Title: A Fine Line
Author: Drmchaser (Lia)
Summary: Post "Biogenesis" 
Rating: NC-17 (mild)
Category: Sk/Sc
Archive: Please ask.

A FINE LINE 

By: Drmchaser 

Assistant Director Walter Skinner stood in the hospital
corridor, his grim expression unchanging as he listened to
FBI agent Dana Scully's emotional outburst. Her words
stung, branding him a liar, presuming his allegiance to the
dark-haired woman at his side. It had always come down to a
matter of trust between him and Scully - that much hadn't
changed in the past six years. Similar scenes had played
out a half dozen times before, and although he had always
been able to justify his position, at least to himself,
this time had been different. For every man who walked this
earth with a conscience and a soul there was a breaking
point, and watching Scully turn her back on him, knowing
she believed he had betrayed her, he finally reached his.
"You're both liars!" she had shouted, desperation and pain
so clearly visible in her eyes. 

Three days later, alone in the darkness of his Crystal
City home, the words continued to weigh heavily on
Skinner's mind. He raised a tumbler of scotch to his lips
and sipped slowly, welcoming the slow burn at the back of
his throat. Deep in thought, he'd been sitting in the exact
same spot since his return to the apartment four hours
earlier. A warm breeze filtered in through the open balcony
door, and he grimaced, loosening his tie and unbuttoning
his collar. Dark eyes sought the luminescent dial at his
wrist for what felt like the hundredth time. If the
information received about tonight's schedule was correct,
Kim's call would come through at any moment. His free hand
settled over the Sig Sauer strategically placed on the end
table nearest to him. He stroked the barrel as he
considered what he was about to do. A different type of man
might have been able to find options in the complicated
mess he now referred to as his life, but he was not a
different type of man. He had entered the adult world with
a code of honor and a set of ideals firmly in place and
that was how he had always thought to leave it. If
compromise and hypocrisy now filled his days and haunted
his nights instead, there was no one to blame but himself. 

After another slow sip, he lowered the crystal glass to
his knee and brushed a speck of lint from his dark gray
slacks. It wasn't as if he had ever expected to be a hero
or a martyr. Just the thought made him shake his head and
snort quietly with disgust. Both roles were best left to
the Mulders of the world. And there was no doubt Fox Mulder
would certainly bear one mantle or the other by the time
this quest of his had come to an end. As well he should.
For himself, he wanted nothing to do with such glory. The
price was too high, the body count of innocents too
damaging to a man's soul. Melissa Scully lying in a
hospital bed immediately came to mind. His index finger
curled around the trigger of his gun. He palmed the weapon.
Holding on to it offered comfort, a temporary feeling of
control. A shadow of a smile passed over his face. If only
he had taken care of Krycek in the hospital stairwell that
day, if only he had truly understood the stakes in the
game, maybe he could have saved them all a lot of 
heartache. 

He answered his cell phone on the second ring. "Skinner." 

"Her plane touched down ten minutes ago at Dulles, Sir." 

"You obtained the passenger manifest?" 

"Yes, Sir. Visual confirmation also." 

"Good work." 

"Sir?" 

Skinner ran a weary hand over the back of his neck. He had
been feeling much older than his forty-eight years lately
and not only because of the nanocytes that remained in his
system. "Yes?" 

"If there's anything more I can do…" 

"Not tonight," he interrupted curtly. "Enjoy your weekend.
We'll go over the budget information Monday morning." 

"I meant regarding Agents Mulder and Scully, Sir." 

Kim had proven to be an excellent assistant, often
anticipating his needs in a near psychic way, but it was
imperative that he keep her involvement to a minimum. "I
don't believe there is anything more that can be done for
either one right now." His words were purposely cold and
emotionless, leaving no doubt that the topic was off-
limits. 

"Yes, Sir. Goodnight, Sir." 

Taking a deep breath, he sought to temper his dismissal
with a simple, but gruff, "Thank you, Kim." Only after
disconnecting the call did he allow himself the luxury of
relaxing against the taut burgundy leather of the couch. He
studied the night sky above the balcony and thought about
his plans. Once the final phone call was made, there would
be no turning back. He had held off until he was certain of
Scully's safe return, but now... 

With a quick flick of the wrist, he tossed back the
remaining contents of his glass. Scully and Mulder, Mulder
and Scully. Two names that seemed to be forever intertwined
in his appointment calendar, whether it be regarding
reports, reprimands, or even a call from the director's
office. And yet, his relationship with each was uniquely
different. He studied the empty tumbler in his hand,
fingertips rotating the finely cut crystal until it caught
a faint ray of moonlight. 

Dana Scully would have to remain an enigma to him. Sure,
he knew her professional and family histories, including
every tragedy that had befallen her since hooking up with
Mulder, but there had been little opportunity to learn much
more about the woman he had grown to respect. He had hoped
the respect was mutual. Her continual distrust of him
suggested otherwise. 

It was a sad commentary on their working relationship that
each time Mulder had been missing or thought dead, she
turned her suspicions on her direct supervisor, assuming
him guilty, assuming he was one of them. As if no one other
than Mulder were capable of the truth. 

Christ, he admired Mulder, always had. The man had even
been referred to as a genius more than once, but what good
was it being a genius if the rest of your life was a
fucking shambles? A perfunctory scan of the living room
left him shaking his head again. Who was he to criticize
Mulder? Not even here, in his own private home, could he
face the signs of the life he should have, or could have,
had. No wedding day photos adorned his art laden shelves.
The only memories not packed away in a storage facility
somewhere were buried deep within his own heart. 

When he was judged, and his actions over the next twenty-
four hours would most certainly be judged, some over-
educated, underpaid fool would take a look at this
apartment and try to psychoanalyze its once highly regarded
tenant. They'd claim he had been lonely as if such a
simple fact could sufficiently aid in explaining away his
actions. He knew better. His professional life was filled
to the brim, barely leaving him enough time to hit the gym
three nights a week. He had no desire to bring that level
of hectic activity to his few peaceful hours at home. There
was a vast difference between being alone, a state of
affairs he had long ago grown comfortable with, and being
lonely. 

