Subject:     Crossing the Line 3
Sent:        28/01  11:47 AM
Received:    28/01  9:29 PM
From:        Sharon Nuttycombe, avalon@terranet.ab.ca
To:          dobbo@c031.aone.net.au

Crossing the Line 3 - Cold Comfort part 1/2
Sharon Nuttycombe 
celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca 
April 29, 1996 
 
************************************************************ 
 This is part three of an ongoing story arc called "Crossing the
 Line" which is a Scully and Skinner romance.  It will probably
 make more sense if you read Friday Night and Celestial
 Intervention first.  Also, in order to enjoy this, you must
 accept one basic premise -- "Avatar" never happened!

 It is not NC-17 (yet).  Although there is a GCS - a gratuitous 
 chest scene...
 
 I would appreciate any comments or criticism, about story,
 style, or anything else you care to mention.  Thank you. 

 Acknowledgements:  Thanks to Linda Campbell my co-conspirator
 and unofficial, unpaid research assistant.  The quote at the
 beginning is from Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream".
 
 Disclaimer:  Scully, Skinner, and Mulder belong to Chris
 Carter...Do you think if I said copyright infringement was
 intended then the FBI would come to investigate me?  Would they
 look like Skinner...?

************************************************************

                Crossing the Line 3 - Cold Comfort part 1/2


     "Lord, what fools these mortals be."  Shakespeare was right.  We are
fools, Scully thought.  At least I am.  She glanced
 sideways at her companion, sitting huddled beside her under a
 large black umbrella.  Outside the shelter of their shared
 umbrella, large rain drops spattered onto the grass.  A cold
 breeze wandered through the ever-diminishing crowd while, on the
 slightly raised stage in front of them, several sodden actors
 struggled gallantly through their lines.

     Fortunately, the play was almost over.  When the storm had
 first made its presence known, it had seemed quite appropriate. 
 This was "The Tempest", after all.  Rumbles of thunder had
 punctuated Prospero's final speeches, and the fork of lightning
 that had erupted from the sky as he broke his staff had added
 some much needed drama to an otherwise lackluster production. 
 That is, the play had been lackluster.  The company was not.

     Dana Scully had spent the better part of a week desperately
 trying to find an excuse to cancel the "date" she had found
 herself trapped in.  Of course, she had been unable to find or
 devise anything that sounded even remotely plausible.  The fact
 that she had been unwilling (okay, afraid) to go up to Skinner's
 office to confront him had not helped.

     It wasn't that she was afraid of her boss.  She was afraid
 of herself.  The undeniable sexual attraction that she had felt
 last weekend had only intensified and smoldered.  She had had to
 drag her mind away from thoughts of the ex-marine several times
 during the week.

     It had truly been the week from Hell.  She had jumped like a
 cat every time the phone rang or someone came down to the
 basement, and had peered rather furtively around corners
 whenever she had to ascend to the higher levels of the Hoover
 building.  And her partner had not helped.  Mulder had noticed
 her odd behaviour (who hadn't?) and had spent the first few days
 making jokes about it, and the last few watching her intently. 
 As if she weren't nervous enough already...

     Scully sighed.  What was she going to do about Mulder? she
 wondered.  So far she had managed to keep her feelings for
 Skinner a secret, but that would certainly change.  Mulder was a
 trained observer - the first time he saw them together, he would
 have to realize what was going on.  Or not going on.  That would
 be the final straw.  She realized she didn't have the faintest
 idea how her partner would react, but she didn't think he would
 take it well.  Hell, she wasn't taking it well.
     
     Scully decided she should have run screaming in the other
 direction the moment her hormones somehow fixated on Walter
 Skinner as the object of her desire.  She had no wish to start
 an office romance with anyone but fate seemed to be conspiring
 to bring them together.

     Scully had spent most of the morning convincing herself that
 there was no reason she and Skinner couldn't see a play together
 -- as friends.  She had succeeded admirably...at least until he
 arrived.

     Scully had opened her door and a wave of desire (lust, to be
 honest) had swept over her at the sight of the tall broad-
 shouldered man in black leather and jeans.  Maybe it's just the
 leather jacket, she thought, casting him another look out of the
 corner of her eye.  It's the clothes, and not what's in them...

     "Liar," she said silently and steadfastly returned her
 attention to the actors who were wrapping up the play.  It began
 to rain harder.

