TITLE:  The Threefold Charm - Part II

NAME: frogdoggie

E-MAIL: frogdoggie@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

RATING: NC-17. M/SK. M/SK/SC eventually. This story contains SLASH. VERY GRAPHIC CONSENSUAL SEX BETWEEN MEN. SOME M/F SEX TOO. So, if you don’t like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution.

SUMMARY: Mulder, Skinner and Scully's relationship deepens and takes a new turn - with complications . The action in "The Threefold Charm" takes place in April and May of 1999 - several months after "Tripartite" This story is the fifth installment in a series. Obviously you may want to read my previous stories, "Baton Rouge" (winner of the 1998 Spooky Award for Outstanding SK/M Romance), "Discordia Concors", "Embarrass du Choix" and "Tripartite" to understand this narrative. Those stories can be found on my web site at: https://www.squidge.org/3wstop.

FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? I use them to roast weenies, hamburgers and Italian sausages on the grill.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING.: This takes place well into the new season but we have now departed from the events that are occurring in it quite a bit. Mulder and Scully still have the X-Files and Skinner is still their boss at the moment. I mention "Triangle" because that would fit in nicely with the M/SK/SC scenario of this story. So, I've kind of reinvented the mytharc for my slash AU. Sorry if that bothers you - feel free to go elsewhere if it does. I won't mind.

KEYWORDS: story angst slash Skinner Mulder Scully NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, Margaret Scully, Jeffrey Spender, the LGM and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. Dennis Carr and Phil Meyers are mine. If you want to use them fine, but please ask first.

***Author's notes: I've attempted to bring in some of the mytharc elements from Season 6 at this juncture. So, Mulder and Scully are now without the X-Files and Walter Skinner is no longer their boss. But the scenario for why this happened is a bit different. You might say it has a frogdoggie twist. This is before S.R. 819 - which if I had anything to say about it never happened anyway (or had a much different ending!)

The story grew and grew like Topsy. As a result "Charm" is divided it into three sections so it will be more easy to post and put on my web sites. So the entire story consists of Part I, Part II and Part III.

BTW: Author's epilogue at the end. 

One last note: This is dedicated to "The Chatterers". You know who you are. You know what you do. Voodoo. The Hoodoo that most people don't dare do. You have my deepest thanks.

The Threefold Charm - Part II by frogdoggie

Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
And stick musk-roses in they sleek smooth head,
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.

• Titania to Bottom: Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream"

Friday, May 21, 1999 Noon. Crossroads, Maine

When Sharon and I were newlyweds we used to come up to Crossroads quite often during the summer. Those were halcyon days. Sharon and I were good friends. I told myself I was in love with her. I know she was in love with me. We rented a little cottage on land's end not far from this house, Dennis and Phil's house, although they didn't own it then.

The cottage was little more than a bungalow, but it sat practically on the beach. Sharon and I took endless walks on the sand. We would collect particularly beautiful shells or colorful water smoothed rocks to take back to our apartment in DC. We'd fish right off the beach and build a bonfire down there at dinner time to cook our catch over. We drank beer and lay on a blanket staring up at the night sky afterwards. The stars were so bright at lands end. Stars are always bright away from city lights. We could feel the sea breeze and it blew through Sharon's long brown hair.

Our bedroom window faced the ocean. The first time we came up to the cottage I remember making love to Sharon while the ocean waves crashed into the beach below. There had been a storm coming in from the sea. Maybe that long ago storm had been a harbinger of things to come for Sharon and me.

But there was something magical about Crossroads. Something that made me believe...well in those early days of our marriage I still believed I could play it straight. I thought I could continue to be a good husband and lover to Sharon. I failed in both departments eventually. But in those first days, visiting Crossroads, I was convinced I'd found nirvana with the love of a good woman. My previous attraction to men was a phase that was long past, I thought. I was wrong, and our marriage failed because of my delusional thinking. I regret that to this day. Because as I said - Sharon was a good woman, and a good friend. Do you know how good? She's still a friend and she's never mentioned my preferences to anyone, ever.

Later I thought the magic of Crossroads was a fraud or if it had been there at all it was long dead. It died the last time Sharon and I came to Crossroads. We drove up on our wedding anniversary - the anniversary before our separation. By this time we were mostly roommates. We tended to go our own ways, with our own friends and interests. I was deep into my work at the bureau. Sharon had her own career and her arts groups. Our lovemaking was sporadic and unsatisfying for us both. We knew something was wrong but didn't want or know how to discuss it. Ok, not we - *I* didn't want to discuss it. But, we thought the tranquillity of Crossroads might help us to rekindle our marriage or at least get us talking meaningfully to each other. Well we were half right.

We talked at last...and the magic died. It was during this final visit that I told Sharon I was gay. She cried when I explained I couldn't, in good conscious, expect her to remain my wife. She agreed and filed for divorce soon afterwards. Irreconcilable differences. Yeah, you could say I was irreconcilably different. I prefer fucking men. It's a big difference all right...to your wife. But it was my choice, my life and I couldn't lie to Sharon any longer.

Of course I still lied to everyone else including whether I wanted to admit it or not, myself. I kept lying for years. I lied that finding a good man was necessary for me. Sure I'd admitted I liked loving men. But Fucking A! I was damned if I was going to let myself act on it. It was way to risky. It might make me content, fulfilled. Couldn't have that, Walter. I didn't believe, deep down, that any kind of happiness was necessary, or that I was deserving of happiness. So, I hid my preferences from others. Stayed in the closet. Denied myself love or even feelings of desire. I'm good at denial...at hiding my feelings. At covert activities. Was good at those things. Until Baton Rouge. Until Fox Mulder finally got me to admit what I'd been hiding from for all these years.

Now I know that Crossroads is truly magical, even in winter. The last time I came to Crossroads I came here with Fox Mulder, my lover. We were joined by Dana Scully, his lover. A good man, a good woman...and my friends. I thank God every day for making Mulder a brash son of a bitch too. Oh yeah, his brashness ties my guts in knots on the job a lot of the time. But I wouldn't have him any other way. Because if he hadn't been a cocky bastard, hadn't taken the initiative down in Louisiana, I would probably still be alone. I'd still be in the closet. I'd still be the tight-assed bureau bastard. Ok. I'm still a tight-assed bureau bastard. But at least I'm a happy, tight-assed bureau bastard. And Fox likes that nice tight ass. So I was able to admit, to no longer deny my desires, to act on my attraction to other men, and this man in particular. I could admit I was in love, that I deserved some modicum of joy. I realized that a good man in my life was what I had really wanted for years.

And Scully! I'm still relieved that she's back with Fox. I'm also relieved and amazed and yeah, slightly flattered that she's treating me like something approaching a friend now too. We've gotten together a few times - without Mulder. You know, to shoot the shit. Swap Mulder stories. Discuss lover's strategy. It was rather strange at first. Hell, that's a friggin' understatement. Talk about extreme possibilities. If you'd told me that Dana Scully and I would be sitting down over coffee talking like two old friends instead of glowering boss and nervous, verging on quaking subordinate I would have told you to pull the other one. But it's true and it's...well I like it. It's fine by me.

But it wasn't easy getting to that point. There were issues. I had a couple of big ones.

First, I hardly understood how Mulder could keep the relationships separate. But Fox Mulder doesn't do anything in a typically textbook or run of the mill manner. To say he marches to a different drummer isn't even close to the mark. This ability to focus on one or the other of us was no exception. Still - how he was able to give us his undivided energy and attention when he was with one of us floored me. Even when he was half crazy with thinking he was going to lose Scully over that business in the hotel room - make no mistake. When he was with me the world revolved around me. Well maybe a couple of times his mind was preoccupied with Scully...and he wasn't able to...well I won't go into it. Those couple of times involve private matters between us. I respect Fox's privacy. I know he was hurting however. But despite all that I didn't feel like he regretted he was with me and wanted to be off trying to reconcile with Scully. Never.

But Jesus. It's a stretch to understand and accept a polyamory situation. I mean I didn't wake up one morning and say *Gee Walter - why don't you become enamored of someone involved in the practice of carrying on simultaneous relationships with more than one partner?* I'm queer but queers can be conservatives too you know. This would have been the last kind of situation I'd expect to find myself in. Hell - I was a closeted queer for how many years? Conservative doesn't even touch the surface of how uptight I was and - ok still am, in a lot of ways. So, this tripartite treaty idea was not an easy arrangement by any means. But I'm very good at...special arrangements. So, I'm starting to get with the game plan here.

Second? Ok. I didn't want to share my lover with someone else either. I'm as capable of jealousy as the next person after all. But, I don't like to admit to jealousy in this situation. Jealousy is such a...such an unproductive, energy wasting and ultimately dangerous emotion. Giving in to the green eyed monster only let's it jump up later and bite you in the ass. Even though the situation is hard to understand, I'm trying be fair here. Gain balance. Trying to approach tolerance and take into account everyone's feelings here. God, I know that sounds like AD speak. Maybe it is force of job habit talking. But I love Fox. I know he loves me. He's given me so much. And like I said - when I'm with him I'm obviously the center of his world. I want...I want to return some of the joy he's given me. I want to be a good partner for him. And a good partner accommodates his lover's wants and needs too. And Mulder needs Dana Scully as much as he needs oxygen to breath. So, I'm squashing the jealousy as best I can. Keeping the green eyed monster in chains. I'm trying to make share and share alike my motto. It's a challenge. But I'm very good at challenges too.

Scully's views on both these matters were pretty much the same, to be fair. She told me as much during a conversation we had right here in the kitchen of this house. She hasn't been overly hesitant to express her viewpoint since that Christmas night. It has been a help. But still, talking with her about our feelings, about Mulder about...the sharing.

I mean what do you say to the woman who's balling your man? Shit - that sounds like the opening lyrics to a bad Country and Western song. But can you just imagine how difficult conversation was between me and Scully at first? Damn! There we were trying to keep it serious - adult - business-like, while we're exchanging opinions and information on a three way relationship. Sexuality issues. Likes and dislikes. Oh shit - I don't mean we were discussing what Mulder likes in bed, or what I like, or she likes in the sack either. Christ on a crutch. No way. But we were talking about the issues. And we were definitely discussing the object of our mutual affection.

I'll tell you the honest truth here too. We had a bit of amusement at Mulder's expense. A little behind the back Mulder bashing. Scully and I started on the road to familiarity by raking Mulder over the coals a trifle. Hey, he had it coming. He was being a bastard. You know how he can be on occasion? Brat boy personified? Obsessive? Compulsive? You know the drill. So can you blame us? Sounds bitchy you say? I wouldn't go there. Scully wouldn't like it. And you can imagine what I'd say if you called me a bitch? Yeah, smart move. But what the hell. If complaining about Mulder's *idiotsyncrocies* gave Scully and I a common touchpoint, I was willing to swerve a little into *girlfriend mode*. Yeah, but not fucking Nelly. And if you tell anyone I said that I'll have to kill you? Do I make myself clear? Good.