No, they wouldn't understand, but in all honesty, how
could he expect them to when he had spent a lifetime
learning the game and crafting the facade? 

~*~*~ 

Dana Scully dashed across the airport walkway and straight
into a yellow cab, calling out an address faster than the
door could close behind her. She unbuttoned her black, hip
length jacket, and settled into the worn vinyl seat,
determined to calm her rapidly beating heart and shallow
breathing. After all, she had been through during the last
seventy-two hours, this was not the time to panic. 

Her first instinct had been to talk to Mulder, but after
contacting his doctor from the plane, she knew that
wouldn't be possible. Mulder remained in a barbiturate
induced coma. 

There was only one person to whom she could now turn. One
person who, if she hadn't irreparably damaged her six-year
working relationship with him might be willing to use his
authority and connections to help her partner. God help
her, she wasn't proud of that little incident in the
hospital corridor three days earlier, but jet lag, fatigue,
and intense emotion had turned her into a walking time bomb
- to which Diana Fowley had happily struck a match. As for
Skinner's behavior and his involvement in the Merkmallen
case, she was no longer sure what to think. 

Her working relationship with the assistant director had
started off well enough, but faced with one personal crisis
after another, not to mention a growing physical attraction
to the man, she had found herself in an awkward,
vulnerable, situation. It was not a situation she was
comfortable with. Keeping her personal and professional
lives separate had never been a problem before. Distancing
herself emotionally had been the proper thing to do. 

Fortunately, her work with Mulder, left little time to
waste on 'what ifs' or regrets, and it was only during the
rare private meetings with Walter Skinner that she ever
felt nervous or on edge. At times like that, it was almost
as if those dark eyes could see right through to her
secrets. So much for being level headed and analytical. The
man consistently treated her with respect, compassion even,
but when push came to shove, she had jumped to conclusions.
However justified she had felt at the time, her basic
knowledge of his character and his past support of the X-
files should have earned him better treatment. She fidgeted
nervously with her hair, brushing it back from the side of
her face. Somewhere along the line, her life had become a
testament to the perils of unfinished business. Melissa,
her father… relationships that had ended so suddenly,
before she was ready, before she could prepare. 

She refused to add Skinner or Mulder to the list. To that
end, there were fences that needed mending. She would do
her best to settle things with the assistant director
tonight, and once that was done, she would search for a way
to help Mulder with the same determination Mulder had shown
in finding a cure for her cancer. 

The drive to Skinner's Crystal City apartment took less
time than Scully had expected. As the cab pulled up to the
curb, she sat for a moment and mentally compared the large,
imposing structure to the man whose privacy she was about
to invade. This was probably one of those times when it was
best to keep moving and not pause to think because doing
so would allow common sense to set in. She paid the driver
quickly instead of asking him to wait. There was no telling
how long this impromptu meeting would take. 

A few minutes later, standing in the hallway outside of
his apartment, her resolve began to weaken. A quick check
of her watch reminded her that it was just past midnight.
Not exactly a good hour to be surprising someone with a
visit - especially someone you had recently accused of
betrayal. "He's going to slam the door in my face," she
muttered, glad no one was wandering the halls and likely to
view her moment of humiliation. "This is such a huge
mistake." Saying the words out loud seemed to give them 
more weight, but just as she turned to leave, the sound of 
a muffled cough stopped her in her tracks. He was there, 
just beyond the door. The thought both comforted and 
horrified her. She knocked before losing what little 
courage she had left. 
~*~*~
The arrival of an unexpected guest was not exactly
surprising to Walter Skinner, but a guest who would bother
to knock was. Dark, suspicious eyes shifted towards the
door while the fingers of his right hand tightened around
his weapon. Rising from the couch, he crossed the room with
swift, silent movements. The knocking became more insistent
as he checked the peephole. Surprised, he backed up a step
and considered his options. 

"Sir?" 

His eyes weren't playing tricks on him. The loud,
inquiring whisper confirmed it. A spasm of grief crossed
his face but was quickly channeled into anger. He was not
prepared for this. What in God's name was she thinking of,
showing up on his doorstep at this hour? Why would she
assume he was home? Or willing to talk to her? But the
truth of the matter was, Dana Scully would not be on the
other side of his door at fifteen minutes past midnight
without a damned good reason. But if that reason was
Mulder, she was doomed to disappointment. There was nothing
he could tell her that she didn't already know. 

Resigning himself to the inevitable, his features settled
into their familiar blank mask. "Agent Scully," he
acknowledged after opening the door. He stepped back
reluctantly, allowing her to enter. "What are you doing
here?" 

"I realize that this is highly irregular, Sir, but we need
to talk." She set her overnight bag down just inside the
door. 

"Monday, nine a.m. will be fine, Agent." He remained
standing in the narrow entryway hoping to rush her into
saying whatever she had to say and then leaving. The risks
here were multiple and much more complex than she could
ever imagine. 

"I need to - what I mean is I was hoping that we might be
able to… " 

She tripped over the words and his heart went out to her,
but there was nothing he could do to help. At least not in
the way she would expect. His profile remained unrelenting.
He avoided her eyes. "If you've come here for absolution or
to beg for your job, Agent Scully, I suggest you save your
speech and deliver it during normal working hours." His
comments got a rise out of her, just as he knew they would.
Now, maybe she would go home - or to Mulder. He wished her
anywhere but his apartment. 

"We both know that privacy is no longer possible in your
office, Sir." 

It was a direct hit. The score in tonight's battle of
subtlety had evened up, but the crackling tension between
them did not bode well. She surprised them both by turning
her attention to the comfortably decorated living room and
walking past him as if invited in. Before he could comment,
she had removed her jacket and was draping it over the back
of a chair. Dressed in snug black pants and a white,
sleeveless top that looked more like a vest, she appeared
confident and determined. He tore his eyes away from the
deep, V-shaped neckline, and turned back to the door,
pushing it closed. Still regarding her warily, he followed
her into the room. 

"Am I interrupting something?" Scully asked, with a
pointed glance at the gun in his hand. 

