in. "No, no, it's not that big a wound," she said. Dana could see this conversation going on all night now; Mulder was always so quick to fuss, especially since her abduction. Maybe she'd known he'd want to comfort her, maybe that's why she called him.

Skinner wandered aimlessly around the apartment, looking at things, half-listening to the phone conversation. He guessed she was talking to Mulder, it was all the n sounds as she started to say no repeatedly but couldn't get a word in edgewise, that tipped him off. He stood in front of her stereo and looked at the CDs -- not a bad collection of early R&B and a lot of classical music. She'd had Sam Cooke on when he'd first come over, but that had played out, so he picked out some Van Morrison and put that on. Finding out about someone, learning that certain tastes matched yours, was always such an asinine little thrill. He could never figure out why it was so, but it had been that way with every woman he'd ever been involved with.

Skinner wondered if she had called Mulder or Mulder had called her. He couldn't imagine Scully running to the phone to tell Mulder about his visit, but there was enough uncertainty about his actions to wonder if that could happen. At the very least this whole thing felt awkward. Dana had turned away from him, and he watched her on the phone, the way her shoulders slumped the longer the call went on. Her hair shone bronze in the low light, in spite of its messiness. The times he'd wanted to touch her hair were too numerous to count.

For the past few days he'd done little except think about what it had felt like to kiss her cheek, to touch her skin. The feeling of her hand upon his. So adolescent, so preposterous for a man like him to fixate on that. He wondered what it would be like to walk over there and put his hand upon the curve of her hip.

But Dana's quick turning around to place the phone in its cradle snapped him out of his reverie.

"So," Dana said brightly, "let's eat." She went into the kitchen for plates, then put them on the coffee table, along with a few small bottles of condiments. Walter was perplexed and she caught the look. "I never eat in there. I like to sit on the floor, and besides, this is where all the files are."

She hadn't even read them yet, he was sure. But he grabbed the bags and she followed him with napkins and two wine glasses, and he noticed she'd already put a bottle of white on the table.

"If we have to work we might as well do it in style."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, what with your shoulder?"

"The advantages of being a doctor. I can do things I wouldn't necessarily encourage patients to do." She smiled mischievously. There were all sorts of facets he was seeing tonight, tiny glimmering parts of her personality. Skinner liked it. "Besides, I haven't had a painkiller all afternoon and evening, so I'm fine."

"How is it, anyway? I mean for real. Not the tough girl routine," he asked, sitting down on the other side of the table, pouring the wine.

"Mostly it's just a dull ache unless I forget and try to move it. I imagine there's lots of PT in my future, and it's going to be a while before I can shoot well."

Skinner indicated the pile of folders while he dished out some of the food. "You didn't even look at these, did you?"

She scratched her head and said, "No, I didn't. I guess I didn't want to. I feel like a petulant child, stamping my foot and saying no. But there's this huge part of me that doesn't want to know what Krycek's got to say. I imagine Wilson is ready to make a deal, within reason."

"Yes and no." Skinner half rolled his eyes. "To be honest, I think Krycek's information sounds more appealing to the AG than it would to any of us -- we know how useless the rest of the digital tape information is; Krycek's sold most of it by now. And we also know better than to believe we're going to catch any of those men on his word alone, assuming they don't succeed in killing him first."

Her eyes were downcast, and he winced at having disappointed her so badly. But she was the kind of person he felt he must be honest with. Skinner watched her dump rice vinegar on the vegetables. As she put the bottle on the table, she looked up at him, chagrined at being caught.

Aimlessly waving her left hand, she said, "I like sour and tart things. Always have. Missy and I used to eat lemons, actually. Mostly because it drove my mother mad, she couldn't even stand to look at us do it. At that age anything that provokes your mother is good." A cloud seemed to move across her face with that grey hint of memory. Then she looked down at the table, her fist clenching and unclenching.

Watching helplessly , Skinner didn't know what to say or do. This was always where he failed people. He could never tell Sharon what she needed to hear during their entire married life; he was abysmal at showing concern with his family. It wasn't that he didn't think it or feel it, but the mechanics of expressing comfort or caring stopped him in his tracks. Finally he reached out, lightly touching her arm. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.

But her eyes were dry when she looked up at him. "No, that's okay. I just get a little sad sometimes. I think eventually you get to a place where you still think of them every day, but you just don't talk about it all the time. Or at least, I hope that's how it works."

He nodded silently. It was hard to eat, he felt everything stick in his throat, along with his words.

She reached over and picked up a fortune cookie. Wishing to fill the gap of silence that had been created, she cracked it open and took out the fortune and thought to read it aloud, but changed her mind. After she read it and put it down, Skinner asked, "What does yours say?" He grabbed a cookie, too, but didn't open it.

Considering for a moment, she picked it up again. "Answer just what your heart prompts you."

"Hmm. Doesn't say when, or what the question would be."

"It's like astrology. Comfortingly vague." Dana gave him a half-hearted smile.

Again he noticed her scratch her head, and before he could catch them the words popped out. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Scully was genuinely confused.

"You keep... scratching your head. Something else didn't happen to you that night, did it? No cuts or bleeding on your head?"

"Was I?" She was mortified. "I didn't realize." She could feel her cheeks color hotly. "I can't... it's just that I can't wash my hair. I tried the other day and made a mess everywhere. It's amazing how hard it is to live with one hand, and I shouldn't get the bandage wet, so... well." This was utterly humiliating, and she stopped herself from talking by eating some more.

Before he could halt himself he did it again, rushed out with something blindly. "Would you like some help? With washing your hair, I mean."

"What would you know about washing hair?" she laughed, and then her hand flew up to her mouth, her eyes going round with horror.

*Oh my God, oh Jesus H Christ,* Dana thought. *I can't believe I said that.*

"Women's hair, I mean. Washing women's hair." Oh shit. Suddenly she understood what it was like to be Mulder, what it was like to go around putting your foot in your mouth.

Fortunately Skinner only seemed to find that funny; his face was impassive but his eyes gleamed. "Hair is hair."

"I... that would be... helpful, actually. I should have asked mom today, but I forgot. I hadn't realized I was doing that."

Stop babbling now Dana, she told herself.

Skinner got up and went into the kitchen. He pulled a chair up to the sink. Then he held his hand out, palm up. "Shampoo?"

Scully pointed toward the bathroom. He walked away, then came back with two bottles. For a moment he stared at the sink and seemed to consider something. "You're too short to reach this. Where are your phone books?"

Something about this take-charge attitude amused her so much. Could this possibly get more surreal? she wondered. She pointed to the table, afraid that opening her mouth would make her laugh out loud.

He put a phone book on the chair and swept his hand in a grand gesture towards the sink. "Your chair." He'd even rolled up a towel and put it on the sink edge for her neck.

Laughing, Dana settled into the chair and leaned back with his assistance. His hands were gentle as he helped her maneuver into a comfortable position. "Hmm. Wait." He went away and came back with two towels from the bathroom, putting one over her shoulder and one on the counter.

"I have to admit to being a bit surprised by this."

Skinner tilted his head sideways. He tested the warmth of the water. "Last kid in a family of three girls. My dad died when I was twelve. That made me the only male in a household of women. Not much about the mysteries of womanhood fazes me." At least, the physical mysteries. The emotional riddles he'd yet to solve.

Dana laughed and to Walter it sounded like bells. She looked so beautiful lying back like that, her eyes staring up at him. Her mouth was the color of persimmons, and he considered what it would be like to lean down and kiss her -- spicy and sweet, maybe, just like the fruit. Instead he pulled off the clip she'd used to put up her hair and ran the water over her head.