     Skinner shifted a little, trying to ensure that the umbrella
 completely covered the woman at his side.  He had bought it from
 a foresighted peddler when the first stormclouds had rolled
 across the sky.  

     Even discounting the weather, the day had been a disaster. 
 Scully had been tense and silent for most of the afternoon, and
 conversation had been stilted.  The rapport they had had last
 week had all but vanished.  That, plus the generally poor
 quality of the play had sounded the day's death knell.  Beside
 him, Scully stifled a sneeze.

     Abruptly he decided.  "Let's go," he said, climbing to his
 feet.  She started a little and looked up at him.  She had
 obviously been a million miles away.  Right now, he wished he
 were elsewhere too.  He wished he had been better company.  He
 wished...

       Wishing was pointless.  Let's just put this behind us and
 go on with our lives.  Pretend none of this ever happened...

     He reached a hand down to help her up and she struggled
 awkwardly to her feet, the cold sapping her strength.  Now that
 she was standing, the wind seemed to tear at her.  She had been
 protected a little by his body before, but that protection was
 now gone.  Her teeth began to chatter.

     "You're freezing," he said a little more gently.  "Let's
 go."  She nodded in agreement, tucking her hands deeply into her
 jacket pockets and hunching her shoulders against the wind.  He
 moved closer, angling the umbrella over her and together they
 hurried through what was left of the crowd, toward the parking
 lot.

     "I wish I hadn't brought the motorcycle," Skinner thought.
 Behind him, Scully climbed onboard and wrapped both arms around
 him.  "Then again," he mused as she tightened her grip, "it does
 have its merits."

                               *     *     *

     Whatever merits the motorcycle had quickly vanished during
 the ride home.  The steady drizzle became a downpour.  It was
 like driving through a typhoon.  The roads were slick with rain,
 and Skinner's vision was drastically reduced.  The weather
 network has a lot to anwer for, he decided.  Still, they were
 almost at her apartment.

     Scully pressed even closer to Skinner's body, trying to warm
 her frozen fingers by wrapping them even more tightly around
 him.  Avoiding pneumonia was beginning to take precedence over
 embarrassment or maintaining an aloof distance.  Right now, she
 would crawl inside his leather jacket if she thought it would
 help...and if it weren't already occupied.  

     Despite the fact that the man seemed to be radiating heat
 like a supernova, Scully was thoroughly chilled by the time they
 reached her apartment.  Any remotely romantic thoughts had been
 replaced by a strong desire just to be warm again.  A hot drink,
 warm dry clothes, a raging bonfire in the fireplace...Although
 the last item would be a little difficult given she didn't
 actually possess a fireplace, but the thought was attractive. 
 Scully sighed a little and felt the faint beginnings of a cough
 tickling in the back of her throat.  Great.  A cold was all she
 needed.

     Skinner pulled to a careful halt outside Scully's apartment
 and steadied her as she stiffly dismounted.  The storm had
 intensified in the last few minutes and seemed to be reaching
 gale force proportions.  He was having difficulty balancing the
 bike.  Scully looked at him.  He had made no move to get off the
 bike.  She frowned.

     "You're not planning on continuing in this weather, are
 you?" She had to shout a little to be heard above the rising
 wind.  Great sheets of rain were now lashing at them both.

     "I'll be fine."

     "You'll kill yourself.  Look - come in for a while and wait
 for the storm to pass."

     He hesitated visibly.  No.  Scully's apartment was
 definitely out of bounds, given the feelings he had been
 fighting all week. 

     She could see the refusal on his face and spoke quickly. 
 "If you wrap yourself around a tree, think of all the
 paperwork...and the cost to the FBI to find a new Assistant
 Director."  She could tell he was beginning to waver.  She
 played her final card.  "I've got over twenty varieties of
 herbal tea in there..."

     Her invitation was irresistible.  Besides, he wasn't
 altogether confident that he could get the Matchless home
 safely.  Any port in a storm, he thought, as he swung a leg over
 the seat and removed his helmet, ignoring the inner alarms of
 caution that had gone off.  He would have a quick drink
 and go, weather or no weather.  After the miserable day they had
 had together, she would certainly not want him to linger.  With
 this thought firmly in mind he followed her up the path to the
 apartment.

                              END OF PART ONE

Crossing the Line 3 - Cold Comfort part 2/2
Sharon Nuttycombe 
celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca 
April 29, 1996 
 
************************************************************ 
 This is part three of an ongoing story arc called "Crossing the
 Line" which is a Scully and Skinner romance.  It will probably
 make more sense if you read Friday Night and Celestial
 Intervention first.  Also, in order to enjoy this, you must
 accept one basic premise -- "Avatar" never happened!