"Agent Scully..." Skinner had no intention of answering
her question. He returned his weapon to the end table.
"What is this all about?" Settling his hands on his hips,
he maintained an uncompromising stance. 

"We need to talk..." Her smile wavered, a rare sign of
vulnerability. "The way I left things the other day - it
wasn't right." 

"You don't owe me any apologies," he cut in. Guilt rose
like bile in his throat. 

"I'm not here to apologize," she snapped and then paused
to take a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is that I
had a lot of time to think on the plane, maybe too much
time, and I was really hoping to clear the air between us."
She nodded towards the chair opposite the couch. "Do you
mind?" 

"Your plane landed less than half an hour ago. Shouldn't
you be checking on Mulder?" One delicately shaped eyebrow
arched in his direction and he immediately realized his
mistake. "Part of my responsibility as an assistant
director is to keep track of the agents I direct." 

"So you keep telling me." 

He bit back the response on the tip of his tongue and
nodded towards the chair behind her. A return to his own
seat on the couch had him sitting stiffly, elbows on knees
and hands clasped in front of him. This was insanity,
allowing her to remain here in his apartment. He watched
her scan the room, her gaze settling on his empty scotch
glass. If she was wondering why he had been sitting alone
in the dark, thankfully, she kept her conclusions on the
matter to herself. He found himself longing for the
professional sterility of his office and more importantly,
the wide expanse of desk that was usually between them. 

"I'm not very proud of the way I handled the situation
at the hospital the other day. I may have overreacted."
She sat forward in the chair, unconsciously mirroring his
body language. 

His glance remained locked with hers, despite the
overwhelming temptation to drop lower. "You've kept in
contact with the hospital regarding Mulder's condition." It
was not a question. 

"Yes, I have, but..." 

"There is nothing more I can tell you." He knew what she
wanted to talk about and he was tempted, very tempted, by
this opportunity to explain himself, but for every instinct
that screamed at him to take her into his confidence,
another stronger one insisted he hold back. 

Holding back was not something Scully, herself, appeared
Interested in. "I know that I've let you down time and time
again." She rushed to continue before he could interrupt
her. "I know that I have a tendency to jump to the wrong
conclusions where you're concerned. If I had shown half the
trust in you that Mulder does, I wouldn't be here tonight,
making a fool of myself." 

Her words were startling. After a hundred meetings, a
thousand phone calls, and countless hours spent with the
director defending the X-files and his agents - this should
have been a very satisfying moment. "Forget it." 

"Sir?" 

She rose to cross the distance between them, and he moved
swiftly to his feet, ready to put an end to the
uncomfortable conversation. 

"I am truly sorry for my outburst at the hospital, Sir. My
actions were unconscionable. I should have attempted to
talk to you in private." 

An apology was not what he wanted from Scully. He no
longer knew what he wanted from her. A small hand rested
fleetingly on his upper arm. He moved away immediately,
putting distance between them. Pausing near the sliding
glass door, he made a quarter turn to glance back at her.
"The past is no longer important, Agent Scully." 

"I disagree." 

Dark eyes raked over the argumentative redhead. "Let
yourself out," he instructed, and then wandered out onto
the small balcony. 

"Why won't you let me try and put things right between us?" 

So, Mulder's habit of ignoring orders that didn't suit him
had finally worn off on her. He sensed her arrival at his
side, so close to his left elbow, her right breast
threatened to brush against him with each indignant breath
she drew. Anger should have been an effective weapon for
keeping her at a distance, but it appeared to be backfiring
on him at the moment. He tried again. "You don't get it, do
you, Agent Scully?" 

"No, I don't. I came here tonight because you owe me an
explanation and I knew that if I waited until we were back
in your office, the chances of you speaking openly were
slim." 

"Let me see if I've got this straight. You have a problem
trusting me and you want me to somehow explain the
decisions I've had to make in order to help you 
understand." 

"I don't think that's unreasonable, considering Agent
Mulder's current condition." 

There was no hiding the disappointment in his voice. "I
have no explanations for you. End of subject." 

"That's it? That's all you're going to say? Dammit,
Skinner..." 

"What is going on out there right now," he interrupted
sharply, nodding towards the quiet city, "is much larger
than any one man's quest for the truth or his sanity. There
is no room for mistakes or irresponsible, emotional
reactions. Go to Mulder, find out what's wrong with him,
and then report in on the findings from your trip. You have
a lot to do in the coming days." 

"And you?" 

It was a much calmer response than he had anticipated.
Where were the accusations, the outraged lectures he had
come to expect? The course of action he had so recently
decided upon was based, in part, on the fact that no one
would question his behavior or whereabouts until after the
fact. He had finally found a way to simplify one small
portion of the madness, and there was no way in hell he'd
allow her to complicate it all over again. Her compassion
would not be welcomed, her pity, abhorred. 

But despite his best efforts to remain cold and unfeeling,
a strange sense of intimacy was developing between them. No
doubt it was a false intimacy, brought on by the late hour
and the confined space they currently shared, but he fought
it nonetheless. He mentally cursed both her and her
partner, not daring to separate the two of them in his
thoughts. 

"Sir?" 

Under the best of circumstances, he was not a man prone
toward explanations. "Don't concern yourself with my
actions, Scully. I am well aware of what needs to be done." 

"But once again, you don't plan on telling me what that
is." 

"Last time I checked, you and your partner report to me,
not vice versa." Turning away from the view, he glared at
his visitor. Her close proximity allowed him to see faint
lines of strain around her eyes for the first time. He
pushed the discovery out of his mind. He would not allow
himself to soften towards her. Besides, tired as she might
be, she still looked determined to take him on. "To be
honest, Agent Scully," he stressed her title, reminding not
only her but himself, of the difference in their ranks, "I
don't trust you." 


~*~*~
Stunned, Scully sucked in her breath as if she'd been
struck. 

"I suppose I deserved that," she admitted hesitantly.
Skinner turned before she could accurately read his
expression. That he was anxious to be rid of her was
obvious, and her first inclination had been to oblige, but
between the loaded Sig Sauer on his end table and the
dangerous undercurrents that were impossible to ignore, she
found herself reluctant to leave him alone. "Do you mind if
I pour myself a drink?" 