So, Scully and I have been getting to know each other. We're becoming comfortable with each other at last it seems. I don't think she sees me as the surly, aloof boss so much any longer. Oh in the office she respects me as her supervisor of course. But outside the bureau - well maybe I'm more of a confidant now. We've formed a support group a deux. We're both willing to lend a shoulder to lean on when things Mulder get too out of hand. At least I hope that's how I'm reading her. I think so. I am, after all, a good judge of reading people. A good manager is a good judge of character. I have to be. It's going to keep me alive in this business.

And you know, getting to know Dana Scully has been a pleasure. She's a brave, strong, woman with integrity, a great heart, and a hell of an intellect. Good dry sense of humor too. You see it once she trusts you a bit. Well, she'd have to have a slightly bent funny bone to put up with Mulder. She's also hard as nails when it comes to dealing with her partner. Steel fist in a velvet glove. And she's better at working Fox then I am. She knows how to get over on the brat because she's been doing it every day for close to 6 years now. But I'm observant. I'm taking notes. I can learn by example with the best of them.

So, I see Crossroads as magical again. It's magical because it gave me the most beautiful and memorable Christmas I've had in years. It's magical because it brought Mulder and Scully and I closer together. I have faith the magic will bring us closer together still now, during the week or so we'll be here. But last off all, Crossroads is magical because it's a small bubble of light and peace surrounded by the darkness that presses in and threatens us. I thank God for Crossroads and for this time here with friends. I really do.

It's turned out to be a warm day. I can feel the spring sun beating down on the top of my baseball cap. I don't even need a jacket. The work shirt and jeans are comfortable enough. Yes, the sun feels warm and comforting too. God, I did need to relax. Some good honest, physical labor. The sun on my back and congenial company. What the hell more could a man want? He could want a beer I thought as I hammered in another nail.

Just as I thought about that cold brew Dennis interrupted my reverie, "Hey, let's take a lunch break you guys. I seriously need to refuel."

Dennis puts down the saw where he's been cutting the boards for the deck. He brushes sawdust off his jeans.

"You want a beer, WS?" Phil asks, laying down his hammer. He stands up next to me and flexes his back.

"You read my mind," I grin a little, setting my own hammer down on the half completed deck.

Dennis Carr and Phil Meyers. The owners of *Dragons' Roost*, their name for their house on land's end. When they asked me to come up here and help them build this deck off their back door I jumped at the chance. They thought it would be great for Mulder to come up as well. Of course he'd lend an extra pair of hands but they know how deeply we feel for each other. They know how we haven't been able to see much of each other since the reassignments.

Scully was a more interesting issue. I had told them she was Mulder's partner back during the Jana affair at Halloween. After Christmas I explained that Fox was bisexual and that Dana was also his lover. I had gotten Mulder's permission to reveal our arrangement to Dennis and Phil after he had Frohike run a more extensive back ground check on them both. I was pissed at first. I mean, come on. I do have some connections. I'd run them all ready. But Mulder insisted and after I saw just some of what Frohike was capable of doing I was impressed enough to realize Mulder was right to let him lose.

I don't know what I would have done if Dennis and Phil hadn't checked out. These two ex-Marines are my closest friends. They...well they're my only real contacts right now in the gay community. I still don't get out much. Oh, twice a month or so I still go down to Club 219. It's risky but I take the chance. You know, sometimes you just get sick of playing it straight. Dennis and Phil have been my main connection to the lifestyle, though. They're just good guys. They've been very supportive and I would have hated to lose their friendship because I found out they were dirty. At any rate, they're on the up and up according to Frohike's search. I owe the dwarf a beer, or two, or three for doing Mulder and I the favor. You think it's impolite for me to call him *the dwarf*? Would it salve your conscience if I told you Frohike calls me *Dr. Cyclops?* to my face? Ever see that old scifi movie? Mulder ran the video for me. Hey, Frohike's got balls of steel, I'll give him that. Ah, I like the turtle-assed little geek - seriously.

At any rate, when Dennis and Phil found out Scully was Mulder's lover they insisted on her being invited as well. It was only fair they said. Parity in the bedroom or some such line of bullshit. Listen, I know the ropes here. They love a fag hag as Fox would say. Boy are they in for a rude surprise. I'm not going to tell them that Dana Scully is as far from Liz Taylor as Larry Fortensky. Besides, Dennis and Phil are brimming over with quite natural curiosity about a woman agent at the bureau. A crack agent according to my and Mulder's well laid and truthful PR...and an investigator who is a doctor on top of everything else. So, they're dying to talk to her. Well hell, she needs the time off too. I'm glad they're inviting her, whatever the reason. Ok, and I'm glad she's coming as well. It...it will be good to see her too. You don't think I'm sincere? Well, listen - just to make sure she'd be included in the group - I told Dennis and Phil that Scully was an ace with a hammer. Hey, she is, her mother told me as much. There was no way she wasn't going to get an invitation to the *deck party* after that little revelation.

Deck party!? Christ. By the time I got up here Dennis and Phil had all ready poured all the footings, set the upright posts, railing posts and nailed on all the joists. The only thing left to do was construct the actual deck flooring, railings and stairs leading off the structure. Phil laughed when I planted my hands on my hips and asked him what the hell was left for us to do?

"You know how Dennis is, WS," Phil replied, "Once he gets going on a project it's full steam ahead until it's done."

"Yeah, besides," Dennis said, "I thought we all might appreciate a little vacation, right, Walter?"

And he couldn't have been more correct.

All three of us head back inside to the kitchen to make lunch. Dennis ends up at the kitchen counter. My route takes me over to the fridge but Phil heads me off.

"Sit down. Remember WS - you *are* a guest here...at least when you aren't pounding nails."

"Phil, I can get my own beer and sandwich."

"Now, I won't hear it. Dennis. Tell WS to sit down and act like a guest will you?"

"WS, sit down and act like a guest will you?" Dennis repeats in a deadpan voice. Dennis is the short, dark, muscular one of the pair. Kind of a more buff John Byers I guess you could say. He's slightly younger than Phil but the more serious of the two. I have a feeling Scully is going to enjoy his dry wit though. Mulder is going to try to keep up with him in the acerbic humor department. It should be an interesting competition. Dennis is the photographer who has adorned the walls of the house with his many expert and artistic photographs. Right now he busies himself getting some bread out of the bread box.

"Oh shit, I left myself open for that one," Phil shakes his head as he moves me towards one of the kitchen chairs. Phil is short too - but red-headed and more wiry. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to see him as another Scully brother. But his resemblance is closer to someone Mulder and Scully and I knew once. Agent Pendrell. God, what a tragedy. Another needless, senseless death. I'd rather think of Phil as an older Scully relative I guess. Beats dredging up another bad memory.

At any rate, Phil was what they called a tunnel rat over in Nam. One of the unlucky bastards who was small enough to go down into the VC underground bunker complexes on search and destroy missions. Phil is very good with his hands. Months of crawling around in the dark and meeting VC out to cap you made him that way. He can kill a man with nothing but a knife or even a thin strand of wire as a garrote. Nowadays he's turned his talented hands in a much more benign direction. Phil's the potter. His work also decorates *Dragon's Roost* very artistically. So, both men are artists now. They exhibit their work in galleries across the United States.

I have to laugh as Phil maneuvers me until I'm almost successfully seated at the table. It just seems funny that he can shove me around. Of course, Phil's size is deceptive. Besides being able to kill a man with his bare hands, he's also a black belt in karate. Phil is perfectly capable of incapacitating a man my size with very little trouble and in many inventive ways.

I chuckle a little. It's difficult being pampered or treated as a guest. I'm not used to being in that situation unless I'm in a restaurant or at a hotel. It feels odd having friends catering to me, waiting on me. Of course I'm used to calling the shots most of the time. I'm used to being in control and in charge. I think Phil has made it one of his personal missions to get me to forget I hold the reins. To forget I wear my BVDs a size too small. Ok, figuratively. But you know what I mean.

"All right, I'm a guest, I'm a guest," I insist as Phil gives me one last push into the straight-backed kitchen chair. I let him settle me down. I take off my cap, tossing it on the table. Phil is satisfied at last. He makes a graceful turn towards the fridge, to extract my beer and the rest of the sandwich ingredients.

"Ham and Swiss or hard salami and provolone?"

"Ham and Swiss," I reply as he hands me my Becks.

"Den?" he asks his partner.

"Yeah, ham and Swiss sounds good."

"Well I'll dare to be different," Phil adds with a grin as he fishes for the salami and provolone."

"I know we have some lettuce in here," he says more or less to himself, as he roots around inside the fridges maw.

"Lower left bin, Phil," Dennis advises as he cuts slices of the homemade whole wheat bread he made fresh this morning. The breadmaker was a surprise. One of these days I'll have to buy one.

"Onions anyone?" Phil asks.

"No thank you," Dennis and I reply in unison. Phil laughs and nods, agreeing with us.

The shorter man brings out the meats, cheeses and lettuce cradled in his arms. He crosses to the kitchen cabinet and deposits the arm load on the counter next to his lover. I watch him return to the fridge for the mayo and mustard. Those go on the counter as well. Last but not least, out come two more beers for him and Dennis. He crosses to the counter again and places one next to the darker man.

"You want me to help?" Phil asks rubbing Dennis's back. He has a brief smile for the other man.

"Nope. Why don't you go enjoy your beer," Dennis grins as I take another swig of my brew. Phil gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and Dennis grins wider. I look away and toy with my beer.

Dennis and Phil are so easy with each other. The casual display of their love doesn't change out in public either. They hold hands and touch a lot. I know I'm not much for PDA. Public expressions of affection weren't even a habit when I was with Sharon. The idea of showing my love for Mulder in public? Crap. Even if PDA did come easy for me - we can't do it out on the friggin' street. But here in this house, I think maybe I could at least make an effort to give the idea a shot.

But watching Dennis and Phil's easy interaction and obvious devotion to each other makes me suddenly miss Fox intensely. Phil comes over to the table and sits down across from me. I'm still lost in my thoughts and he gives my sweating green beer bottle a slight tap. The clink brings me back to reality.

"He'll be here soon," Phil advises quietly, divining my musings.

"That obvious?" I ask in reply, eyebrow cocking a little.

"You could say that, WS. I'm just sorry Mulder couldn't have come up with you," he replies with a gentle smile as he opens his beer. He places the twisted off cap on the table top next to the one I've placed there.

I sigh a little and take another swig of the beer. Phil drinks some of his and watches me for my answer. After my swallow I oblige him.

"Well we were all coming separately in an attempt to cover our tracks, I guess. Better to be safe than sorry."

"Are things really that bad for the three of you?" he asks, concerned.

"It's none of our business, Phil," Dennis throws back over his shoulder.

I nod a little, "You probably don't want to know. But, yeah...I can tell you we have to be very cautious about this situation. And uh...not just because of bureau politics or regulations."