 It is not NC-17 (yet).  Although there is a GCS - a gratuitous
 chest scene...
 
 I would appreciate any comments or criticism, about story,  style, or
anything else you care to mention.  Thank you. 

 Acknowledgements:  Thanks to Linda Campbell my co-conspirator  and
unofficial, unpaid research assistant.  The quote at the
 beginning is from Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream".
 
 Disclaimer:  Scully, Skinner, and Mulder belong to Chris
 Carter...Do you think if I said that copyright infringement was
 intended then the FBI would come to investigate me?...Would they
 look like Skinner...?
 
************************************************************

                Crossing the Line 3 - Cold Comfort part 2/2


     Scully opened her apartment door with fingers that shook. 
 The cold seemed to have seeped into her very bones and she tried
 gallantly to stifle a sneeze.  Finally the lock turned, and she
 led the way into the apartment, flicking on a light to dispel
 the gloom cast by the storm outside.  At that moment, the sneeze
 escaped her and she sniffled a little.  Skinner glanced at her.

     "You should get out of those wet things," he said.  "I don't
 want to lose one of my agents to pneumonia...think of the
 paperwork," he added with a grin.

     She glanced up at him and gave him her first genuine smile
 of the day.  "Not two minutes inside my door and you're already
 trying to get me out of my clothes," she complained mockingly,
 pulling off her wet jacket.

     Skinner cast her a quick smile as he bent down to remove his
 shoes, which squelched slightly.  "I move fast, Agent Scully."

     "I'll say.  Although it's going to take more than suggestion
 to prise these wet jeans off me."

     His eyes wandered slowly back up her legs and the wet denim
 covering them, then, realizing what he was doing, he hastily
 averted his gaze.  After a moment he met her gaze and they
 stared at each other in some confusion.  Abruptly she turned
 aside and went to the linen closet.  

     "Here," she said, tossing him a towel.  

     Behind her Skinner shifted uncomfortably, searching for
 something to break the renewed tension between them.  

     "I'm dripping on your floor," he said tentatively.  

     She turned back to him.  "I could make you stand in the
 bathtub."

     "You could try."  She hazarded a small smile.  Skinner
 continued.  "I don't suppose you have anything dry that would
 fit me?"

     "If you fit into my clothes I'm throwing myself into the
 Potomac."  She paused.  "I'll see what I can find."

     Scully vanished into the bedroom leaving Skinner on her
 doormat, puddles of water collecting around his feet.  Briskly
 he towelled off as much excess water as possible, then peeled
 off his wet jacket.  He was looking for a place to hang it when
 Scully returned with a pair of men's jeans and an old blue
 sweatshirt that looked like they might fit him.  Barely.  He
 took them from her and cast her a questioning glance.

     She blushed slightly.  "It's a long story."

     "That's the best kind."

     She heaved a sigh.  "They're Mulder's."

     A pang shot through him.  Mulder.  Did that mean...?

     Scully was explaining.  "Do you remember when Mulder and I
 went to Oregon last month?"

     "Yes."  He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear this.

     "Well, we ended up traipsing through the forest looking for
 Bigfoot."

     He raised an eyebrow.  "That wasn't in your report."

     "No."  After a pause, she continued.  "Well, Mulder and I
 went to Oregon, but my luggage went to Guatemala."

     "I see."

     "And it was Sunday, so all the stores were closed."

     "Go on."

     "And then he dragged me up to the forest to investigate a
 recent sighting."

     "And..."

     She grimaced.  "And I had an...incident...with a creek.  And
 some mud."

     A smile began to appear on his face.  "So he lent you some
 clothes" he conjectured.

     Scully nodded.  "Yes.  I brought them home to wash and
 haven't got around to returning them."

     Scully wasn't sure why she had gone into such detail over
 what was essentially a fairly embarrassing episode in her life. 
 At least she hadn't told him about the poison ivy, or the
 goshawk that had attacked them when they had wandered too close
 to its nest, or the hours spent walking in circles when they
 found that Mulder had been reading the map upside down.  Scully
 really hated the forest...

     Skinner let out a faint sigh of relief.  The thought that
 had flashed through his mind when she had brought out Mulder's
 clothes had evoked a fairly primitive reaction.  He shook
 himself inwardly.  He had no right to be thinking these
 thoughts...

