Heart & Another Conversation in the Car by S Clay

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Heart & Another Conversation in the Car by S Clay

From: [email protected] (S Clay) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Story – HEART (A Mulder/Scully Romance) PG 13 Date: Mon, 08 May 95 17:18:21 PST

HEART – A Mulder/Scully romance

Although I am of the school that does NOT wish to see a Mulder/Scully romance on screen, I have just finished reading several wonderful offerings here, (I’m still sticking to my chair,) and couldn’t resist the temptation to offer my own idea.

“HEART” Part 1 is PG 13 (adult themes), in which our heroes finally admit their true feelings for each other, and contains nothing more sexually graphic than a couple of passionate kisses. The conclusion is NC-17.

Comments, critique and flames are welcome! Thanks for your time.

Special Note: It really HAS been three years, X-Files time. The pilot episode action was dated March, 1992. Incredible, isn’t it? I make an assumption, for plot purposes, that the FBI would frown heavily on, and actively discourage, intimate relationships between close colleagues, especially partners. I have no idea if such a policy actually exists.)

The following story is based on characters copyrighted by Ten Thirteen Productions, lovingly borrowed without permission, and without any intent to infringe, annoy or otherwise upset.

—X—

HEART (A Love Story)

The kiss was an accident, mostly.

It was late, the day had been long, the case trying. FBI Special Agent Dana Scully stood bent over the light table in the basement office she shared with her partner, Fox Mulder, and squinted at the slides he had laid out in front of them. Mulder stood beside her, pointing, talking, their heads so close together they were almost touching. He was leaning so close to her she could smell him; that acrid, sour-milky maleness that was making all the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Making her hands tremble. Making her want him so badly she could hardly breathe.

It was not necessarily a new feeling for her when in his close proximity. A romantic entanglement with such a close professional colleague, however, would be messy in the extreme, and was something Dana Scully chose to avoid, regardless of her personal feelings in the matter. Over the three years she had worked with him, Scully had simply learned to control the growing attachment, and desire, she felt for Fox Mulder. She was too smart to lie to herself. But she would acknowledge only to herself her devotion to this man who’s commitment to the truth was absolute to the point of grandeur. This indefatigable spirit. And this in spite of the fact that he often drove her crazy with his bizarre theories and his obssessiveness. Accepting the fact that, as her partner, Mulder was strictly off limits, Scully had simply learned to bury her feelings for him in friendship, and an intense professional loyalty instead. It was as good place as any to put them.

It worked just fine, too, most of the time. And on those occasions, like this night, when she was tired and feeling a little vulnerable, when emotional need and physical desire reared up, she just grabbed them, like always, and shoved them down hard. Out of thought. Out of awareness. Almost. Right up until the moment she turned her head to say something to him, and there he was, his face right there, his mouth right next to hers. Their lips came together almost of their own accord.

As kisses go, it was nothing much. It was soft and lingering, but tender rather than passionate, like a kiss between children. Then Mulder’s lips parted, parting hers, and his tongue was in her mouth, exploring it, questioning. Sweet. She reached for him, touched his face. The room swayed.

Scully jumped back and they gaped at each other. It would have been hard to say which of them was the more surprised. She moved away quickly, her hands raised before her in defense.

“Dana…” Mulder reached out for her.

“Mulder, we don’t want to do this,” she said breathlessly, a little panicked, avoiding his grasp. Mulder nodded.

“Right.”

“It’s late, we’re both tired, it’s been a very long day. We’re not thinking clearly.”

“Right, you’re right.”

She looked at him imploringly. He gave her a flustered smile, and dropped his eyes. Scully turned away, leaned back against the desk behind her, and crossed her arms across her chest. She struggled for control of her galloping emotions: desire, and alarm, and a whopping dose of embarrassment. They definitely could not do this. And anyway, Fox Mulder was a man consumed by his work. Regardless of his attachment to, and even affection for, her as a colleague and friend, Mulder had never given her any reason to believe he would welcome more personal feelings from her. She doubted the complications of a love affair with his partner would interest him. Probably just the opposite; her feelings would most likely drive him away. The kiss had just been a reaction to a long and frustrating day, nothing more. She looked back at him, slowly, and found him watching her. She eyed him warily. He raised an eyebrow.

Fox Mulder held out his hand.

“Come here,” he commanded gently, wondering what she would do. Wondering what he wanted her to do. For three years, now, he had been telling himself she was unattainable, that it would screw up everything, that he did not want her, anyway. Despite that full, pouty mouth that would open ever so slightly while she listened to him, despite those looks she gave him, sometimes, full of wonder and trust, that just took his breath away. It would never work, he knew that, he would be a fool to even entertain such thoughts. And he had been okay with that. Really. Until one sweet little accidental kiss brought three years of carefully constructed defenses tumblin’ down.

Three years of trying not to let her into his heart, knowing what a mess that could be. Three years of keeping a healthy distance, for both their sakes. Three years, until she lay there dying in that Georgetown hospital, and something in him had started to die, too. It was then that he knew that without her, his life, his work, even his search for his sister, were all just hollow excuses for existence. Without her beside him, there was just no reason to go on. Walter Skinner had tried to get him past that, and Mulder would always be touched by his boss’s effort. But Skinner had not understood.

Then Scully had fought her way back to him, and Mulder knew for the first time the meaning of the words “heart’s desire.” Not that he could ever tell her any of that. Not Dana Scully. Unfortunately, the very things he admired in her most, her determination, her vigorous adherence to fact and proof, her tremendous professionalism, prevented him from ever unbending before her, showing her his true feelings. Besides, what would she want with him? She would probably just laugh at him. He had done pretty well, too, until this night when, weary and perplexed by this miserable case, he had let the barrier slip for a moment, and literally hung his heart on his lips.

They could still go back, of course. It had only been a kiss, for god’s sake. Nothing done that could not be undone. He could just give her a brotherly peck on the forehead, and assure her that nothing had changed, that it was all right, just one of those things. That they were just tired, like she said. And let it go.

Like hell.

Scully took his hand, and he drew her to him. Maybe is was just one of those things, but he had to know for sure. She looked up at him, eyes questioning. Slipping his free hand behind her head, Mulder pulled her mouth to his and kissed her again, fully and deeply. And Dana Scully met him, kiss for kiss. When he finally released her, she slipped her hands under the lapels on his jacket and lay her forehead against his chest. He took her by the waist, pulled her close, and pressed his face into her hair. It smelled faintly of strawberries.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” Scully queried tentatively. Mulder nodded.

“I think so, yeah.”

She exhaled sharply. “Shit.”

He laughed.

“Mulder, it’s not funny,” Scully insisted, laughing anyway. “This is not good.”

“I know,” he agreed.

“We’ve been so careful.”

“We have.”

“Damn it, Mulder,” Scully breathed. “We were doing so well.”

“I love you,” he said. It almost sounded like an apology. She nodded against his shirt and sighed.