Phil nods and drinks some more beer. He's more than familiar with the necessity to keep your lip buttoned in certain situations. Phil was in special forces as well. Dennis was infantry and even he knows there are some things you don't tell anyone because it can cost lives.

I add a few comments to soften the moment anyway.

"Besides, Mulder and Scully are into looking like eager beavers for the FBI cause lately - on my advice. It sticks in Mulder's craw and Scully isn't overly happy about it either. But shit, if it will keep them out of Kersh's hot seat for a while and give me some time to maneuver it's worth it. If we play our cards right we may be able to uh...change some things at the bureau to our advantage eventually."

Before it's too late I think with a slight frown creeping across my mouth. Dennis comes over to join us with a plate piled high with sandwiches. He sets in down between us with a flourish.

"These should do for starters," he says, turning to retrieve his beer from the counter. He returns and sits down next to Phil. Phil and I stare at the plate for a moment. Christ. It's enough food for twice the number of guys.

"Well, don't stand on ceremony - we have to get back to work at some point," he laughs at the expression on our faces.

"If we're not bursting or comatose," Phil shakes his head with a smile.

"Hey, the way I'm gonna drive you guys this afternoon - you're gonna need the calories," Dennis replies taking a sandwich in hand.

My frown is a distant memory as I join in the laughter, and taking up a sandwich begin to do my best to fortify myself for the afternoon of work that lies ahead.

xXx

Friday, May 21, 1999 2 PM

The Interstate somewhere between DC and Crossroads, Maine

Crossroads. I'm still ambivalent about this trip. I know I told Mulder I needed the vacation. I do need the time off. Lord, so does he. Both of us are so downtrodden right now. Exhaustion has become an even more typical and familiar bodily state for both of us. But I don't even want to think about that at the moment. If I do, I'm going to feel even worse because Mulder is in Holyoke busting his chops to catch that rapist and I'm...well I'm not sure what I'm doing.

Ostensibly I'm driving up to Crossroads, Maine to help build a deck for my hosts and maybe lie on it afterwards or on the beach under the early spring sun. In reality I'm driving up to Crossroads to spend my time off with three gay men - one of whom is Walter Skinner, my ex-boss and Mulder's other lover. Mother Mary. But Mulder was so eager, so excited about us all getting together. I didn't have the heart to say no. And like I said - I really need to get away and relax. I'm just not so sure this is going to fill the bill in that area.

All right, yes. Walter (and believe me it's still a little difficult for me to call him by his Christian name on occasion), and I are getting along a whole lot better now. Ok, we're getting along more than better. I think...I'm actually starting to believe that Walter is going to be a good friend. A confidant. Someone I can confide in about Mulder. He's becoming my support group and God knows, with Fox Mulder as my partner and lover, I can use some support. But if anyone had told me six months ago that I would be sitting down with Walter S. Skinner and discussing our mutual lover I would have told them to kiss my Smith and Wesson. The suggestion would have been too close to the shit we've been shoveling lately to be anything but a load of crap. Or an X-File. But for me it's been more of a reality check.

Walter and I have been talking quite a lot lately. We've had dinner several times. Met for coffee. At first it wasn't easy to carry on a conversation with him at all. I mean, God. He is, or rather was *The Boss*. Sitting there and trying to talk to him as an equal was like having your teeth filled at first. You know the feeling - your mouth is all numb and full of saliva? When I was first assigned to AD Skinner I was warned to watch out. Other agents painted such a horrendous picture of him by the time Mulder and I had our first meeting with him I was expecting Grendel. Well, I wasn't far from wrong. He was one tough muther as my brother Charles is so found of saying. I tend to think, in hindsight, that he was tough but as fair as he could be under the circumstances. But regardless, I was scared to death of him even though I gave him the respect he was due as our supervisor. Besides, he is a good manager and was a crack field agent too. I checked. Make no bones about it - he was good before he made it to pencil pushing. Still is a consummate professional when he has to go into the field. Baton Rouge was a prime example of his talent there.

But I was nervous talking with him. Besides his being the AD, I also had just a *little* trouble getting over seeing him with my partner in that hotel room. God, I still blush when I think about that incident. Good Lord! Just entertaining the idea that Skinner would be on the receiving end so to speak...Jesus spare me. Well ok, I wasn't totally disgusted by seeing them together. There was something...sensual and really beautiful about two such attractive men expressing their love for each other. But I was shocked to see that private act and also I wasn't quite prepared to think that Fox and Walter...that they really were deeply in love with each other. Seeing the expression on Mulder's face when they were having sex that night left no doubt he was devoted to Walter. I mean for heaven's sake...I've looked into his face enough while we're making love to know that look. What am I saying? I've had that look on my own face. At any rate, it didn't leave any doubt in my mind.

And the thought frightened me. The idea of abandonment reared its ugly head. I do love Mulder. I need him in so many ways. It's almost a weakness and sometimes I deplore that need. But it's unreasonable of me to feel that way. Why should I deny myself love and happiness with this man? I know he loves me beyond life itself. I'd have to say the feeling is mutual. So, losing him to anyone would hurt. It angered me. The depth of my jealousy terrified me.

Also, the fact that they didn't have more restraint and as a result I was privy to their lovemaking really corked me. I mean come on guys - didn't you realize I might panic if I heard Mulder moaning in there? Spender could have given him a concussion after all. I was so angry also when Mulder turned my justifiable complaints around on me afterwards. I could have shot him again. The jealousy fueled my anger as well. I needed to distance myself from them both. At the time I didn't even know if I could be with Mulder any more at all. I wasn't sure if I could handle the implications of everything he wanted with the three way relationship. Sharing him was a concept I wasn't sure I was capable of handling. So, I told him I needed to stay out of his bed for a while to gain some equilibrium. I just needed to catch my breath and stop my head from spinning.

Eventually we did reconcile. I agreed to give the share and share alike thing with Walter a try. If Mulder hadn't made a mature effort in that direction I have to confess I might have just let it all go. After I took time to consider the situation I concluded as painful as it would have been to lose him...I wanted him to be happy. If being happy meant a life with Skinner than fine. He could go with the AD. But as it turned out Walter's efforts to broker a peace treaty helped me to realize maybe the situation could work out. I have to say he surprised me with the depth of his desire to see Fox happy as well - regardless of which partner he chose. He was willing to walk away and let Fox and I have each other. I could see it would practically kill him too, and it touched me to hear him make the offer. I never...well I never saw Walter Skinner as a real person before I suppose. I certainly never saw him as gay, and I never thought about him being a loving partner for my partner. But you know...he is, and he's good for Mulder. I can see that Mulder is good for him too.

Since Walter has been with Mulder I've noticed a softening there. Surly Skinner is being tempered by love I guess. He smiles more. Laughs. Oh, not at the office mind you. He does have a reputation as a hard nose to maintain there. But outside the bureau he's not as concerned with being a bastard any longer. No, Walter isn't nearly as closed off and choleric any more at all. I think he's found some joy in his life now. I have to admit it's a pleasant thing to see. I'm more comfortable around him. I sense he's more comfortable around me. Still...

Spending a little over a week with him and his two friends after I have to tell him Mulder is not coming up until later - or may not be coming at all - is not going to be a marvelous situation. Walter is going to be devastated I'm sure. Oh, he'll try not to show it, but I know he's going to revert to bastard mode. I would. I mean he's really been looking forward to this time with Mulder. He orchestrated the whole trip after all. The reassignment, separation, Spender and all the other pain in the neck bureau business have made a vacation something Walter desperately needs as well. And Lord knows we all need a moments peace from the dark tide that threatens to close in over our heads.

So, being the bearer of bad tidings under these circumstances, is not my cup of tea. And picking up pieces of *Shattered Surly Skinner* isn't my cup of tea either.

So, right now I'm sitting in a rest stop somewhere near Hadley, Maine, the car windows rolled down, my cell phone on the seat, and indecision preying on my mind. I'm trying to decide if I should let Walter know now, before I arrive, about the Mulder situation or wait until I get there to give him the bad news.

One part of my mind says - why ruin his whole day by telling him now? I might as well just continue driving and tell him the whole unfortunate series of events when I finally see him face to face. God. I feel so sorry for him. I miss Mulder so much myself it's almost painful. I hate to think what this is going to do to Skinner.

The other part of my mind is cringing...face to face? Are you insane, Dana Scully? Telling a lonely, stressed out and probably horny Walter S. Skinner that his equally lonely, stressed out, and equally as horny, man isn't going to make it to their vacation rendezvous is tantamount to suicide. Are you crazy? Pick up that cell phone and dial, woman! Dial now!

I sigh. What the heck should I do? I know! I'll get a Diet Coke and visit the ladies room. The fresh air and leg stretch will help to get my mind more in gear I hope. I nod, grabbing my purse. Exiting my car I head towards the McDonalds that makes up part of the service area complex.

xXx

Friday, May 21, 1999 2:45 PM Crossroads, Maine.

"Ok, steady it. Great. OK. Hang on."

Phil is helping me to place another long board on the deck. We get it spaced with the board next to it and each of us prepares to nail it to the joists below. Dennis has finished cutting all the boards for the deck flooring at this point. He's started on the boards that will be used to construct the stairs now.

Just as I'm about ready to pick up the hammer again, my cell phone beeps. I've got it in the pocket of my jeans. Force of habit of course. I pull it out and flip up the top hoping as I do so that this isn't the God damn bureau calling to ruin my day...or my week. Dennis cuts the saw off and Phil stops pounding his nails as I place the phone to my mouth and ear.

"Skinner," I bark.

"Sir, it's Scully."

All the blood rushes to my head in one mighty tidal wave. My guts spasm. Something must have happened to Fox I think in panic. The expression on my face must show my fear before I can get it under control because both Dennis and Phil are standing by my side in seconds.

"What's wrong!?" I manage to croak into the phone.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, Walter. Mulder's fine. I didn't mean for this to frighten you," she lets out in a rush. Well shit on a shingle. It's my own fault my blood pressure went off the scale. I jumped to a conclusion that was natural though, I suppose. After all, in the six years I've known them both a cell phone call from Scully usually meant Mulder was in the fucking hospital, or missing, or missing and presumed dead. God. I let my breathe out in a hiss.

"It's ok. Force of habit I guess," I hasten to reassure her as I master control of my body and mind.

"Still I should have used my head and not made it sound like a damn business call. I'm sorry, Walter. Really."

Dennis motions with his head, asking to know what's going on.

"Can you hang on for a second?" I ask Scully.

"Sure."

I turn to them both.

"Is something wrong with Fox or Dana?" Phil asks, his brow furrowed in worry.

""No, sounds like something minor. Maybe they're just going to be late. I'll find out," I add, going back to the phone.

"I'm sorry, Dennis and Phil were concerned."

"Oh. Well Fox is fine. Really. Uh, but I do have some unpleasant news."

Oh crap. She can't make it I think. What a fucking drag.

"What's up?" I ask, the sympathy at her situation coming out in my voice.

"Well I don't know any other way to tell you this Walter," she begins.

"Oh, well, it's ok..." I begin to interrupt her.