     He reached for the clothing.  "Did these actually fit you?"
 he asked offhandedly.

     "Only when rolled up about a foot on each limb and tied on
 with an exceptionally secure belt.  And I still felt like I was
 wearing a tent."   Another sneeze punctuated her speech.

     "You should take a hot shower and put something dry on."

     Scully nodded.  Normally she would have felt slightly odd
 about taking a shower while her boss was in her apartment, but
 she was so cold she didn't care.  She could almost feel the cold
 germs beginning to invade her body.  

     "You can change in the bedroom," she said to him.  "It's
 through there."  She pointed then stood aside to let him pass. 
 He gathered up the clothing then followed her direction,
 squelching slightly as he walked down the hallway.  Still
 shivering, Scully headed to the bathroom.


                               *     *     *

     Skinner tried to ignore the feminine paraphenalia scattered
 around her bedroom.  Several books lay open on the bed and
 exotically scented candles stood on the night table.  Closing
 his mind to everything he disrobed quickly then struggled into
 the jeans.  If he stood very straight and breathed in deeply, he
 could get them done up.  Just.  He took a couple of cautious
 breaths.  They should hold.  Sitting might be an adventure
 though.
     
     He was reaching for the sweatshirt when the phone in the
 living room rang.  He paused a moment, wondering if she would
 hear it, but the sound of running water from the next room did
 not cease.  The phone rang insistently.

     Skinner picked up the sweatshirt and hurried back out to the
 sitting room, a draft playing across his bare chest.  He picked
 up the phone.

     "Hello?"

     There was a long silence on the other end.  "Hello?" he
 tried again.

     Finally, a man's voice said:

     "Sorry.  Wrong number."

     "Who did you want to speak to?"

     "Dana Scully."

     Skinner spoke without thinking.  "She's in the shower."  The
 silence on the other end lasted an eternity this time.  At that
 moment, Scully emerged wearing a thick robe and towelling her
 hair.  "Just a minute," he told the caller, and held the phone
 out to her.  Scully looked at him quizically then took the
 receiver.  

     "Hello?"

     "Um.  Hi Scully."

     "Mulder."

     Skinner suddenly went cold.  He had just told her partner
 that Scully had been in the shower.  He knew exactly what would
 be going through the other man's mind...

     Scully half turned her back on Skinner as Mulder continued.

     "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

     "You didn't."

     "Well, anyway, I just wanted to call you about a new lead on
 this case, but it can wait.  I'll tell you on Tuesday."

     "Tuesday?"  There was another voice on the line in the
 background, announcing something.  Scully frowned.  "Mulder,
 where are you?"

     "I'm at Dulles airport.  Look, I'll tell you everything
 later.  And...I'm sorry I called you on the weekend.  Bye
 Scully."

     "Mulder, you're not..."  It was no good.  He had hung up. 
 Scully slowly replaced the receiver then turned back to Skinner.

     If a six-foot something ex-marine could be said to look
 sheepish, then Skinner sheepish.

     "I'm sorry," he said.  "I think I gave him the wrong
 impression."  She looked at him questioningly.  "I...told him
 you were in the shower," he continued.

     "Oh."  Oh, indeed.  She could guess what was going through
 her partner's mind.  He had probably just confirmed Mulder's
 suspicions.  Oh dear.

     "I'm sorry," Skinner was saying.

     She looked up at him and smiled weakly.  "That's okay.  I'll
 explain it to him at the office."

     Skinner nodded and a awkward silence fell.  Scully suddenly
 realized that the Assistant Director was standing before her
 wearing very tight-fitting jeans...and nothing else.  For a
 completely innocent situation, this one seemed to be fraught
 with peril.  

     Ignoring the pounding of her heart and the slight trembling
 of her fingers that had nothing whatever to do with the cold,
 Scully clutched her robe more tightly around her and began to
 move toward the kitchen.

     "I'll make some tea," she said, stammering slightly.

     Skinner abruptly realized that he was still half-naked and
 hastily dragged on the sweatshirt.  
     
     "Let me do that."  He blocked her path and tried to ignore
 the scent of her shampoo wafting toward him.  He put a tentative
 hand on her shoulder.  "You still look cold.  Why don't you sit
 down, wrap yourself in a blanket, and let me make the tea?"

     Scully found herself unconsciously swaying toward him, the
 tremor that his touch had ignited rippling through her body. 
 Catching herself, she moved back a little.  

