Hey, gang.  You have all been so patient waiting for this story.  You've send me little e-mails
asking about the series, encouraging me to get it done.  And at long last it's finished.

But you're not going to like it.

Now, I promise that Walt and Dana *will* end up together at the end of all of this.  They just
don't in this story.  In fact, this one is a real downer.  It even depressed me, and I'm the one who
wrote it.

So be warned.  The next story in the series does see our heroes at last united, but I have no idea
when I'll get it done.  Caveat reader.

DISCLAIMER: Walt, Dana, Mulder, Kimberly, Maggie, Clyde, and Tom Colton all belong to 
Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.  I'm using them without permission, of course, but I'm not
doing anything worse to them than he does.  Also, "We've Got Tonight" belongs to Bob Seger. 
Perry Mason, Della Street, and Paul Drake belong to Earle Stanley Gardner.

Thanks to Bonnie, who's edits were invaluable and right on.  Thanks to Lori Ann for letting me
borrow her image of Walt's reaction to the dress.  Thanks to Darla for the inspirational pictures. 
Thanks to Scarlet for the Acme flame-proof suit.

Remarks and commiserations to Sally c/o amstone@ix.netcom.com

Previous Story: "Day with Mom II"

                        Day at the Dance
                               by
                        Sally Bradstreet

Ballroom of the Hilton
March 26, 1997
7:48 pm
     Walter Skinner was miserable.
     Miserable and seriously considering getting drunk.  Really drunk.  Drunk enough to sing
that song about the little goblin and not care what his colleagues thought.  Drunk enough to
forget
his name.  Drunk enough, maybe, to dull the emptiness that had been aching in his chest for the
last two weeks.
     Not that a person could get properly soused on champagne.  He sniffed at that topaz liquid
that bubbled untasted in his glass.  It was good champagne, true, but to get drunk on it he'd have
to down a whole case of it.  And that might raise a few eyebrows.
     No, to get fully and completely blasted he'd need whiskey, a good, brown Scotch whiskey
that burned his nose and throat as he pounded it down, neat.  But it was unlikely in the extreme
that the caterer had anything like that here, even though parties like this were officially sanctioned
opportunities for agents and administrators to pickle themselves.  Be that as it may, said agents
and administrators usually had more pedestrian tastes.===
     "How can you drink this stuff?  You could use it to strip furniture."
     He picked up his glass, took a slow sip, and sighed in contentment.  "Maybe, but at least
the furniture would be really mellow when you finished."
     She giggled.  "Good point."
     "Do you want to try some?"  He offered the glass to her and she wrinkled her nose in
distaste.
     "No, thanks.  I don't like to drink anything that strong."
     He leaned back against the couch, savoring another swallow of his favorite whiskey, and
studied her.  Now that he thought about it, she didn't drink much at all, even at dinner.  "Is it the
taste or the result?"
     She arched an eyebrow.  "What?"
     "That keeps you from drinking.  The taste or the result?"
     She cleared her throat and flushed slightly.  "Well, let me put it this way.  When I was in
college one of my roommates had her bridal shower at a local club.  They had a two drink
minimum."
     "And?" he prompted.
     "I have no idea.  Everything after that second scotch and water is a blur."
     "Mostly scotch?"
     "Mostly water."
     He whistled.  "That surprises me.  You're a sailor's daughter, after all."
     "It is a common misconception that all sailors drink like, well, sailors.  My father couldn't
hold his liquor."
     "What about the rest of the family?"
     "Bill and Charlie aren't good drinkers either, a fact that made their fraternity days a bit of a
downer.  As for Melissa," the pain in her eyes was gone before it was there, "she took more after
Mom."
     He choked.  "Your mother?"
     She smiled wickedly.  "She could drink you under a table and not even blink."
     "You're kidding."
     "Nope.  You know, I should invite her over and see what happens.  She hasn't had a good
drinking challenge in years."
     He tried to imagine gentle, refined Maggie Scully playing drinking games but couldn't
quite manage it.  "She accepted challenges?"
     "Mmm-hmm.  Mostly from the boys' college roommates.  They were more than willing to
bet a mowed lawn or weeded flower bed that they could out drink her.  As a result we had the
best
manicured yard in the neighborhood.  So, are you up for it?"
     He shook his head, placing his glass on the table.  "Oh, no.  I'll pass.  I know full well
what you Scully women are capable of."
     She grinned.  "And don't you forget it."===
     He hadn't forgotten.  He couldn't.  His mind and his lips and his hands and his heart
wouldn't let him.  If he could forget, then he wouldn't miss her so much.  Again the emptiness
welled up and threatened to overwhelm him, and he pushed it away.  He sighed, placing his full
glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and searched for an empty table to occupy.
     It hadn't been so bad while his nephews had been at his house.  All that week he had
ignored non-pressing reports and requisitions to rush home to the boys.  They had played
Nintendo and wrestled and watched football and he was happy.  Then they had gone back to
Texas and he had returned from long hours at work to an empty house and the knowledge that
she
wasn't there to talk to.
     He hadn't really talked to her since that day in her kitchen.  She and Mulder had left for an
investigation in San Jose the next Monday, then had flown directly to Washington and gotten lost
in the forest.  He had been almost frantic over that, but when she and her erstwhile partner had
emerged unscathed from the wilds the day before yesterday, he was only able to tell her that he
was relieved that she was all right.  And that hadn't been what he had wanted to say at all.
     A glass of a dark fizzing liquid materialized before him, shaking him temporarily out of
his revere.  He looked up to see his assistant standing at his shoulder.  "Root beer?"
     "Uh-huh.  I saw you weren't drinking your champagne and thought you might prefer this." 
She gestured to a chair.  "May I?"
     He nodded and she settled gracefully beside him, smoothing her long skirt around her legs. 
"Nice party, huh?"
     Walt swirled the contents of his glass, making the ice cubes clink together.  "You're not
on the clock now, Kimberly.  You don't have to look after me."
     She dimpled at him.  "I know that.  I'm just the Della Street of my time."  He smiled
weakly at that and she continued softly, "And you look like you could use some looking after."
     "Thanks," he replied gruffly.
     "So," Kimberly began conversationally, "have you heard anything on your promotion yet?"
     "No.  I think they're waiting to see who make asses of themselves tonight before they
make their final decisions."  He absently wiped at the film of condensation on the glass he held.
     "Possibly."  She drummed her fingernails on the table, then sighed.  "You're very good at
this, you know."
     He glanced at her.  "At what?"
     "Wallowing."
     Walt flinched, but said nothing.
     "Well, I just can't allow that.  Come on."  She stood and grabbed his hand.
     "What are you doing?"
     "I'm leading you to the dance floor."  He balked and she tugged on his arm.  "Come on."
     He reluctantly allowed her to bully him onto the polished wooden square and took her
neatly into his arms.  "Did Della ever do this for Perry?"
     She cocked her head, thinking.  "I don't know.  Actually, I always had my suspicions
about Della and Paul.  Heaven knows Perry wasn't very responsive."
     Walt chuckled softly.  "You're good."
     "I know."
     He focused on the music wafting from the band and tried to think, at least for the moment,
about Dana Scully.
*****
     She looked at her watch again and managed not to sigh.  She should have known better
than to agree to wait for him.  When one was dealing with Fox Mulder it was not a matter of *if*
he would be late, but by what margin, and in another five minutes he'd beat his old record.
     Pulling her long wool coat more closely around her, she glanced toward the welcoming
warmth of the hotel, this time her sigh escaping unchecked.  She didn't want to be standing on the
curb in the March chill waiting for her punctuality-impaired partner.  She wanted to be in the
ballroom.  More specifically, she wanted to be with Walt.
     She couldn't believe how much she had missed him over the last two weeks, or how often
he had filled her thoughts.  While they waited for their flight, she remembered their debate over
which movies should be put on the top ten list of science fiction masterpieces.  Between witness
interviews, she relived the moment she had seen him smile, really smile, for the first time when
they were at the zoo with the kids.  And during the three days they had traipsed about the woods,
she had clung to the memory of being held in his arms and kissing him.
     A single thought, though, kept surfacing and tainting these pleasant memories.  What if
he, in the two weeks they had been apart, had decided that he didn't want her?  Dana shivered and
stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets.  That was a possibility that she couldn't, that she
wouldn't consider right now, at least not until she had told him how much she wanted him.  If he
rejected her after that, then she would deal with her devastation, but for now she was content to
hope.
     "Scully, I am so sorry!"
     Dana didn't have to turn around to know what expression Mulder currently wore and she
held up a hand to forestall any further apology.  "No.  I don't want to hear it.  Take me inside."
     "Yes, ma'am."
     His tone was so forlorn that she relented and turned to face him.  At the sight of his puppy
dog eyes she melted further.  "It's all right, Mulder.  The party isn't over yet."
     Mulder hunched his shoulders and kicked at the cobblestones beneath his feet.  "Oh, joy."
     She put a comforting hand on his arm.  "Look, you go in, you have a drink, you dance with
the pretty receptionist from Personnel, you leave with a clear conscience, knowing that you have
done your duty.  That's why I suggested we come in separate cars."
     "You're planning on staying longer than that?"
     "Maybe."  She hoped he would attribute the flush on her cheeks to the nip in the air.
     He gave a soul rattling sigh.  "Let's go," he muttered, with all the enthusiasm of a French
aristocrat in a tumbril.
     "Courage, Mulder.  This too shall pass."
     "Sure.  Fine.  Whatever."  He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her into the
hotel.
*****
     "Do you mind, sir?"
     Walt handed his assistant into the keeping of Kevin Pendrell, glad that she would be with
someone less occupied with his own thoughts.  "Of course not, Kimberly.  Go.  Dance.  Have
fun."
     She spared him another sympathetic look before the young agent from Electronics led her
onto the floor.
     I really am pathetic, he thought as he dropped into his chair again, mooning over Dana like
a teen-ager.  All the same, he began scanning the crowd of milling government employees,
seeking for a glimpse of her familiar red hair and planning to go home and sulk in private if he
didn't see her within the next ten minutes.
     A myriad of tuxedos and party dresses spun past him without causing a flicker of
recognition, then he saw a familiar figure standing uncomfortably at the threshold of the ballroom. 
It was Mulder.  He was obviously waiting for someone, and when that someone approached
Walt's breath caught.
     Dana was stunning.  He had never seen her in a dress like that before, and the view of her
bare arms and shapely legs that the gown afforded was dazzling.  With her rich auburn tresses
swept up on top of her head he could admire the curve of her neck and shoulders unimpeded. 
Then she turned around, listening to something her partner said, and Walt's jaw all but hit the
table.  The dress was backless, and his fingers itched to explore the smooth skin it revealed.
     He watched as the two agents offered their best to the retiring Director, then Mulder
ushered Dana into the crush of dancers, allowing Walt to admire her grace as she moved
effortlessly amongst the swirling bodies.  She tripped a little when a tipsy couple stumbled into
her, and Mulder pulled her against him to steady her.  Walt was surprised to discover that he
wasn't jealous of this action on Mulder's part.  Instead he was grateful for the younger man's
presence, protecting Dana when he couldn't.  Walt shook his head incredulously at this.  He must
really be crazy about her if he wasn't contemplating knocking Mulder on his butt just on general
principles.
     The song ended and Dana backed away from her partner, applauding absently and looking
around her.  Walt hoped that she was looking for him.  Well, even if she wasn't, he knew a way to
force the issue.  He pulled himself to his feet and headed toward the band.
*****
     "Don't you think, Scully?"
     "Hmm?  What?"  She shook her head and forced her attention back to her partner.  "What
did you say, Mulder?"
     "I said it looks like the federal chapter of AA is going to have several new members
tomorrow."  He looked askance at her.  "Are you all right?"
     Dana managed a smile.  "I'm--"
     "--fine, Mulder," he finished for her, echoing her intonation precisely.
     "Very funny," she responded, her smile more genuine now.
     "I only ask," he began, twirling her under his arm, "because you seem distracted."
     You have no idea, she thought.  "I'm OK.  I'm just . . . tired."  She could feel his gaze on
her and she tilted her head to meet his eyes.  "Really."  He didn't believe her, she knew, but then
her lie hadn't been designed to convince, just to get him to drop the subject, which he did.
     "Hey, Scully, do you have a ten dollar bill on you?"
     She arched an eyebrow.  "Not at the moment, Mulder.  Why?"
     "Because I was going to offer it to them as a down payment on a motel room."  He turned
her around in time to let her see a pair of agents she didn't know grope each other.
     "Charming," she muttered as the male agent stuck his tongue in the female agent's ear. 
"Do they think that no one can see them?"
     "No.  They're probably just too drunk to care."
     The last chords of the song floated from the stage, and with an instinct polished by years of
playing Musical Chairs, the couples on the dance floor stepped away from each other and
applauded the band.  Dana took the opportunity to search the crowd for Walt.  Unfortunately,
one
tuxedoed back looked very much like the next and she was unsuccessful.
     "Do you want something to drink, Scully?"
     A drink? she thought.  That's not a bad idea at this point.  "Yeah, Mulder.  Do you think
they have *anything* non-alcoholic here?"
     He led her to a table and held a chair out for her.  "I'll see what I can find."
     "Thanks."  As Mulder was swallowed by the sea of people, Dana put her elbow on the
table and rested her chin on her hand.  It was going to be a long night.
     "Good evening, Agent Scully."
     Dana's head jerked up at the sound of his familiar baritone behind her.  Her pulse fluttered
and she took a deep breath to calm it.  That didn't help, though, as it filled her lungs with the
subtle spice of his cologne.  Fluttering pulse or no, her hesitation was rude, and pasting on a
neutral smile, Dana looked up at him.  That didn't help either.  In his tuxedo and black vest, he
was truly impressive.  "Good evening, AD Skinner.  Are you enjoying yourself ?"
     Walt's heart skipped a handful of beats as she gazed up at him with those crystal blue
eyes.  He could happily tumble into them and be lost there forever.  But that was not an option
right now, and he strove to match her conversational tone.  "I am, thank you.  Would you care to
dance?"  He held his hand out to her.
     Dana studied his hand for an instant before lifting her eyes, shining with an almost
reckless light, to study his face.  "I won't be happy with just one dance, Walt."
     Walt took a step closer to her.  "Neither will I."  He raised his eyebrows is a silent
question.
     Dana closed her fingers around his, then rose smoothly to her feet, her gaze never faltering. 
"I would like to dance, thank you."
     They walked calmly to floor, looking exactly like the superior and agent they were.  
     Walt shifted his hand in hers and placed his other hand at her waist, careful to keep his
fingers from touching the bare skin of her back.  This accomplished, he started to move as the
band began to play.
     Dana easily fell into step with him, resting her free hand on his shoulder and giving herself
up to his strong lead.  A wry smile curved her lips as the first lyrics of the song reached her ears.  
"Did you request this?"
     The corner of his mouth quirked up.  "Mmm-hmm."