She closed her eyes as he moved his hands through her hair. It felt like cool satin. He put the shampoo on her hair and moved his fingers gently through it, the tactile pleasure making his heart pound in his ears. As excuses to touch someone went, this was a fairly unusual one. He shook his head, completely disbelieving that he was even doing this, but diving down into the sensations, nevertheless.

So tenderly competent, Dana thought. It was the only thing she could think of to describe him; his hands were so kind and soft. Everything done slowly, deliberately, each step intimate yet formal. She lay back, taking in the sensations, memorizing his touch. At one point she opened her eyes and he looked at her then, his gaze melting into her but completely unfathomable. A trickle of soap was running down her temple; he reached over and gently rubbed it away. She closed her eyes then, because she almost couldn't bear to look at him.

Then he turned the water off and wrapped a towel around her hair, pulling her up by her good arm to a sitting position. She pulled the towel up and twisted it around her head. Kneeling in front of her, Walter took the other towel from around her shoulders and wiped off the water trickling along her neck.

If she could have moved, Dana wasn't sure she would have, he was so close. She pulled the towel off her hair, mopping at the ends of it to get rid of the excess water. The twisted strap from the sling dug into her neck. Reaching up behind her, she tried to untwist it, but it was damp and didn't budge. So she went back to rubbing at her hair with the towel, not really looking at Walter, who still remained motionless beside her. He put the towel down on the floor and moved behind her, untwisting the strap.

His fingers were galvanizing, she felt electric current racing through her body, and the warmth of him behind her was excruciating. Skinner did not move his fingers away from her neck; instead he took the towel from her and moved it gently along her hair with his other hand. His breath feathered over her skin and she shivered. Kiss me, she pleaded inside herself. Kiss me or put your hands on me, please.

He did neither, though, instead moving his fingers through her wet hair, combing it down straight. A new trickle moved down her neck, along her collarbone.

Skinner shifted to the side, taking the towel away, and his fingertips traced over the tiny rivulet of water, rubbing it away. He moved his hand along her collarbone, then along her neck. Her skin was the ivory of a gardenia blossom, smooth, cool, scented and pale. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her collarbone, then to her neck where his fingers had been. A sigh escaped her and he could feel her lean forward, her body relaxing toward him. Moving between her knees, he brought himself close as his hand traced the edge of her sweater, up along the strap of the sling.

He looked at her then, his brown eyes so questing, and she merely nodded, not understanding the question but knowing that yes was the answer to anything. Walter undid the strap of the sling and slowly slid it off, followed by a kiss along the exposed part of her shoulder. Fire arced through her. Her own good hand moved up his shoulder to his neck, and she pulled him forward finally, meeting his lips hungrily.

When he drew away from the kiss, Skinner stared at her. He moved his hand to the first button of her sweater and slowly, methodically, undid each button until he pushed the sweater to each side, carefully maneuvering it around the bandage on her right shoulder.

It was so stark white against her skin, and the feelings of guilt over her shooting swept through him again. He touched the gauze lightly with his fingertips, careful not to put pressure on it. She turned her head to look at his hand. "It's not your fault," she whispered to him, bringing his face towards her, and he took her mouth in another fierce kiss.

Her hand found the edge of his sweatshirt and tugged on it as he kissed her again and again, lost in the swirling eddy of her passion. His fingers traced the edge of her bra, up the strap, hovering over her neck and shoulder. Unsure what to do next, he hesitated, afraid if he tried anything more he could break this spell. Instead she did it for him, pulling his head forward into another deep kiss. He then followed the path of his fingers with his lips, down to her breasts, along the edge of her bra. She breathed deeply and arched against him, her hand fluttering over the back of his head, along his neck, inside his shirt.

Finally he stood, pulling her up gently. Taking steps backwards, he held onto her, and she followed in between kisses. When they reached her bedroom, he stood back shyly. Skinner was terrified of hurting her, of the damage to her shoulder. But she took the lead and peeled off the sweater slowly, tossing it on the floor.

She seemed to consider him for some time; he felt as if she were sizing him up. Finally she said, "Walter." Nothing else, just making her claim, he thought, making his name hers.

*I never thought of her as so tiny and so fragile*, he realized. Everything felt so exaggerated suddenly. He was acutely aware of how much shorter she was than he, aware of her delicate bone structure, the smallness of her hands and feet. She would despise that, he knew. He had always hated it when someone commented on his size, asked him if he played hoops or football in school. So she too must have heard it every day of her life, and he would not be just one more person to say the same cliches. His own hands felt like paws, he was clumsy and awkward and too big for the room.

Scully moved forward a step, pushing at the shirt with one hand, moving it up his chest as her hand slid up underneath it. He pulled it off over his head and she wrapped her arms around him, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. His hands played up and down her back and he could feel the short hitching breaths she took as he moved his mouth against her neck, her ear, her jaw. Walter undid the clasp of her bra.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he pulled her close to him, sliding the bra down along her arms and letting it fall to the floor. Of course her breasts are beautiful, he thought absurdly, everything about her is beautiful. One hand trailed up along her neck. He traced his thumb across her jaw, over her ripe mouth, his other hand cupping one exquisite breast. His fingers tangled in her wet hair. She was swaying against him, standing between his knees. His tongue teased out along a nipple before he took it in his mouth.

This was the last thing she should be doing, she knew, but she didn't care. Everything burned in her, she was a furnace. I am never spontaneous, I never let go and just feel, isn't that what you told me, Missy? she thought giddily. But now, now she *was* spontaneous, she felt wild and open and crazed by desire, unsafe and lunatic, and it was so good the way his hands moved on her. Dana felt unfettered, free of the rigid control with which she lived her life. *Answer just what your heart prompts you,* she thought madly.

For once Dana was listening to her heart rather than her head. Consume me, her heart repeated over and over, consume me as fire consumes air.

His mouth worked magic on her body, she was alight from within, clutching his head against her, unaware if there was pain in her arm or not. Who cared? This was perfect, for once something was perfect. Every movement he made was so careful and sweet, he did nothing roughly, but there was such power and passion behind his motions. It had been so long since she had felt something build like this, felt need grow and grow within her until she could burst from it. Dana tilted his head up to her, taking his mouth in hers, teasing his tongue, biting his lip. His hands worked her leggings down her hips, she wiggled against Walter as he pulled them off.

Carefully, Walter maneuvered her onto the bed. His eyes were filled with worry.

"I don't... did that hurt your arm? I don't want to hurt you," he said, kissing her forehead, smoothing her hair back. She clamped her hand around his forearm, feeling the muscles so strong underneath her bones.

"No, not at all. You're such a gentleman," she laughed lightly.

His face was somber but she could hear the smile in his voice. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

Leaning up, she ran her tongue along his ear, down his neck, kissed the hollow of this throat. "Oh, no. No, it's not. I like it. I like everything about what you do."

He dove down, covering her face with kisses, tracing his lips down her chest, to her flat belly, along the top of her right thigh. Her hand twisted out and pulled at the buttons on his jeans, tugging at them. "No fair," she said.

As she undid the buttons and pulled at his briefs, Dana saw the angry red scar on his lower abdomen. She traced it with the back of her finger, then placed the flat of her palm over it, her hand brushing against his erection. The scar still looked so new to her, it carried with it the story of what he was willing to do for her. So now they both wore wounds that spoke of guilt. Eventually Dana looked up at him and saw him watching her, so she returned to tugging at his jeans, but she could not get them down his hips with just her one hand.