     "All right," she said breathlessly.  "Thank you.  The tea's
 in the cupboard to the right, cups on the left.  Kettle's on the
 counter."

     He cast her a mocking glance.  "I was a trained FBI
 operative, Agent Scully.  I think I can find a few cups and a
 kettle."

     She smiled weakly.  "I don't doubt your abilities for a
 minute."

                               *     *     *

     Scully crossed to her sofa, pulled off the quilt draped
 across the back of it and wrapped it tightly around herself,
 shaking inwardly.  What had she done?  She had come perilously
 close to crossing an unwritten line just now.  I will not cross
 that line, she thought raggedly.  I can't.  Nevertheless, her
 body continued to tremble.

     In the kitchen, Skinner cursed himself.  What was he doing? 
 He should leave.  He was too close to breaking all the rules. 
 Assistant Directors of the Federal Bureau of Investigation do
 NOT sleep with Special Agents, he told himself firmly.  Blindly
 he plucked a teabag from the tin he had found in the cupboard
 and poured steaming water over it.  Only then did he look at the
 label - "Romantic Interlude".  A reluctant smile creased his
 lips.  He couldn't win.  Even the beverages in this place seemed
 to be conspiring against him.

     One cup of tea, he promised himself firmly, and then I'm
 going.  After a few minutes he poured the hot liquid into two
 mugs and carried them out to the living room.

     Scully was curled up on the sofa like a dormouse, an
 enormous quilt wrapped around her.  She made an effort to
 untangle herself when Skinner emerged from the kitchen, but he
 forestalled her and handed her the steaming drink.  She took a
 deep swallow, burning her tongue, then another as warmth slowly
 began to creep back into her body.  Or perhaps it wasn't the tea
 that was warming her...

     Skinner sat down awkwardly in the chair beside the sofa. 
 Another long, painful silence fell between them.  Then they
 both spoke at once.

     "Sorry," said Scully.  "What were you going to say?"

     "You first."

     Scully paused.  "I was just going to ask if you wanted to
 throw a video on, or something."  

     Skinner drained his mug in one gulp, ignoring the hot liquid
 as it scorched his throat.  He put the mug down.

     "I should be going."

     At that moment, a crash of thunder loud enough to shake the
 walls echoed through the room.  The wind must have shifted,
 because cascades of water suddenly pelted against the window and
 outside the sky darkened yet further.  Skinner and Scully both
 jumped at the noise then looked at one another.

     "Then again," Skinner said ruefully, "a movie sounds good
 too."

                               *     *     *

     Scully's tastes were nothing if not eclectic, Skinner
 decided.  He examined her video collection which, though small,
 was varied.  "The Exorcist," "The Fugitive," and "A Town Like
 Alice" stood side by side with "Notorious," "Captain Blood," and
 "Sabrina" (both versions).  In all, there was quite a selection.

     "Any preference?" he asked.

     "I've seen them all.  You choose."  A chill suddenly shot
 through Scully.  What if he chose one of the sentimental,
 romantic ones?  She didn't think she could sit calmly beside him
 if "A Walk in the Clouds" or "It Happened One Night" was on. 
 She was having difficulties enough keeping her imagination under
 control without any outside influences.  Action, she thought at
 him forcefully.  Lots of action and violence -- "Die Hard," or
 "Under Siege"...

     Skinner straightened, a video in his hand.  "I've been
 meaning to see this."

     He was holding "Apollo 13".  Scully exhaled a tiny sigh of
 relief.  That was safe enough.  She smiled.

     "Disasters in space it is."

     Skinner inserted the cassette.  "Are you a Tom Hanks fan?"

     "Ed Harris."

     He cast her a quick sideways look, then sat down in the
 chair again, trying to relax.  As the opening credits rolled by,
 each steadfastly tried to ignore the other.

                               *     *     *

     Now that she was warm again, even the perils of the Apollo
 astronauts and the even more disturbing presence of her boss
 couldn't quite keep Scully awake.  The cold, plus several recent
 sleepless nights were finally catching up to her.  She found
 herself drifting off, waking up when the soundtrack grew louder,
 then falling ever deeper into slumber.  Finally, while Tom Hanks
 was rounding the moon in a crippled spaceship, she fell asleep
 altogether.

     Skinner watched her out of the corner of his eye.  He knew
 when she fell into a deep sleep and he carefully reached for the
 remote, lowering the sound.  Let her sleep.  He tried to
 concentrate on the movie, but his eyes kept returning to the
 sleeping agent.  The guarded expression she usually wore was
 gone, replaced by a look of serenity.  Don't do this to
 yourself, he thought.   With an inward wrench, he averted his
 gaze.