"Fox isn't coming," she breaks in, her voice quiet but deadly serious.

"What?"

"Fox is going to be delayed. I...I'm not sure how long. Kersh called him into his office early this morning and assigned him to a VCS rape case in Holyoke Massachusetts. He's gone up there to do the profile."

"VCS profile? Where the hell was Gallago?"

"Agent Gallago is in Clearwater, Florida on the Madsen case. Mulder was the only available man for the job. Walter, the rapist was escalating. It...it was a legitimate case."

I sigh deeply and run my hand over my brow. I bring it back down, then up under my glasses to rub the bridge of my nose. Of course Mulder would have been the best man for the job. I can't fault Kersh there. In a situation like Holyoke he has to allocate his best resources. Shit. I've done the same thing to Mulder myself. But Christ all mighty, why now? I feel like flying up to Holyoke, finding the perp and wringing his neck myself. But instead, my heart and mind heavy, I reply to Dana Scully.

"Yes. Kersh was right. Mulder had to be assigned to Burton. So, he's in Holyoke now?"

"Yes. He did call me briefly to let me know he'd arrived safely. He didn't have time to make any other calls," she adds gently.

"I understand. Well, this..."

"Stinks. I know Walter. I'm sorry."

"I appreciate that Scully. But look - you're still coming aren't you?" I inquire hopefully.

"As a matter of fact I'm sitting at a rest stop near a town called Hadley right now," I can hear a little smile in her voice.

I suddenly realize that it really will be good to see her. And with Fox not coming up right away I think that idea of a support a deux is going to come in handy once she gets here.

"Oh, well, that's...that's great. Uh, you're a little over two hours away. Should put you up here right around 5 PM. Dinner time."

"Ok. I'll see you then."

"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for calling ahead. I'm...I'm rather glad you didn't hit me with this just before dinner."

She chuckles a little and I think I can hear the relief in the sound. Well yeah. I can imagine what must have been going through her mind over having to give me this news. Christ on a crutch.

"Speaking of dinner. Can I stop on the way and pick up anything? Wine?"

"No, no. We have dinner under control, including the wine. Hope you like New England clam chowder."

Dinner is going to be chowder, a huge Ceasar salad, more fresh homemade bread and wine.

"Adore it."

"Good deal. Ok, so...we'll see you around 5 then."

"All right. Take care. And Walter, really...I am sorry."

"No problem. Safe trip."

"Thanks."

She hangs up and I close the phone with a dejected flip of my hand.

xXx

Friday, May 21, 1999, 5 PM, Dragon's Roost.

As I'm driving up the approach road I realize just how different the house looks from the way it did in winter. At first I wasn't sure I had the right address. But no, it's the same house. I recognize that window to the master bedroom now. I should. I threw caution and snowballs to the wind when I hit it trying to wake Mulder up that winter morning.

Besides the window I also spot the large ceramic dragon that forms the mailbox pole and top piece that Walter told me about. It's outrageously fantastic - quite ornate and very cleverly done. *Dragon's Roost* my hosts call the house overlooking the sea. I'll have to ask them why they named it *Dragon's Roost* when I have a chance.

I'm still nervous about confronting Walter. Well not confronting. I was all ready confrontational enough during my call to him. I blew that one on the phone. God, I can't believe how thoughtless I was there. But I just fell into FBI mode when I made the call. It was my way of coping with giving him the bad news. I made it sound like a call from the field. I heard the terror in Walter's voice though. I was so sorry.

He sounded more normal by the time the call was over. Understanding. But AD Skinner is a master at controlling his emotions. He can be dying inside and you'll never know it. I just hope that's not what's going on now. I really do. It's going to make this hard on us both. I'd rather have him go ballistic then cold and uncommunicative. Well, there's no sense in worrying about it now. I'm here and I'll just have to wait and see what happens. To survey the lay of the land before I know how to approach the case here.

I pull my car up into the driveway in back of what must be Walter's rental SUV. There are two more cars in the garage. Someone left the two and half car garage doors open. Ah, I see why - there's a long electrical extension cord running from the garage around to the back of the house. Oh yes, the deck project. Well, that could be a welcome diversion, not to mention rather enjoyable. I used to help Ahab with his carpentry projects when I was in high school. For some reason neither Bill or Charlie was as interested in his woodworking. But I was fascinated by building things. So, he was more than happy to show me how to be a good carpenter. The knowledge has come in handy a couple of times since he passed away when Mom needed help around the house in an emergency.

I brake and cut the ignition. Ok. This is it. Into the line of fire I tell myself as I get out of the car. I'll get my luggage after I've gone to the door and knocked on it. I walk up onto the porch recalling a cold dusk in December when I stood out here and used the door knocker to herald my arrival back into Fox Mulder's life, and more fully into Walter Skinner's life as well.

Four hard knocks and the door swings open. My breath catches in my throat for a moment. In the shadows inside the entry area, a man barely taller then me, stands there holding the door open. For a split second he looks all the world like Brian Pendrell. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I remember poor Agent Pendrell dying on the floor of that bar.

"Dana Scully?" the red-haired man asks with a smile?

"I'm sorry," I blink and smile back, "Yes, you are?"

"Phil. Phil Meyers. Come on in. Welcome to *Dragon's Roost," he replies practically vibrating with pleasure. He clasps my outstretched hand and pumps it, pulling me inside at the same time.

"Den! Den! Dana's here!" he shouts towards the kitchen area, "you don't mind that I call you Dana do you?" he adds, shutting the door behind us. He frowns at himself and turns on the front porch light.

"Sorry. I should have turned that on earlier," he apologizes.

"No, no, that's fine. The light and Dana both I mean," I laugh getting caught up in his bonhomie. Now that we're under the light spilling out from the living room I can see he's a good deal older, than Pendrell would have been, with some gray in his flame red hair. But nevertheless the resemblance is quite strong. He has little laugh crinkles at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. Just like Pendrell often had. For some reason I like him almost immediately. Maybe because he reminds me a little of Charlie as well. Although he's about two feet shorter than my baby brother.

A second, slightly taller and rather swarthy man comes forward from the back of the house.

"Ah. Ms. Scully, you're just in time for dinner. Welcome. I'm Dennis Carr."

"It's Dana, Dennis," I reply, moving to extend my hand.

I can smell the delicious and tantalizing odor of clam chowder wafting out towards us from the kitchen. My stomach takes that moment to growl mightily and I know I'm reddening in embarrassment.

"Sounds like almost too late," Dennis laughs. He comes close and extends a hand as well. I shake it. His handshake is firm, warm and his smile is just as warm and genuine.

"Can we help you with your luggage?" he asks glancing around.

"Oh, it's in the car. Sure, I'd appreciate it. Uh...where's Walter?" I ask suddenly realizing he's missing from our little greeting scene here.

Phil shuffles his feet a little and replies, "Why don't I go get the luggage. I'll be right back."

Dennis shakes his head ruefully as Phil opens the door and heads out onto the porch.

"He'll be back in a second. He doesn't have your keys does he?" Dennis grins a little at me. He's dead on. The other man comes back a few seconds later, a sheepish look on his face.

"Forgot to get your keys."

Boy does he remind me of Brian Pendrell. I extend my keys towards him quickly and he takes them gratefully.

"Thanks very much, Phil," I call after his retreating back.

"No problem," he calls back.

I turn to Dennis a little worried now. Where the devil is Skinner?

"Now, where's Walter?"

"Oh, he's ok, Dana. At least I think he'll be ok. We knocked off work on the deck about an hour ago. But he was pretty restless after your phone call. I suggested he take a walk before we ate dinner."

"And before I arrived?"

He smiles knowingly. I can see Dennis reads Walter Skinner rather well. Hmmm. I like this guy too. He's got deep, brown, almost black eyes that are both wise and kind. I can tell why Walter considers him a good friend.

"Ah, yes. They do say the Irish are perceptive don't they?" he smiles at me showing his perfect white teeth.

"We have our moments," I nod in acknowledgment with a small answering smile.

"Walter's down on the beach. I think I noticed he'd stopped walking a short time ago. I believe you'll find him sitting on the first bluff as you hit the beach. Why don't you go down there and tell him you're here. Phil and I can get your luggage into the guest room. Dinner isn't quite ready yet anyway."

"Ok, thanks Dennis. I appreciate it."

"My pleasure Dana. And Dana..."

"Yes?" I reply as I'm walking towards the kitchen and the back door.

"Watch your step, the deck isn't anywhere near completion."

I nod my thanks. Watch your step? Did I sense a double meaning in his words? I turn and make my way to find out.

xXx

Sand and sea. Tide. Something is calming about the sound of the tide coming in from the sea. A tide on a spring night can slip on in and lap gently, making a swooshing, sliding noise against the sand. It's a sound that lulls the heart and the mind in a most pleasing way.

I walked for close to an hour, trying to let the sounds of the sea tide sweep over the sand and enter my body to still my mind. After an hour I felt somewhat more settled and I decided to sit and watch the darkening waves until Dennis or Phil called me in for dinner. It occurred to me that Scully would be arriving soon. I thought vaguely that I should go back to the house and greet her. But I couldn't bring myself to get up off the dune I was sitting on. All I could think about as the minutes ticked by, was Fox Mulder, how much I loved him, and how sorry I was that he wasn't going to be here with us tonight.

God, Skinner you've got it bad I thought. Well fuck it - so what. After 30 odd years of denying myself any semblance of satisfaction with someone who obviously cares for me as much as I care for him (not to mention sexual ecstasy the likes of which my most fevered mind would never have even dreamed of much less imagined), I'm entitled to lose my head a little aren't I? I want to howl at the moon for Christ sake. *Hey world, Walter Sergei Skinner finally got lucky in love. Kiss my tight ass you fuckers. I'm happy at last.* So, don't criticize me for aching because I miss him. Don't you ever.

These musings grind through my mind while I feel the sea breeze ruffle through what little hair I have left. I sniff the salt tang that the wind brings along with it. It's refreshing, and it clears my head at last. I almost think I can go back to the house and face dinner, Dennis, Phil and ultimately, Dana Scully. Just as I contemplate getting off my ass, someone clears their throat behind me. If I hadn't recognized the sound of that small noise having heard it so many times before I might have pulled out my Glock. But I didn't even jump.

"Walter?"

"Scully," I reply rising at last and turning to look at the petite red head standing in back of me on the border of where the grass meets the sand.

"Dennis said you were out here," she offers quietly. I can see her obvious nervousness. She must still think I'm going to roar and then bite her head off. Well, to be fair there is precedent. Kill the messenger used to be a motto of mine.

"Yeah, I was...I was getting some fresh air."

"It's beautiful out here," she whispers looking out over the waves and then up at the stars.

For a brief moment, looking at her, a flush moves through my body. She's an exquisite woman I realize gazing at her as she looks up. I can see why Mulder is attracted to her plays across the back of my mind. As quick as the thought surfaces however it submerges again. It's my turn to cough, bringing her focus away from the heavens and down to my little plot of earth again.