So he helped her, pulling them off, and she ran her hand up and down the length of his cock. He'd thought he might feel embarrassed if he were in this position, but he wasn't, he was just lost in the loveliness of her and gave little thought to himself.

"You are so beautiful," he said, unable to focus on anything save her blue, blue eyes. "What do you want? Tell me."

"Anything. Everything."

He traced his mouth along the top of her other thigh, then parted her legs and slid his hand between them, along the hidden silk of skin, and he heard her gasps above him. She was the tide and he was a wave within it, and he let her carry him out, caught by the undertow.

Dana looked around the room for the old oxford cloth shirt she had been wearing to bed, since she couldn't pull the t-shirt she usually slept in over her head. It finally turned up under the chair in the corner and she pulled it on, stopping to look at Walter, asleep in the bed. He was a fitful sleeper, once he'd finally fallen asleep. That wasn't something she'd expected. But he was full of the unexpected.

There was a content warmth inside her as she padded out to the kitchen for some water. Her arm hurt, but she didn't want to tell him that, because he would be overcome with guilt. So this was why he took on all that worry for her, all that care -- he felt for her, he wanted to be her savior and her saint, and her lover, too.

She knocked back a pain pill with the water, then picked up the towels lying on the floor. They'd left things everywhere; the food was still on the coffee table and their clothes strewn about the bedroom. It brought a smile to her face, thinking of the way the night had gone. She'd not even expected him to stay. He'd stayed, though, turning everything upside down. And it was their secret; this was nothing she could tell Mulder, nothing Walter could let show at work. That appealed to Dana for some reason -- this dangerous secret, this private world. She took the fortune cookie he'd cracked open but had not read aloud, and looked at the paper, smiling. *Love and respect must both be earned.* She liked that. It suited him.

After dropping the towels into the hamper, she went back to the bedroom, where she found Skinner already pulling on his jeans and sweatshirt. Her mouth opened and closed, words failing her.

Catching her glance, he grabbed his shoes and socks, a look of chagrin on his face. "I should go, let you get your sleep." He didn't know how to tell her of his fears, all these regrets so fresh and deep. He felt for sure this was just another way of failing her -- that he'd taken advantage of her

She shook her head. "I was fine. I mean, you can stay." So that's it? she wondered bitterly. Wham, bam, thank you Agent Scully?

He walked forward, dropping what was in his hands. "What happens if your mother shows up tomorrow morning, early? Or suppose Mulder decides to come home after all to check up on you? He'd do that. How would you explain this?"

"No one is going to show up, and anyway, my life is my life. I don't owe anyone explanations."

Skinner wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "I've already put you in an untenable situation." He stroked her hair.

Dana said into his chest, "You didn't put me anywhere. This was what I wanted." How did she spell that out? What would he listen to? Pleading? Her language was limited, she didn't know how to say the things she needed to. To convince him that right now, he was all that mattered. "Stay."

Walter pulled away and looked at her, his jaw moving back and forth. How could he get her to see how much this could affect them? he wondered. Walter didn't want her to be reckless, to throw all caution to the wind. He still had so many things to tell her, things he couldn't talk about or else didn't know where to start. He'd gone too far without telling her the entire truth of his life. And now she was undeniably a larger part of his life. Partial truths would not suffice.

She recognized it easily, that look -- the one he got when he was going to deliver something bad. She put her hand to his mouth. "For once don't argue with me. Just stay."

Walter took her hand in his, kissed her palm, and she placed it back against his face. His rugged, outsize features felt so strong and masculine under her hand, she wanted to study each geometric plane and arc, memorize the structure of him. Then Dana pulled him towards the bed, tugging him down with her. Maybe words weren't needed, since they failed her so often. This could be all that was necessary with him -- only with him.

He moved above her and she slid her arms around him, then her legs, drawing his mouth to hers. "Your wish is my command," he said against her mouth.

Walter could feel her smile against his lips.

They filed out of his office and Skinner couldn't help but grin to himself as he watched them disappear through the outer door. There had been that little nod he'd made at her, nothing much, and all Dana had done in return was give him an arch of her eyebrow. Every time they met to have him review their reports or to deal with the Krycek situation, there was that small ripple of pleasure running through him at seeing her, of sharing their secret.

It wasn't that they ran into each other often at work; they rarely saw one another unless it was specific to a situation. Naturally she was perfectly behaved then, always above-board and composed. Sometimes Skinner wondered if he were less composed than she was; he felt foolish at times, like a boy.

But he wasn't anywhere near wanting it to end. They'd never formalized the relationship as such. After that first night Walter had stood at her door saying good-bye, and he'd said simply, "I want to see you again."

All Dana had done was nod and answer, "Of course." They'd set no date, there was no hint of when "again" was, and it seemed to work perfectly for her. She was the kind of woman who liked her space, he knew that.

What he couldn't quite figure out, though, was why she was interested in him. He was most certainly not a handsome man, he was much older than she was, and possibly worst of all he was too distant and closed off. Scully had always seemed to him, once you peeled off the protective layer of the scientist, to be very sensitive and deeply caring. He'd seen how she worked with people, the way she responded to them. There was in her almost an altruism, a humanistic nature that she couldn't disguise with the distance of science. So why me? he kept asking himself.

In her file he'd once seen information about Jack Willis, and it was clear that she'd been involved with the agent. What had interested him most was that Willis was a fair bit older than Dana. So if Dana had a thing for older men, Skinner was certainly happy to be the beneficiary of it.

The opening of his door brought him out of his daydreaming as his secretary brought him some papers. Unsure at first what they were, he opened the envelope as she said, "And Agent Scully said there was something she forgot to mention. She's waiting outside." She waited for his answer.

"Oh. Send her in." He'd barely heard her.

Scully seemed impatient as she entered, or maybe it was just nervousness. Skinner continued to stare at the envelope in his hands. The first round of the divorce papers. They were expecting him to approve the plans for splitting the estate.

Finally he looked up at Dana.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he snapped the folder closed and tucked it back in the envelope and answered, "Nothing. Nothing that concerns you. What did you need?"

"I was wondering." She dropped her voice. "Did you want to have dinner?"

His brain felt so foggy he couldn't quite concentrate on her words. "Yes. Sure, that would be good."

"Any place in particular? 2 Quail?"

"That sounds fine. I'll be there." He hadn't spent time with her in over a week and a half. Why couldn't he just concentrate on her? Instead bitterness overwhelmed him. Walter had known this was coming, but it still felt like being tackled from behind; it knocked the wind right out of him.

She nodded. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Fine. I'll see you at, what, eight?"

"Eight's good." She left quietly and he watched her go, pained.

This job required him to be a responsible adult, to be sensible. He knew, unequivocally, that this should stop. He was playing both ends against the middle.

Men are so pathetic, he thought. He'd let his marriage dissolve under the weight of his inability to do the right things, to say the right things. And he hadn't exactly fought it when Sharon kicked him out. He'd been stoic and distant, unable to let her see that he wanted to die at the thought of not waking to those blue-gray eyes, that soft voice, each day for the rest of his life. And now that it was coming to the final round, he wanted to fight, to punch and yell and grab it all back. It was stupid, macho pride, and he couldn't even get it under control.

All this time he'd thought in some willful, egotistical way that maybe the divorce wouldn't go through. That Sharon would still love him; she had to, simply because he loved her. Instead he'd chosen to put his energies into romancing a subordinate. It seemed too cruel that life could allow you to care so much for two people at the same time, to not know which way to turn when you had finally backed yourself against a wall and were forced to choose.