     By the time the movie ended, Skinner was a wreck.  He had
 called himself every kind of fool, and had berated himself for
 staying.  Why put himself through this torture?  Perhaps because
 just sitting here beside Dana Scully and watching her sleep was
 somehow enough.  He couldn't remember the last time he had felt
 this way about a woman.  It had been...well, years.

     Outside, the storm began to blow itself out.  The rain no
 longer lashed at the window with the same force and faint rays
 of light had begun to pierce the clouds.  It was time to go. 
 Silently, Skinner rose to his feet and gathered up both cups,
 rinsing them out in the kitchen.  A quick glance into the living
 room showed she was still asleep, curled on her side.  He
 retrieved his clothes which were dry, if wrinkled, and changed
 back into them in the bathroom.  

     She hadn't moved.  Actually she looked a little cramped and
 uncomfortable on the couch.  Skinner paused.  Should he...?  No.  Just go. 
He started to cross to the door then halted, looking
 back at her.  It would only take a moment...

     Acting on impulse, he returned to her side and gently
 gathered her up, quilt and all.  She murmured something but did
 not awake.  Walking as smoothly as possible, Skinner carried her
 into the bedroom.

     He had almost reached the bed when his foot caught on
 something and he lurched a little.  Scully abruptly awoke...to
 find herself in Walter Skinner's arms.  The Assistant Director
 froze.  She looked up at him in some confusion, her mind still
 riddled with sleep.

     Skinner found himself almost stammering.  "I...was just
 leaving...and you looked a little cramped on the couch...so
 I..."  She stared silently up at him, blinking a little. 
 Realizing he was still holding her, he abruptly set her down.
 Unfortunately, the quilt tangled around her feet, and Scully
 found herself falling forward...back into his arms.

     It had been an unusual awakening for Scully to say the
 least.  She had been having an odd dream which involved sea
 wolves, a Saturn 5 rocket, and half the cast of "The Tempest". 
 At some point Ferdinand had turned into Walter Skinner, and she
 had found herself in his arms while he recited Shakespearean
 sonnets to her.  It had been quite a shock to wake up and find
 herself really in his arms.  He wasn't quoting Shakespeare,
 though.  Actually, he wasn't doing much of anything beside
 holding her up.  Against his own body.  Tightly.  Scully
 suddenly found it difficult to breathe.  

     Skinner could feel her heartbeat against his own and he
 stared at her for a timeless moment, one hand steadying her by
 the shoulder and the other snaked around her waist.  Locked in
 the embrace he could feel his self-control slipping away.

     Scully swallowed deeply.  The heat radiating from his body
 mingled with her own.  The slightest motion, the merest word,
 and he would be hers.  They would be each other's...Skinner
 slowly began to dip his head toward hers.  For one endless
 moment in time Scully hovered on the knife-edge between desire
 and duty.  But then, slowly, duty won.  She stepped back,
 allowing some space to come between them and met his eyes,
 denial shining in her own.

     For the briefest of moments, Skinner was tempted to pursue
 her.  It would not take much.  One touch, one kiss...and they
 would be -- lost.  She knew it.  And so did he.  Painfully, he
 too moved back a pace and they stared at each other, frustration
 and desire evident on their faces.  Finally Skinner found his
 voice.

     "I think I should go."  His voice was hoarse.

     Scully nodded.  "Yes."  It was no more than a whisper.  She
 opened her mouth, as if to say something more, then fell silent.  What was
there to say, after all? 

     Skinner waited a moment then slowly turned and walked out to
 the hallway.  Scully did not follow.  She listened to the sound
 of him gathering up his jacket and putting on his shoes.  There
 was a brief pause, as if he were standing by the door, debating
 returning to her.  If he did, she would truly be lost.  She
 wouldn't have the strength to resist him a second time.  But
 then there came the sound of a door opening and closing quietly,
 followed by silence.  Scully sank onto the bed.  Reaction set in
 and she began to tremble.

     "What am I going to do?"

     Her only reply was the stillness of the room.

                               *     *     *
                                     
                             THE END (FOR NOW)



Sharon Nuttycombe
avalon@terranet.ab.ca

--"I have as much respect for the chain of command as the next guy.
--Only if you're standing next to Fletcher Christian."  Adderly



--