     *I know it's late, I know you're weary.
     I know your plans don't include me.*

     "Do you mind?" he asked, daring her to remember that afternoon in her kitchen.
     "Not at all," she replied, accepting his challenge.

     *Still here we are, both of us lonely,
     Longing for shelter from all that we see.*

     "I've missed you, Dana," Walt murmured, fighting the urge to bury his face in the curve of
her neck and discover if she had used her floral bubble bath today.
     "I've missed you, too, Walt," Dana replied, struggling not to move closer to him and lean
into the strength of his chest.

     *Why should we worry?  No one will care, girl.
     Look at the stars, so far away.
     We've got tonight.  Who needs tomorrow?
     We've got tonight, babe.
     Why don't you stay?*

     As they danced, he led her into the mass of swaying bodies, surrounding them with the
anonymity of the crowd.

     *Deep in my soul, I've been so lonely,
     All of my hopes, fading away.
     I've longed for love, like everyone else does.
     I know I'll keep searching, even after today.*

     Dana closed her eyes, reveling in his warmth.  Walt closed his eyes, rejoicing in her
nearness.

     *So there it is, girl.  I've said it all now.
     And here we are, babe.  What do you say?*

     "Dana, we need to talk."
     "I know."

     *We've got tonight.  Who needs tomorrow?
     We've got tonight, babe.
     Why don't you stay?*

     Walt paused a moment before speaking again.  He knew what he wanted, but he had her
wants to consider as well.  "Is your heart set on staying here all evening?"
     "No.  In fact, I'd rather leave."  She rubbed her fingers along the seam of his jacket. 
"There are too many people here."
     Walt nodded and tightened his hold on her waist, the edge of his thumb barely brushing
her bare back.  "Yes, there are."

     *I know it's late, I know you're weary.
     I know your plans don't include me.
     Still here we are, both of us lonely,
     Both of us lonely.*

     "Did you come with Mulder?" he queried, afraid of the answer.
     "Not exactly.  I met him here."  She glanced up at him, suddenly shy.  "My car's in the
parking garage.  I can leave it here all night if I need to."

     *We've got tonight.  Who needs tomorrow?
     Let's make it last.  Let's find a way.*

     Walt took a deep breath as he understood the implication of her words.  "You were
confident, weren't you?"
     Dana shook her head, her eyes never leaving his.  "No.  Not confident.  Just hopeful."