"It's good to see you, Scully," I reply straightening up a little further. I don't want her to think I was sitting out here wallowing in self pity even though I was soaking in it, "yeah, it is great out here, uh...some view," I add. Shit that was lame.

"It's good to see you too, Walter," she replies with a half smile.

We stand looking everywhere but at each other for several heartbeats. Well Christ. This is asinine...

"Look, Scully...I'll be all right. I'm sorry. Walking, and then sitting out here has helped me to get used to this unfortunate turn of events. I'm a big boy - I'll adjust.

This type of thing used to happen between Sharon and I when we were married after all. She was able to cope. I'm sure I will," I nod at her with terse matter-of-fact finality.

Oh sure Sharon and I coped. She missed me and was stoic about our many separations when I was a field agent. I missed her but I was more than a little glad not to be there to confront the fact that we were growing farther apart then even the miles duty forced upon me. But I never missed her as much as this. As much as I'm missing Fox Mulder. God, I feel like a black hole has re-opened inside, and it's doing it's best to suck what little light may still be left in my soul right over the blue event horizon and into the dark collapsing star at it's core.

"Nice speech, sir," Scully breaks into my angst filled musings.

"What?"

"I said that was a very pretty speech Mr. Skinner. I bet you say that to all the agents."

"What the hell was wrong with what I said?" I bristle a bit at her. Oh yeah right. I should have taken into account that she'd recognize prime AD Speak when she heard it. Balls.

"Nothing, if I was just one of your agents and we were in the office. But...I rather thought we were beyond that now, Walter. I thought I wasn't just *one of the agents* any more. We...well...I guess I'm just trying to say if you consider me a friend you don't have to uh...bullshit me like that any longer," she adds the last bit with a wrinkling of her face like she thinks maybe she went to far and pushed my anger button. In reality, she's switched it off. I'm kind of amused and ok, yeah, chastised successfully all right. God yeah, we're beyond that crap now. Way beyond, it seems. I'm flattered and deep down - very thankful.

"Are you calling me a bullshitter Agent Scully?" I growl.

"No! Uh..." she stutters looking down at her toes.

I laugh and her head snaps up. She starts to smile tentatively.

"Gottcha," I chuckle and then her whole body relaxes. Mine does as well. In fact I sag into myself a bit. It's too much holding myself up sometimes. Christ on a crutch I'd just like to let it all go one of these days. Jesus. Maybe I should think about fucking early retirement.

Scully draws over and takes my hand in hers for a moment. I stop thinking to look down at her. You know, she has really clear blue eyes.

"I'm serious about being a friend, Walter. I mean you, and I, and Mulder. Maybe we're all we have in this thing - in whatever's coming. Oh, Lord - that sounds so three Musketeerish...." she tries to take her hand from mine but I hold it tight.

I grin a little, "But damn straight up, Scully. I know you're sincere. I appreciate it too. I know what you've said comes from the heart."

She nods and plunges on.

"Look., Walter. I know you're missing Mulder like hell. I'm going to miss him too. So...we're both stuck, and ...and you don't have to hold it all in, sir. I may be short, but my shoulders are fairly wide."

I bark a quick laugh because standing this close I can't help but notice how much taller I am. But yeah, she's got wide shoulders. And a backbone of steel too.

"Scully, it's Walter. We've all ready agreed that friends don't call each other sir and agent, right?" I reply in a soft voice.

She smiles up at me. Her face is much more serene and she drops my hand.

Suddenly her stomach growls loudly and she blushes in embarrassment.

"God, where are my manners?" I ask with chagrin, "You must be starving."

"Gee, how could you tell?" she giggles.

It took Scully a long time to giggle in front of me. It took me a while to get used to her doing it. But now I have to admit it's kind of...sort of fun to see her do it.

Just as she replies and I have my idle thought, we hear Phil yelling from the half finished deck.

"COME AND GET IT YOU TWO! SOUPS ON!"

I stretch out my arm.

"Madame?" I ask raising an eyebrow down at Scully.

"Monsieur," she smiles taking my arm in hers.

We climb back off the dunes and towards very welcome bowls of hot New England clam chowder.

xXx

I have a confession to make - I'm not overly worldly wise. Wait. That didn't quite come out right. Sounds facile too in view of what Mulder and I do for a living doesn't it? Surprising in my line of work you might say. But it's not far off really. There are just some arcane, some isolated areas in life I'm not totally in the know on. Fashions (ok, maybe petite sizes). Dating - even pre-Mulder. Where to go on my next vacation. All kinds of mundane life stuff. Gee I wonder why?

But being an FBI agent and a forensic pathologist have taught me a lot of useful lessons. Some good ones. And some not very good ones at all. The job exposes you to the worst lessons in life I suppose. The really bad lessons like the ones on death in it's many violent, horrible forms - and decay as well. No, as an agent and pathologist you certainly don't run into some of the finer things - or finer people for that matter. Fine people like Dennis and Phil, and Walter too. Fine gay men in particular I should say.

Look, I haven't had that much experience with the gay lifestyle. Certainly I'd had some before I became an adult. But not much. Ahab's career left little possibility for us to be exposed to diversity of any kind really. In the Navy life we didn't even see many African Americans, Asians or Hispanics when I was young. Good grief, we didn't see very many women in the regular Navy - oh there were the WAVES of course - but it wasn't like it is now. Gay men although I'm sure they were there, certainly didn't proclaim their preferences to the military world. Far from it. Gays went to great lengths to hide their love. It must have been hell for them. Still is I guess, even with *don't ask, don't tell*.

After I became Mulder's lover and he confessed his bisexuality to me, we started to go out to the gay clubs. Of course we went to the straight clubs too. I don't know though - I kind of enjoy the gay dance clubs more. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that ok, I'm a fool for dancing. The music and dancing is always good in the gay clubs. The ambiance. I love to dance. I'm a dancing fool my grandfather Scully would have said. Mulder kids me about it but something just gets in my blood when that beat starts to thump. Losing myself on the dance floor is one of my outlets to relieve stress. Some people do aerobics. I run too of course, and so does Mulder. But sometimes, a night out on the dance floor with Mulder at a gay club is worth more in the way of burning off tension and calories than any marathon would be.

The other reason I like the gay clubs I suppose is because I don't feel like a piece of meat in there. Oh once in a while a lesbian will hit on me - but so what? It's flattering I have to admit, and the women seem to be courteous enough to take no for an answer. Men in straight clubs aren't always willing to back off. I remember one altercation Mulder and I had with some bozo at Club Nitro once...well never mind. It's just less pressure for me at the gay clubs. Mulder doesn't seem to care. He gets groped wherever we go. I have to laugh. I know he likes it! But to his credit, when he's with me - he's with me. Totally focused on yours truly.

So, sitting here in the kitchen of Dragon's Roost, I'm starting to watch all three of these men with growing interest. It's probably partly the scientist in me wanting to watch and observe. I want to learn more, to understand something I don't, despite my trips to the gay clubs, have that much understanding about. Also, it's great because I don't feel pressured to...ok, perform. You know - be on - look good because there's a room full of eligible men here. Yes, I know that doesn't sound like me. But sometimes - in a weak moment - I'll find myself trying to stand up taller or smooth my hair down when a bunch of male agents are standing around the elevator with me. I'm just like anyone else sometimes. I want to look attractive and desirable. So sue me.

But the main reason I'm watching them all is they're just great people. All of them. I'm amazed at them all. Regardless of sexual preference anyone who is this...this comfortable with strangers interests me. I...I still have some trouble in that area. I know I do so I can appreciate the ability of others to be at ease in this type of situation.

They're all so...so alive. Dennis and Phil so hospitable. I mean they don't know me from Adam, but Dennis and Phil are going out of their way to make me feel welcome. They're just so sweet. And God, Phil's hilarious. He's regaling us all with accounts of buyers at their last gallery showing and I'm in stitches with laughter.

Dennis's home cooked meal is fantastic. I'm getting the recipe for this clam chowder. If Mulder never does make it up here, we are going to have to try making this soup on a rainy afternoon. It's stupendous.

Amidst all the convivial conversation and good food I can't help but notice how much Walter Skinner is trying to come out of himself. It's a struggle though. I've caught him staring off into space more than once while Dennis, Phil and I were getting acquainted through conversation. But he really is making the effort to be open, warm and more upbeat.

Well, in truth, so am I. I guess I owe myself a pat on the back as well. I miss Mulder right now so much. There is a heavy ache in my chest. A heartache I'm finding it difficult to ignore too. Mulder would love this easy going banter and the scrumptious food. God. But I suppose Walter and I have just discovered something else we both have in common. Stoicism in the face of adversity. He's the master and I'm the mistress in that area if we're going to get gender specific here.

So, it's rather incredible to see him laughing and smiling. Joining in with the camaraderie. It's very nice really. It *is* helping me to relax and feel better as well. Walter is just no where near as tight outside the office as he used to be. He even told a couple of really ribald stories about Jana Cassidy. Well, a couple that weren't too ribald anyway. He's not *Mr. Walter Lettermen* or completely unwound - but the spring is uncoiling a bit here. It's good to see.

I have to laugh as well because Phil is flirting with him a little. It's obvious he likes Walter a lot and is trying to cheer him up by playing up to his *Mr. Macho AD* persona. Well, Walter does exude masculinity. You can't help but notice it. I remember the first time I ever saw him in casual clothes. At first it seemed strange not to see him in his usual bureau attire. He looks very handsome in a suit. But, Skinner in casual clothing does grows on you. Like tonight. He looks splendid in jeans. Just a hint of chest hair peaks up out of his soft LL Bean beige work shirt. Work boots. When we got back in the house and I saw him in those jeans under the lights...I looked at his butt. So? Wouldn't you? I'm just making an observation here. But I can understand what Mulder sees in Walter on a purely physical level. I'm also beginning to see what he sees in Walter on the inside as well.

So, Phil is fluttering around Mr. Skinner a little. Making Walter feel special this evening. What's even more funny is, I don't think Walter has a clue that Phil is complimenting him. He just keeps looking at him out of the corner of his eye with a puzzled look on his face. I never imagined in a million years that Walter Skinner would be so clueless as to how attractive he is to other people - of either gender. But Mulder and I have talked about the idea. Oh yeah, more times then I want to think about right at the moment. So now that I'm seeing evidence of that theory displayed before me I guess I can't deny it. Walter doesn't know he's worthy of admiration. He doesn't even know when someone is trying to massage his ego in these conditions. Either that or he does realize and doesn't think he's worth the trouble. God that's a sad thought. But it's still a bit amusing to watch Phil's attempts at ego boosting and Walter's befuddlement nonetheless.

During one particularly blatant attempt at flattery on Phil's part, Dennis catches my eye and we both roll ours in unison. He knows what his partner is doing and doesn't mind it. They are both trying to cheer Walter up in point of fact. It makes them go up another notch on my self-esteem meter. They know he's hurting. Missing Mulder. Dennis' method was to fix this magnificent meal. Phil's method is to make Walter feel like the center of attention. Like the most desirable person in the room.