“Yeah. I love you, too. For ages,” she agreed, her voice catching a little. She smiled up at him. “I think I fell in love with you that first day, when you looked at me with that smart assed expression on your face and asked me if I believed in the existence of extraterrestrials. I didn’t know whether to laugh, or slug you.”

Mulder chuckled. “I was prepared to duck,” he agreed.

“You were horrible,” Scully accused, smiling. Mulder kissed her forehead.

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked her. She looked at him curiously, and he smiled. “You waltzed through that door with your head high and your eyes blazing, and knocked me right on my ear: Hi, I’m Dana Scully, I’m here to help you, and if you don’t like it, tough shit.”

Scully laughed, a little chagrined. “I wasn’t really that bad, was I?”

“You invaded my domain, challenged my sovereignty, contested my beliefs, refused to take any of my bullshit… You were wonderful. I had no idea what to do with you.”

He brushed her hair back off of her face, and tipped her head up to look at him. “I did the only thing I could do. I fell flat on my ass in love with you. I’ve spent the better part of the last three years trying to convince myself otherwise, but that doesn’t change the facts.”

Dana actually blushed.

“I never knew,” she said, her voice touched with wonder. “You were always so, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “You were very sweet, sometimes, and I hoped you cared about me, but… you were always so professional toward me. So correct.”

Mulder made a face at her playfully. “Me! Is this Ms. Government Service Scully speaking? Agent By-the-Book, herself?” He kissed her again, to show he was teasing. “I was afraid to let you see it,” he admitted. “Although I don’t know whether I was more afraid that you’d flatten me, or bust a gut laughing.”

She did not answer him, not in words, anyway. She had to stand on tip toe to do it, but Dana wrapped her arms around his neck, and found his mouth with her own. Fox pressed her back against the desk and she could feel him, now, urgent against her. His tongue filled her mouth, hot and demanding. His body tensed with desire. They kissed for a long time, until she felt the fine threads of her own control snapping. She broke away breathlessly.

“Somebody might come in,” she said.

“It’s after ten,” he replied, his mouth against her forehead. “Nobody’s gonna come in.” Then he released her, and looked down into her eyes. He ran his hand lightly over her hair.

“What do you want to do?”

She did think about it. Dana Scully did not make decisions in half-blind passion. She knew what she wanted. She met his eyes boldly, and touched his mouth with a fingertip.

“Take me home.”

Fox drew a breath slowly, and let it out. Then he smiled, very faintly.

“Get your coat.”

They held hands in the car, but said little. Dana unlocked her door without a word, and lead him inside. He locked the door behind them and took her into his arms, kissing her softly. Then he looked down at her, his eyes full of questions:

“Are you sure?”

She understood. This would change everything, complicate everything. After this, there would be no pretending, no going back. She met the question bravely.

“I love you, Fox Mulder,” she said. “And I want you.” Her voice became husky with emotion. “Make love to me.”

Fox exhaled sharply. Then he let her go, took her hand, and they walked together to the bedroom.

—X—

HEART (Conclusion) (NC 17)

They held hands in the car, but said little. Dana unlocked her door without a word, and lead him inside. Fox locked the door behind them and took her into his arms, kissing her lightly. Then he looked down at her, his eyes full of questions:

“Are you sure?”

She understood. This would change everything, complicate everything. After this, there would be no pretending, no going back. She met the question bravely.

“I love you, Fox Mulder,” she said. “And I want you.” Her voice became husky with emotion. “Make love to me.”

Fox exhaled sharply. Then he let her go, took her hand, and they walked together to the bedroom.

They undressed each other tentatively, at first, until passion overwhelmed them, until three years of unassuaged, barely acknowledged longing suddenly took command, wiping out all other considerations. Holding him away from her, Dana pulled off his tie, and unfastened the buttons of his shirt. She kissed the hollow of his throat as she pushed the shirt open, trailed her lips down his chest. She heard his sharp intake of breath. Then Fox pulled her up, winding his fingers in her hair, and kissed her hard. He pushed her suit jacket down her shoulders, and off; reached behind her and unzipped the dress beneath. Reaching down, he grasped the hem, and pulled the dress up off her, dropping it onto the floor. Her bra was a little satin thing with the clasp in front. The plastic snapped apart in his fingers. He slipped his hands inside it, pushing it away, and freeing her breasts. Holding her against him with his arm around her waist, he bent and took them into his mouth, one at a time, his tongue playing over her nipples. She arched back and moaned.

Fox sought her mouth, again, and thrust his tongue against hers as he slipped his hand inside her panties and his fingers inside her warm, moist interior. He stroked her silky edges, probed her deeply, felt her gasp against his mouth. Dana closed her teeth over his bottom lip, and bit down gently. Then she reached for his belt buckle, unhooked the waistband of his slacks and slid both hands inside, grasping him. He sucked in a breath. She pushed the slacks and boxers off his hips and took him in both her hands.

“God, I want you,” she breathed against his mouth. She backed up against the bed, and pulled him down over her.

Fox knew he was not going to last long; pent desire long denied destroyed any remnant of control. He nearly tore what was left of her clothing off. Then he kicked himself free of slacks and shorts, and, parting her legs with his knee, sank down into her. Her arms and legs wound around him, and she arched up beneath his weight. She met him, thrust for thrust, with an unbridled passion he had always suspected, and never allowed himself to think about. They came almost simultaneously, Dana’s wild cry triggering his own frenzied release. Gasping softly, he fell forward against her, trying, with limited success, to take his weight on his arms. He lifted up, and moved to withdraw. Her legs tightened around him.

“Stay,” she whispered. He looked down at her, awash with sudden tenderness, and kissed her softly. He started to speak, but she touched his lips gently and shook her head, then kissed him back again.

They stayed like that, kissing, touching lightly, rocking softly one body against the other, until she felt him stirring inside her again. Then, with a smile, Dana shifted her weight and rolled atop him, straddling him, riding him gently with her legs and hips. He cupped his hands around her buttocks, following her rhythm with his body. He felt her climbing, and held himself back to wait for her, exulting in the feel of her surrounding him. He saw her shudder and arch backward. Saw her toss her head wildly, her hair a bright cascade around her face. He heard her cry out, felt her pulsating around him, and he let himself go, bursting apart inside her.

This time, they did separate, collapsing side by side on the bed. Fox felt, rather than heard, her soft sob, and reached for her.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry,” he begged her. “Don’t cry.” He pulled her into his arms, and felt her laughing, too. “Shhh. Don’t cry,” he admonished, again, which was silly, because he was crying now, himself. “I love you,” her murmured, rocking her gently, through tears. “God, I love you so much.”

They clung fiercely for a long time. Then, gradually, they relaxed in each other’s arms, whispering ‘I love yous’ as if mouthing some succulent new fruit, kissing like they were sharing the taste. Fox let his mouth caress her forehead, kissed her eyes, her ear.