In spite of his joke to Scully, women were such a mystery to him, and he was worse about understanding them than most men. Communication was a dance he had never learned the steps to. He'd failed Sharon utterly and completely, driving her away with his inability to understand what she needed or to even ask her what that was. He had entertained the notion when he'd first thought of being with Dana that he would ask if she were interested, and Dana would say no, and that would be that. He was unprepared to have her understand his inarticulate soul. And now he didn't know which way to turn.

Skinner dropped the papers into his briefcase, and picked up the phone to call his attorney.

Dana flew to his place as if she had wings on her feet. There hadn't been a time she'd wanted his presence more. Walter would put it all in perspective, he would make it all right. There was clarity in her relationship with him; it was so focused and tightened, this narrow, nearly wordless universe they shared.

Mulder had almost shot her. Almost, she kept reminding herself, almost. How did she forget that, though? She'd told him when they were talking about Modell, "I say we don't give him any more of our time." But she *had* given Modell more of her time. She couldn't stop thinking of Mulder pointing the gun at his own head, then at her.

She'd taken Mulder home, listened to him ramble until he fell asleep, and now all she wanted was to see Walter, hear his baritone rumble against her ear, be absorbed by his strength. He would understand what this felt like.

As she pulled up to the curb, Dana realized she hadn't been to his place before; every moment they'd spent together was in a public place or her apartment. She hadn't even warned him she was coming, but somehow Dana knew he'd expect her.

When she knocked he opened it right away, as if he'd been waiting there for her. Stepping in, Scully looked around. The place was filled with boxes. He closed the door behind her, still wearing his dress shirt and trousers from work, but no tie. Although, she thought wryly, taking his tie off was one of her favorite things. It was like removing part of the FBI uniform he hid behind -- those ties and his glasses.

"I heard." He didn't say any more, and that was okay, his words contained volumes. Walter placed his hand against the side of her head, ran his thumb along the curve of her ear, twined his fingers through her hair.

Dana peeled off her coat and set her bag down on top of a box. She took her gun out of the holster and dropped it into her bag. Obviously he'd moved recently, and that in itself seemed odd. Why would a man of his age and status be moving into a new place at this time? Again it forced her to realize how much they didn't say to each other, how little she really knew about him. She knew him, she believed, but she didn't know *about* him. Their intimacy was of a different sort.

It convinced her that her suspicions were correct, that he must be divorced or separated. It was in the way he talked sometimes, the way he deftly avoided certain subjects. But anyone in the Bureau who had risen to a position like his would have to have been married; they just didn't trust unmarried men. Dana could get him to talk. That was not an issue; if she asked he would tell her. But then she looked at him, his hands in his pockets and the bruises on his face from the attack that day, and whatever she'd been thinking felt unimportant and trivial. She didn't *care* about his life before, she cared only for the here and the now, for what he meant to her.

"I just took Mulder home," she said, "and let him talk it out, let him go to sleep. He won't forgive himself, not for a long time."

"It wasn't his fault. It wasn't your fault. You did the best you could." A part of him wanted to say so much more, to remind her that they were the best agents he'd ever known, that if it had been anyone else, more damage would have been done. No one else he knew would have pulled that fire alarm. He wanted to tell her that, to tell her how deep his admiration ran for her, but that was all he could say, really.

She was pale. Skinner wanted to hold her and remind himself she was alive. He slid one arm over her shoulders and pulled her to him for one moment, his other hand stroking her hair. He could feel the tension easing out of her.

"I just finished eating, would you like me to get you something? I would bet you haven't eaten."

"Just something to drink," Dana answered quietly.

Walking to the kitchen, he suddenly remembered something and dug around on the table, before tossing her a small cellophane bag. "I was walking down M street and I passed this candy store. I thought you might enjoy these. They're deadly."

A huge smile crept over her face as she opened the bag. "Lemon drops! Oh my God, *real* lemon drops!" she said as she popped one in her mouth. "I can't believe you remembered that."

Her face was so open and genuine, it almost hurt. Here she was, in the midst of the detritus of his former life, looking happy and at ease, trusting. It was the time to tell her everything, to let her know what she was getting into, what they were dealing with. Walter thought she suspected he was not letting everything out; well, of course she did. But she would never ask. It was as if they had an unspoken contract.

"I remember everything you've ever said to me."

He was embarrassed to tell her that he had everything about her memorized. The way she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face with just her two middle fingers; the crease in her brow when she worried over something; the quiver in her voice when she feared for her partner. His heart was a catalog of movement and gesture, word and sound.

She looked for something in him. His face was impassive but she could see something in his eyes, something dark, hidden behind the light. Love? she wondered. Only a lover remembers everything.

"I hope not. I've said so many things I wouldn't want remembered."

"Not to me. It all counts." And he quickly went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. She was still standing there in the same spot. In most places, you'd plop yourself down on the couch. This wasn't a comfortable place, he had to admit, not the kind of place to feel at home. Standing a few steps away from her, he handed her the glass.

"So all this time hiding inside that gruff, snarling exterior was a hopeless romantic waiting to get out."

"Well, now you know my horrible secret. You know what that means."

"What?" she asked.

"I'll have to kill you." He twitched his lips lightly into something like a smile.

She wanted to laugh, badly, but stopped herself.

"So you've told me how Mulder is doing," he said. "How about you? I don't think this is easily overcome."

She swallowed the candy and sipped at the water, then put the glass down on another nearby box. "I'm fine. Really, I'm..." she dropped her head. "Not fine. I'm not, you know that." Dana stepped forward, resting her forehead against his chest. His arms came up in an instant, cocooning her. God, she loved how big he was, how safe he felt. She clutched at his arms with her hands.

"Breathe," he told her. "Just breathe." His hands soothed her, stroking her hair, moving across her back and her neck. One hand moved between their bodies and he unbuttoned her jacket, sliding it off her before wrapping her up again in his arms. He wanted to hold her as closely as he could, remove everything standing between them.

Thoughts roiled around in her head, of how much she loved Mulder, how desperately afraid she'd been of losing him, of how hard he fought when Modell tried to force him to shoot her. He'd fought harder against shooting her than he had against turning the gun on himself. Oh, Christ, she thought, how can I have the energy to survive these things? How can I fight all these things?

Skinner's warmth around her seemed to return her strength, she could feel it in her, coming back slowly like blood to a sleeping limb. "I don't know why I let this get to me," she said. "Why it frightened me so much."

Walter pulled her chin up, something close to a smile in his eyes. "It's simple. You love Mulder."

All she could do was nod.

Then he leaned forward and kissed her, lightly but deeply, a deliverance.

Caution to the wind. Every time he touched her, kissed her, she threw it all away, let herself be swept up in passion, in the thrill of being unconstrained. Dana stood on tiptoe, twining her arms around his neck and greedily kissing him. Abandoned. She was abandoned, throwing out everything that had happened, letting go of its hold on her.

His hands were on her blouse, undoing each button, then they were in her hair, which cascaded around his fingers like warm water. He wanted to pull her inside him, but all he could do was touch her; he felt so limited by physical laws. He stared at her.

Christ, he wanted to tell her how lovely she was. That touching her was like holding a star in the night sky, that kissing her was like water to a man dying of thirst. But she would hate that kind of sentimental bullshit. It would make her laugh or sneer, he didn't know which. Either way it would be horrible. He took her mouth again, hungry for everything she could be.