     *Turn out the light.  Come take my hand now.
     We've got tonight, babe.
     Why don't you stay?
     Why don't you stay?*

     The song faded away slowly and under the smattering of applause Walt whispered in her
ear, "I'll meet you outside in 10 minutes."
     "All right."
     Each left the dance floor alone.
*****
     "Here you go, Scully.  Is diet Coke OK?"  Mulder looked up from the glasses he was
carrying to find an empty table.  "Scully?  Oh, Scully?"  He set the drinks on the linen-covered
surface  and glanced over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of his red-haired partner.  When
he didn't see her right away, he shrugged and settled into a chair facing the dance floor.  Someone
had probably asked her to dance, he mused.  Any man here with a working set of eyes would be a
fool not to, as beautiful as she looked this evening.  Mulder pushed that thought away and took a
small sip of his champagne.  He was almost enjoying himself.  No need to complicate matters by
delving into that particular subject.
     He observed the parade of Bureau employees that danced passed him with half-closed
eyes, wondering which ones would be going home together tonight.  That such encounters should
spring from a party like this was inevitable.  What was unpredictable was how each member
involved in the indiscretion would react in the cold light of morning.  The couple he and Scully
had seen earlier sauntered by, a little more restrained now, but still clinging to each other like ivy
to a brick wall.  Oh, yes.  They would definitely be sharing a cab, and a place in the morning's
bull session around the water cooler.
     Another couple caught his attention, and Mulder chuckled as he recognized Kimberly on
the arm of Agent Pendrell.  That was an unlikely pairing.  He knew Kimberly fairly well and
figured that she would pick someone with a little more flash, but who was he to judge?
     More vaguely familiar countenances, then a face he knew almost as well as his own.  He
was not surprised to find that his assumption about Scully had been correct.  What did come as a
surprise, however, was her partner.  She was dancing with AD Walter Skinner.
     Mulder shifted slightly in his chair, keeping his eyes on the pair as they maneuvered deftly
through the throng.  The distance between them was entirely proper, their dance form almost
textbook perfect, but as Mulder watched them he felt like a voyeur.  His partner and his boss were
surrounded by an air of intimacy that the other dancers, for all of the their clawing and clutching
at
each other, couldn't match.  And suddenly a good many things made sense to Fox Mulder.
     That's what Maggie had been trying to tell him yesterday, with all her talk of his
friendship for her daughter and his willingness to do anything to make her happy.  She was trying
to warn him that Scully had feelings for Walter Skinner, a possibility that he had never
considered.  Mulder tossed back his champagne is a single swallow and wished that he had gotten
one for Scully, too.
     When had this happened, and why hadn't Scully told him?  Because, he answered himself
sternly, she knew you'd go ballistic over it.  And she's entitled to a private life.  She did have
other things to worry about besides Spooky Mulder.
     Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself.  He also tried to convince himself that he
had no right to be jealous over what may or may not be happening between Scully and Skinner. 
Mulder had never told her how he felt about her.  He had barely told himself.  And now it was too
late.  
     Oh, sure, he could go cut in and pour his heart out to her or punch Walter Skinner right in
the nose or any number of other things, but the end result of any of them would be the same. 
Scully would be hurt, and that wasn't what he wanted.  Not at all.
     Mulder's slide into one of the most truly spectacular depressions of the Twentieth Century
was interrupted when a figure plopped clumsily into the chair next to him.
     "Heyya, Spooky," Agent Tom Colton slurred.  "How're they hangin'?"
     Mulder recoiled instinctively from the alcoholic fumes that hung around the other agent
like a fog and was glad that he'd only had a single champagne.  "Gee, Colton, was the bar closed
when you got here?"
     The sarcasm of the remark was lost on the inebriated agent, who laughed raucously and
slammed his glass onto the table with enough force to make the contents slosh over the rim.  "And
people say you aren't funny, Spooky."
     "Yeah," Mulder muttered.  "I'm the life of the party."
     "So, Spooky." Colton tried to whisper conspiratorially.  "Now I guess we all know why
your partner's getting that promotion, huh?"
     "What are you blathering about, Colton?"
     "Oh!  She didn't tell you?"  The alcohol exaggerated his surprise and he moved closer to
Mulder, scraping his chair across the floor.  "Dana didn't tell you that she was up for a
promotion?"
     Mulder twitched in his chair.  "No, she didn't."
     Colton snorted.  "Betcha she did and you just weren't listenin'."
     "Do you have a point to make?" Mulder asked, none too politely, anxious to send him on
his way.
     Colton stared into space for a moment, a look of profound concentration on his face, then
he smiled widely.  "Uh-huh.  Did you see the way she was dancing with Hard-Ass Skinner?"
     "Yes. So?"
     "So?"  He started to roll his eyes, but the action made him dizzy so he stopped.  "You are
clueless, Spooky.  She's obviously been screwing him and that's why they're finally moving her
out of that damn basement of yours."  He nodded authoritatively.
     Mulder clenched his teeth together and forced his fists to stay at his sides, determined not
to make a scene by removing Colton's lungs with a cuff link.  He contented himself with grabbing
the drunk's lapels and yanking him out of his chair.  "Colton, I hope there's part of you that's
sober enough to understand this because I'm not going to repeat myself."  His voice lowered to a
dangerous hiss.  "If I ever hear you say anything like that about Dana Scully again they will never
find all of your pieces.  If she's getting a promotion it's because she's a damn fine agent, better
than me and a hell of a lot better than you.  So here's what I suggest you do.  Drag yourself out to
the curb, see if you can find a taxi that will pick up a sorry mess like you, go home, and sleep it
off.  Unless, of course, you'd like to test my resolve."
     Colton jerked his jacket free of Mulder's grasp and stood swaying before the seething
agent.  "Lighten up, Spooky.  You're getting as uptight as she is."
     Mulder bolted to his feet and Colton retreated without another word.
     He dropped into his chair with a sigh and rubbed his hands across his face.  Scully was up
for a promotion?  He really needed to start paying more attention to his partner.
     As if in reply to a silent summons, he heard her voice ask, "Mulder, are you all right?"
     He shook his head.  "I'm fine," he lied.  "I just had a conversation with Tom Colton.  He's
no more likeable drunk than he is sober."
     "I'm sorry."
     "Don't be.  It's not your fault he's an ass."
     "True, but I can offer you sympathy, can't I?" she asked with an arched brow.
     "Yeah, Scully," he murmured.  "Sympathy is good right about now."
     She scowled slightly but he waved her concern away.  "Are you enjoying yourself?"
     "Actually, I'm not feeling too well.  I think I'm going to call it a night, OK?"
     Mulder raised his eyes to meet hers and held her gaze for a moment before saying softly,
"You don't need my permission, Scully."
     Scully opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.
     "Go on," Mulder urged.  "I'm going to see if I can find that secretary you mentioned
earlier."
     "OK, Mulder.  I'll see you tomorrow."  She brushed her hand over his shoulder in farewell
and was gone.
     "Yeah, Scully.  See ya."  Mulder didn't watch her go.
*****
     Dana stood before a mirror in the ladies' room, touching up her lipstick and convincing
herself that she didn't owe Mulder any explanation for her actions.  He was her partner, not her
father, and she didn't want to listen to his recriminations tonight.  She only wanted to be with
Walt.
     Satisfied with her reflection and confident that the required ten minutes had passed, she
slipped her coat over her shoulders, prepared to leave.
     Before she could, though, the door burst open and she heard an unfamiliar voice proclaim,
"The Ice Queen?  No way."
     Dana immediately stepped behind the wall that separated the sinks and stalls from a small
lounge, her cheeks flaming.   Ice Queen' had been one of her nicknames since the Academy, but
every time she heard it, she still winced, a reaction as involuntary as pulling her hand back from a
hot stove.  She closed her eyes and hoped they'd be quick about it.
     "I'm sure," a second voice declared.  "Didn't you see the way she was dancing with him?"
     "Bah!" said Voice One.  "He danced that way with lots of the women here, including me."
     "No," Voice Two persisted.  "He was different with her, more intense or something."
     Voice One laughed.  "That's a convincing argument.  And besides, she can't be sleeping
with Skinner because she's having an affair with her partner."
     Dana's eyes flew open and she bit her lip.
     "No, she's not."
     "Yes, she is.  Why else would she want to stay down in the X-files Division?  And you
have to admit that Spooky's hot."
     "True, true."
     They fell silent, presumably while they patted hair and unsmudge eyeliner, allowing Dana
a moment to stew.  It was bad enough that they were discussing her love life, but that was to be
expected.  What infuriated her was the fact that it wasn't a question of *if* she was sleeping with
a co-worker, but with which one.  Easy, Dana, she told herself.  They'll be gone in a minute then
you can go.
     "Well," Voice One resumed, "I still say she's getting it on with Skinner."
     "Ha.  Five bucks says she's making it with Mulder," Voice Two challenged.
     "You're on."  There was a muffled sound of purses being opened and bills being extracted.
     That was it.  She couldn't stand it any more.  Snapping her emotionless mask into place,
Dana swept into the lounge and snatched the money from the shocked hands of the two gossips. 
"Sorry, ladies," she announced, stuffing the ten dollars in her pocket, "but you both lose."  With
that she turned on her heel and stormed from the room.
     Before the door swung shut behind her, she heard a final exchange.
     "What the hell was that?" asked Voice One.
     "I'm not sure," Voice Two replied, "but I think the Ice Queen just told us to bite her."
*****
     Walt stood at the curb, waiting for the valet to bring his car around and focusing his
considerable will power on making the other people clustered under the awning go back inside or
spontaneously combust or anything else that would shield Dana from their accusing eyes.  He
knew how the office scuttlebutt would treat her if she was seen getting into his car, and he wanted
desperately to protect her from that.
     In answer to his silent wish, two of the agents milling around beside him climbed into a
cab and the remaining three went into the brightly lit hotel lobby.  He released the breath he had
been holding and turned to the door, watching for Dana.
     A valet appeared at his elbow.  "Your car's here, sir."
     "Thank you," he said vaguely, for at that same moment she stepped into the cold night air. 
Walt quickly opened the passenger door and held his hand out to her.
     Dana smiled and hurried to him, taking his hand and allowing him to help her into the car. 
Then he circled the sedan and took his seat, and they sped off into the darkness.
     Dana was content to simply sit beside him and listen to him breathe, but her curiosity was
piqued when, instead of heading for the beltway, Walt turned the car toward the center of town. 
"Where are we going?"
     "You'll see," he answered with a small smile.
     She smiled, too, when he brought the car to a halt in one of the many parking spaces
around the Mall.  Her smile widened as he killed the engine and hopped out to open her door,
holding his hand out to her.
     Dana took his hand, stood, and slipped her arms around his waist in one fluid movement. 
She rubbed her face against the rough fabric of his trenchcoat with a happy sigh.  "I've wanted to
do this all night."
     "So what stopped you?"  His words were muffled against her hair as he gathered her
closer.
     "Nothing, really.  I was just torturing myself."  She gave him a squeeze and looked up at
him.  "Let's go for a walk."
     The winter night was perfectly still, and the cold, sharp air threw everything into focus, the
empty benches, the towering monuments, the stars glimmering like diamond chips in the clear
sky.  They each leaned into the shoulder of the person strolling beside them, sharing both
companionship and warmth.
     Dana twined her fingers with his and gave a quiet laugh.  "What is it about this place that
makes me want to apologize to you?"
     "What do you have to apologize for now?"  He guided her toward a bench and pulled her
against his side when they sat.