“This is definitely not by the book, Agent Scully,” he sighed, finally.

Dana giggled. “I suppose that depends on what books you read,” she replied.

He leaned up, looked at her in surprise, then grinned. He stroked her gently, reveling in the softness of her skin.

“So, what are we gonna do, now?” he asked.

Dana gave it some thought.

“We could do it again,” she suggested helpfully. Fox just stared at her a moment, then flopped back against the pillow and burst out laughing. He pulled her against his chest.

“No, we can’t,” he snickered into her hair. “Not yet, anyway…”

But there was a serious side to loving, for them. Although there were no specific written regulations against it, anymore, the Bureau frowned rather heavily on intimate relationships between close colleagues, especially regular partners. It used every legitimate means at it’s disposal to discourage such liaisons. Re-assignment, for instance, was a classic remedy.

“This is going to complicate things, isn’t it,” Dana sighed.

Fox blew out a breath. “Oh, god, yeah. If Skinner finds out he will blow an artery for sure. Never mind what the OPC will do to us.”

“I guess we better not tell them, then.”

He looked at her.

“That may be difficult.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Dana countered seriously. Ever practical Scully. “It’s not like we’re doing anything officially wrong. Anyway, half the rank and file already think we’re sleeping together.”

Fox looked at her incredulously. “They do?”

Dana laughed at him and nodded.

“How do you know these things!” he demanded. It was not the first time she had trotted out this brand of data, and it never ceased to amaze him. She had a real talent for ferreting out the underbelly of life. She just smiled and shrugged. Then she touched his mouth with her fingertips.

“We just have to be careful, that’s all. To keep work professional, and this,” she smiled, “out of the Bureau. I’m sure, by now, the higher ups have stopped paying attention to any rumors that may have drifted up. We just have to be sure we don’t give them a reason to start paying attention.

“I’ve been pretending for three years,” she reminded him. “We’ll just have to keep on doing so, that’s all.”

He nodded, but she could see he was still unhappy.

“If the OPC finds out, they’ll probably separate us, again,” she insisted. “You know that. The Bureau has eased it’s policy on interoffice relationships a lot in the last ten years, but there are limits, even if they don’t admit to them in the regs. This is the great unwritten rule we just broke, you know. ‘Thou shalt not fornicate with thy partner.’ The fact that I love you only makes it worse in their eyes.”

She stroked his chin. “If I have to lose you as a partner to gain you as a lover…” she smiled at him, “well, I won’t say it’s not worth the trade, but I don’t want to lose you, or the X-Files, either. And I don’t think we have to.

“I love you, Fox.” She said the name firmly, possessively, and he smiled, but did not correct her. “I’m not going to give you up.”

That Scully determination. He looked at her in admiration, realizing she was serious, and that they might, in fact, pull this off, if they were careful. If they protected each other. It was a calculated risk, perhaps, but then, was not everything they did? After all, it had been the two of them against everyone else for three years. This was, really, just one more thing. He felt a sudden rush of love for this woman beside him.

“Anyway,” she concluded, “where are you going to find another partner who will put up with you?”

Fox laughed.

“That’s true,” he agreed.

He rolled over onto his side beside her, and ran his hand the length of her body, still wondering at it, seeking the special places, the secrets that brought those smaller pleasures. He slipped his fingers between her legs, and lowered his mouth to her breasts, first one then the other, teasing her nipples and the small, hard tip under his thumb until she writhed and gasped with desire. He trailed his mouth over her belly, learning the contours of her body with his tongue. Then, pressing her legs apart with his hand, he kissed between them, feeling the heat, tasting them both together, him and her, in the wetness there. He put his mouth over her, his tongue dancing. Dana gasped, almost weeping with pleasure as he sucked at the tiny point of her clitoris. Consciousness blurred. She hissed and groaned, her flesh quivering on his thrusting tongue, as he brought her closer and closer to climax. Then she cried out sharply, and came with an explosive exhale of breath.

Fox moved back up beside her, and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll get you for that,” she promised, eyes closed, breathing hard. He laughed in her ear.

“I’m counting on it.” He snuggled down next to her, and wrapped her in his arms.

They dozed, but did not sleep. After a while, Dana stirred and kissed him again. They touched, and kissed, and kissed; soft, wet, languorous kisses. Dana ran her fingers down his body, wrapping her hand around his growing erection, stroking him from base to glans. She felt him, hard and throbbing in her fist, slipped her hand around his balls and squeezed gently.

“Oh, god, Dana,” Fox moaned softly, closing his eyes. “Yes…”

Dana moved her mouth away from his, down his throat, his chest, his belly. He tensed, waiting. Her tongue touched the tip of his cock, circled him, teased, licked him. Then she moved around between his legs, and took him into her mouth. Her hair fell forward, brushing his thighs and stomach in rhythm with her. Sensation overwhelmed him. He moaned deeply and surrendered himself to the waves of pleasure washing over him, until he knew that he must come, and he reached for her to pull her away. Dana grabbed his hands and pinned them against the bed. He came with a hoarse cry, and she swallowed him whole.

She let him go, and fell forward, panting hard, her cheek against his belly.

Oh, god, his mind repeated, oh, god… and he reached down again and pulled her up into his arms. Too stunned to speak, he kissed her instead. She leaned up, brushed a few damp strands off his forehead and looked at him solemnly.

“Stay here with me tonight?”

It was not a good idea. In the first place, it would probably make them late for work in the morning; he had no fresh clothes, here, and her car was still at the Bureau. In the second place, it might be best if they had a little time to think about what this all meant.

But he did not want to think, really, and did not care about good ideas. He put his hand behind her head and pulled her down for another kiss. Then he tucked her back into his arms, and told her, yes, of course he would stay.

They did not even sleep late. In fact, they woke before the alarm. Dana rolled over to find Fox looking down at her. She smiled.

“I was afraid I was going to wake up and find I’d just been dreaming,” she said.

The sight of her there beside him, her hair a soft cloud over his arm and chest, sleepy eyes half lidded in contentment, caught his heart in his throat, and for a moment he could not speak. He took a deep breath.

“I was afraid you were going to wake up and scream,” he replied. She laughed huskily, and closed her eyes. Fox leaned down and kissed the base of her throat, and she stretched luxuriously. Then she reached up for him, and drew his mouth to hers. His body, rested now, responded. Dana looked at him mischievously, and slid beneath him.

“Wanton,” he chuckled.

“Me!”

“Woman, you’re insatiable,” he hissed in her ear as she thrust up against him.

“I’m inspired,” she corrected, wrapping her legs around his hips. He slipped into her gently. They made love tenderly in the morning light, softly, coming finally with quiet gasps. Then they held each other for a long time, until Fox finally sighed, and reminded them both that they had a case to attend to.

“Umm,” Dana protested. But he was not having it.

“I’ll be back to get you in an hour and a half, tops. Remember what you said last night,” he reminded her.