Walter pulled her up, and she was light to him, a feather. She held her arms tightly around his shoulders as she glided up his body, then wrapped both her legs around his hips. He could feel her kick off her shoes. He laughed under the kisses, then she gripped him tighter with her legs, which only made him ache more with desire. He took a few steps forward, carrying her, and pushed her against the wall. Dana's back was pressed tightly there as he tore at her blouse, finally sliding it over her shoulders so he could kiss her breasts where they were exposed.

In turn, she fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, finally letting herself slide down to put both feet on the floor. He was working at her trousers, pushing them down, just as she opened his, her hand moving inside. Again he pulled her up and she held on to him. He ground himself against her and his fingers dug into her back as he held her.

Walter seemed to stop then and Dana opened her eyes, looking down into his. She knew what he was doing; he was afraid this was too raw, too rude, considering the state she'd come here in. He couldn't know how much she needed this craziness, this passion to overwhelm her. "Yes," she said in a whisper.

"You always seem to be answering questions I haven't asked," Walter said lightly, and she laughed in response.

Her hand moved down again inside his trousers and she found his cock, held its hardness and moved her hand up and down.

His knees were shaking, he wasn't sure whether it was the strain of holding her or what she was doing to him with her hand. Pressing her tightly against the wall, he moved one hand down between her legs and she gasped, arching higher against him. They were a wild tangle of limbs. He pushed himself into her and she moved more tightly against him, as if they were fused together.

So hot and almost painful within her, she thought, so right. She bucked against him, mad with the sensations of everything: his cock inside her, his arms clutching her so tight she could scream, his mouth on her mouth. They were both covered with sweat, panting and trembling. She heard him gasp and then felt him shudder, his hips pounding into her over and over as he came, and eventually his movements brought her there, too. She came in waves, her body pulsing over and over with pleasure.

When he finally helped her slide down she could barely stand, her legs weak, her whole body quivering. She pulled her blouse up over her shoulders again, laughing. Walter leaned over her, taking deep breaths, his fingers tracing circles along her collarbone.

"Oh God," was all he could say. "God."

Dana kissed the palm of his hand. "You know we always said in Sunday school that God is good," she said wryly. She wanted a hot bath. She wanted to stay the night with him. Would he ask her to stay? She wouldn't ask him to ask her.

"Do you have to go? Are there... things you have to do, like walk the dog?"

"Mm," she breathed in the musky scent of him, tucking her head into his shoulder. "Mrs. Jackson is dutifully taking care of him. And no, I don't have to go."

"The bedroom's back that way," he said, turning her around. "I had an extra toothbrush, just in case."

She clung to him as they walked towards it. "That's why you're AD. You're good at planning and strategizing." She couldn't care less about all the damn boxes.

Lying in bed later, Dana was content to just have Walter hold on to her. She wasn't interested in sleeping, and they talked off and on, idly and without focus. They were just happy to be together. There really hadn't been that many nights together since the first time; if she wasn't off chasing after strange phenomena with Mulder, then Walter seemed to be working or dealing with some crisis or another. But in just these few months their time together had taken on a huge role in her life.

What she enjoyed most of all, besides actual physical time together, was integrating it into her work life. Mulder had often remarked about her secretive, private nature, and this was almost a lark for her -- to sit in a meeting with Skinner, to talk to him as though nothing had changed, as though she didn't know what it was like to lie entwined with him at night. They might glance at each other, or catch each other's eye in a meeting, and there was a slight thrill in that. She let go of her staid existence, she was living contrary to her own rules. And she liked it, for now at least.

It had surprised her, too, how deep her interest was in him physically. Bodies had almost become trivial to her after medical school, but his was a source of endless fascination. Dana loved to feel the curves of muscle on his arms and shoulders, to wrap her arms around that wide, strong ribcage and place her palms on the valley of his back, so warm and smooth. She had examined every scar, heard its history and connection to the pain in his life. He felt so strong above her, next to her.

In the back of her mind Dana knew that if she wanted to continue this, she would have to look at alternatives, figure out how her job fit into this, and whether she should move somewhere else. The thought of leaving Mulder did not appeal to her, not now, but it might have to be done.

And then of course there was the less appealing study of why she felt like this. She still wondered if it had been simply that she cared for him because they'd been thrown together so intensely, that they were passionate together because their lives were consumed with a ferocious tension. But she could never know whether that was true unless she changed the situation.

Life demanded change, Dana knew, it moved on with or without you, and to thrive you adapted and changed. How these shifts and transformations had come about almost left her reeling, so she tried not to think too much about them. To live one moment to the next, spontaneously, had been so foreign to her at first. Somewhere she felt Melissa's presence in this, encouraging her to be free of control; she liked it, she liked feeling that for once she understood her sister. Mulder had been right; all she'd had to do was try and she had found the part of her that was Melissa.

Walter rested his head on one hand, leaning up above her, just watching her. She didn't seem to mind. Her hands worried over his bruises. "Those look worse now than they did before. How awful for you."

"I'm fine. Although I have to admit, I'd forgotten how damn bad pepper spray really is. That stuff is evil."

"I hope you remembered to put ice on that some more tonight once you got home."

Nodding, he answered dryly, "Yes, Dr. Scully. Really, it was more embarrassing than painful. You and Mulder got it much worse."

Dana shook her head. "I feel like, physician, heal thyself, today. I'm still shaking, I think."

"After what you've been through, I think it would okay to take the day off tomorrow," he said. The clock read two-fifteen a.m. and they still hadn't slept.

"You don't think my supervisor would mind?"

"I could put in a word for you. You're generally pretty well-behaved, he'd let you take a mental health day."

"Details, details." Dana smiled, moving her fingers along the edge of his jaw. "Don't you worry about this? About the awkwardness, I mean. Every time we've met to discuss this case against Krycek, I think I'm going to feel odd, embarrassed. But then I think how much I like it -- a secret between us."

A part of him twisted inside at that. He was keeping so many secrets from her, things he ought to be telling her, things that would change everything drastically. He'd known all along this could happen; perhaps he'd wanted to pretend she might not really care for him. But instead he had pushed this relationship and now he had the potential to hurt her badly. And there was no one to blame but himself.

He had no doubts that she knew something of his life, that she knew he was married. She probably knew more about him from research than he would ever even tell her himself. But she wouldn't talk to him about it, and he knew why. They talked like this each time they were together, mixing silence and words, understanding between the quiet. They had talked about thoughts and ideas, about issues that were larger than things like divorce. He knew, for instance, how she had come to join the Bureau and what it had cost her with her family, but he still didn't know why such a beautiful young woman was not married or with someone. It was as if there were different levels of intimacy with each other; there were places they could go that were far more profound than just recounting a history with lovers. Perhaps he should care, but he didn't. He wanted her to lead him, to show him how much she wanted to reveal. They would talk that way for hours, saying everything and nothing. But the truth was of course that he could listen to her recite random words from a medical text and still be happy. He would go wherever she went.

"You do a good job of hiding everything. It scared me today, Dana. Hearing that. Knowing what could have happened. Anyone else, the worst might have happened, but you two are better than that."

"I think... I think it's Mulder who's going to have the worse time of it. There's something about him, the guilt he carries. He's like Atlas, you know -- carrying the world on his shoulders, or something."

"The thing about Mulder is that he sees himself in relation to his failures and mistakes. He doesn't judge himself by his successes -- and there have been a lot of those. When he looks at himself, he sees the boy who let his sister be taken away, he sees the man who almost shot you because someone else tried to make him do it."

She stared at him, almost wanting to cry. How did he know them so well? It had never occurred to her before they became involved that he thought about them, that he analyzed their behavior or considered their character. And every time he did this she was amazed, stunned by how he could cut to the heart of who they were. He knew them both, through and through, and it moved her terribly. She would swear she could hear Melissa whisper inside her heart then, telling Dana to say it, telling her to say the three words she had so much trouble saying.