     "For the way I reacted, after we . . ."  She trailed off and stared at their clasped hands
where they rested on his knee.  "I shouldn't have booted you out like that.  I'm sorry."
     "Dana."  His voice was as gentle as the hand that cupped her chin to lift her eyes to his. 
"You don't have to apologize for that.  I understand."
     "But I need to.  I was so--"
     "Scared?"
     "No!" came her immediate reply.  "I was never scared.  Just--unprepared."
     His expression of mingled relief and confusion was so endearing that she wanted to kiss
the top of his head in approval.  Saving that pleasure for later, she explained, "I was unprepared
for how much I wanted you, for how much you wanted me.  It was all so unexpected that I didn't
think, I just reacted."
     "I know.  I did the same thing."  He feathered his gloved fingers over the curve of her
cheek.  "But unlike you, I was scared."
     It was her turn to be confused and she lifted her eyebrow.  "Of what?"
     His fingertips moved to the auburn arch and smoothed it down to its usual place.  "Of how
I reacted to you.  One minute things were fine and the next I was on the verge of losing control." 
He stopped and lowered his head, unwilling to continue.
     Dana ducked her chin to reclaim his gaze.  "It's all right, Walt.  I know your control is as
important to you as mine is to me.  And now we have to decide.  Is this really what we want?  Are
we ready for it?"
     The questions fluttered between them snowflakes until Walt finally spoke, his murmur
hoarse.  "Dana.  I want you with me all the time, everywhere I go.  I want you."
     Dana blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that sprang up at the emotion in his words. 
"Oh, Walt.  I want you, too."
     They contemplated each other for the space of a heartbeat, still a bit dazed by their mutual
desire, then they moved inexorably together.
     Dana's lips were cold, but they warmed rapidly under the soft rain of Walt's kisses.  He
brushed his teasing lips over hers again and again, but each time she tried to kiss him more fully,
he backed just a breath away.
     At last, with a groan of frustration, Dana clamped her hands around the back of his head
and brought his mouth down on hers.  She held him there, making his lips her own, until he
wrapped his arms around her shoulders and waist and crushed her against him.
     Dana pulled slowly away with a smug smile.  "Take me home, Walt," she ordered, her
whisper as intimate as the bedroom.
     "Mine or yours?" he asked, wincing at the triteness of the question.
     "It's up to you," she purred, as she extracted herself from his embrace and rose to stand
before him.  "But you should know that *my* house is the one with the negligee."
     Walt stared up at her, his mouth dry.  "Blue silk?" he choked.
     Dana nodded, her eyes flashing with a mischief he'd never seen before.
     "Your house it is."
     They all but sprinted for the car.
     Moments later, as Walt rushed down the beltway toward her apartment, Dana sat
watching him, memorizing his silhouette.  The dim glow of the dashboard lights emphasized the
angles of his face, making him look sterner than usual.  But she knew about the passion he kept
hidden behind that facade and decided to see how much it would take to make that passion break
through.
     Removing her glove, Dana reached for him across the front seat and ran a single finger
along the square line of his jaw.  
     Walt shivered.  
     Pleased with that reaction, she moved her touch to his ear, sweeping her fingers across its
curve. 
      "Dana," he warned, turning toward her.
     "Keep your eyes on the road, Walt."  When she was sure his attention was again centered
on the freeway, she scraped her fingernails with an almost phantom pressure along the portion of
his neck that wasn't covered by his coat.
     "If you don't stop that," he growled, "I'm going to run us off the road."
     "All right," Dana said demurely and obediently moved her hand away.  Only to rest it on
his thigh.  The muscle bunched beneath her palm and Dana smiled, delighted with her progress.
     "Dana."  He sounded pained now.  "That isn't helping."
     "Isn't it?" she asked innocently, massaging his leg.  "Oh, I see.  I misunderstood.  You
want me to stop completely.  Sorry."  She withdrew her hand and placed it in her lap.
     Walt's shoulders slumped a little.  Even without her hand on him, he was having a hard
time keeping his mind on driving.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see her, the angle at
which
she held her head, the way her long coat fell away from her crossed legs, offering a tantalizing
glimpse of her thigh.  He wanted to play her game, too, but his position behind the wheel made
that difficult, and more than a little dangerous.  Then an alternative crossed his mind, and he
smiled.  "Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?"
     "No."
     "You're stunning in that dress."
     "Really?" 
     "Mmm-hmm.  Especially your shoulder blades."
     "My shoulder blades?"
     He nodded.  "I've wanted to kiss them ever since I saw you walk into that ballroom."
     There was a pause.  "Is there any place else you'd like to kiss?"
     "The back of your neck.  And your earlobes.  And that hollow where you usually wear your
cross."
     "Walt?"  Her voice was husky.
     "Yes, Dana?" he asked with a self-satisfied smile.
     "Shut up and drive."
     They didn't speak again as the miles to her apartment seemed to stretch out longer and
longer.  Walt heard the rustle of her coat again her dress as she shifted in her seat.  Dana studied
the muscles of his neck and jaw as he saw to the business of driving.
     After what was surely a decade, Walt parked his car in front of Dana's apartment building
and sat studying her.
     Dana felt her cheeks flush slightly under his silent scrutiny.  "Aren't we going in?"
     "I'm not sure."  Walt swallowed the smile that her expression prompted.  "After all,
staying in the car does offer some interesting possibilities."
     "Like what?"
     He unclipped his seatbelt and moved toward her.  "Well, there's the backseat."  His
fingers traced circles over her knee.  "And the seatbelts."  His mouth hovered just at her ear. 
"And the danger of getting caught."
     "So you're an exhibitionist?"  She was surprised to find that her voice still worked.
     Walt chuckled, low in his throat.  "Not really.  Like I said, I was just considering . . .
extreme possibilities."  Leaning across her body, he opened the door and nudged her toward the
sidewalk.
     Dana wished desperately that he was wearing a regular tie, so she could take hold of it and
drag him onto the pavement with her.  She needn't have worried.  He crawled out behind her and
ushered her up the stairs of her building.  And this time when he took her keys from her hand and
unlocked her door, he followed her inside.
     "Hello, Clyde," Dana crooned, scooping up her Pomeranian.  "Did you miss me?"
     The little dog yipped once and licked at her chin, and Dana laughed under the barrage of
doggie kisses.
     "Isn't that *my* job?" Walt asked, tugging off his bow tie and tossing it toward the chair
where he had already deposited his coat.
     "You're right.  It is."  She pushed Clyde into Walt's hands and nodded toward the kitchen. 
"His treats are in the cabinet next to the sink."
     "Well, Clyde," he said ruefully, "that's what I get for not being specific, isn't it?"
     Clyde wagged his tail in agreement.
     "Are you going to give Clyde his bedtime snack or not?" Dana asked, turning on a lamp.
     Walt tucked Clyde into the curve of his elbow, scratching the animals ears.  "Will I be
compensated for my efforts?" 
     "That depends on how quickly you carry out your duty," she replied with a smirk.
     He was in the kitchen and back before she had finished hanging up her coat.  "Mission
accomplished, ma'am."  He stood at attention, awaiting his reward.
     "Well done."  She walked toward him, her hips swaying seductively.  "Now," she purred,
sliding his tuxedo jacket from his shoulders, "you can help me take down my hair."  Before he
could protest she continued, "And for each hairpin you find, you get a kiss.  Does that seem fair?"
     His response was to spin her around and bury his fingers in her hair.  The first pin released
a thick red lock to hang down the back of her neck.  "Do I get to choose where I kiss you?" he
asked, tugging on the curl.
     "Mmm-hmm."
     Walt pressed his lips to the point of her shoulder blade.  Dana sighed.
     A hairpin.  A kiss on her shoulder.  A hairpin.  A flick of his tongue against her earlobe. 
A hairpin.  A nibble on the nape of her neck.
     Her hair at last hung freely about her shoulders and Walt combed his fingers through the
tresses.  "That's all."
     She leaned back against him, running her hand over his thigh.  "That doesn't mean you
have to stop."
     "The deal was a kiss per hairpin," he murmured warmly in her ear, "and there aren't any
more left.  Sorry."  He moved to settle on the couch.
     Dana arched her eyebrow at him, her eyes dark blue as she followed him.  "Who's trying
to kill whom here?"
     Walt crossed his arms.  "It seems to be pretty mutual.  Truce?"  He held his hand out to
her.
     She bypassed his hand, instead pushing him onto his back and perching on the edge of the
couch beside him.  "Truce," she whispered against his lips just before she kissed him.
     Both sighed in relief as their mouths met in earnest.
     Walt smoothed his palms over her back, her arms, her shoulders, hungry for the feel of her
soft, warm skin against his.  Dana's anxious hands yanked his tailored white shirt from his pants
(Who had time for buttons?), then roamed over the firm expanse of his chest.
     As their lips moved together, Walt pulled Dana to lie on top of him, holding her tightly
against him as he kissed her more deeply, running his hand up the back of her thigh.  Dana
responded eagerly to his touch, losing herself in the man beneath her--
     //I still say she's getting it on with Skinner.//
     //Ha.  Five bucks says she's making it with Mulder.//
     The voices clattered in her mind like dropped silverware, and Dana lifted her head with a
gasp.  "Walt, stop."
     His mouth drifted to her throat and she fought to evade his lips even as she sighed with
pleasure.  "Walt, stop.  Please."  She pushed against his chest, propping herself up on her hands. 
"Please!"
     "Dana?"  He blinked, his brown eyes slightly unfocused.  "What's wrong?"
     Her face crumbled as the realization finally hit her and she stared down at him, her eyes
huge.  "Walt, we can't do this."  She collapsed against him, burying her face against his rumpled
shirtfront.  "We can't do this!"
     Walt felt as if someone had just pushed him out of an airplane without the courtesy of a
parachute.  "What are you talking about?"
     "There are rumors, about us, about . . ."  Her lip trembled and she took a deep breath to
steady herself.  "About our relationship."
     He cupped her face in his hands and forced her to look at him.  "What have you heard?"
     "It doesn't matter."  She twisted from his arms and knelt on the floor beside him.  "Walt,
do you know what our superiors would do if they ever found out about us?  Do you know what
the
other agents would think?  Your career would be over!"
     "Do you think I care about that?"  Anguish made his words bitter.  He sat up, searching
her eyes as if they could give him insight into her soul.  "Do you honestly think my career is more
important to me than you?"
     She grasped both his large hands in her smaller ones.  "No, of course not!  But you are that
important to me.  You could be the Director one day, Walt.  I won't jeopardize that for you."
     The emotion behind that statement sent Walt's mind whirling.  Did she really care about
him that much, to give up what she most wanted to safeguard his future?  "Dana," he began,
reaching out to her.
     "Please, Walt."  Tears glittered on the tips of her eyelashes and she let them fall
unchecked.  She stood up and backed away from him, pleading with him.  "Let me do this for
you. 
Let me protect you like you've always protected me.  Please."
     Walt went after her, bringing her into his embrace again, bowing his head until it rested on
her shoulder.  "I won't let you do this."
     Dana shook in his arms.  "I'm not giving you a choice."  Then she stepped away.
     He stared at her a moment, sure that the world had stopped spinning.  He didn't give a
damn about his career.  Everything he wanted was standing just out of his reach in the person of
Dana Scully, and he wouldn't leave without at least trying to sway her.  Because he loved her. 
"Dana--"
     "Walt, no."  She had always thought it impossible to die of a broken heart, but now she
wasn't so certain.  She saw the pain in his eyes and knew that she had put it there, but she was
doing it for him.  Because she loved him.  "Go."
     Slowly, slowly he picked up his coat, not bothering to gather the rest of his clothes.  "You
won't change your mind?"
     She only shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
     "Good-bye, Dana."
     The last thing he heard was the sound of her sobs as he closed the door behind him.

