Crossing the Line 2 - Celestial Intervention 1/2
Sharon Nuttycombe 
celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca 
April 23, 1996 
 
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This is part two 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 (2 parts) first.  There is no sex (yet).  There is an X-File, but
this is primarily a relationship story.  There is one (small) third season
spoiler. 

I would appreciate any comments or criticism, about story, style, or anything
else you care to mention.  I can be reached at my e-mail listed above.  Thank
you. 

Acknowledgements:  Thanks to Linda Campbell my co-conspirator and unofficial,
unpaid research assistant.
 
Disclaimer:  Scully, Skinner, and Mulder belong to Chris Carter and have been
used without permission.  No copyright infringement is intended...Enough of
this - on with the story! 
 
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             Crossing the Line 2 - Celestial Intervention 1/2


     Scully wasn't sure how she was going to cope with the day.  She sat
slumped in a corner of the bus, ignoring the press of the crowd around her. 
She had other things on her mind.  

     Like the fact that she was fairly sure she had thoroughly embarrassed
herself Friday night.  How could she have done it?  What had she been
thinking?

     Of course, it had all seemed to make some sort of sense at the time. 
One event had smoothly led into the other, and there wasn't any one point at
which she could have stepped off the roller coaster of circumstances she had
found herself on.  Was there? 
     
     Her car had broken down.  She couldn't have prevented that, surely?  And
accepting a ride from Walter Skinner, well it had either been that or start
walking.  And it had only been polite to ask him to stay afterwards at the
concert in the park.  The invitation to dinner...well, that had been Celeste's
idea.

     But the singing...She sank a little lower in her seat.  Scully couldn't
believe that she had actually stood up in front of a crowded restaurant and
launched into song.  Granted, it was a karaoke restaurant and her name had
"somehow" been entered in the talent contest, but still...

     "I sang in front of my boss." She took a deep breath.  "It's OK.  I can
cope with that.  I can always plead temporary insanity."

     What she couldn't cope with was the memory of how close she had come to
throwing herself at him afterward.  The ride home on the back of his
motorcycle had been less a means of transportation and more a reason to cling
as tightly to him as possible.  She could still remember the touch of his body
against hers.  And afterward, when he had dropped her off at her apartment,
she had come within a hair's breath of reaching for him.

     Scully couldn't say that she had never felt any attraction for her boss. 
He was, after all, a very good looking man.  But she had never had any
difficulty keeping that side of herself under control.  Until Friday night,
that is.  Friday night, when the stars, the music, and the company had all
seemed to conspire against her.  And of course her depressing social life "or
lack thereof" had not helped.  She might as well have been wearing a neon sign
that said "Sexually deprived.  Take me now."  She must have been mad.  True,
she seldom (actually never) saw the Assistant Director in jeans and a leather
jacket, riding a motorcycle, and exuding sexuality, but that was no excuse.  
     
     Maybe he hadn't noticed.  Yeah right.  The man was a trained observer. 
He must have noticed.  I want to hide...

     The bus jerked to a halt and Scully realized with a start that it was
her stop.  Gathering up her briefcase, she struggled through the crowd and
exited.  A brisk wind pulled at her hair as she paused outside FBI
headquarters, gathering her courage.

     I'm going to hide.  I'm going straight to the basement and I'm not
coming out.  Ever again.

     With this comforting thought, she squared her shoulders and marched
purposefully through the entrance.

                               *     *     *

     "What the hell had he been thinking of?"

     Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner set aside the papers he had been
working on and gazed into space.  Thoughts of Friday night still gnawed at
him.  He was fairly sure he had made a complete fool of himself.  He had come
within a hair's breath of kissing her.  She had looked so attractive, standing
on her doorstep in the moonlight, clutching that enormous stuffed pink rabbit,
her cheeks glowing from the ride on his motorcycle.  He had felt a surge of
desire so powerful it had taken every last bit of his self-control to back
away.  

     What had he been thinking?  Dana Scully was a Federal Agent and he was
her direct supervisor.  It was insane to even picture the two of them in a
romantic relationship.  Then why had he spent the entire weekend trying to get
her out of his mind,  unable to concentrate on anything else?  And more to the
point, how was he going to be able to look her in the eye as if nothing had
ever happened?

     Maybe in this instance, discretion was the better part of valour.  He
resolved to occupy himself in his office.  After all, he had no reason to call
either Scully or her partner to his presence, and even less reason to descend
to the basement.  All he had to do was avoid her in the hallways.  With any
luck the entire week might pass without seeing her.  Resolved, he picked up
his pencil again and tried to concentrate.

                               *     *     *

     The day was going better than Scully had expected.  She was catching up
on lots of paperwork, Mulder hadn't once mentioned her preoccupation or
tendency to duck every time the phone rang, being engrossed in what was either
a budding new X-file, or the latest adult video catalogue...and there had been
no sign of Skinner.  Not a word, not a breath.  So far.

     The phone rang and Scully fought the urge to dive under her desk. 
Mulder never even glanced up, continuing to leaf through the file that had him
engrossed.  Trying to still her pounding heart, Scully picked it up with some
trepidation, then breathed a silent sigh of relief.  It was Celeste.

     "Hey, Dana."

     "Hi, Celeste."

     "What are you doing for lunch?"

     "Eating."

     "Ha ha.  I mean where?"

     Scully ran a hand through her hair.  She hadn't really thought about it. 
She generally ate at the cafeteria, or brought something back to her desk. 
But given the current state of her nerves, avoiding the cafeteria (and a
certain tall Assistant Director) seemed like a good idea.  

     "What did you have in mind?" she asked.