His head whipped back around, true anger flaring in his
eyes this time. "Yes, I do mind, Agent Scully. I'd like you
to leave." 

"What if I promise to leave right after the drink?" The
back was ramrod straight, the shoulders massive and
unrelenting. He was a proud man, she realized as if
understanding this side of him for the first time. She had
let him down the other day, embarrassed him in front of
that bitch, Diana Fowley. Past instances of mistrust had
been shared only with Mulder, or the AD himself. Looking
back, those memories were humiliating enough, but her
breakdown in front of Fowley was the worst. Probably
unforgivable. How often had she been wrong about him in the
past? Why was it so easy to accept his help, but never his
censure? Unless she was willing to face the answers to
these questions, there would forever be unfinished business
between them. 

"Help yourself to a drink and then to the door." 

The harsh whispered command startled her out of her
reverie. She moved away from the railing slowly, hoping he
would join her, but not a single muscle under that
expensive white shirt shifted into action. He remained
motionless and unyielding, a sculpted silhouette against a
starlit sky. Scully forced herself to look away. 

Back inside, she selected a snifter from the fully stocked
wet bar and poured a small cognac. Maybe it was time to
start asking herself what she was really doing here. After
talking to Mulder's doctor, the decision to confront
Skinner had seemed natural, but if she truly believed him
guilty of betrayal, why did she continue to turn to him in
times of crisis? Both she and Mulder had relied on his aura
of strength and banked on his reputation for integrity.
Had finding fault in the man been her way of keeping her
personal feelings for him in check? 

Snifter in hand, she glanced outside and considered
rejoining Skinner on the balcony, but decided against it.
She settled into one of two matching leather wing chairs
instead. Slipping out of her shoes, she tucked her legs up
under her. It felt good to relax, to feel safe for the
first time in a week. Safe? She mulled over the word in her
mind, taking a slow sip from the glass in her hand. There
was no logical reason to feel safe here in Skinner's home.
He had been waiting in the dark for God's knows who or
what, with a loaded weapon in his hand. He was up to
something, that much was crystal clear. He was also not
about to tell her what it was. Couldn't fault him for that,
as much as it pained her to admit. She'd spent years
playing the devil's advocate for Mulder, all the while
never realizing she desperately needed someone to do the
same for her. If Mulder's intensity had blinded her, it was
because she had allowed it to happen. 

Guilt crept in, silent and swift. Her partner was in the
hospital suffering while she was here, comfortably
ensconced in Skinner's living room. A yawn escaped as she
readjusted her position in the large chair. Mulder would
want her to set things right with Skinner and he would
understand her need for this brief respite, especially
after the hectic pace she had set over the past three days.
Her efforts in Africa had paid off, but she still had to
find a way to use the information collected. 

The research would have to wait until morning. Having
managed only a scarce few hours of rest during the last
three days, she was spent - both physically and
emotionally. She scanned the room with tired eyes.
Skinner's apartment, much like his office, didn't offer
much personal insight into the man, but its furnishings
were attractive in a solid, disturbingly masculine way. Her
last conscious thoughts were of how perfectly they suited
him. 
~*~*~

He waited for more than half an hour at the balcony railing
and considered it a successful test of his self-control. He
waited as sirens wailed somewhere in the distance and
traffic became nearly nonexistent on the streets below. The
past hour of his life could be forgotten. It did not exist.
Nothing had changed. And yet, he felt different somehow. 
"Damn fool," he muttered upon reentering the living room,
not quite sure if he was talking about himself or Scully. 

She should not have come. Until now, only Mulder had dared
to trespass into his personal space, and it should have
remained that way. Scully's imprint, though fleeting, would
be much harder to erase. 

He lifted a hand to the back of his neck and tried to rub
away the growing stiffness as he crossed the room. All
those hours spent in personal reflection and serious
meditation before her visit were now shot to hell. Back
when he had first joined the FBI, duty had rarely been a
four-letter word to him, or commitment a chore. He had
chosen a career path with what he had hoped was
intelligence and care while trying to never lose sight of
the greater goal or wasting time with regrets. It had been
a damn fine career by anyone's standards, until recently.
Hence, the difficult decision to take back what little
control was possible at this late date. He had resigned
himself to the necessity of such a move. 
And then Scully had descended on him tonight, of all
nights. This unwelcome delay was all her fault. She was
feisty, unrepentant, demanding, and bossy. She was also
intelligent, caring, and had a way of looking at a person
with her heart and soul in her eyes. 

"Damn fool." He was definitely cursing himself this time
as he strode to the front door, intending to check the
lock. His eyes immediately dropped to the overnight bag
still sitting right where she had left it. Turning slowly,
he was not quite sure what to expect. 

He spotted her almost immediately, curled up in a leather
wing chair, fast asleep. The position of the chair hid her
from view as he had entered from the balcony. Drifting
closer seemed the natural thing to do, as did carefully
pulling the empty snifter from her hands and setting it
down on a nearby table. He studied her face. She was
beautiful, something he had always been aware of, but just
how delicate that beauty was, he had never before allowed
himself to explore. His hand moved of its own accord,
tempted beyond all common sense and reason to touch the
alabaster smoothness of her cheeks. He stopped himself just
short of actual contact. Maybe she had not been the only
one purposely keeping a distance all these years. 

Scully shifted slightly in the chair as if feeling the
weight of his gaze. Full, rose-colored lips pursed as she
made a face in her sleep. How had Mulder kept from falling
in love with her, he wondered? Maybe he was presuming too
much. If so, it would go a long way towards explaining her
blind faith in her partner. The thought damn near made him
queasy, which in turn, made him angry again. She didn't
trust him - and with good reason. He had to get her out of
here. 

His cell phone rang, shattering the fragile silence.
Snatching it from the table before it could wake her, he
answered it as quietly as possible. "Skinner!" It still
sounded like a bark even in whisper mode. 

"I thought you wanted to see me." 

"Not tonight, something has come up." 