The End


------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Sometimes the things you most wish for are not to be touched." --_Into the Woods_

The "Day" Series:
     "Day of Grace"
     "Day at the Office"
     "Day in Court" by Bonnie Drew
     "Day at the Market"
     "Day at the Zoo"
     "Day of the Magi"
     "Day with Tom and Crow"
     "Day in Cyberspace"
     "Day for Shopping" by Bonnie Drew
     "Day at the Cordon Bleu"
     "Day with Mom I"
     "Day with Mom II"
     "Day at the Dance"
     "Day of Reckoning" (not yet posted)
     "D-Day" (not yet posted)

"Day at the Dance"
Sally Bradstreet
amstone@ix.netcom.com
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey!  HEY!!  Put down the pitchforks.  I know that it's taken me a *REALLY* long time to get
this story done, but don't you think a cyberlynching is a little extreme?  After all, if you kill me
you'll never know how this series ends, now will you?  OK.  That's better.

Here it is at last, the long, and not so patiently, awaited next installment in my "Day" series. 
Now, if you were totally depressed by "Day at the Dance", never fear.  This one has a happy
ending.  I promise.  In fact, I'd have to rate this piece PG-13, which is a departure for me, so be
gentle.  However, I am still from the school of setting the scene and fading to black, so you'll have
to fill in most of the details yourself.

DISCLAIMER: Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, Fox Mulder, and the un-last named Kimberly all
belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.  I would never claim otherwise, and I can assure
you that none of them were harmed in the writing of this story.  "I Want to Come Over" is by
Melissa Etheridge off her _Your Little Secret_ CD.  (It wasn't a trite idea when I came up with it. 
Really!)  And _Highlander_ and _Xena, Warrior Princess_ aren't mine either, but then you knew
that.

Thanks as always to Bonnie, and to all my readers who kept kicking me in the butt to get this
wretched thing finished, and to Dawson for the information on the FBI power structure.

Previous Story: "Day at the Dance"

                        Day of Reckoning
                               by
                        Sally Bradstreet

FBI Gym
March 27, 1997
6:48 am
     Ka-chung ka-chung ka-chung ka-chung.
     Walter Skinner didn't know how long the punching bag had been swinging in front of his
eyes with that same steady rhythm.  It was long enough, at least, for his body to switch to
autopilot.  He wasn't thinking about the movements that were needed to bring his gloved knuckles
in contact with the polished leather anymore, nor was he conscious of the fact that he was hitting
it
with enough force to make it rebound off its brace with every punch.  His mind, instead, was in
Dana Scully's living room, replaying the events of last night over and over again.
     She had thrown him out.  They were there on her couch, on the brink of something he
wanted with a violence that surprised him, and she had thrown him out.  And he had let her.
     Walt punched the bag hard enough to make the brace rattle.
     It wasn't that he didn't understand her reasoning.  She was absolutely right.  If their
superiors ever discovered they were romantically involved, they would be reprimanded,
reassigned, possibly even fired.  He could understand all that.  He just didn't like it.
     After giving the bag a final jarring punch, Walt plopped onto an empty weight bench and
yanked off his gloves with a sigh.  He picked up his towel and rubbed it randomly over his sweaty
torso with one hand while he scanned the gym.  He took in the work out-clothed agents that
scurried over the equipment like ants and realized it was later than he had thought.  When he had
come in this morning, seeking an outlet for his seething frustration, he had been alone.  He hadn't
even bothered to turn on the ubiquitous radio before he began his attack on the punching bag. 
Now, however, one of the younger agents flipped the sound system on and the speaker above
Walt's head crackled to life.

     "--nying the fire.
     Lover I burn.
     Let me in.
     
     "I want to come over,
     To hell with the consequence.
     You told me you loved me.
     That's all I believe.
     I want to come over.
     It's a need I can't explain,
     To see you again,
     I want to come over."

     Walt sat dumbfounded as the music filtered down over his head.  It wasn't every day that
his emotional turmoil was broadcast over public airwaves, and he listened, fascinated, as the
woman continued to belt out lyrics in a smokey alto.

     "I know you're confused.
     I know that you're shaken.
     You think we'll be lost
     Once we begin."

     He wasn't confused.  Quite to the contrary, he knew exactly what he wanted.  But he also
knew he could lose himself completely in loving Dana body and soul, and the thought of giving up
the independence that had defined his personality for so long was terrifying.

     "I know you're weak.
     I know that you want me.
     Lover, don't speak.
     Let me in."

     He chuckled bitterly at that.  Of all of the words he could use to describe Dana Scully, or
himself for that matter,  weak' was nowhere on the list.  They were both so strong, so used to
analyzing their every move that the idea of just acting on impulse was foreign to them.  If they had
been any other couple in the world they would have given into the desire flaring between them
long ago, but instead they talked and considered and planned and were miserable.

     "I want to come over,
     To hell with the consequence.
     You told me you loved me.
     That's all I believe.
     I want to come over.
     It's a need I can't explain,
     I want to come over
     To see you, to see you again."

     That was it.  He loved her.  He wanted her.  And it was time to act like it.  Walt scooped
up his gym bag and marched resolutely toward the locker room.