“I know,” she agreed, and rolled away from him. He relented, and nuzzled her ear.

“Care to join me for a shower first?”

She rolled back over and gave him a stern pout.

“If I get into that shower with you, we’ll never get to work this morning,” she told him, and he allowed that this was probably true. She shook her head and sat up abruptly, not even noticing when the sheet fell down around her waist. She stretched.

“My god, you’re beautiful.”

Dana turned and saw him staring at her, his expression rapt. She resisted a momentary urge to cover herself, and let him look. Then she smiled, and leaned over to kiss him.

“Come on, up,” she commanded.

He made the requisite wisecrack, and she laughed, but he sat up anyway, and swung his feet onto the floor.

“Ooooh,” Dana said, suddenly, gazing at his back. She traced her fingers over the criss-cross of scratch marks that ran from his shoulders to the base of his spine.

“You got me, huh?”

“Umm.” She leaned over and kissed his shoulder, then leaned down and kissed him softly on the waist. He inhaled sharply.

“That is not the way to get me out of here,” he warned her. She giggled, but let him go. Fox gazed down at the floor, trying to locate enough clothes to get him back out to his car without getting arrested. He found slacks, shirt, shoes, the rest would have to be recovered later, and pulled them on. By the time he was done, Dana was demurely wrapped in her bathrobe, and she walked with him to the door. He kissed her lightly, and almost got out into the hall. Then she touched his arm, and looked up into his eyes.

“I do love you, Fox Mulder,” she whispered, as if she was afraid that he, upon leaving, would forget.

Fox felt sudden tears threaten, and he pulled her to him, kissing her hard. Then he held her off firmly.

“I’m leaving now,” he insisted.

She smiled through tears, but nodded , “Go,” and pushed him gently out the door.

---

ANOTHER CONVERSATION IN THE CAR

From: [email protected] (S Clay)

Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative

Subject: NEW STORY: Another Conversation In The Car (1/2) PG13

Date: Thu, 21 Sep 95 19:39:34 PST

“Another Conversation in the Car” is rated PG13 for adult themes – nothing graphic.

This vignette follows my Mulder/ Scully romance, “Heart,” which I have reposted, for those of you who would like to read it. “Another Conversation In The Car” is mostly a Walter Skinner “backstory”. I have invented everything, since we have been told nothing about Skinner’s life outside of, or rise within, the Bureau. It is an “alternate universe” from my other Skinner stories, which do not include a Mulder/Scully romantic relationship, however, I do maintain some of the elements I have created previously, specifically, Skinner’s former wife and his daughter.

For those of you who may not know, the first “Conversation in the Car” happened between Mulder and Scully in the 1st season episode, “Tooms.” It was also in “Tooms” that Skinner appeared for the first time.

Comments and critique are welcome, flames humbly accepted.

Fox Mulder, and Assistant Director Walter Skinner are the property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions, used without permission. No copyright infringement intended. All other characters are mine.

—X—

Fox Mulder stared out of the windshield at the drizzle in his headlights, and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel nervously. As he sat, he thought about Dana, sitting at home, waiting for him. He had almost not told her about this “summons,” probably would not have told her if she had not sensed his unease, and wheedled it out of her. He supposed she had always been able to read him so well, but it the weeks since that night in his basement office, since that first sweet kiss, and the aftermath, she had become much bolder in making him share these worries with her. He liked that, actually.

It was turning out to not such a difficult thing, after all, keeping the love affair secret. For one thing, they already had a well established professional relationship to fall back on. There was a particular way they dealt with each other when they were working, and it was both easy and comfortable to slip back into that relationship during the week. There were also a few rules that they imposed, some discussed and agreed upon, some just turning out that way. For instance, they did not spend nights together, during the week. In fact, they rarely spent evenings together during the week, both going back to their own places at the end of the day. It was okay, really; besides the need for discretion, they were both intensely private individuals underneath it all, with a deep need for quiet and space. Actually, the enforced separation, and the necessary secretiveness made their time together even more special.

Travel etiquette they were still working out, the ‘no nights together during work’ rule being hard to stick to when they were safely away from Washington. They still got separate rooms, of course, needed to show two rooms on the expense report, and, at least officially, they stayed in separate rooms. Practically speaking, though, one room usually turned into an off-site office. Adjoining rooms with communicating doors, when they could get them, were a godsend.

And anyway, they were just the X-Files, right? Nobody much paid any attention to them, except to snigger behind their hands. There were certain advantages to being outside the mainstream. The powers-that-be might keep their collective eyes open, but they were looking for other things. And the rank and file really did not give a damn. It was like living two separate lives. A little schizophrenic, maybe, but less of a problem then they might have originally thought.

Mulder looked up in the rear view mirror. Come on , where are you, he fretted. He was not happy with this arrangement, not in the least, especially since the call from this particular quarter had been so unexpected. Headlights shown behind him, finally, and a car rolled to a stop. He killed his own lights. He heard a car door slam, and a moment later his passenger side door opened and Assistant Director Walter Skinner slid onto the seat. Skinner closed the door carefully.

“Agent Mulder.”

“Sir,” Mulder said, wondering what the hell this was all about. For his AD to request a clandestine meeting like this, well, it could not be anything good. Then Skinner reached over and handed Mulder a beer, shocking him completely.

Walter Skinner looked at the younger man beside him. Fox Mulder. Golden Boy of the Bureau. The hot white light, and eternal thorn in the side. Easily the most brilliant, and most unique agent, and man, he had ever encountered; nearly driven rogue by an organization that would never understand his deepest driving principles. Special Agent Fox Mulder was about as near to a Bureau maverick as an agent could get and still remain an agent in the FBI.

Mulder and his X-Files project were a fact of life, however, no matter what the management might think about it. It had been left, to Skinner, therefore, to do damage control, indirectly at first, then, after he had reinstated the X-Files and had it transferred into his immediate reporting structure, directly. Skinner often wondered why this unpopular project had been given to him to shepherd, and in his bitterer moments suspected that it was simply because he was the executive most recently promoted to his position, and therefore, the most expendable. He also suspected that his superiors believed him the one most likely to cooperate with those forces outside his office who sought to control Agent Mulder, exactly because of his newness to the position. His superiors wanted him to cooperate. Walter Skinner was his own man, though, underneath it all, and more to the point, he had a personal desire to see these X-Files cases investigated. It was a desire he did not share with the people he answered to, however, and he continued to walk the fine line between protecting his position and balancing Mulder’s needs to follow his obsession against the Bureau need for conformity and form.

Skinner had, in the process, developed an abiding affection for the stubborn young man, and a deep respect for this spirit who simply would not be denied. In many ways, he thought of Mulder the way he would a brilliant but rebellious younger brother, someone to be protected from himself, guided, disciplined when necessary. But also admired. Wondered at. Cared about. Not that Mulder knew any of that; to him, Skinner was just the boss; an obstacle to his goals, rather than an ally. Fox Mulder had given his AD more than his fair share of headaches with his bizarre theories and unorthodox behavior, but Mulder had always been so outside the box, so outre in his behavior, that no one had expected problems from him with any of the more conventional irregularities. His obsessions would put him far beyond the reach of ordinary temptations. For instance, no one, least of all Walter Skinner, had expected Mulder to do anything so patently human as fall for his partner.