Leaning up, she wrapped her arms around Walter's neck and pulled him down into a kiss. When he drew away, she said "I love you."

Walter's gaze in return was unreadable; he pulled her close to him and buried his face in her hair.

Words he'd never dared hope she would say to him, and things he was terrified she *would* say. He'd let this go so far, too far, and the worst part was that he loved her, too.

He traced kisses along her neck, moving his hands along her body, then down her chest, between her breasts, to her belly. She moved against him, wriggling like a cat.

"The worst thing on earth would be to lose you," he said in between kisses.

Her heart beat too fast, she could feel it hammering erratically in her chest. Walter was doing so many things at once -- arousing her, melting her, making her love him. His fingers were a whisper on her skin, his mouth a caress. She let go, sailed out on the emotions and the sensations, the trade winds carrying her across a warm sea.

Later, Skinner woke when Dana shook him gently, saying, "Walter" over and over in a soft voice. Covered in sweat, panicked, he was disoriented at first until he saw her face clearly in the darkness. He put his hands up over his eyes, rubbed at them with the heels of his palms.

"I was having another nightmare." He tried to be matter-of-fact.

"Another?" she asked, surprised.

"I've had... a few in the past couple of months."

She threw an arm over his chest and rested her chin on his shoulder. "I haven't noticed them before."

"Mm. I haven't had them when I've been with you. And it's not like we're together that often, anyway."

"Have you thought about getting them checked out?"

He made a face at her. "I don't need a psychiatrist."

Dana smacked him lightly on the arm. "I didn't mean a psychiatrist. I meant there's a sleep disorder clinic I know about. It might be worth it."

He shook his head. "I can't see me doing that."

"I can. You were thrashing around fiercely. It's a frightening thing to watch. Night terrors aren't something to take lightly."

The nightmares had started when he had begun seeing her. But there was no way to tell her that without making her feel guilty.

"I'm so sorry," was all he could say, and he covered her with his arms, drew her close. He was sorry about everything lately, and helpless to do anything about it.

The property between him and Sharon was being neatly divided. Everything was in order, it all looked fine, every t crossed and i dotted. And still he didn't sign the papers. Yet inside himself, somewhere hollow, he'd found some resolution. All these months, Skinner had not known which way to move. As soon as he'd decided Dana was the answer, then he would find himself regretting the loss of Sharon. If he wanted to try again with Sharon, then suddenly Dana loomed large in his path. So he'd been forced to make a choice. He'd picked a path. It was a lousy path, no doubt about it. But the answer was obvious. He had to end what he had with Dana at least for now, put it on hold until he knew which life would accept him, which was his for the taking -- and maybe, just maybe, in taking steps, he'd figure out how he was going to get there.

If all it had been was a quick fling, that might have been so much easier. It would make for an awkward working relationship, certainly, but they could have got past that. Everything was different now. She'd told him she loved him; he had fallen in love with her. Or perhaps he'd always been in love with her, but had only finally seen it outside of his dark center, bright and clean as sunlight.

It was impossible to put a name on something you couldn't understand or explain. Neither of them could explain it; it just was. Not quite a relationship, not quite a love affair, far beyond friendship. Communication not spoken, feelings expressed mostly through touch and movement and action. And now he had to find a way to tell her this unnameable, wonderful thing was off, at least for now. For the first time in his life he saw himself as a coward.

Skinner knocked on Dana's door and she let him in, her face creased with concern. She'd known, he could tell, that something was up when he'd called earlier to see if she would be home.

Scully offered him a drink and went into the kitchen to get some wine. She'd been thinking of this for the past hour, wondering if he were making a pre-emptive strike against her, offering up his job first before she could sacrifice hers. Perhaps he'd found out that she'd been looking into returning to Quantico to teach again. He might try to steer her away from that. But he had to know that if they continued this, something had to change for at least one of them. And she had the least to lose.

Sitting down on the sofa next to him, she placed her hand against his cheek and kissed him, a soft, light kiss not freighted with sensuality as they so often were.

"Do you remember," he began, slowly and deliberately, "a while ago, you asked me if it ever bothered me, keeping this secret?"

She nodded, numb, realizing already that this was going in a different direction than she'd thought.

"Well, it only bothers me in that I don't want anything to affect you negatively. And of course it would, if it got out." He took her hand in his. Had it only been a few months since she had put her hand over his, and told him in that gesture that she cared for him? "But most importantly, I have a lot of things going on personally that are just completely out of control. I don't think this happened because I'm running away from those problems, but I need to sort them out first before I know that I'm not making a mess out this, out of what I have with you, just because everything else is so screwed up."

Scully took her hand away, keeping her face impassive. Well, of course he was ditching her. How could she have possibly thought this could go on? When had she ever been rewarded for loving someone? All she could think was, *but I love you*.

But Walter continued. "I guess what I'm asking is if you can give me a little reprieve to work this out. Then I can concentrate on what... what this means for us." He wanted to tell her so it was clear what those personal problems were, but he felt such shame over everything. "The truth is, I'm in the process of a divorce, among other things--"

She put a hand up. "Don't. I don't want to know. I mean, I already know, I think."

His stomach clenched. "Whatever I need to work out..." he drew his mouth into a tight line. "Well. When I finally figure it all out, I want to come back and tell you everything. I just... I can't drag you into this too." *As if I haven't already blown everything. As if I could come back.*

"No, I understand," Dana said sadly. "You need some time. You need a break. I've been thinking that myself recently." But all she could think was, *but I love you.*

She wanted to ask him how and when he would know that everything was normal again. How on earth any of them -- her, Walter, or even Mulder -- would ever know what normal was. She hadn't a clue. As certain as Dana was that she knew what was wrong -- really, hadn't she already guessed? -- she couldn't have asked him, absolutely wouldn't have asked him.

Everything seemed acutely bright, the colors too vivid and the sounds too harsh. He was wearing a pale blue sweater that seemed almost neon-bright, and she noted how the sleeves were pushed up on his arms. Scully wanted to reach out like she'd done dozens of times recently, run her fingertips lightly up and down his arm, teasing his skin into gooseflesh. But she held her hands tightly in her lap.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Walter said simply. "Blowing the one good thing I have right now." He wanted her to hate him, or at least flail a little and kick up a fuss. It would make his decisions easier, because then he could blame it all on himself, hate himself more. Instead she thought it was a good idea, and he was forced to realize that this had never really meant the same thing to her. She probably thought he was just using her to get through the separation. And maybe that had been all right with her, she got what *she* wanted out of it. Dana had said she loved him, but what were words, anyway? They meant nothing in the long run. Probably she would have dumped him anyway, when she'd tired of him.

She couldn't believe he was doing this, either. But instead she said, "You're always wanting to protect me, to save me. I guess this is no different, it's just that there are more... entanglements."

He rose from the couch and moved towards the door. "It wouldn't be long before Mulder knew, anyway. And then we'd have had to deal with that. But chances are that something in the future..." he drifted off, not sure what he wanted to say. His future felt utterly bleak to him. No matter which road he chose it was paved with misery.

Seeing him to the door, Scully stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She dropped her head for a moment, then looked up at him unhappily. "It seems worlds away from the day I came to see you about going back to North Dakota."

Skinner wondered then, how did a person love Dana Scully? She was so inside herself, he thought, so complete. Did she need anything from anyone? How had he been so mistaken to think he would ever have come to understand her, to know her? What a farcical fantasy that had been.