Apartment of Dana Scully
6:48 am
     Dana Scully had a lovely ceiling.  It had been there, over her head, for almost five years
now, but she had never noticed it before, until she had spent most of the night staring up at it,
waiting for the sleep that wouldn't come.
     She had never noticed that the texture on the white-painted surface acted like a Rorschach
test, either, and she had been discovering images in the plaster blots that would have surprised
even Mulder, including a patch that looked just like three aliens in a bobsled.  If she had known
how to interpret them, Dana was sure that these late night visions would have offered great
insights into her psyche.  As it was, the only thing she knew how to interpret was the sick feeling
in her stomach, and she knew exactly what that meant.
     She had thrown him out.  Walter Skinner had been in her arms, a breath away from being
in her bed, and she had thrown him out.
     Dana reached over and idly scratched Clyde, who was still snoozing beside her on the bed.
     She had made the right choice.  If they got involved and their superiors found out, it would
be reassignment for the both of them at the very least, and she couldn't let that happen to him. 
     She knew she had made the right choice.  She just didn't like it.
     With a sigh, Dana hauled herself out of her rumpled bed, deciding that she might as well
go to work.  She wouldn't get any sleep now that the sun was coming up, and she could be tired
and upset at the office as easily as she could at home.
     Not bothering to put on her robe or slippers, Dana headed to the kitchen, talking to herself
as she made her way through her dim apartment.  "As long as I don't see him I'll be all right.  As
long as I don't hear his voice or--" Her pep talk was cut off when she stumbled over something in
front of her kitchen door.  Scowling slightly, Dana scooped up the offending object and flipped on
the kitchen light.
     It was Walt's tuxedo jacket.
     Dana's hand tightened convulsively on the dark fabric as she drowned in the memory of
his lips, hot and eager, on hers, his strong hands tangled in her hair . . .
     She snapped her eyes closed and blocked out the remembered sensations, willing her heart
to stop racing.  Her decision was good, she reminded herself.  Her decision was right.
     Calmer now, though no less miserable, she opened her eyes to find that she was still
holding the lapel of Walt's coat with longing fingers.
     No! she told herself sharply.  You will not do this.  You will not burying your face in the
collar to smell his cologne.  You will not slip it on and pretend that he's holding you again.  You
will not!
     With military precision Dana folded the jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. 
There it could stay until she worked up the courage to return it to him, if that time ever came.
     Allowing herself an instant of weakness, she brushed a single finger over the sleeve,
pulling her hand back when her tears threatened to return.
     Blinking rapidly and squaring her shoulders, Dana turned toward the kitchen, preparing to
face her day and her decision.

Office of Assistant Director Skinner
8:04 am
     The report stared up at him with unblinking dotted i's.  It had been staring at him that way
for almost 45 minutes, but Walt couldn't force his mind to follow the line of evidence before him. 
Instead, he kept glancing at his watch and wondering if he had given Dana enough time to get to
her office yet.  Talking to her here at work was far from an ideal situation, but it was a start.
     "AD Skinner?"
     He jumped slightly as Kimberly's disembodied voice erupted from the intercom.  "Yes?"
     "The Director is on line one, sir.  He wants to talk to you."
     "Thank you, Kimberly.  And would you please call Agent Scully and tell her that I'd like
to meet with her as soon as possible?"
     "Yes, sir.  Anything else?"
     "Coffee would be wonderful."
     "Of course."
     The intercom clicked off and he picked up the phone.  "Yes, sir. . . . Thank you, sir.  Of
course I accept. . . . Yes, I understand. . . . I'll be there.  Thank you again, sir."
     Walt dropped the receiver into its cradle with a gusty sigh.  It was official.  He was now an
Assistant Deputy Director in the Violent Crimes Bureau of the Federal Bureau of Investigations,
for all the good it did him.
     A quiet rap on the door heralded Kimberly's entrance with the coffee.  "Agent Scully
wasn't in her office, sir, and Security said she hasn't checked in yet.  Do you want me to try her
cellular number?"
     He took the coffee with a grateful smile.  "No, you can try her office later.  I have another
assignment for you right now."
     "Yes?"
     "I need you to prepare a briefing for your replacement." 
     Kimberly's shoulders slumped.  "My replacement?"
     That was not quite the reaction he had been expecting and Walt answered warily, "Yes,
your replacement.  Unless you want to stay in this office and work with the new AD."
     She studied him a moment, confusion creasing her brow, then her expression cleared. 
"Oh!  You mean my replacement, not my replacement."
     Walt blinked tiredly, not exactly sure when he had lost the thread of the conversation. 
Then he laughed.  "You thought I was replacing you?"
     Kimberly flushed slightly and looked at the floor.  "Well, you were a little ambiguous."
     "Why would I want to replace you?  You're the only assistant I've ever had who doesn't
flinch when I bellow.  That's an invaluable skill."  He chuckled again and then forced his
professional mask back into place.  "The new AD's assistant will be here in 20 minutes.  Will you
be ready?"
     "Yes, sir," she replied, mirroring his demeanor.  At the door, however, she paused and
looked over her shoulder.  "Walt," she asked softly, "are you sure you don't want me to try her
cellular?"
     Walt met her gaze and thought perhaps having an assistant who knew him so well wasn't
always a good thing.  "No, Kimberly.  I have to be at my briefing in 15 minutes.  Try again in an
hour or so."
     "Yes, sir."  Her smile as she closed the door was profoundly sympathetic.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
8:49 am
     Dana leaned her head against the wall of the elevator with a soul-rattling sigh.  Any
normal depressed person would be at home watching cheesy talk shows and gorging themselves
on ice cream and potato chips.  But not her.  Oh, no.  Not only was she at work, but she was
currently on her way to Pathology.  Oh, yeah.  Dead bodies.  That would cheer her right up.
     She hadn't even gotten a chance to snap at Mulder this morning, an activity that never
failed to raise her spirits when she was this depressed.  The office had been empty when she got
there, and Mulder's note to her had been almost brusque:
     Scully--
     Three bodies in the morgue.  Check MO for possible serial killer/rapist.
     Mulder
     (Don't say I never gave you nothing.)
Yeah, she thought, and I've got something to give you, too.
     The doors slid open and she moved into the hall with another sigh.  As her heels clicked
on the cold tile floor, she suddenly remembered a line from _The Pirates of Penzance_: "No!  We
merely remind you of the fact and leave the rest to your sense of duty."  She snorted.  How
appropriate.  Her sense of duty was almost as overdeveloped as Frederick's and had done her
almost as much good.  Like him, she was doing what she thought was right, and like him, she was
apart from the one she loved and miserable because of it.  Duty.  Great.
     Trying to force all thoughts of Walt from her mind, Dana pulled the door to Pathology
open.  To her relief the pathologist on duty was Susan Richards, the woman who had been her
mentor when she first began working in Forensics.  She managed a weak smile.  "Morning,
Susan."
     The other doctor looked over the rims of her glasses.  "Your partner's got you going at it
early this morning, doesn't he, Dana?"
     "He's good at that," Dana muttered.
     "Here are the preliminary reports."  Susan's face was impassive as she handed over a
clipboard.
     Dana scanned the papers and pursed her lips to stifle her gasp.  They were just little girls! 
     "Do you want some help on this one?  That's a lot of work for one person."  Susan's tone
was casual, but Dana recognized the concern in the older woman's eyes.
     "No, Susan.  I can do it.  Mulder . . . just didn't warn me."
     Susan's grunt dismissed her partner out of hand.  "I'm out here if you need me."
     "Thanks."
     Dana went to the changing room and sank onto a narrow wooden bench.  Her mind and
emotions were in such a state of turmoil that she didn't know if she would be able to do this. 
Automatically she began to change from her tailored suit to the practical blue scrubs that
abounded in her profession.  She scrubbed up with her usual efficiency and felt a sense of calm
descend on her as she took comfort in the familiar routine.
     By the time she entered Examining Room 4 where the three little sheet-draped bodies
waited for her, her mind was clear.  She turned on the tape recorder suspended above the
examination table, pulled back the first sheet, and began speaking in an emotionless voice.   "The
victim is female, Caucasian, approximately aged 9 . . ."
     Dana worked steadily throughout the morning, searching out each clue, each fact the
corpses before her presented with a reverent thoroughness.  At last she replaced the final sheet
and
turned off the recorder, removing the tape so she could have it transcribed.  She whipped off the
paper cap that covered her hair and plowed into Susan as she left the examination room.
     "Sorry, Susan!  I didn't know you were there."
     "That's OK.  I was just coming to check on you.  I thought maybe you got lost."
     "No.  I was just trying to be thorough."
     Susan smiled.  "You always are.  So.  Is your partner right?"
     Dana sighed.  "Yeah.  Same MO."
     "Damn."
     "That's what I thought.  Here."  Dana tossed the tape to her colleague.  "Will you give this
to the secretary?"
     Susan tapped the cassette against her palm.  "Sure.  Dana?"
     Dana stopped her progress toward the changing room.  "Yes?"
     "Are you sure you're OK?"
     "I'm fine, Susan.  Thanks."
     Susan looked doubtful.  "All right."  She headed back down the hall.
     Dana smiled at her friend's retreating back.  She wasn't OK, but that didn't need to be
public knowledge.  "At least I can still do my job," she muttered.
     As those words registered, she stopped in mid-stride.  She could do her job.  As upset as
she was, she was still able to function professionally.  Though she had never verbalized it, that
had always been one of her fears, that if she were to ever become involved with someone, that
that
involvement would somehow impair her ability to perform her duties.  And suddenly she
recognized that fear for the flimsy excuse it was.
     She loved Walt, but she was really more afraid of what admitting that would do to her
personally than professionally.  She had been self-reliant for so long that the idea of needing
someone as much as she need Walt terrified her.  However, if last night was any indication,
denying the love she felt for him would be worse than giving up some of her accustomed
independence.
     Reaching for her suit, Dana prayed that her bridges weren't too badly burnt.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Conference Room
3:18 pm
     They stood like so many sphinxes, patient and silent.  Some held day planners, some
briefcases, and some relied only on the machinery of their brains to carry out their varied duties. 
They were the arrangers, the tamers, the organizers of chaos into order. They were the assistants,
waiting for the release of their charges to their care.  
     At last the conference room doors opened and its inhabitants spilled out like elementary
school students overrunning a playground at recess.  The assistants stood still, knowing that their
superior would seek them out, much like children searching for their favorite toy or playmate.
     Kimberly smiled a little at the familiar comparison.  If any of the directors or deputy
directors or department heads ever discovered that their assistants thought of them as children,
Kimberly and her clan would quickly find themselves unemployed.  And so they kept that
particular observation very much to themselves.
     "Kimberly, there you are."  Walter Skinner spoke from behind her.
     She turned at the sound of his voice and held out the coffee she had brought as she took in
his haggard appearance.  "That bad?"
     He swallowed the coffee in a single gulp, then groaned.  "When I expire, please be sure
that my death certificate reads  death by meeting'."
     "Poor man," she cooed.  "Maybe this will make you feel better."
     Walt took the paper she offered him with little enthusiasm.  He'd seen so many documents
over the course of the afternoon that words and meanings were all beginning to blur together.  He
unfolded the paper to find a phone message.
     Kimberly watched as his weary expression was replaced with the softest smile she'd ever
seen on him.
     "Has she called back?" he asked, rereading Kimberly's neat handwriting: Agent Scully
called at 1:02 pm.  She will call again.
     "No.  She and Agent Mulder are still investigating a murder scene.  I don't know when
she'll be back."
     "All right."  He refolded the message and put it in his jacket pocket, replacing his
professional mask as he did so.  "Well," he remarked as the upper echelons began returning to the
conference room, "my reprieve is over.  Are you settled in the new office?"
     "Mmm-hmm.  I think you'll like it.  You can see the Mall from your window."
     He paused at that, but his face was unreadable.  "Good.  I should be finished in a couple of
hours."  He turned again to the conference room.
     "I'll be here," she reassured his departing back.  "I always am."