Of course, Skinner knew that Mulder loved Dana Scully, loved her with that wild ferocity that would drive him to risk anything to protect her. If he had had any doubts, Mulder’s behavior during Scully’s abduction and following illness had laid those to rest. Skinner also knew that Scully loved Fox Mulder with a depth of passion that would send her, literally, to the ends of the Earth to rescue him. But Skinner had not expected them to actually consummate that love in any of the more mundane and traditional fashions. Especially now, after all this time. Silly man. He had almost fallen off his chair the day they walked into his office together, the static charge of sexual energy between them potent he could hear the air crackle. Shit, was the only thing he could think. It finally happened, god damn it. Now what am I gonna do?

Skinner opened his beer. So here he was, sitting in the car, in the dark, in the rain, getting ready to have a serious heart to heart talk with this man about the professional and personal risks he ran, sleeping with his partner. Not that he expected them to stop, or even blamed them much. But he did hope he could drive home the need for extreme discretion. He took a deep drag from the can, and nodded to Mulder to open his own.

Mulder eyed his AD warily, and popped the tab on his beer can. What the hell is this all about, he thought, but did not ask. Why have you met me, here, and not in the office? Or even in my apartment, you have come there, before, when you wanted to talk off line. What are we doing here? What do you need to tell me. He sipped the beer, and waited, containing his curiosity because he was too afraid to ask.

“You and Agent Scully have been working together for some time now,” Skinner said obliquely.

Mulder stiffened and nodded. What the hell? “Yes, sir,” he replied, giving nothing.

Skinner looked over, and decided there was no sense in beating around this bush. “Agent Mulder, as long as it does not effect your work, I don’t really care what your personal relationship is with Agent Scully. But others will, so please be discrete. I don’t particularly want to have to go before the OPC in defense of that relationship, and I’m not sure I could win.”

Mulder swallowed hard, his brain whirling. Skinner knew. But how, when they had been so careful? And why, why this conversation here? Skinner knew, he knew! Then, gradually, the shock lifted, and Mulder registered the words. Skinner knew, but he did not care. He was not going to report them to the OPC. Nor was he going to demand that the relationship end, as the price for not telling. He… he might even protect them, defend them, if it ever came down to that, god forbid.

Mulder looked at his AD in astonishment. Skinner cocked an eyebrow at him. Mulder turned back toward the steering wheel, and closed his eyes, fear, relief and wonder making him weak. It was a moment before he could speak. “We… it wasn’t intentional,” he said, finally. “We… we didn’t plan for this to happen.” Even as he said it, he knew it sounded lame. But it was the truth.

Beside him, Skinner smiled, and sipped his beer. “No,” the other man agreed with surprising gentleness. “We never do.”

“I love her,” Mulder insisted, a little belligerently.

Skinner nodded. “I know.”

Mulder turned to look at him. “How did you find out?”

Skinner smiled wryly. It never failed. They loved like they thought they invented it. Hell, he had been the same way. He cocked an eyebrow at the younger man.

“You’re not the first man in this organization to fall in love with a colleague, Agent Mulder,” he replied. Mulder turned, expecting some story about “Agent So-and-So”, but the look on Skinner’s face brought him up short. Unless Mulder missed his guess, and he did not miss very often, the Assistant Director was referring to himself! Mulder’s eyes got round with surprise. Skinner almost laughed out loud, but what had happened to him and Eileen was not funny, and if sharing his own tragedy could make these two take care, it would be worth it. And anyway, for some peculiar reason, he wanted Mulder to know. Skinner leaned back against the seat, and looked out at the rain.

“It was twelve, almost thirteen years ago. Violent Crimes was a brand new section, spun off from the Crime Division to handle serial killings, and other violent crimes of a particularly heinous nature. It was also right about that time that women were coming into the Bureau in full force, demanding and getting assignments in real field work, not just the paper-pushing and liaison stuff. Eileen was one of the first women to be assigned to the front lines. I was her SAC. She was beautiful, brilliant, capable. She was a lot like Scully, actually. Anyway, I fell head over heels in love with her.” Skinner looked down at his beer.

FLASHBACK #1

“Hey, Walt,” Special Agent Douglas Clifford called as he walked into the nearly deserted FBI situation room in the brand new, and astonishingly ugly J. Edgar Hoover building.

Newly promoted Special Agent in Charge Walter S. Skinner looked up from the map table over which he had been leaning, and watched his friend, former partner, and newly designated subordinate approaching him. He winced at the familiarity. Two months ago, it would have been natural, but two months ago Walter had just been Special Agent Skinner; now he was some other creature, whom he had yet to figure out. Skinner was an ambitious man, determined to rise high, and quickly. He did not want to blow this new assignment. On the other hand, Doug Clifford was his friend. And no one had handed him a guidebook on how to deal with this sudden change in status regarding the people with whom he worked.

Special Agent Clifford drew to a stop at Skinner’s side, and handed him a mug of coffee. “Or would you prefer that I call you ‘sir’.”

Skinner looked at his friend quickly, his face flushing with embarrassment until he saw the merry twinkle in Clifford’s eye. Skinner grinned and shook his head. “Damned if I know,” he lamented, taking the much needed coffee from Clifford. “Wasn’t in the orientation literature.”

Clifford grinned. “I think it’s part of the test,” he said, “to see if you can cut it: ‘Can you be hard-assed enough to lord it over your friends without alienating them so badly that nobody gets any work done.’”

Skinner made a face. “Now that’s a comfort,” he sighed. “I’m so glad you explained it all to me…”

Clifford patted his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine,” he said seriously. “You’ve done this before. It’s no different than when you made Corporal. Just relax and follow your instincts. And don’t worry,” Clifford added with a mischievous snort, “it will be ‘sir’ in front of the troops.” Skinner smiled, and Clifford smiled back at him.

Doug Clifford had been around the Federal Bureau of Investigation for a long time. He had joined right out of college, and he had several years on the man upon whose shoulder he now rested his hand. Clifford had no illusions about his own future with the Bureau; he had gone about as far as he had the talent or ambition to go, but this man, Walter S. Skinner, was destined to go much farther. About as far as a man could, without Congressional connections and a political appointment. Already the one of the youngest SACs at 32, Skinner had reached that position in just five years, rocketing through the ranks on talent, ambition, and an amazing ability to play the party line without compromising his personal integrity. Clifford also knew that his friend had his work cut out for him on this assignment.

“Hell, what you do with your old drinking buddies will be a cake walk,” Clifford continued. His eyes traveled toward the door of the situation room. “There’s your real challenge.”