Walter placed his hand against her cheek and gazed sadly at her. She met his look, almost daring him to walk out. He leaned over to kiss her cheek and she leaned into him, pressing her body close along his. Finally she slid her arms around his waist, pulling him tight. The door was ajar and he pushed it closed with his foot, turning his mouth to hers, kissing her from somewhere hollow inside him, the saddest kiss he'd ever felt.

Dana's hands clutched at him, she was drowning and she scrabbled for something to hold onto. He was so warm and solid. She pulled at his clothes, her mouth searching his. They sank to the floor, rolling with each other, searching with mouths and lips and tongues, fueled by fear and desire and pain.

If she took her hands off him, Dana was afraid he would evaporate. Her hands ranged across his body, his strong shoulders. Walter's hands held her tightly, especially his right hand, which he had placed on her hip. He'd always liked to do that, situate his hand there. One time he'd told her he was staking it out as his territory, claiming it. Tomorrow, she thought, there will be bruises on his territory. But she did not want him to remove his hand, the way he touched her was electrifying and dangerous and that was what she wanted.

He ached for her, a sharp stinging pain, a knife in his chest. He knew he should stop this. But she moved above him and he could think of nothing sensible, only how her hair brushed over his chest and shoulders like a breath.

As he'd peeled her clothing away she had moved astride him, her knees pressed tightly against his hips. When he dared to look up into her eyes, they were haunted by something far beyond passion. Perhaps his eyes looked the same to her.

Taking him inside her she moved languidly above him, arching back, his hands cupping her breasts, moving all around her body. His breathing was harsh beneath her, she could it hear it above the ticking of the clock and her own shallow, panting breaths. The texture of his voice in the dark had always aroused her before, but she wanted him to remain silent; she could not bear words right now. Perhaps never. Finally she felt him pull hard on her, his arms yanking her down as he climaxed silently beneath her, his hips grinding into her while she straddled him.

She looked at Walter's face, his guilty eyes, and saw what she swore were tears. Her legs and arms were still wrapped around him, but he looked away, as far distant as he'd ever been to her.

"I'm sorry," she said, more for her own benefit than for his.

"We're always apologizing," Walter answered, taking her hand and kissing it. "Sometimes I think we have an awfully limited ability to talk for two people involved with one another."

"But we're not involved any more, are we?" She didn't like the tone in her voice, she sounded like the wronged woman. And that filled her with regret; she knew Walter was only doing what he thought best. Her savior, her saint. Only this time, he was killing her instead of saving her, as much as he tried not to. She could not let him know how deadly the hurt really was. It was best to let him go, because maybe he would come back, even if she didn't ask him to.

Finally Walter got up, helping Dana up with him. He pulled his clothes back on as she did hers, and then leaned his forehead against the door. How did he really say good-bye, especially after that? All she had to do was touch him and he lost all pretense of control. Her back was turned to him as he finally opened the door and slipped out.

When he left, Dana locked the door and turned out the lights. Grief was the most useless of emotions. It didn't change anything or help the situation. It just sat there, hard inside you like a fist, ready to rip you apart if you weren't strong enough to stand up to it. Her father, her sister, now Walter; all were just beating her down with this useless despondency. There was no healing for grief, she did not believe that. It just festered and grew until it enveloped your heart and choked your own life out of you.

After turning off the lights, she didn't do anything else -- clean up the glasses, wash her face or brush her teeth. She just peeled off the rest of her clothes and crawled into bed, where she curled up into a ball and cried until she fell asleep.

Skinner watched her apartment from his car for quite some time after he saw the lights go out. Thinking he'd done the right thing was not made any easier by her saying that putting things on hold was what she wanted, too. But making love on the floor, instead of leaving as he should have, threw everything into a tailspin. He wasn't sure what to believe any more. She'd tossed a match into a dry field, and he was nothing more than the blackened remains of despair.

Mulder was talking at her again. He'd been talking at her all day, since the moment she first got the phone call. She'd listened on her cell phone to the whole conversation with Mulder and the detective, the windshield wipers slapping back and forth and drowning out some of what the two men were saying. Then Mulder was telling her to go do a post-mortem exam and she couldn't quite focus on his words.

He'd been talking at her again later as they'd stood over the body; the body of the woman Skinner had had sex with the previous night. She'd given Mulder the autopsy details and he had just plowed right on, oblivious to how hard it was for Scully to make sense of it in her mind. She had looked up into his kind, gentle face while he was talking at her, thinking, well of course he doesn't know, how could he know? He just wants to save Skinner. Like Skinner always saves us. Scully felt so ugly, so tarnished. But Mulder didn't see the dirt on her.

Now he was talking at her some more, wanting to make sense of all the sleep disorder information she'd given him. He talked and talked and she went along with it, as if all this were another case. Pretending Mulder's lame jokes meant nothing more to her, acting as if she cared about the situation only because Mulder did. And pretending that none of it mattered, that all this wasn't personal and cruel in the most intimate way.

Now that they were racing the clock to find some kind of loophole in this situation, at least she had something to put her back up against. She could concentrate on the details, gathering evidence. That was what she was good at. Mulder had told her he wanted to talk to someone who might help them. Pendrell, she thought. But she finally saw a moment that would get her away from him. The need to keep herself from crying or blurting out the truth was choking her. Dana couldn't stand one more moment, she had to get away from Mulder.

She found herself driving over to Walter's place, knocking on his door, before she had the sense to stop herself. Walter looked awful when he answered, and he seemed resigned, too, as if he'd been waiting for this all along.

At first he couldn't meet her eyes. He knew why she was here. But still he didn't say anything.

"What do you plan to say at the hearing tomorrow?" she asked, wondering if he would try to save himself. So far he wasn't doing much about it.

"I'm not the one who'll be doing the talking." He looked away, then back at her, his face twisted with the effort of trying not to break down.

"God, all that time I didn't want to ask you. I knew what was going on, but I didn't want to hear it. I only wanted to be with you. To revel in that feeling I got from you. I was just so happy to let go, to be carried away by you. I was so willfully ignorant." She paused in her rage, breathing deeply. "I kept thinking of that perfect day we went to the shore, and how much I loved just sitting there in the sun with you, your arm over me. We hardly talked that entire day, and when we did, it was the whole world in those few words. I was a fool. The world was out there lying in wait for us, and we were pretending it didn't matter."

"I don't know who you're angrier at right now, me or yourself. I would hate to think you blame yourself for not knowing better. It would be easier for me if I was the one you hated. I earned that." Of course, he realized, she would not care whether it was easier for him or not.

"The nightmares. They're connected to this, aren't they?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Yes." He wasn't sure of anything anymore, except the sharp hot pain piercing him right now. "But it doesn't matter, does it? I've ruined everything I touch lately. Why shouldn't I fry for this?"

Scully didn't know how to answer that. Certainly she wanted him to be punished, to hurt. But not that way. "You won't fry for anything. Mulder is doing everything--"

"I know, and I wish that both of you would just leave it alone. Let it go."

"I met Sharon."

This time he turned away, his arms crossed in front of his chest. There was no way on earth he could ever explain this. Having sex with one woman, a woman you didn't even know, simply to run away from the pain of another woman -- two, in his ludicrous case -- was just not something you could find words for.

She stepped around in front of him. She looked so blazingly bright to him, her cheeks red with anger, her eyes alight from inside. "She seemed like such a nice woman. She reminded me of myself, in some ways. Funny, isn't it?"

"A laugh riot." He paused. "Does Mulder know now?"