X-Files Division
5:37 pm
     Dana had had a more trying day.  After all, she had gone to medical school and the
Academy.  Surely at least once in those years she had felt more drained than she did right now;
she just couldn't remember exactly when that day had been.
     She rubbed her hands over her face, then reached for the phone and dialed without
thinking.  As the dial tone was replaced with a shrill ringing, she realized that she had already
memorized Walt's new number.  "How junior high," she berated herself, but with no real heat.
     "Assistant Deputy Director Skinner's Office," Kimberly's crisp voice responded.
     "Hello, Kimberly.  This is Agent Scully.  Is Skinner in?"  She couldn't keep the tone of
hope from her words.
     "I'm sorry, Agent Scully.  He left about 45 minutes ago.  After all of the meetings he's
been in today he felt justified in leaving early."
     "I see.  Thanks, Kimberly."  
     She moved to hang up the phone when she heard Kimberly call, "Agent Scully?"
     "Yes, Kimberly?"
     "I know he's very anxious to reschedule your meeting."
     Dana smiled.  "That's nice to know.  Good night, Kimberly."
     "Good night, Agent Scully."
     Replacing the phone in its cradle, Dana glanced at her watch.  If she just made a quick
stop at home, she could be at Walt's in an hour and a half.  She reached for her purse.
     "Coffee's here!" Mulder declared outside the door.
     Dana went to let him in, knowing that her partner couldn't manage the doorknob and two
Styrofoam cups at the same time.  So much for slipping out quickly.
     Mulder nodded his thanks as the door swung open.  "Here you go," he said, handing her a
steaming cup.  "At this time of day it's about the consistency of sludge, but it's better than
nothing."
     She arched her eyebrow at him.  "How appetizing."
     "I also found this."  He pulled a clumsily folded paper from his pocket and tossed it on her
desk.
     "And this is?"
     "The promotions memo," he replied, plopping into his chair with a sigh.
     She unfolded the paper with feigned curiosity.  "Is there anyone interesting on the list?"
     Mulder shrugged.  "Actually, I was more interested by who *wasn't* on the list."
     Dana looked up at him warily.  "Oh?"
     Dropping all pretense of nonchalance, Mulder pinned her with his gaze.  "Why didn't you
accept that promotion, Scully?"
     She winced at his accusatory tone but asked, "Who told you about that?"
     "Tom Colton, last night."
     She gave him a disgusted scowl.  "And you believed that swine?"
     "No!" Mulder yelped.  "But he did get me thinking.  You've been down here for four
years, Scully.  It's about time you moved back up into the sunlight."
     Dana was reticent.
     Mulder silently cursed himself.  He had planned on being more subtle about this, but it
was too late for that now.  "I talked to a friend up in Personnel.  He told me that you were up for
a
promotion and that you had declined, but he didn't tell me what position you had been offered." 
He paused expectantly.
     "Assistant Special Agent in Charge."  Her words hung in the air before falling into the
silence between them.
     "What?"  Mulder came out of his chair.  "You turned down an offer to be ASAC?  What
were you thinking?  You'd be working with the best and brightest that Violent Crimes has to offer
in that position."
     At that Dana's brittle and over-taxed control snapped.  "Then it would be a step down for
me, wouldn't it?" she hissed.
     Mulder gaped in surprised.  "What?"
     She hopped up from her chair and began pacing, a difficult task in the small office.  "I'm
already working with the best and the brightest of VC, though you're not acting much like it at the
moment."
     He blinked stupidly at her.
     "Mulder, has it ever occurred to you that I enjoy working on the X-files with you?  That I
like the challenge that they offer?  I don't want to be an ASAC, not right now.  I'm happy where I
am.  And what I do with my career is my own business, not yours."  A sadistic little voice in her
head pointed out the irony of that argument in light of what she had said to Walt last night, but
she ignored it.
     Mulder was stunned by her unexpected declaration of loyalty, and he clung to the comfort
it offered him.  "You're right.  I'm sorry."
     Dana sighed, wearily collapsing into her chair.  "Don't apologize, Mulder.  I should have
told you.  I just was afraid that you'd take it badly."  She smirked slightly.
     "Imagine that."  Mulder sat back down, too, and pulled gently on his bottom lip. 
Considering how well the discussion of her non-promotion had gone he was reluctant to continue,
but he had to know.  "There is a familiar name on that list."
     "Whose?"
     "Skinner's."
     "Oh."  Dana dropped her chin, hoping her hair would hide the blush she knew was
staining her cheeks.
     "Did you realize that he's no longer in our direct chain of command?"
     "No."
     "That should make things . . . easier."  He hesitated, then asked haltingly, "Why didn't
you tell me?"
     Dana squeezed her eyes shut against the pain in his voice, realizing that she had not been
as careful as she thought.  "Because there's nothing to tell."
     "Even after last night?"
     "Even after last night."  She took a deep breath.  "Are we that obvious?"
     "No," he replied soothingly.  "I'm just really observant."  That remark drew a shaky laugh
from her and he smiled.  "So were you ever going to tell me that you're involved with him?"
     "Oh, Mulder.  We didn't even realize we were involved until this last week.  It's so
complicated."
     "It always is."
     The tension stretched between them, thick and heavy, until he finally asked, "Does he
make you happy?"
     Dana reflected on Walt, his strength, his touch, unaware of the light that suffused her face
as she did so.  "Yes."
     Mulder's heart contracted with the effort, but he replied, "Good.  Then I'm happy for you." 
     She gifted him with a weak smile.  "Thanks."
     After a moment Mulder forced his customary leer onto his face.  "Why are you still here,
Scully?  I'm surprised the two of you came into work at all with the way you were looking at each
other when you were dancing."
     "Mulder."  His name was a warning.
     "You shouldn't keep him waiting too long," he goaded, hiding his loss behind his
sarcasm.  "At his age it can't be good for his heart."
     She flashed him an icy blue glare.  "Mulder."
     "Do you need some inspiration?"  He reached for the drawer where he kept the tapes that
weren't his.
     "That's enough!" Dana barked, grabbing her purse and coat.  "I'm going home.  I'll see
you Monday."  She slammed the door behind her.
     Mulder waited until the sound of her footsteps faded away and the usual crypt-like quiet
settled over his basement sanctuary.  Then he rested his head in his hands and hoped he was really
as good a friend as Maggie Scully thought he was.