Good heaven's - they're going out of their way to make me welcome and less sad as well! It's really so kind.

It's obvious though by the way Phil acts towards Dennis that none of his flirting with Walter is serious. When he and Dennis look at each other there is no doubt the devotion they have for each other. I know the look. I've seen it when Mulder looks at Walter. I've seen it when Mulder looks at me.

"So, Dana did Walter tell you we're putting you to work tomorrow on Dragon's Roosts new deck?" Phil asks as he pours me another cup of coffee.

"Yes he did. I'm looking forward to it actually."

"Yeah, Walter said you're a good carpenter," Dennis adds from his spot at the sink.

We're done with dinner and he's starting to wash some of the pots and pans. The other dishes are already loaded into the dish washer. Walter asked to help wash the pans but Dennis wouldn't hear any of it. We're guests he said - until tomorrow. Then we're deck slaves.

"I said she was a first rate carpenter," Walter nods, taking a sip of his coffee.

He's become more brooding again as the table was cleared and coffee made. During the lull in the conversation I caught him fingering something under his shirt and staring off into space again. This is the first real comment he's made beside nods or grunts for about 20 minutes. After he sends out this clipped comment he's quiet again and stares into his coffee cup.

"Well good, because we really can use a fourth pair of hands. Especially a good pair. Who taught you the trade?" Dennis asks.

Phil returns the coffee pot to the counter top coffee maker, and returns to sit down next to me at the table. I can feel the warmth radiating off him. He's a live wire. Energetic. Smiling. Once again I'm eerily reminded of Brian Pendrell as he looks at me.

"I would bet on fatherly instruction. But then again - you have great hands, Dana. Did you ever think of taking up sculpting or pottery, or maybe weaving?" Phil asks, taking one of my hands and turning it over in his.

Evidently Walter does recognize when Phil is *flirting* with me.

"Yeah, she's all ready taken up weaving. The "Y" stitch," he comments under his breath. I scowl at him a little and he sighs, not looking at me.

Luckily Phil didn't hear him. Phil releases my hand and is asking Dennis if we should have brandy in the living room. Walter is only half listening to us now. He has that far away look on his face again. There must be something floating in his coffee cup he's looking at it so closely. Lord. I decide to answer Phil. To say something to break the air of tension.

"My father loved woodworking. Whenever he wasn't at sea he'd usually have a small project going. Once we built a playhouse for all of us. I just sort of fell into helping him. My brothers never seemed interested in dad's hobby. So, I got undivided instruction - and viola - extra help!" I finish with a smile.

"Good deal," Dennis replies, drying a pot and placing it in the drainer by the sink. Phil is staring intently at Walter. He still looks morose although he does attempt some desultory words.

"This is great coffee," he offers, taking another hearty sip of the brew.

"We laid in some Sumatran, WS," Phil replies with a grin, "I can't do without it in the morning and I remembered you're in the same boat."

Walter brightens a little at Phil's words.

"Yeah. We did kind of discover our mutual addiction the last time I was up here didn't we? Thanks for remembering, Phil," he finishes smiling just a little.

"Don't mention it."

Ok. Despite all the good times here I have to take into account that he's probably not in the best mood after all. But I have to give him credit he's been doing a good job of trying to stay cheerful. He looks away but when he looks back I can see the look of apology on his face and in his bearing. He knows he's not in a good mood. It looks as though he regrets inflicting himself on us. I nod a little to signify I understand. I try to project compassion and understanding. I know how he feels, believe me. Like I said, I wish Mulder could have been here for this meal too. A lot. He must pick up on it because his eyes soften a little. Then he goes back to studying his coffee cup.

"Walter, how about some brandy?" Phil is asking.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry..."

"Brandy?" Dennis asks coming over with the towel in his hands. He wipes them off and then places one dry hand on Walter's shoulder.

"How about some brandy in front of the fire. It's a cool enough out tonight to start one. Phil can go build it."

Walter's jaw muscles untighten and he smiles a little up at Dennis.

"Yeah, that sounds good? Scully?"

"An after dinner liqueur would be very nice," I reply in a soft voice.

"Ok why don't the three of you head on in and I'll be there in a few minutes. I just want to add the detergent and start the dishwasher.

All three of us nod and get up, making our way into the living room and the brandy snifters on the small bar cart.

Later...

Phil builds a good fire. The room is dark except for the fire light. I'm sitting on the chair on the right hand side of the hearth nearest the window, brandy snifter in hand. Walter is opposite me on the other side of the hearth. He's smiling and sniffing at his brandy. It really does smell eloquent. Mellow.

Dennis and Phil are seated, but not too close, on the couch. I can tell what's going through their minds. They want to cuddle up together on the couch but they feel awkward about doing it. I doubt it's because of my presence. I suppose it could be though. After all they do know Mulder is my lover as well. I've been able to tell all night that they've been concerned about both Walter and my feelings. They're perceptive men and realize also that I'm upset that Mulder isn't here too. And after all, it's not quite the same thing for me to see two men snuggle together under the circumstances. It's not as disturbing. I guess if one of them was a woman I might make more of an association between me and Mulder.

But Walter more or less arranged this whole trip so that he and Mulder could have some time together. In the back of my mind I know Walter was very generous to invite me. I mean he does like me and doesn't really object to Mulder and my part of the bargain at all anymore. But I would imagine he rather wishes he were just here alone with Mulder. Hell, I wish I was alone with him here right now too.

Walter is without the one he most wants to be with tonight. Holding and touching. Dennis and Phil obviously feel like it's unfair to show their affection in front of him. Whether they are also reluctant to show PDA in front of me is a moot point.

Walter picks up on it though. He's always been a good field agent. When it comes to other people he's good at reading them. Well except when they're trying to pay him a compliment. But otherwise you can't get over on him very easily at all. Ask Mulder. He still tries all the time. In a teasing sort of way.

"You know, you guys can move closer. I'm not going to go all Nelly on you here if you show a little affection for each other," he growls, taking a small sip of his brandy.

He runs it around inside his mouth and then swallows. In the firelight there's something very sensual about that action. It makes me feel suddenly warmer then just the warmth of the fire. It's just not my brandy. Well sure, he's attractive, sensuous sometimes. I'll be the first to admit that Walter's a hunk. Like I said - he's ok to look at. I mean I am a woman. And I'm not blind. I almost giggle a little, but luckily Walter is speaking again so I pick my mind up out of the gutter of unlikely possibilities and listen.

"Fine brandy," he nods at them to temper his earlier words.

"Sorry Walter. We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I mean this is kind of...well..."

"Look, it's awkward I know. I'm missing him, all right. I'm missing him so bad I feel sick. There I said it. It's out in the open, all right?" he blurts out. Then he looks down.

Oh wonderful. I hope we aren't going to have a scene now. I was just starting to relax. To think we'd gotten past the danger point.

"I'm...I'm sorry," Walter whispers, "That was very rude. You guys are being great hosts and this is the way I repay you? With rudeness? Christ." he shakes his head.

Then he looks up at me.

"I'm sorry, Scully. You shouldn't have had to hear that either."

I look on in silence. I don't know what to say now. I'm not very good in emotionally charged scenes with Walter Skinner. Especially emotionally charged scenes regarding Mulder. I'm not very good with those with Mulder for heaven's sake. I sit and wait, hoping Phil or Dennis will jump into the fray here and save the day.

"WS - it's all right. Look, let's make a deal here, ok? Den and I...we'll just go ahead with business as usual if it makes you feel better. We'll just assume you want us to act normally and treat you normally too, ok? If anything makes you uncomfortable or upset just holler and we'll take that into account. I should say the same to you also, Dana. If you find anything...uncomfortable here - speak up. We don't want to offend. And you can't offend us. We've got pretty thick skins. How does that sound?"

I smile and nod over my brandy.

"Sounds fine." I murmur. I can feel my face redden a little. I'm glad it's rather shadowy in here.

Walter nods and lets out his breathe.

"I think it sounds more than fair, Phil. I...you're being pretty patient with me after this behavior."

Walter straightens then and I can almost see him bodily work to shake off the funk he's in. I had heard through the grapevine that Walter has seen Karen Kosseff for counseling on occasion. I can recognize some of Karen's breathing techniques right now. Walter is marshaling his resources to rein himself in. It's rather fascinating to observe. It's also a relief because...well mostly because he still makes me nervous when he's ready to fly off the handle. In a very short time he's more calm and outwardly - more convivial. He takes another sip of brandy and savors it. Of course the alcohol may be helping to mellow him as well. Good. I take another sip myself to steady my nerves.

"Oh, don't give it another thought, Walter. After all we know what a surly asshole you really are anyway," Dennis replies laconically.

Walter chuckles.

"Yeah, I guess you guys do. Scully does too, right, *Agent* Scully?"

I see a touch of mischief in his eyes. Ok. No sir and agent hey!? Ha. All bets are off now Mr. Skinner, sir.

I grin at him.

"Well, I have a confession to make. I rather miss your tight ass on the job, sir, I..."

Before I realize what I said Phil is shaking with laughter. I look square at Walter, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. Oh oh. Who was saying the brandy was making who mellow? God! Walter's laughing too, but silently. He's shaking with it.

"Oh God! I meant to say I missed your hard-assed...Oh no! Forget it. Forget you heard that. I'm just digging myself in deeper."

All three of the men are laughing hard now and I take another sip of the brandy. I may be adding insult to injury but I really need it to steady my nerves now. Then I laugh as well. Ok, fine. Dana *Rosie O'Donnell* Scully to the rescue. If being the brunt of the joke smoothes things over I'll be more than happy to recite the best of Johnny Carson's monologues later to clear the air further.

Finally everyone starts to calm down. Walter manages a reply at last.

"Thank you, Scully. I get your point. I miss grilling you and Mulder on a spit too."

That renews the laughter for a moment. Then we all stop to regain our breath. When mine is sufficiently returned I speak, changing the subject adroitly.

"Dennis there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Yes?" Dennis replies raising a quizzical eyebrow. He and Phil have moved closer now, and Dennis has his arm around Phil's shoulder.

"Was the house named *Dragon's Roost* before you bought it, or did you give it that name?"

"Den christened it *Dragon's Roost*," Phil replies, suppressing a yawn, "sorry, big meal," he grins looking over at his lover.

"Big eater," Dennis strokes Phil's arm, "But he's right I named the place."

"You still reading the Ann MaCaffrey books?" Walter asks from the other chair.

"Yes, and Anne Rice., Stephen King. Clive Barker."

"God, you are such a gore hound," Phil rolls his eyes.

"Hey, do I complain about your Barbara Cartland?"

"Oh oh, busted," Phil giggles, taking a drink of his brandy. Dennis drinks his as well. Phil's giggle makes him sound very much like Mulder. I can see Walter watching them. But he seems less tense. He's watching them with genuine, amused fondness. Maybe the brandy *is* really helping a lot after all.

"So you named the house after..."