"I keep thinking everyone must know by now. Me wearing my clown's face, and all. But no, no one seems to see how I'm struggling with this. I feel like I'm walking through tar or something. I'm dragged down."

"I never used to apologize much before I met you. Now that's all I do. I've apologized so much to you already that I have no capital left. And still the only thing I can say to you is that I'm sorry."

Why was it, she wondered, that we fall when we fly? She'd taken tiny steps towards the edge of her safe little world. As soon as she'd spread her wings and leapt, she soared for one brief instant before tumbling down. The moment we take wing, we are doomed to fall. "Walter. I just want to know one thing. Why?" He voice cracked from the strain.

He clutched his arms tighter about his chest. "I don't know," he answered with finality. "I didn't *hire* that woman, Dana. I was just full of Scotch and self-pity, and something happened. It's the most uncharacteristic thing I've ever done, and I'll never do anything like it again. It wasn't me. Except... except I don't know who I am any more."

Her cell phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket, turning away from Walter. It was Mulder, of course, asking her to come back to the office.

Scully trembled with a helpless anger. She thought of their bittersweet lovemaking on the floor not so many weeks ago, of saying good-bye and rediscovering each other all over again. "I have to go," was all she said. Not the many questions she wanted to ask, greatest among them was *didn't you love me back?* Her bitterness was overwhelming, it stifled the breath in her chest. Love was an offense to the order of her life, the distance she had worked to achieve. How dare he make her feel that way?

"What are you going to say at the hearing?" he finally asked.

"I'll answer whatever I can answer. But I don't want them to use my statement to discredit you, no, if that's what you're getting at."

Walter shook his head. "That's not what I'm getting at. I just... I hurt you. I want you to know that I can understand if you... if you want to say..."

"This is private." She was so strong in her resolution, he always loved this about her. "Aren't you afraid of what will happen?"

As he opened the door for her, he leaned against the frame and looked at her. "Whatever happens tomorrow, it's what I deserve. I'll get what I deserve."

Scully stared back at him before she closed the door. She leaned against it for a moment, knowing that on the other side he was doing the same. No, she thought, this is not what you deserve. This is not what any of us deserve.

Even if it was all over, and they were back to business, Skinner knew Scully would return. She would come quietly back to his office, to ask him why, because that was her nature. That much he understood about her.

He'd sometimes loved the mystery of her, the way she held so much back but gave tiny glimpses of what she was hiding. There were times Walter had wondered if Mulder also saw that in her, if that was part of their unusual friendship. And wondered if Mulder would be attracted to it, more than frustrated. It had certainly attracted Skinner.

When Walter had been with Dana, it was as if the world had withdrawn. They were alone inside something they had created. All the chances he'd had to tell her everything -- how he felt about her, what was happening in his life, how much he clung to her -- seemed to evaporate with one glance or touch from her. He was lost inside the depth of her eyes, consumed by the heat of her passion. There were no pathways or signs, only something carnal or physical to show him the way. Just the beauty in the way her hair fell around her face and shoulders as she moved above him, or the luscious space between her legs, or the way her eager lips parted to him when he kissed her.

And Skinner had thrown that all away, just as he'd thrown away his life with Sharon, because he couldn't say the right things. Because he couldn't figure out how to let someone know the truths about him. How much did you have to lose before you hit rock bottom? Skinner wondered. Did he have anything left to lose? His job would have been nothing to him, no great disappointment. Staring at his regained desk now, his work felt meaningless.

Then he heard her knock, and called, "Come in," as he rose from his chair.

He tried to smile at her, but there was too much emptiness in him.

"I know you couldn't tell Agent Mulder about how you knew to be at the hotel. I wondered if you could tell me."

Skinner shook his head. "I was directed there. But I honestly don't know what happened beyond that. I'm not holding anything back this time. I just really don't know what happened or how to explain it."

"You saved my life. Again."

"You don't know that. He might have killed the girl and left you alone."

"Or he might not have."

"When did you--"

"When they told us about the car. If I'd had doubts about whether you could have killed that... woman, I knew the truth when they said you ran Sharon off the road. Mulder didn't need to convince me after that. You're simply incapable of such a thing."

Skinner stared out the window. How did he say good-bye to her for real, and stop dragging this out? How did he let her go? Well, what choice did he have?

She said quietly, "There were a dozen times I should have asked--"

"And there were a dozen times I could have told you."

"But I didn't want to ask, you see. I wanted to just live in this world that had only us in it, I didn't want to bring in an ex-wife or a family or anything else. I wanted it to be me, living just for the now, me with you. Only you."

"And I should have told you so you'd have had the choice. But I think I wanted the same thing. To pretend nothing else existed."

"So now it's back to work. Back to the way things were before."

He moved his head back and forth, his jaw clenching so hard he could feel tendons almost popping. His voice sounded raw and grating.

"Do you honestly believe I didn't care about this? That this meant nothing to me? You believe I didn't... don't love you? I know I don't talk about things, but were my actions really so obscure that you believe I didn't care? I was an idiot. My life was a mess, I was lonely and unhappy and I knew that I was risking your career, and mine -- if the conduct committee hadn't nailed me for this incident, they could have certainly done it for involving myself with a direct report if that ever came out. And instead of getting my life in order, I made an even more idiotic mistake. There's no way I can undo this mess I've made. At best you'll treat me with tolerance, maybe even friendship someday, but you'll never trust me again. And whatever I could hope you felt for me, you'll never feel it again. I was stupid and stubborn, I was thoughtless and confused and I made absurd, dangerous mistakes. But in all of it, the one thing that hurts me the most is that I hurt you."

In the entire time she'd known him she had never heard him talk so much at once. Words ricocheted around in her head -- you're not an idiot; the mistake was mine, too; I trust you -- but nothing came out. How did she begin to tell him what she felt, when she didn't know herself? Months ago, she would have tried to comfort him. Now she stood rooted to the spot.

Dana dropped her head, then looked up at him from under her brows. "We both didn't say the things we needed to. But I don't regret for one moment the things I did say."

He looked as if he would cry, the corners of his mouth twitching. But of course he would never do that.

Finally he said, "Can we work together, do you think?" But he thought inside, what a lie. He would never be able to work with her as just an agent again.

Scully nodded. "Yes. We just have to give it some time." She turned to go then, and as she opened the door, she looked over her shoulder. He couldn't forget what that shoulder felt like under his hand.

"Back to business," she said. *Back to being strangers.*

Standing outside in the hallway, people walked by her. There was the sound of talking and of business being done. As if it were all a normal day. Back to business. How, exactly, would that be done? How did she forget what it felt like to be wrapped up inside his strong arms, to hear his low voice in the dark? What his skin tasted like beneath her lips. She had no idea how to go about forgetting that.

When the door closed, he did not hear her footsteps receding, so he knew she was standing there. He wanted to open the door, to take her up in his arms and just hold her. She was right, he was always trying to save her. And look what he had done to her instead.

If fate controlled your destiny, if your actions really did reward you, could he make it up to her someday? It was too late now for him to change what he'd done to Sharon for seventeen years.

Skinner had not been Dana's hero, her knight. In fact he'd fallen so far from grace he wasn't sure of the meaning of the word any more. But if he worked at it, if he devoted himself to it, could he be those things to her? It might be enough to keep him going, he thought. Someday, if circumstances were right, and if he did it well, maybe he could change her mind about him.

Walter had to hope that he was not confined by mistakes and failures, and that he could be worthy of love again. That would be his life's work, then, his secret agenda. He would make it right by her, someday. He would earn her.