     "There's a little cafe practically across the street from you," her
friend replied.  "I hear it's pretty good.  Why don't I meet you there?"

     Scully hesitated.  There could be only one reason Celeste wanted to have
lunch with her.  Now in her eighth month of pregnancy, Celeste had lately
avoided going out much, complaining that she looked and felt like she was
eating for half a dozen, not just two.  No, Celeste wanted to discuss Friday
night.  And Skinner.  The woman was an incurable matchmaker and Scully had
recognized the familiar glimmer in her eyes when she had seen the agent arrive
on the back of a motorcycle with what had turned out to be her boss.  Scully
had been the unwitting victim of too many of her friend's misguided attempts
to set her up in high school and later in college not to recognize the signs. 
Still, she had to eat.
     
     Scully weighed the relative merits of trying to stifle Celeste's
matchmaking against the dangers of venturing up to the cafeteria for her
lunch.  Of course, she could always ask Mulder to bring something back but the
last time she had made such a request, she had ended up with a plate of salad,
a triple chocolate fudge sundae, and a packet of sunflower seeds.  Her partner
had odd eating habits, and tended to forget that the rest of the world
preferred soup and sandwiches.

     Scully sighed.  The gnawing hunger which had increased as soon as the
conversation had turned to food became the deciding factor.  

     "Sure," she said.  "I'll see you there at noon."

     Pleased, her friend agreed, gave her the address, and hung up.  Scully
stared into empty space.  Mulder, still enraptured by the file did not even
look up.  Silence weighed heavily in the office.

                               *     *     *

     Skinner stretched and looked at his watch.  Nearly noon.  

     It had been one of his more productive days.  Virtually barricading
himself in his office did have its advantages, he decided.  He had
accomplished more in one morning than he had in several days.  But it was
definitely time to take a break.  Time to refuel.

     He had avoided the cafe across the street ever since the shooting
several months ago.  Bad memories mixed with  embarrassment had kept him away. 
He still couldn't believe that Cardinal had gotten the drop on him, so easily. 
Still, since the FBI cafeteria was not on his list of options, at least at the
moment, the cafe was the next best thing.

     Climbing to his feet the Assistant Director pulled on his coat and told
his secretary where he would be, then left the office. 

                               *     *     *

     Dana climbed to her feet and stretched, like a cat. 

     "I'm going out for lunch, Mulder," she said.

     "Uh huh."

     "Goodbye, Mulder."

     "Uh huh."

     "I'm wearing nothing but some strategically placed fan-fold paper,
Mulder."

     Instantly he looked up, disappointment crossing his face when he saw she
was fully clothed.  She smiled sweetly.

     "Just wanted to make sure you were listening."

     "I always listen to you, Scully.  What did you say?"

     She crossed over to his desk and tried to peer over his shoulder.  "What
exactly has you so enthralled, anyway?"

     A familiar expression of almost child-like enthusiasm filled his face.

     "Look at this.  Three fishing boats have been sunk off the coast of
British Columbia."

     "Canada's a little out of our jurisdiction, Mulder."

     He gave her a steady stare, wearing what she privately called his
"Twilight Zone expression".  

     "Paranormal phenomena don't recognize international boundaries," he
said.

     "Maybe not, but the FBI does.  Unless you're planning to invade Canada,
that is."

     "There's a thought."  He grinned at her.

     "Poor Canadians."  She reached out a hand for the file and began to leaf
through it.  "OK.  I give up.  What's so special about these ships?"

     "Nothing much, if you don't count the fact that there were no storms, no
distress calls, no reason to sink...but they all went down." 

     "And you suspect what? -- Sea monsters?"

     He shot her a grin.  "How did you know?."

     Scully looked up from the file.  "Mulder, there's nothing in this file
that indicates these weren't just tragic accidents.  Isn't all this a little
vague, even for you? Haven't you ever heard of the word 'coincidence'?"

     He grinned at her over his glasses.  "Sure.  Coincidence is how
unimaginative people explain away the little mysteries in life -- Like how
they get the caramel inside those caramilk bars.  But it doesn't even begin to
explain these sinkings."  He leafed through his file.  "Have you ever heard of
the Wasco?" 

     "Should I have?"

     He leaned forward in his chair.  "The native people of the Pacific
Northwest believe that there were once sea wolves who could destroy fishing
nets and sink boats -- the Wasco."

     "Sea wolves...Mulder..."

     "There was also an eyewitness."

     She leafed through the file, then glanced back up at him.  "This
eyewitness also had a blood alcohol level well over accepted limits.  And you
believe what he says?"

     "He said he saw a sea monster, and the exact term he used was 'a wolf in
the sea'.  Need I say more?

     "Frankly, yes."  She sighed and stared at him, the familiar sinking
sensation she always felt when he was about to drag her into yet another of
his wild goose chases engulfing her.  Her stomach growled and she glanced at
her watch.

     "Mulder, this is all fascinating, but I'm late for lunch.  Why don't we
finish this later?"

     He plucked the file from her hands and re-opened it.  "Sure Scully.  Say
Hi to Celeste for me."  She stared at him for a moment then turned to leave,
pausing at the doorway.

     "I thought you weren't listening before," she said.

     "You know me, Scully.  Ears like a hawk."

     "That's eyes like a hawk, Mulder."

     "Hawk, rabbit, what's the difference?"  He turned back to his file,
beginning to scribble notes in the margins.  She stared at him silently for a
moment, then turned and left.

     "Now if only you could tell a hawk from a handsaw..." she thought as she
hurried to catch the elevator.


                              END OF PART ONE





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



--