Skinner looked up, and followed Clifford’s gaze. His eyes rested on the young woman who had just walked through the door, mug of coffee in hand. Special Agent Eileen O’Brien looked remarkably alert, considering that it was only 6:30 in the morning. Tall and slender, she was pretty in a fresh scrubbed, girl-next-door sort of way. Dark ash blonde hair cut short, hazel eyes that showed green in certain lights, and a face sprinkled with freckles, she looked more like a school teacher, or a nurse, than a Special Agent in the FBI.

The truth of the matter was, Eileen O’Brien was one of a new breed, a female Special Agent who was actually pulling high risk duty, and not just serving in the usual public relations and agency liaison positions to which women in the Bureau were usually relegated. The trend was not being too well received within the Bureau rank and file, and Skinner knew that his newly assigned subordinate had her work cut out for her. He also knew she knew it, and accepted the challenge. He had no doubts that she would go far.

“Somebody must really want to find out what you’re made of, assigning one of the only four women to qualify as field agents to your team,” Clifford continued, watching O’Brien as she set her cup down on a nearby desk and shucked her topcoat. “It’s tough enough running one of these task forces without that.”

Skinner gave his friend a stern look. “She gets the same chance everyone else does,” he said. “And the same respect.”

Clifford looked at Skinner is sudden surprise at the tone. “No disrespect intended,” he backpedaled quickly. “I only meant that the guys aren’t used to it. Sir.”

Skinner nodded, and looked back at the woman. “They better get used to it, then, ” he replied tersely.

Deep inside himself, Walter Skinner sighed. If only Doug Clifford knew the truth. But then, Clifford probably would not believe it. The truth was, Walter Skinner was more than just very impressed with Special Agent Eileen O’Brien’s credentials and capabilities. He was more than just demanding of respect on her behalf. The truth was, he was half way to falling in love with her, which was damned awkward, since he was her boss, and a married man.

He could still see her as she had walked into his new office six weeks earlier, and smiled at him as he sat in that stark cubby hole behind the ugly steelcase desk.

“Sir. You wanted to see me.”

Deferential, but not in the least intimidated. Sure of herself, sure of her abilities. Somehow, sure of him. They had talked for a long time, first about her credentials, and her assignment, then about more personal things, his family, her goals. There was something about Eileen O’Brien that inspired, if not intimacy, exactly, then confidence. She seemed to understand him in a way so intuitive it took his breath away.

That feeling had only intensified as they had begun to work more and more closely together. Not that they had done anything more than touch fingertips when exchanging paperwork, said more than what was necessary in the course of hunting down this monster who was ransacking Washington’s Foggy Bottom and leaving the mutilated bodies of young women in his wake. They had done nothing out of the ordinary, in fact, yet Walter Skinner found that he could not get her out of his mind. He thought about her all the time, looked forward to each moment that he would spend in her company, found himself hoping that they never solved this case.

O’Brien picked up her coffee cup and walked over to the two men. “Well, gentlemen? Anything new?” And she smiled at Walter in a way that was at once deferential and possessive, and he felt his blood start to pound.

He was a man in trouble. He did not know what to do.

***

“The rules concerning that kind of thing were much stricter, then,” Assistant Director Skinner told the astonished younger man, as Mulder sat and gaped at him. “Excessive fraternization they called it. Grounds for dismissal, if it went too far, or got too messy. I was still married, then, too. It couldn’t have been any worse.

FLASHBACK #2

“Daddy, daddy!”

Walter Skinner grunted softly as a small dark head butted him in the thighs and plump little arms wrapped themselves tightly around his knees. He reached out a hand to keep himself from toppling as his four year old daughter, Heather, threatened his balance. Dropping his briefcase onto the floor, he swung the child high over his head. She cackled happily.

Skinner lowered his daughter in his arms until she rested comfortably at eye level with his face. She was so beautiful, it amazed him sometimes that she was his child. Small, so fair her skin was almost transparent, her little face framed by a head full of black curls, she looked back at him with eyes so dark the pupils could not be seen in them. Arresting, people said. Heather Skinner was the sort of child who made people stop and stare. Walter knew that his wife had been disappointed the little girl had not inherited her own ice blond coloring, but Walter, himself, was secretly thrilled. Heather looked like his own mother, and he had always considered his mother very beautiful.

He brushed the curls off her forehead. He had had curls like that, once, back in the days when he had had hair. Thick, black sausage-like locks that had gotten him nothing but trouble until he had gotten big enough to start lifting weights, and learning to defend himself. Curls he had cursed as a boy, which had begun to disappear on his twenty second birthday, and now were all but gone, leaving only a severely receded hairline that would be totally bald in not too many years to come. The idea did not bother him, particularly, but he knew that it bothered his wife, and made him a little self conscious because of it.

“Were you a good girl today?” he asked the requisite father question. Heather had been waiting for it, her reply carefully rehearsed all afternoon.

“I have been very good,” she replied with a nod, her diction careful, and almost precocious. “Mrs. Delaney said I was the best child in play group. And I did not spill any juice on my shirt today.”

Walter chuckled deep in his throat, and was about to respond, when a voice interrupted him.

“Give daddy a kiss and let him go, sweetheart. He has to get dressed.”

Skinner turned, and looked at the source of the voice. His wife, Catherine, smiled at him from the doorway. The smile was tense, and not especially welcoming. He frowned, confused. He was late, but he was often late these days, this case was consuming most of his waking hours. Then her words registered, and his frown became deeper. Dressed for what?

“Dressed for what?” he asked.

“Oh, Walt, you haven’t forgotten. Senator Meyer’s cocktail party. I told you about it Wednesday, I was able to wangle a last minute invitation out of Marge. This is an extremely important party, everyone will be there. It may be very important to your career. Now, please, go change, you’re late, and we’re going to be late if we don’t leave here in twenty minutes.”

Walter let his daughter slide to the floor as he contemplated his wife. Catherine Lambertsen Skinner was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, was still the most beautiful woman he knew even after seven years of marriage. Tall, Nordic blond, a show-stopper figure, she was the kind of woman who could bring a room to its knees just by entering it. He had met her in college, a young GI just back from the war, and had fallen into immediate infatuation and lust. He had not quite believed it when she had returned the interest. Nor had he been sorry, really, the day she had come to him, and told him she was pregnant; he had been thrilled, in a way, because it meant that she would always be his. And he found that he wanted children. It had nearly broken his heart when the child, a boy, had been born too early, and had died within hours after birth.

“Walter, please.”

“Cathy, I’m sorry, I did forget. I’m very tired…”

“You can’t do this to me, Walter Skinner. Not after everything I had to do to get this invitation. I told you about it – if you did not want to go you should have said something Wednesday. Now, please, go get dressed, we have to leave…”

They had born their grief together, and in some ways, it was the best two years of their life together. Walter had been accepted to the Federal Bureau of Investigation on the basis of excellent grades, and his combat record, and they had moved closer to Washington, to begin a new life. Catherine had become pregnant once more, to the pleasure of both, but once Heather was born, alive, healthy and happy, things began to change. Always interested in the Washington political scene, Catherine had taken to her new setting like a duck to water. Electing to “stay home with the baby,” a luxury they could only just afford on Walter’s salary, she had launched herself into a full fledged career of social climbing – in that most politically influential of cities.