"Anne MaCaffrey's Pern books. *The Dragonriders of Pern* idea."

"Oh, I've seen those in the store. They look quite good."

"I'm into fantasy. SciFi. Horror."

/Just like Mulder. Oh Lord. Yes, Walter I miss him a lot too./

"My mother adores Stephen King's work. But if we're getting busted here for our guilty pleasures - I melt for Anne Rice."

"Really?" Dennis asks with excitement, "She's my favorite too. "Interview with a Vampire..."

"Oh yes..."

"Yeah, but the movie reeked." Walter chimes in.

"You saw the movie?" Phil asks with amused incredulity.

"Don't forget who I'm involved with gentleman. Monster boy Mulder got his nick for more than one reason. Yeah, he dragged me to that stinker. Blade was a hell of a lot better vampire flick than that bomb."

"Bomb?" I retort. "Brad Pitt was..."

"was ok. But Cruise was such a hopeless faggot in that film," Walter baits. Ok, how he's getting into it here. He's playing devils advocate.

"Den, Den, he used the *F* word..." Phil starts to laugh.

"Yeah well I can't stand Tom Cruise either. He was totally the wrong choice for Lestat."

"Oh, I can agree with that idea, yes," I nod, "But Brad Pitt was so good as Louis..."

"Neither one of them can hold a candle to Wesley Snipes," Walter growls. He's smiling, starting to enjoy himself again. Good. I'll say a few Hail Marys later.

"Oh yeah. Wesley Snipes. Now there is a magnificent hunk of masculinity," Phil trills.

"If you like taciturn, action heroes."

"Well of course I do. I adore WS," Phil giggles, making moony eyes in Walter's direction. Even Walter can't miss that bullet's trajectory.

"My ass..." he grates out, almost choking on his brandy.

"My point..." Phil retorts in a flash. Both Dennis and I are laughing.

"Well of course "Interview" is full of all that latent homeroticism," Dennis states, waving his glass airily.

"Ooh, let's hear it for Anne Rice," Phil teases.

"I'll agree there I guess..." Walter adds.

"You read Anne Rice!?" We all exclaim in unison.

"Well yeah. Sure. After I saw that awful movie I had to read the book to have some idea if she's a total hack or any kind of author."

"Oh come on! Screen plays are never as good as the book," Dennis throws back.

"My God yes, look what they've done with Stephen King...." I add.

And the debate goes on...

Later...

"Well I guess we'll agree to disagree, Dennis yawns. It's going on 11 PM now and all of us are fading fast. The work, and tension of the day coupled with the hearty meal making us all drowsy. Phil is asleep, his head resting on Dennis's shoulder. Dennis absentmindedly strokes his hair. Walter has slumped a little in his chair and has his long legs stretched way out in front of him. He took his work boots off earlier.

I've pulled my legs up under me on the chair and toed off my shoes as well. One good thing about being on the petite side. I can curl up almost anywhere and be comfortable.

All of us have finished our second brandies. It's about time for this agent to turn herself into a pumpkin here.

"Ok. I'll concede. Brad Pitt is a gay man's wet dream. But Wesley Snipes kicks ass and Tom Cruise sucks in the wrong way all together. Next debate?"

Dennis chuckles and I laugh as well.

"No more debates. I can never top this one," Dennis yawns. Then I yawn wide as well.

"Hey, we'd better hit the sack here," Walter observes, "we do have a work day tomorrow."

"I think we all ready lost, Phil," I observe with tenderness. In the short time I've been here I really like Phil. He reminds me a lot of Charles and Pendrell. Maybe I'll adopt him as an honorary Scully. Mom would love it and Bill would be livid. Ooh, now there is an idea.

"Yeah. He never had a head for alcohol," Dennis replies quietly, kissing the top of his lover's head. Phil sighs and shifts against his chest.

"Den, did you turn out the light?"

We all laugh and then he wakes up.

"Oh! Sorry. God, how embarrassing," he grins sheepishly.

"It's ok, come on "Howdy Doody, we need to crash."

Walter guffaws at the allusion to Phil's red hair and freckles.

"God, I hate that nick," Phil groans with no conviction at all.

"Well that's what happens when your 40ish and freckled," Den smiles.

"Yeah...and it gets old," Phil grumbles, but not seriously.

"Oh sure, right. Come on sweetheart, we're out of here."

"Yes, your *Satanic Majesty*," Phil grins with mischief in his eyes.

They get up and make their way towards the stairs.

"Night all, sweet dreams," Phil calls after them.

"Night," Walter and I both reply in unison. Dennis and Phil climb up the stairs, Phil's arm around Dennis's waist.

Walter and I both watch them go. I remember that master bedroom up there. The bed is really big and very comfortable. A thought crosses my mind suddenly. I know Dennis and Phil put my luggage in the guest bedroom. Where is Walter going to....

"Well I...I'd better turn in too, Walter adds, getting up. Uh...if you'll excuse me, I need to pull out the couch."

"What?" I ask thickly. Couch? Oh...question answered I guess.

"Yeah, the couch is a bed. I'm going to sleep out here."

"No way, Walter, you couldn't possibly be comfortable out here."

"I'll be fine. You...Dennis and Phil and I agreed you should have your privacy, Scully. All right? My clothes are in the hall closet. I'll manage. I mean let us be gentlemen here please?" he chuckles a little in self depreciation. Lord. Well it is kind of sweet. I suppose they don't want to be up running around with their morning hard-ons in their unmentionables and bed hair (ok, two of them there anyway), while I'm lying out here in the living room. It is considerate of them. I can't argue that.

"Well I feel kind of guilty about it, Walter but I'll bow to chivalry."

"Good. Now get to bed, Scully. When Dennis and Phil said they were going to work us tomorrow they weren't exaggerating," he gives me a flash of a grin.

I nod.

"It's going to be fun though," I smile shyly at him.

He smiles back showing a little teeth.

"Yeah, actually it will be." I notice him fingering whatever it is he has on that chain around his neck again. He's been doing it off and on all evening, almost unconsciously. Curiosity finally gets the better of me.

"Walter, can I ask you something before I turn in?"

He looks at me quizzically, "If it's first dibs on the bathroom in the morning - yes - you can have it first. That's part of my chivalrous nature this week as well."

I smile.

"No, not that. But I do appreciate the gesture as well. No, I...I'm just curious about what you keep touching under your shirt. Are you wearing a...a holy medal or something. I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me. I just noticed you kept touching it all evening."

"Oh," he replies looking down at his chest. There's a look of soft sadness on his face for a second. The he shuts it off. Oh...maybe I've overstepped here...

"Yes. I...I do that with my cross a lot. It's unconscious behavior sometimes. It's ok. Just...you can forget I mentioned it. Good night Walter."

"No, it's ok, uh, here I'll show you," he replies quietly. He reaches around and pulls the chain up and out of his shirt. A medallion on the end of it falls onto his shirt front with a tiny sound of metal hitting cloth.

"Here, take a look," he says gazing into my face. His face is unreadable. I walk forward and cautiously pick the medallion up off his chest, pulling the chain tight. This close I can feel the heat radiating from him. Smell his cologne. Old Spice. I swallow hard and examine the medallion. It's an exquisite cross engraved in gold.

"Turn it over," he whispers.

There's Gaelic engraved on the back . I furrow my brow. Ok, the Gaelic comes to me slowly. I'm a bit rusty there. But it comes. When it hits me I breathe in sharply.

"Mulder gave this to you didn't he?"

"Yes, good guess. How did you know?"

I feel my mind move into agent mode. My emotions are very close to the surface. Jealousy roars into my heart. Mulder never gave me anything like this necklace! Oh God! So what!? The man traveled to the ends of the Earth to save my life for Christ sake. Almost died for me. We've almost died for each other more time than I can count. We watch each others back every other day on the job and never begrudge the duty. Every time I lie in his arms and we make love he comes, screaming my name. Material goods aren't everything. Besides he knows instinctually that I get embarrassed at obvious tokens of his affection. Those two little sets of earrings he gave me at Christmas made me blush so much! The orchid ones are so pretty, delicate. I won't tell you what we did after I wore those the last time. But I will tell you how much he said he loved me afterwards. And I know he means it. My God, do I ever!

I think of all these ideas and I work to banish my jealousy swiftly. It's rapidly replaced by real sadness at missing the object of my affection as well. Agent Scully mode mitigates the feelings of utter despair that I suddenly feel. Despair that neither of us will see Mulder this week at all. It hurts me. I know it hurts Walter too. No question I think, fingering the medallion. Running my finger over the words.

"Well , I can read Gaelic...a rusty interpretation at any rate...but the translation is pretty unmistakable in sentiment. This was given to you by someone who loves you deeply. I've never seen you wearing this before - toying with anything around your neck for that matter. Therefore...I'd guess it was Mulder, your most recent lover, who gave it to you."

"Very good, *Agent* Scully," Walter replies in a very quiet voice. I'm still holding the medallion. I can see his chest rise and fall with emotion. I won't look up into his face. I'm afraid what I may see.

"Walter, I...I'm glad you both found each other in Louisiana. I really am.

I feel him nod.

"Thank you Scully. It...Baton Rouge meant more to me then I can probably ever express."

"This is a beautiful gift," I add, releasing the medallion. It falls gently against his chest again. I finally look up at him.

"I gave him a friggin' watch," he shakes his head slightly and looking away, places the chain and medallion carefully under his shirt. I step back from him to give him his space. He smooths his shirt down and then moves towards the couch.

Watch? Walter gave Mulder that Rolex? Mother Mary. He's busying himself now, working to open the couch. I don't know what else to say. This is terribly awkward. Touching. I decide on the best course of action and follow it.

"Well, I'll let you get some sleep, Walter. Uh, good night."

"Sleep well, Scully. I'll see you in the morning."

He doesn't give me a second look as I leave his side, and head out of the living room, towards the guest bedroom, and my lonely bed.

xXx

Saturday, May 22, 1999 5:45 AM. A bed and breakfast near Mount Holyoke College, Massachusetts.

I woke up screaming. Shit I hate this shit. I...I hate a VCS case with a passion. Nothing brings on the Samantha nightmares like profiling a stone cold maniac. This one will be no exception. My only hope is to get this sick monkey collared and in detention before he rapes and cuts or kills another young woman. And before I go stark, raving mad. I sigh, roll over and grab my watch off the night stand. Well shut my mouth, Mulder. At least I got one good thing out of the screaming meemies. I beat the alarm. I deactivate the alarm mode and when I do I stroke the watch once, very gently.

God. I miss Walter like hell. I miss Scully too. But every time I touch this watch I think of Walter and the night he gave it to me. My big sweet hunk. My love. To think he had the back engraved with this date I muse, turning over the Rolex again to look at the numerals on the underside. I feel my eyes grow moist. Baton Rouge. Our first time together and it meant so much to him he marked it in metal for us both. I still can't believe that idea. That it meant so much to him. That I mean so much to him. Jesus. I love him so much. I have to tell him how much this watch means to me too when we get back. I should show the back to Scully. God, I need to get something like that necklace for Scully too. I've given it a lot of thought. I mean she doesn't need another cross really. I'm thinking...maybe a ring. Oh hell that's....that's a challenging thought isn't it? I laugh a little. Ok, three rings. His and His and Hers. Imagine that scene at the jewelers. Oh Mulder, Mulder. Dream on. But I need to give a gift for Scully some thought in the future. After this...after Maine too.