"Anything or anyone I'd be interested in?" 

"No." The simple word hissed out of a clenched jaw. 

"Are you sure? I sense a little tension in your voice. I
don't like surprises." 

Skinner wandered back out onto the balcony, not wanting to
disturb his sleeping guest as his voice rose in anger.
"Listen, you son of a bitch, I'm tired of your games." 

"Calling me names now, Skinner?" 

"Tomorrow night," he snapped, eager to put an end to the
call, "just as we agreed." 

"We agreed that you would call me tonight, as soon as you
had the new information in hand." 

Anger and frustration rose up unchecked. It was all
Skinner could do to spit out the necessary words. "As I
said," he ground out slowly and carefully, "there has been
a delay. I won't have the information for you until
tomorrow evening." 

"There is a small park just west of Delancy Street. Meet
me there at one a.m." 

"We agreed to meet here, at my apartment." 

"You had your chance. Tomorrow we do things my way." 

The line went dead, cutting off any opportunity to argue.
It was just as well, Skinner decided. Although this last
minute change of location was unexpected, he would check
out the park at daybreak and find a way to make any
advantage his own. One way or another, it would all be over
with soon. 

"Do you intend to kill him?" 

The whispered question hung in the air between them.
Skinner remained at the balcony railing, not knowing how
much she had overheard, unable to turn and face her. He
considered answering with a lie. It would be wiser and in
her best interests. But a man at the end of his rope is
often unwise and beyond that, he was tired of all the lies
and half-truths between them. By Monday, it would no longer
matter what she knew. 

"Yes," he said simply, offering no details. 

"Good." 


~*~*~
 
Scully had awoken to the sounds of a heated conversation.
The words grew fainter as Skinner moved outside, but her
interest, although groggy, had already been piqued. As
Mulder's partner, she had been witness to the assistant
director's temper on many occasions, but what she sensed in
him tonight hinted at something much more violent. 

Unfolding her legs, she climbed out of the chair and
crossed the room, pausing a few feet away from the balcony
until it was obvious that the call had been disconnected. 

He stood with both hands on the rail, head bent forward as
if in contemplation. Or was it weariness? Those shoulders
were broad but looked strained now as if carrying the
weight of the world. Her fingers itched with the need to
comfort him, but the thought of doing so was insane. And
yet, when the tables had been turned, he had not hesitated
to visit her in the hospital, or in jail. He had been there
at every special hearing. He had been there after the
incident on the bridge, arriving even before Mulder. 

How long had he been struggling with his own problems
without ever bothering to inform them? Past history had
proven without a doubt that the man had enemies. Who was it
this time? 

"Do you intend to kill him?" she dared to ask. 

"Yes." 

He was not a man who took such action lightly. If there
were no alternatives, the situation was dire, indeed.
"Good," she offered, joining him on the balcony. Without
her shoes, she felt ridiculously small and ineffectual
offering support to a man of his strength and size. 

Skinner turned at that moment, regarding her steadily as
he crossed his arms. He leaned back against the rail,
sleeves rolled up, white dress shirt pulled taut across his
shoulder blades. Her eyes remained focused on his forearms
for what was surely an inappropriate length of time.
Powerful, solid, elegant, just like the man. Her mouth felt
suddenly dry, parched. 

"Don't even think about it, Scully." 

Her cheeks suffused with color. She cursed her fair
complexion, mortified that he now had another reason to
think less of her. "Sir, I…" 

"This matter does not involve you in any way. Am I
understood?" 

Thin, finely shaped eyebrows drew together as she thought
about his words. He had missed the more personal aspect of
her dilemma and seemed to think she had overheard more than
she had. "I'm already involved," she offered, hoping the
comment was vague enough to continue his mistaken
impression. "Let me help." 

Those dark eyes pierced right through her, warning her to
tread carefully. The phone call had left him in a highly
volatile mood. 

"Let's take this inside," he suggested, touching her arm. 

"Is he aware of who your company is?" 

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way." 

"Of course." She allowed him to lead her indoors, trying
to keep her mind off of the fingers that were now digging
into her upper arm. 

"I know why you're here." 

"What?" Her arm was released as they reached the couch.
Skinner dropped down onto it, looking exhausted. 

"I would help Mulder if I could," he said unexpectedly,
"but I'm taking myself out of the loop on this one. Whoever
passed me the Merkmallen case knew I would assign it to you
and Mulder. I played right into their hands." 

Instead of returning to her chair, she chose a spot right
next to him, sitting sideways with one arm resting along
the back of the couch. 

"Whoever it was, played us all, Sir, but what I found in
West Africa may change everything." 

"As much as you believe some things may change, Scully,
there are too many others that will stay the same. How can
I convince you that helping Mulder is only one small part
of the ultimate solution?" 

"But it is the first step." 

"Maybe." Skinner fell silent, his expression distant, as
if his thoughts were miles away from Crystal City and her
at that moment. "Do me a favor?" he finally asked. 

"If I can." 

He paused, pulling his tie out from under his collar and
tossing it onto an empty chair before responding, "Call me
Walter." 

She could switch moods with the best of them, but he was
setting a world's record tonight and it was beginning to
worry her. "What exactly is going on here… Walter?" 

He carefully removed his glasses, giving the wireframes a
quick, habitual inspection before setting them down on the
end table next to him. "Games," he finally answered,
seemingly more concerned with settling into a comfortable
position on the couch. Arms crossed, he rested his head
back against the leather and closed his eyes before adding,
"Nothing but games and I'm tired of playing." 

Despite his relaxed posture, there was something in the
tone of his voice that made her heartbeat quicken. Scully's
glance fell to the Sig Sauer. She had barely escaped the
suffocating hopelessness that swept through the hospital
corridors during her visit to Mulder three days ago. Her
anger towards Skinner and Fowley had fueled her escape to
West Africa, energizing her quest for answers and
motivating her when she was ready to drop, but this - this
was not to be borne. He could not give up. Not now. Not
when they were so close to unraveling it all. 

She moved closer, laying a hand on his shoulder. "There is
so much I have to tell you about. So much I've seen." 