Apartment of Dana Scully
6:27 pm
     "Yes, Clyde, I hear you!" Dana called as she extracted her keys from her pocket.  In spite
of her assurances, Clyde continued yapping, proclaiming his delight at Dana's return to the entire
building.  "Wretched little dog," she muttered affectionately, separating her apartment key from
the jumble on her key ring.
     She almost dropped that same key, however, when she heard a familiar masculine voice on
the other side of the door order, "Clyde, come here."
     Dana fumbled with key and lock, at last getting the door open and stepping into her
apartment.  "Walt!"
     Walt put Clyde on the floor and rose from an armchair with a sheepish grin.  "I really
needed to see you," he explained, "and I kept missing you at work.  I knew you'd come here
eventually, so I told your landlord that I was here to check on Clyde again."  At her continued
silence his grin faded and he asked cautiously, "Is that all right?"
     She should have been furious with him.  She should have read him the Riot Act,
emphasizing the passages that addressed personal privacy and the need to be honest with
landlords.  She should have done any number of things.  Instead, she did the only thing she could. 
She went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face against his chest. 
"Yes, it's all right," she breathed.  "I've missed you."
     He pulled her closer, pressing his lips against her temple.  "Dana, I'm not your supervisor
any more."  The statement was unnecessary.  He knew that she was aware of his promotion, but
he was quickly becoming drunk with the smell of her hair and he had to be sure that this was what
she wanted.
     She tightened her hold on him, knowing that he was talking of more than his career.  "It
wouldn't matter even if you were."
     After releasing a relieved sigh, Walt tilted Dana's chin up with his finger and, his eyes
boring into hers, whispered, "It shouldn't have mattered last night."
     Dana accepted the gentle reproach with a small smile.  "I know.  I'm sorry."
     He smiled in return and bent to kiss her forehead.  "I'll forgive you this once."
     "How generous," she remarked wryly, then leaned into him again, letting the rhythm of his
heartbeat soothe her frazzled nerves.
     They stood there, swaying back and forth, until Walt asked, "Are we going to stay like this
all night?"
     Dana's voice was muffled against his shirt.  "Would that be bad?"
     He chuckled, moving his hands to her shoulders and pushing her away slightly.  She
looked up at him, her eyes dancing, and he was almost overwhelmed by the surge of love that
welled up in his soul.  "No, just tiring."
     Her heart began to race when she saw the emotions shimmering in his eyes, and she knew
her eyes were their mirror.  "Good point."  She pulled away from his grasp and backed toward her
bedroom.  "OK, I'll go change out of this suit and you . . ."  She held up a restraining finger when
he moved to follow her, "Can lock the door."  She threw him a teasing wink and was gone.
     Walt sighed.  That wasn't exactly the offer he was hoping for, put the promise was there. 
He quickly did as she asked, and as the lock's tumblers slid into place, his mind filled with
images of the buttons sliding out of place in Dana's bedroom as she removed first her jacket, then
her blouse . . .
     He decided that a distraction was in order.  Spying the TV remote, he picked it up and
tossed himself onto her couch.  He was pleased to discover that the striped furniture
accommodated his full height.  "It must be a sign," he muttered, flipping on the TV.
     Dana hovered just inside the living room, admiring the way Walt's jeans and blue henley
tightened over his legs and shoulders as he settled onto her couch.  Her fingers itched to touch
him, to tear off those clothes and have her way with him, but that wasn't her style.  Instead she
said softly, "Go ahead, Walt.  Make yourself at home."
     He looked up at her words and his breath caught.  She was wearing the same jeans and
oversized denim shirt that she had worn on the day he kissed her in the kitchen, and he vaguely
wondered if Victoria's Secret had ever considered selling that ensemble in its catalogue.  He also
wondered if she would think him less of a gentleman if he jumped off the couch and threw her to
the floor right now, but that wasn't his style.  Instead he asked, "Do you mind?"
     "No."  She circled the couch, then lay down with him, draping herself over his chest like
an exotic afghan.  "Do you?"
     In answer he closed his arms around her, shifting her body until she was laying on him,
pressing completely against him.  She snuggled into him with a sigh and a shiver.
     "Are you cold?" he asked, vigorously rubbing her back.
     "I'm always cold this time of year," she replied, shivering again and slipping her chilly
hands under his shoulders.
     "That's because you're a tiny person.  Here."  He reached above his head and tugged his
leather jacket off the back of the couch, covering her with it.
     Dana experienced the heady rush of being completely surrounded by Walt as he arranged
the coat around her, and she reflected that a little corner of heaven must be reserved for
sensations
like this.  "Thanks."  She pulled her hand from its warm nest long enough to brush her hair from
her eyes, then asked, "What are we watching?"
     "_Xena, Warrior Princess_."
     "Oh, no, we're not."
     "Why not?"
     She craned her head back to stare at him.  "You're kidding, right?  I can't compare with
Lucy Lawless."
     His eyes almost crossed as he looked at her.  "Well, I can't compare with Adrian Paul and
we still watch _Highlander_."
     She flashed her most charming smile.  "That's because I placated you by saying that you'd
be a stunning Immortal."
     "True."  Walt massaged the small of her back, considering.  "What if I placated you by
saying that you'd look stunning in her little leather outfit?"
     Her eyebrow arched to a fine point.  "You'll wear it before I do, Walt."
     He chuckled, the sound vibrating into her chest.  "You're no fun."
     "Come on.  Change the channel.  Please?"
     "All right."  He flipped to a station showing an innocuous documentary on ancient Egypt.
     "Ah, much better.  Thanks for humoring me."
     "I didn't do it because I'm humoring you."
     Tears rushed to Dana's eyes at his tone and she pushed against the couch, bracing herself
above him.
     Walt smiled at the wonder in her clear blue gaze, and he tucked a wayward strand of hair
behind her ear.  "I haven't said it yet, have I?"
     She shook her head.
     "I love you, Dana," he whispered hoarsely, curling his hand around the back of her head. 
"So much."
     "I love you, too, Walt."  Her voice was shaking, but she repeated it tenderly.  "I love you."
     A slight pressure on her neck was all that was needed.  She sank willingly into his kiss,
reveling in the velvet touch of his lips against hers.  
     Their first kisses were almost reverent, tempered by the joy of their newly confessed love,
but they quickly became more heated as both remembered the last time they had been together
like
this on her couch.  Walt's head spun when Dana's lips opened against his, and he learned again
the taste of her mouth.
     In desperate need of air, Dana sat up, letting Walt's jacket slide sensuously from her
shoulders.  She focused on his shirt, quickly releasing the buttons and yanking it from the
waistband of his jeans.  His chest at last exposed to eyes as well as hands, Dana anxiously ran
both over him as she bent to kiss him again.
     Walt let her explorations continue for a long while before he sat up, carrying her with him. 
Ignoring her buttons entirely, he grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.  She
raised her arms helpfully and he freed her hands from the too large cuffs with a swift tug.  He
buried his face in the curve of her neck, discovering that she did indeed smell like her floral
bubble bath, then brushed his mouth over her collarbone and the hollow of her throat.
     Dana gasped as his fingers and lips skimmed over her bare skin and she breathed hotly in
his ear, "Come to bed with me."
     Walt needed no further invitation.  He rose, helping her up after him and stood a moment,
scrutinizing her by the faint glow of the forgotten television.  He grazed his thumb over her
hairline, the curve of her ear, and the line of her jaw with maddening slowness and she shivered,
this time not from the cold.  "You are so beautiful," he murmured, centering his attention on her
bottom lip.
     Echoing his movements, Dana drew her fingers down his throat, his chest, and his
stomach with a phantom caress, noticing how pale her hand was against his skin.  She looked up
at him, appreciation shining in her eyes.  "So are you."  That appreciation was quickly replaced
with something more basic, however, and she began raining kisses over his sternum, pushing his
shirt to the floor.
     With a growl Walt scooped her up into his arms and Dana giggled.  "Oo, how romantic."
     "Romantic, hell," Walt retorted gruffly.  "It's practical.  My legs are longer than yours."
     They were at the bedroom before he finished speaking and he paused at the doorway,
setting her gently on the floor.  Cradling her face between his hands, he placed a chaste kiss on
her
lips.  She turned her head, pressing her lips into the palm of his hand.
     Then she stepped into her bedroom, and he closed the door behind them.

The End
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"And the world discovers as my book ends,
How to make two lovers of friends."
     -- "If I Could Write a Book"

Well, folks, that's it.  There is one more story in the series ("D-Day"), but it's more of an epilogue,
so if you stop reading now you've got all the good stuff.  Thanks for reading, and I'd love to know
what you thought.

Sally

The "Day" Series:
     "Day of Grace"
     "Day at the Office"
     "Day in Court" by Bonnie Drew
     "Day at the Market"
     "Day at the Zoo"
     "Day of the Magi"
     "Day with Tom and Crow"
     "Day in Cyberspace"
     "Day for Shopping" by Bonnie Drew
     "Day at the Cordon Bleu"
     "Day with Mom I"
     "Day with Mom II"
     "Day at the Dance"
     "Day of Reckoning"
     "D-Day" (not yet posted)

"Day at the Reckoning"
Sally Bradstreet
amstone@ix.netcom.com----------------------------------------------------------------------


--