Walter had to admit that the contacts his wife made did make his life a little easier at the Bureau, although he staunchly believed it was mostly hard work that had gotten him where he was, and would get him where he wanted to be. He loved the job, enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment, felt that he was doing something important to protect the lives of people like his wife and his little girl. He saw the job as important in itself. Unfortunately, Catherine seemed to see it only as an entree into the Washington social whirl.

When you make Assistant Director these invitations will be automatic, she said time and again as she hurried him to dress for some function or another, often against his will. He tried to be a good sport about it, he knew how much these things meant to her, but he found himself becoming more and more distressed at the amount of time Heather was spending in day care, and at the amount of money pouring into high fashion, and gifts for people he did not know.

“Walter, are you listening?”

“Cathy, I’m sorry, but I’m really too tired to go out tonight. I’ve been up since 5:00, and this case…”

The case. And Eileen O’Brien. He could envision her standing there at his elbow, discussing some detail in low, gentle tones, asking him if he was okay, he looked tired. Why didn’t they take a break, and get a cup of coffee…

“Dammit Walter, you cannot do this!”

“I don’t want to go out tonight!” Walter shouted, his temper finally snapping. “I’m tired, can’t you get that into your head! Do whatever you want, I’m staying home and going to bed!”

At his knees, Heather burst into terrified tears.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Catherine sobbed, scooping the child into her arms. “You made her cry.”

—X—

“We didn’t plan it,” Skinner said quietly. “We didn’t even want it. It was as if it was out of our hands.”

Mulder snorted, humorlessly. “I know. You deny it, you retreat, and then all of the sudden, it’s right there, and you can’t back away from it anymore.”

FLASHBACK #3

“You know, my mother used to tell me that a problem wouldn’t solve itself, just by staring at it…”

Agent Skinner looked up from the report in front of him, and smiled at the woman who was smiling down at him. It was late, past ten o’clock at least. They must have been the only two people left on that floor. “Well, nothing else seems to be working, I thought I’d give it a try,” he replied, sheepishly. Agent O’Brien’s smile widened a little.

“What are you reading?” she asked, sitting down on the edge of his desk.

“Just the latest police report, again.”

O’Brien shook her head. “I’d think, by now, you’d be able to recite it.”

Skinner snorted. “By now, I just about can.” His gaze fell on the length of stockinged thigh that rested across the corner of his desk, bare inches from his hand. He blew out a breath, and got up abruptly from his chair. “Have you seen the last batch of photos from the morgue?” He crossed to a file cabinet, pulled out a file and handed it to her.

“Yes,” O’Brien replied, reaching for it anyway. “Copies came down with the autopsy report.” Her hand closed over the file, and with it, over his hand, too. For a moment, everything just stopped. They looked at each other, in panic, and in pain, then Walter released the file and turned away quickly. Eileen reached out and put her hand on his arm. He stopped moving away from her, but did not turn back around.

“Dammit, Eileen, I’m not made of stone.”

“I know,” she answered, her voice small. “Neither am I.” She dropped her hand and slid off the corner of the desk, turning her back on him and walking a few strides away. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t plan this. I don’t want to feel way.”

Walter heard the tears in her voice and turned around. “Eileen.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, still facing away. “But I can’t help it, I can’t help what I feel.”

He walked up behind her, touched her lightly on the shoulder. “I know,” he agreed softly. Eileen turned around and looked up at him. “I feel it, too.” Walter touched her face, and she dropped her eyes shyly. “This is not good, you know,” he mused. “I’m your boss. I’m married.”

“Tell my heart that.”

“I’m trying.”

“Tell your own, then.”

Walter snorted. “I tried that, too.”

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” Eileen observed, looking up and finally meeting his eye. “I think I’m in love with you, Walter Skinner. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

Walter just nodded. Then he tipped her face up to his and kissed her, softly first, then deeply, as her arms wound around his neck and her body pressed against him. Her lips parted under the pressure of his, and his tongue was in her mouth, needing, demanding. She clung to him as passion overwhelmed them and his hands slipped under the silk of her blouse…

—X—

“At first everything seemed to be okay,” Skinner told Mulder, swallowing a mouthful of beer. “We were careful. We were discrete. But then we got sloppy. And we got caught…”

FLASHBACK #4

“These rumors disturb us greatly, Agent Skinner. Do you deny them?”

Agent Walter Skinner knew that denial was pointless. They must have proof, or they would never have bothered to call him in. He struggled to think of a way to protect Eileen, knew there was nothing he could do but admit the truth and hope for the best.

“No, sir.”

“You are aware of the Bureau’s policy on excessive fraternization? Especially with a subordinate?”

Skinner just nodded at his Assistant Director.

“And you’re a married man, to boot.” The AD shook his head. “Things bad at home?” The man’s tone was conciliatory, which Skinner found insulting. He said nothing. The AD eyed him for a moment, then shrugged.

“Such direct flaunting of Bureau policy warrants disciplinary action, you are aware of that,” he finally said. Skinner nodded. “You are planning to stay with the Bureau, I take it?” the AD went on. “You are not planning on leaving us, and continuing this little affair?”

It was all Walter could do to keep his temper in the face of his AD’s condescending tone. He knew what the man was thinking, he knew what they all though. Agent Skinner was just enjoying a little on the side, and he got caught at it. More’s the pity, but what the hell. As long as it stopped. Skinner felt sick to his stomach at the thought. But the alternative, to admit what he really felt for Eileen O’Brien, would mean leaving the Bureau. And his wife. And his daughter. He closed his eyes.

“I had not planned to leave the Bureau, sir,” he hedged. He needed time to think, and they were not going to give him any time.

“Good,” the AD nodded. “An official reprimand will be placed in your file for six months. Agent O’Brien, of course, will be transferred. You will not see her again.”

Skinner nodded bleakly. He expected no less. In fact, he was getting off a lot more easily than he anticipated, and much more easily than he deserved. Then he frowned and looked up at the AD.

“Sir, what about the case? We’re ready to close in on this guy, we think we may know where he is…” The AD just looked at him thoughtfully. Skinner pressed his advantage. He would win this little bit for Eileen, at least, she had put too much into this case to lose it now. And it would buy him a little time to think things through. “To transfer Agent O’Brien now would look bad for the Bureau, and might destroy all the work that has gone into this case so far…”

The Assistant Director scowled at him. Then he nodded. “You are correct, Agent Skinner. To transfer Agent O’Brien at this time would create unnecessary speculation, and might well jeopardize the case. She will remain until it is closed. I know you are very close to an answer. I trust you will not, uh, fraternize, while she is still here.”