A gruff chuckle escaped his lips, and he was smiling
gently when he turned towards the sympathetic touch. Her
thumb rose up to brush across his cheek. Dark eyes narrowed
dangerously as they watched her. It made him appear a
decade younger and even more attractive if that were
possible. If she had seen him like this in the office, self
control would have been but a distant issue. 

"Not tonight, Scully." 

His refusal to discuss work came as a relief. 

"Dana," she insisted, wanting to hang on to the unexpected
intimacy between them. Her eyes remained locked with his.
The cognac was affecting her common sense. Why else would
she remove her hand from his shirt and place it against the
side of his face? Her thumb stroked the after-five stubble
until finally finding the courage to brush across his lower
lip. Any fear that she had gone too far was quickly put to
rest as he closed his eyes and turned into her hand,
pressing his mouth into the softness of her palm. A shiver
of hope swept through her. 


~*~*~ 

Why had he always assumed that Mulder would be the one to
drive him insane? 

Her simple touch brought back to mind every forbidden
thought he had successfully ignored for the past six years.
And those blue eyes - what he saw in them threatened to
devour his resistance, if not his soul. He had to turn away
from the intensity, dark lashes lowering as he pressed his
lips into the warmth of her hand. 

Her gentle fragrance was another memory to be tucked away,
another memory to be savored. And that was all it would be.
This could go no further. By the time his eyes flickered
open again, he was back in control. Jaw set firmly in
place, he reached for her hand, pulling it away as he rose
to his feet. The surprise on her face was evident, but he
ignored it just as he had ignored the velvety softness of
her skin and the sensual longing in her eyes. 

"I think it's time for you to go," he suggested with
admirable calm. "Call Kim for an appointment on Monday." 

Scully had risen swiftly to her feet. He recognized the
look on her face, but pride prevented him from taking a
self-protective step backward. 

"Will you be there?" 

The hell with pride. He turned away, intending to walk her
to the door, but she grabbed his arm and forced him back
round to face her. 

"Will you be there?" she asked again, much more loudly
this time. 

"I don't know," he snapped back, just as forcefully. He
didn't appreciate being bullied, especially by a woman
small enough to pick up and throw over his shoulder. His
body turned traitor, hardening at the thought, darkening
his mood further. 

"Not good enough," she informed him bluntly. 

Jesus Christ, the woman was tenacious. Her next words just
about sent him over the edge. 

"Wherever you're meeting this person tomorrow night, I
want to be there - to back you up." 

He shrugged away from her angrily, placing his hands on
his hips as he tried to take back control of an escalating
situation. "Absolutely not!" 

"I'm offering you my help, no questions asked." 

"This is not negotiable," he ground out, grabbing her
shoulders as if by doing so he could force her to listen
and obey. 

"I need to know that you'll be back." Soft words. Soft
hands bracing themselves on his tense forearms. 

He could not afford to give in on this matter. Just the
thought of her anywhere near Alex Krycek was enough to
destroy every ounce of concentration he needed to finally
conclude his business with the rat bastard. With a
determined shake of his head, he forced out the words that
would damn him in her eyes forever. 

"My plan is to kill Alex Krycek, Dana. In cold blood, if
necessary." 

She cringed at the sound of Krycek's name, backing away
just as he had known she would. 

"I'm not asking for your understanding," he continued
flatly, "and I refuse to allow your involvement. That
bastard has held my life in the palm of his hand for months
and all you need to know is that it all stops tomorrow.
It's time to reclaim the last remnants of my soul." 

It was as close to a confession as he would ever come, and
he could see her processing the few facts hidden in his
words. She might not know why or how, but she now knew who
he had betrayed them for. His eyes clouded over with a host
of painful memories, but he stood tall and defiant, fully
accepting the weight of his past actions and recent
decisions. Disappointment swept through him as she turned
her face away and reached for her jacket. She slipped into
it slowly, refusing to meet his eyes. 

There was nothing more to be said. He walked over to the
wet bar, ready for another drink. 

Behind him, an unsteady voice posed a quiet question,
"That senate resolution..." 

"819," he finished for her, nodding slowly without ever
looking up. 

"Damn you, Walter Skinner!" An angry fist landed solidly
on his right arm. "Damn you for shutting us out again!" 

Shocked, he spun around just in time to catch the second
strike mid-air. Trapping her left hand was a little more
difficult, but after a brief tussle, he had her pinned
against his chest. 

"You should be feeling very proud of yourself right now,
Scully." Chin resting atop her head, the harsh rasp was
purged from the depths of his own private hell. "You were
right all along. I am a liar." 

"Oh, stuff it, Sir!" Her voice was strained as she tried
to pull away. "He may have had control of your life, but I
doubt he ever had your soul." 

"Don't be so sure of that," he taunted, refusing to let
her go. Adrenaline raced wildly through his veins. He 
didn't want her to understand. Not now. Not when it was 
already too late. 

"Typical male posturing," she snapped back angrily. "I
expected more from you, of all people." Her struggling
suddenly ceased as her lower body was crushed up against a
very intimate part of his. 

His anger took a sudden, personal turn. "Expecting more
was your first mistake, Dana, but refusing to see me as a
man was your biggest." 


~*~*~ 

Scully was held too tightly to be able to see his
expression, but his words were enough of a shock. He had
misunderstood, but to explain herself would involve
admitting her attraction to him from the very beginning. It
would be unforgivable to complicate matters now when so
many of the pieces were finally falling into place. Looking
back, she could clearly remember the hurt and anger caused
by his refusal to discuss his near-death by poisoning.
Mulder had taken it slightly better than she had,
predicting that they would eventually find the connection
between the attempt on Skinner's life and Senate Resolution
819, but they hadn't. Neither one of them had read enough
into Skinner's subsequent behavior, despite all the odd,
out of character moments. Apparently, he had been doing
what he always did, handling what he felt was a no-win
situation in the best way he knew how, taking most of the
burden onto himself. For a man who believed in doing things
'by the book', the personal and professional compromises
demanded of him would, by necessity, eventually prove
untenable. 

