Crossing the Line 2 - Celestial Intervention 1/2 Sharon Nuttycombe celtic@freenet.edmonton.ab.ca April 23, 1996 ***************************************************************** 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! ***************************************************************** 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 --