This last was delivered slyly, but Walter did not care. He had won what little he could win, at that moment, and he planned to quit while he was ahead. If what he was could be considered ‘ahead.’

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Then AD nodded. “That will be all.”

Walter Skinner got up and left. It was still early, but he could not face going back to his office, or to the situation room. He could not face seeing Eileen. She would know, by now, that he had been called in to the AD’s office, and he could not trust himself to face the worry in her eyes. They would call her in, too, probably later that afternoon. He knew he should be there, but the prospect was too daunting. He would go home, and call her later that night.

Catherine was not at home when he walked through his door, and for once he blessed his wife’s obsession with Washington social life. Walter sent to baby-sitter home, poured himself a stiff drink, and dropped into his chair in the den, amid Heather’s toys.

What in god’s name was he going to do? It was all too painful, too impossible. He felt a hand on his knee, and looked down into his daughter’s black eyes.

“Daddy, read to me this story,” Heather demanded with all the imperiousness of a four-year-old. She handed him the book in her hands, and climbed unceremoniously into his lap. Heather settled herself comfortably, and leaned back against his chest. Her warm little body melded against him, and he pressed his face forward into her dark curls; she smelled vaguely of Johnson’s shampoo and sweet, baby sweat.

Oh god, what was he going to do. He could deal with leaving the Bureau, in spite of all his hard work, in spite of his blatant violation of policy. He could even find a way to justify ending his marriage, although his upbringing cried out against it, and the right Reverend Daniel Skinner, his father, would have a fit. But leaving Catherine would mean leaving Heather; he knew his wife well enough to know that she would throw every obstacle to his daughter in his way, out if spite, if nothing else. And how could he go back on his vows, on the promises he had made. Tears welled into his eyes. What was he going to do? How could he think about losing Eileen? To never touch her again, never again feel the softness of her skin under his hands, the curve of her body beneath him. To never have her beside him, understanding, just being there… Walter choked softly.

“Daddy?”

He looked down at his little child. Heather frowned up at him curiously. He took a deep breath.

“Daddy just has a headache, sweetheart,” he sighed, struggling for control. “What’s your book?” Heather nodded sagely, and held it up to him. Skinner chuckled, in spite of himself. “The Large and Growly Bear.”

He settled his daughter back against him again, and opened the cover. “Once upon a time, there was a large and growly bear…”

—X—

Mulder looked over at his boss. He sensed, somehow, that this was not the end of the story. “What happened?” he asked.

Skinner sipped thoughtfully on his beer. Then he took a deep breath. He turned to Mulder briefly, and the other man was startled to see that he AD eyes were wet. “The call came in that night. They’d located our man, the hammer was coming down. My Assistant Director was true to his word, Eileen went out with us. I wasn’t surprised, really, she’d been key on the case from the beginning. To remove her at the last minute would have required explanations that nobody really wanted to give.”

Skinner hesitated. “She was upset. We both were. I don’t know, I guess she was distracted. Anyway, she made a stupid mistake…”

FLASHBACK #5

The call, when it came, found him at home. Cathy was still out, but a neighbor, used to these emergencies, took Heather from him, and he went straight to the stakeout site, a deserted house, on an equally deserted street. Eileen was already there.

“Walt, they called me in…”

“I know,” he said quickly, drawing her to one side. “They called me in, too.”

“They’re going to transfer me…”

“I know…”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he replied hoarsely. “I don’t know, yet. We’ll… we’ll figure something out…”

Eileen just looked at him, and he could see by her eyes that she already knew. Oh, they would talk, and they would cry, but ultimately, they both knew it was over. The pull of his family, his commitment to the Bureau, his whole definition of who he was would not let him leave those things behind to go with her. She knew it. Perhaps she had always known it. Hot tears sprang into her eyes.

“Eileen, I swear,” he begged her, “as soon as this is over, we’ll talk, I promise. We will figure this out. But right now, we have a job to do. We have to put this aside, for now…”

For a moment, he thought she was going to argue with him, and then she took a deep breath, and straighten her shoulders. She nodded at him once, her face a calm mask of efficiency. Of professionalism. In that moment, Walter Skinner would have thrown it all away to go with her. His heart nearly burst with the need to take her into his arms, no matter what anyone said, or thought, about it. He did not, though. He just nodded back at her.

The calm was just a facade. He realized it as soon as they crashed the house. He would have realized it sooner if he had not been so distraught, himself, but it was not until the word came down that backup was in place, until the door of the house came down under the combined weights of the agents bearing down on it, not until they were spreading out into the hallway, that he realized that Eileen O’Brien’s attention, and her heart, were far away from the task at hand.

“Get down!” he shouted as he watched her turning distractedly, trying to get her bearings, a bemused look on her face. She stepped out into the light. “GET DOWN!”

She took six bullets before someone was able to bring the gunman down.

“NOOOOOoooooo….” Walter Skinner would scream that scream in his heart for the rest of his life.

—X—

“I loved that woman like breathing, Mulder. She died in my arms.”

Mulder felt the air go out of his lungs, and his stomach turned to cold stones. For a little while the two men just sat their, in silence.

“Which is why,” Skinner continued finally, quietly, his voice a little husky, “the OPC sticks so stubbornly to this archaic policy. It’s not just the question of professional conduct. It does distract you. It makes you careless. It risks lives.”

Mulder nodded slowly, overcome. This man, who he barely knew, really, had just shared this incredibly intimate pain, for no other reason that to make sure his subordinate did not make the same mistake. And there was no doubt that Skinner’s pain was still fresh, even after all these years. Mulder thought about how he would feel if he lost Dana like that. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Skinner nodded. “The judge gave the son-of-a-bitch who killed her three consecutive life sentences,” he concluded bitterly. “But he never went to the gas chamber. The bastard is still alive.”

Mulder considered what he had just been told. It explained so much. Including why Skinner had given him Cancer Man’s address, back when Dana had been dying in the hospital and that bastard knew why. Which brought him to another thought. “I’m not sure,” he said, tentatively, “that my feelings for Dana are any different, though, just because she shares my bed, now.” It was an honest observation. A genuine sharing. He owed Skinner this. And he needed to talk about it.

“I think you may be right,” Skinner agreed. “Which is why I personally think the whole question of your sexual relationship is really moot. You love this woman, and she loves you. That’s been obvious for a long time. Frankly, I’m surprised you held out for this long.”

Mulder smiled, and Skinner smiled with him. Then he got serious again.

“But I’m not the person you need to convince, Agent Mulder. And I’m not the one who will make the final decisions if it comes before the OPC. So, for God’s sake, man, be careful. On all levels.”

Mulder nodded. Skinner opened the car door.

“Sir?” Mulder said before he could get out. Skinner turned to look at him. “Thank you.”

Skinner hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded. “Good night, Agent Mulder.”

He got out of the car, and slammed the door.

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