"You haven't answered my question," he whispered hoarsely,
lips softly grazing the side of her face, "but maybe that's
for the best. Leave now. Run to your partner. Don't ever
look back." His arms tightened, contradicting his words. 

After a half dozen years with no more than an occasional
handshake or a rare, passing touch, she was deep in sensory
overload. How many times had she mentally accused him of
being cold and unfeeling? What a fool she had been. The man
was made of pure heat, melting her from the inside out.
Released by him suddenly and without warning, she took a
half step backward and stared up into dark eyes that
mirrored her own passionate confusion. He could no more ask
her to stay than insist she go. She linked her hands
behind his head, pulling him down to her as she made the
decision for both of them. 

"This is a mistake." He resisted for a moment, lips
hovering a scarce inch above her own. 

"Yes," she agreed, caressing the nape of his neck as he
closed the distance between them. She sighed when his mouth
finally covered hers. Dizzying, intense, and demanding,
their first real kiss lacked all of the hesitancy and
gentleness that the first kiss between two people usually
contained. But then again, they were not exactly strangers.
Hunger for this sense of completion had plagued her for
what felt like a lifetime. Hunger for this man, nearly as
long. 

Skinner groaned, tearing his mouth away from hers. "We
should stop," he muttered hoarsely, searching her flushed
expression as if trying to find the strength to do what was
right. 

She could not offer that which she no longer possessed. "I
can't stop." 

It was a turning point acknowledged by quick, hard kisses
and gentle nips at the side of her mouth. Strong, blunt
fingers dove into her hair, gripping the back of her head,
baring her throat. He ravaged the smooth white column of
skin like a starving man presented with a banquet. She
moaned aloud, and sensing her desperation, he gave in,
returning to her lips. The kiss was even deeper this time,
wild and invasive. His tongue sought hers, tangling,
tasting, and retreating, urging her to follow. 

Her jacket was pushed from her shoulders. She let it slide
down her arms, not caring where it landed if it meant one
less barrier between them. Her breasts remained crushed
against his chest, sensitized and heavy. Hardened nipples
tingled from the increased blood flow as if awaiting a
promised touch. Her mouth remained locked with his. Her
fingers searched blindly for the buttons of his shirt. 


~*~*~ 

God help them both, the moment their lips met, he
instantaneously knew that everything that he had secretly
feared about his attraction to Dana Scully was true. Her
lips moved sensuously over his, her gentle hands kept him a
prisoner in her arms, and he was helpless to stop her.
Maybe he had sensed her potential hold over him as far back
as their very first meeting. 

Her tongue slid over his lower lip and he swore right
there and then to forget all about how they had come to be
together tonight and concentrate on this one chance to love
her instead. A task he was desperate to begin. He pushed
her jacket from her shoulders and smiled against her mouth
when she let it slide to the ground. He gripped her slender
shoulders briefly from behind, then slid his hands down her
spine, fingers molding to every feminine curve as he
explored the woman who was now writhing in his arms. 

When he released her mouth, they both gasped for air. Her
normally confident fingers fumbled with his open shirt. He
covered them with his hands, helping her pull the shirt
from his slacks. 

"Get rid of this," she ordered breathlessly. 

It fell to the floor, followed quickly by a white cotton
undershirt. 

Just as he reached for the top button of her vest, warm,
wet lips closed over a sensitive male nipple. His head fell
back. He was trapped again, gloriously tortured by a
flicking tongue and suckling mouth. Glancing back down when
she paused to switch sides, he cradled her face in his
hands. 

"Upstairs," he murmured through parched lips. He wanted
her in his bed - naked in his arms. Nothing else would do. 

Understanding flared instantly in fathomless blue eyes. 

He accepted the hand that slipped into his and followed
her up the stairs. She stopped at the entrance of his
bedroom. Heavy drapes covered the only window, deepening
the darkness of the night, making it impossible to read her
expression. 

Bracing one hand on the door jamb above her head, he took
a chance and bent down to kiss her, intending to carefully
build back the momentum between them. It took all of the
five seconds for her arms to return to his neck and her
body to press full length against his. 

Taking hold of her waist, he walked backward, not
stopping until the back of his legs bumped into the
mattress. The bedspread was disposed of with a quick
backward sweep. He sat down on the edge and began
unbuttoning her sleeveless white top, making sure to
lavishly kiss each newly exposed inch of her skin; coming
close, but never quite touching the hardening peaks that
strained against the lace of her bra. 

Dana watched him intently. A small pink tongue darted out
to nervously to moisten her lips, and she blushed. 

"It was a long flight," she stammered, nodding towards the
attached bathroom, "maybe I should…" 

"Shower?" 

She nodded. 

He pressed his mouth to her bare stomach and felt her
quiver in response. His hands spanned her ribcage, thumbs
brushing across the swollen undersides of her breasts.
Humor lit up the dark recesses of a gaze heavily laden with
desire. He wasn't about to let her go anywhere. 

"Later," he promised, pushing the material to the floor.
She was even more beautiful than his fantasies. Lean and
petite, a seemingly fragile flower in his large clumsy
hands. 

"Do you know how long I've wanted this?" 

The need in her voice was echoed in her eyes. It damn near
knocked the breath from his lungs. He unfastened her bra 
and guided the straps down her arms. 

"How long?" he murmured against the fullness of her
breasts. 


~*~*~ 

The answer died in her throat as she watched him cradle
her aching breasts in his hands. He nuzzled the soft flesh,
seeking one darkening crown, then the other, with his lips.
Her fingers trembled as they moved through the short,
graying fringes of his hair. Distracted by his mouth, she
barely noticed the rest of her clothing falling to the
floor until a thick, blunt finger teased at the dampness
between her legs. She stood there weak-kneed and gasping,
dependent on him for support as the finger slid inside. Her
head fell forward to rest on top of his. Her lower body
strained against his hand. Skinner groaned a low guttural
sound that vibrated erotically against her sensitive skin. 

They became consumed by the growing urgency, unwilling to
break physical contact while scrambling across the sheets
to the center of the bed. She clung to his shoulders as he
rolled to the side. Once settled on her back, she grabbed
his belt, unbuckling and unzipping with quick, deft
movements. Suddenly shaky hands slid around to his back,
pushing the dark slacks and briefs from his hips. 

Her legs widened further as she reached down to take him
in her hand. Her fingers closed around the satiny steel of
his erection, stroking the length, noting the immediate
quickening of his breath. He pushed forward instinctively
and she guided the swollen tip closer, drawing a harsh,
near painful groan from the man looming over her. He hid
nothing from her now, letting her explore, as he had, this
newfound power they held over each other. Her legs wrapped
around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as she
tried to hurry him inside her. 

"Slow down," he teased in an agonized voice, "I don't want
to hurt you." 

Dana raised a hand to the side of his face, her expression
dazed as she studied his. "We've wasted too much time
already." She was desperate to make him understand, still
half afraid this was a dream she would soon wake up from.
"Please…" 

Something in her tone got through to him. He surged into
her almost immediately but paused as she cried out, not
sure if it was the sound of pleasure or pain. She felt his
struggle, his body shaking as he tried to remain in
control. He needn't have worried. She was adjusting
quickly, arching back up against him, bringing him in
deeper. Any temporary discomfort was quickly replaced by
the gathering storm building within her. 

She clutched at Skinner's shoulders. The muscles of his
back shifted and strained under her fingertips. His mouth
descended on hers again. His hand slipped between their
bodies. 

"God help me, Dana," he growled against her swollen lips,
"I've wanted you forever." 

It felt so right, so real in a world where the lines of
reality often blurred past recognition. 

He continued to touch her where they were joined, fingers
slick with her moisture, thumb stroking her with the most
amazing rhythm until pleasure, sharp and sweet, shot
through her nerve endings like a jolt of electricity. Every
tightly coiled muscle in her body suddenly released itself,
and she cried out his name, convulsing around him,
shattering apart in his arms. 

Skinner continued his deep thrusts, stroking in and out of
her a few more times until he, too, let out a hoarse cry.
His body went rigid, but she felt him pulsing deep within. 

Afterward, when both of their heartbeats had slowed, she
lay next to him with her head on his shoulder, one arm
wrapped around his waist. It was selfish to wish for the
one thing he could not guarantee her, but after all they
had been through, she wished for it anyway. She wanted
time. Time to explore the feelings and emotions they'd so
successfully ignored for the past six years. 

She fingered the small gold cross at her neck. There had
been too many hard words and misunderstandings between them
for her to expect honeyed words of love. In truth, it was
difficult to imagine such flowery prose slipping from
either of their lips, but if love could be defined by
caring for someone more than you cared about yourself, if
it meant putting their happiness before your own, or
shouldering their burdens without need of thanks or
recognition, then Walter Sergei Skinner had loved her long
and loved her well. She deserved a chance to prove worthy
of those feelings. She deserved a chance to return them. 


~*~*~ 

There were words that needed to be said between them,
but Skinner hesitated to speak, reluctant to shatter the
intimacy surrounding them. Time and time again, his fingers
returned to her hair, weaving into the short satiny strands
that had fascinated him for years. If he were offered one
memory to be kept forever and beyond, holding her in his
arms like this would be it. 

"I've been a fool." 

Dark brows drew together. "No more than I," he confessed,
curious about where she was going with such a confession. 

"There were so many times when I wanted to talk to you,
but didn't." 

"Hindsight is not twenty-twenty in this case, Dana." What
cruel twist of fate had brought him together with this
amazing woman just twenty-four hours before facing down a
man who could end his life at the flick of a switch? Regret
filled his eyes and roughened his voice. "The game is still
being played, we can't forget that." 

"But not here," she swore, raising her cheek from his
shoulder to glance around the room. Her impassioned stare
returned to his face. "And definitely not in here." 

He watched a delicate hand settle over her heart. He
covered it with his own. Courage had always been Dana
Scully's strong suit. It would not fail her now.
Overwhelming emotions rendered mere speech insufficient. 

He sensed her smiling at him. Returning his glance to her
face, he held his breath. She scooted forward, sliding her
body over his as she sought out another kiss. Their lips
met gently this time, leisurely tasting and exploring. 

He broke off the kiss, trying to slow down his body's
rekindling interest. "I have to leave in a few hours," he
reluctantly reminded her. 

"You will be back, won't you?" 

"It's just a little reconnaissance work. I can drive you
to the hospital when I return." 

"There's no other way?" She sat up on her knees. 

He smiled, enjoying the view, while at the same time
knowing they were not talking about the hospital. "No." He
answered simply, then touched a finger to her chin. "Can
you trust me on this?" 

He'd never thought of blue as a warm color before, but the
gaze focused on him now was like a flame that reached every
dark and hidden corner of his soul. 

"Yes," she answered softly, "but I wish you would trust me
enough to let me help." 

"I can't take that chance." 

Dana moved onto his lap, straddling his legs, settling
herself atop his growing erection. 

"The chance should be mine to take," she insisted. 

"You can help us both by concentrating on helping Mulder."
He hadn't really expected the stubborn streak to
miraculously disappear, but the least she could do was stop
squirming as she argued. It gave her an unfair advantage. 

"I will do everything in my power to help, Mulder, you
know that, but you're important to me also, Walter. You
always have been. The three of us have been tied together
in so many ways..." 

"Some of which I've tried damn hard to prevent," he cut
in. Slim arms wrapped around his neck, and he turned his
eyes to the ceiling. Full breasts flattened against his
chest, and he shook his head in defeat. 

"Don't expect me to let go of you so easily," she murmured
against the side of his face. 

"I don't, sweetheart." The unfamiliar endearment slipped
out before he could stop it, resulting in a tightening of
the stranglehold around his neck. He gave no thought to
protest, fully understanding her desperate need to hold and
be held. 

Walter Sergei Skinner found himself at a familiar
crossroads, straddling that fine line between merely living
and truly being alive. This time, the decision was easy.
For these few precious hours - for the sake of being in
this woman's arms - he would waste no time in stepping over
it. 

  


THE END 
(aerltec@aol.com)