God Mulder get with the damn program here! I'd better get down to business. Agent Manconen will be here at 7 to get things underway. We're supposed to start victim interviews and visit the crime scenes on campus. I set my jaw and switch my mind back over to profiling mode. I become grim, determined, ready to rock and roll some perp's ass. I get up off the bed and hit the shower.

Later...

At five minutes to 7 , as I'm adjusting my tie in the mirror, there's a knock on my B&B rooms door.

"Just as sec," I call out. I just happened to notice I left the old barn door open. I reach down, zip up my fly and walk across to the door. I open it and give Agent Manconen of DC-VCS a terse nod. One of Burton's Brigade.

"Morning, Rita.

"Morning Mulder. You have breakfast yet?" she asks with a small smile.

Rita Manconen. One of the few African American women agents in VCS. She's slightly taller than Scully and a little larger boned. She's tough though, just like Scully. Has what it takes. When Burton introduced her I liked her almost immediately. I know we're going to work well with the locals here to solve this case.

"No, not yet," I return her smile.

"Ok, we just have time before our appointment with Conners of the Rape Task Force for a drive through breakfast. My treat. Mickie D's or do you have a preference?"

"If you're treating, surprise me," I chuckle.

"If I wanted to surprise you, I'd be taking you to Mama Sinclair's up here. She's got the best soul food in the area."

"A soul food restaurant with a drive through?" I reply, laughing.

"Mama Sinclair has always been on the cusp of fashion, Mulder. She even has Internet access offered on PCs inside - and a web site now too."

"I have to see this place," I grin.

"It'll be my pleasure, Agent Mulder. You're one skinny white boy anyway. You need some good old fashioned Mama Sinclair Southern cooking to add some meat on those bones."

"Lead on, Agent Manconen. I bow to your knowledge of fine Southern cuisine."

She tilts her head back and laughs deeply. I know I'm going to like her. She can laugh at my jokes. Just kidding. No, I like her because she's a crack agent and she also knows this is going to be hell. The more we keep things light sometimes the longer we'll last. Rita turns, I collect my weapon, cell phone, other accouterments including my laptop and trench and we both exit the room, stomachs growling in unison.

xXx

Saturday, May 22, 1999 6:00 AM. Dragon's Roost, Crossroads, Maine

Last night. Christ could I have been a bigger prick I think as I stare out the kitchen window. Coffee is perking in the Mister Coffee on the counter behind me and the smell makes me think back to last night and my continuous coffee cup examination. Balls. I was a genuine jerk.

I still can't believe how rude I was to my hosts and to Scully. Man I have to get a grip here. If I don't pull out of this morose state I'm going to ruin the entire vacation for everyone. I'm going to try my best. I mean hell...it's the only fair thing to do.

Mulder may not make it up here. I have to face that fact and move on. Maybe I can arrange something later for us to do together. Mother keeps that apartment in Philadelphia. I'll have to give it some thought.

But for now I have to try to enjoy myself here. Yeah, Scully was right last night. This deck construction is going to be a trip.

Scully last night. Now there was something interesting to see. I haven't spent as much time around her alone before. I mean without Mulder around. It was rather...a treat to be honest.

She's got a sense of humor I envy. I just never have had a good one, one that comes easy at any rate. But hers shines. And Christ she's like a dog with a bone in a debate. I can see where her years with Mulder have benefited her there. Hey, my years as his boss have honed my debate skills too.

I'm still a little embarrassed over the medallion. I had no idea I'd been giving that thing the four finger work out all night. I mean touching it. Figures. Mulder on my mind and I lose it. Yeah, well screw it. He does that to me. I'm not afraid to admit it any more. If it's a crime to be a fool for love, then I'll slap the cuffs on my own wrists and be happy to do it.

But I was hesitant to show her the cross. Why? Well...I'm not sure Mulder has ever given her anything engraved in this way. I...I was a little worried she might be envious? Jealous? Disappointed? I should have given her more credit. She was wonderful about it. I could tell it did bother her a little. She went all investigator on me. Agent mode. But in the end she was just Dana Scully again. Dana Scully, compassionate woman. She knew I was hurting. Dana Scully, compassionate friend.

If for no other reason this week then Scully's presence, I need to get with the vacation program here. I mean after all, she is up here on my invitation. The least I can do is show her a good time. I nod to myself. Yes. From this point on it'll be Walter Skinner, party animal. Oh fuck that - well you know what I mean. I'm just gonna make an effort here to be a human being. Deal? Good.

As I'm musing, staring out the window at a really gorgeous day and a calm sea, I hear someone come up behind me.

"Good morning,"

"Morning, Scully," I turn.

She's standing there in her FBI issue sweats and I have to suppress a grin. We're dressed identically - except my get up is several sizes larger than hers. But the logo is on both our tits.

"I see you went to the company store at some point as well..." I smile indicating her attire. She grins back.

"I have the t-shirt too, you?"

"Yup. God have we bought into the image or what?" I chuckle.

"Sadly, I'd have to agree," she nods, smiling.

"Are you going for a run?" I query.

She has her sneakers on and her hair tied back in a pony tail. No make-up. I figured she hasn't showered yet. Even with the severe hair do and no make-up...she's a very beautiful woman flashes across my mind. I have to admire Mulder's tastes again on that point zaps through as well. I blink quickly. I realize I've been staring at her. I look down for a moment.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I am. Would you like to join me?"

"Yeah, I would," I reply, looking back up at her.

"I only do about two miles on the weekend."

"Sounds fine. I go for a lighter workout all the way around when I'm on vacation anyway. Varies the routine."

"Right," she nods, "Uh, ok, lets go then."

I nod and without further discussion we both turn and head for the back door. I gesture for Scully to proceed ahead of me through the door. When she's out on the half finished deck I turn and shut the door, locking it.

"Walter?" she asks nodding towards the door handle.

"It's ok, Dennis gave me a key," I reply, patting my sweatpants pocket.

She nods and turns to walk to the edge of the deck. There aren't any stairs. There's only one way off. A short drop.

"I take it that stairs may be on the work schedule today?" she smirks a little back at me.

"As a matter of fact - you and I have stair detail." I chuckle.

"Ah," she replies, "Well that's something I think I can handle, no sweat," she nods turning back to jump down.

"I'd hold that thought about *no sweat* if I were you," I chuckle, following her over and then down. I land with a little thump next to her.

"Oh, so Dennis and Phil really are taskmasters?"

"We were all Marines, remember? Dennis was a Sergeant."

"God! I'd better make sure I hammer my nails straight in that case," she laughs musically.

I join in her laughter and we head off over the bluff and onto the beach to do our 2 miles.

A short time later...

I've set an easy pace and Scully is keeping up with me without a problem. I assumed she runs with Mulder on occasion. I wasn't too worried about her getting lost in my wake.

The sun is up completely now and it's going to be a warm one. Good. I hope the whole week is warm and sunny. It will make the deck construction go smoothly. It will also make this a hell of a lot easier. Keeping on an even keel over missing our man Mulder here, I mean. A pissy, rainy day would have made matters a lot worse.

I look down and breathe out at Scully.

"It's two miles to that boat dock down there. See it?"

"Yes."

"We walk back?" I add.

"Agreed."

We run on.

At the dock...

Scully stops behind me and we both put our hands on our knees and bend over for a moment, huffing just a bit.

"Good run," Scully smiles, straightening up.

"Yeah," I reply, rising up as well and stretching.

"Walter?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you lifted weights all your life?"

"As a matter of fact - most of it," I nod, "I started in high school when I was wrestling."

"You wrestled in high school?"

I stretch some more and so does she. Then both of us slow our movements and finally stop. She looks at me at last and I answer her.

"Yeah," I smile with a little pride in my voice. I was *All State* in my weight division all four years.

"I wish I had started back then. I just started a strength building program and..."

"You're lifting?" I ask with just a touch of surprise in my voice.

She looks down at the sand and scrunches her face up.

"Just started back at it steadily. I've had some...interruptions in my weight training."

I wince. Fuckin' A, I'll say. Cancer for one thing. Antarctica for another. God.

"I think you'll enjoy it," I reply, neutrally, "the bureau gym certainly has all the equipment you need, too. I use the company gym myself most of the time."

She straightens up and starts to walk back down the beach at that point. I fall into step next to her. Once more I'm reminded how small she is. In stature anyway. She certainly isn't small in character. Or guts. Looking at her I also notice the bulge in both her biceps I hadn't really noticed until she mentioned the weights. Yeah, she's making a serious effort. Excellent. It may save her life, or Mulder's life at some point.

She shifts her shoulders slightly and looks up at me sideways.

"I enjoy it a lot. It's...well there's a bit of a rush when you lift isn't there?"

"Exactly. It's a very heady feeling. I like the sensation a lot. I suppose that's part of it's allure. Why I keep it up. That and the fact I don't want to be fat and over 40," I grin a bit.

"No danger there," she chuckles, looking forward again.

"Thank you."

"No problem. But Walter..."

"Yes?"

"I...would you mind if I stopped in while you're working out sometime? Mulder...Mulder doesn't get into the weights and..."

"You'd like a spotter?"

"One I can trust, yes. And I'd like the company," she admits.

I look down at the top of her head as we walk. Her back is very straight and she looks ahead as we make our way through the sand. Man, this is one proud woman, I think. Yeah. It'll be an honor to act as her spotter. No question.

"Sure, I could use the company down there too. Just let me know when you want to go. I'll be there."

"Thanks, Walter," she replies simply.

"Don't mention it."

We walk on in companionable silence, savoring the sea breeze and the warm spring day.

xXx

Saturday, May 22, 1999 12:30 PM. The deck at Dragon's Roost, Crossroads, Maine

"Thanks," Walter nods, as I take his hammer and lay it on the deck. Break time on the deck project. Lunch to be made. Dennis and Phil are nailing on their last board before we eat. It's progressing well. I think it's going to be a sturdy well made deck. There's always a sense of accomplishment with building something this well with your hands. It satisfies a very basic creative instinct. And God knows I'd rather see some creation instead of destruction for a change. I smile at the thought that Dennis and Phil will probably enjoy this deck all summer. It's a pleasant thought.

"What?" Walter asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing. I'm...I'm just enjoying myself," I answer, smiling back.

"Well you wield a hell of a hammer, Scully," he rumbles a chuckle at me.

"Guess I don't have to worry about Sergeant Carr getting on my case," I reply loud enough for Dennis to hear.

"What was that soldier?" he laughs, "Did you tell Ms. Scully I was a baddass drill Sergeant, boy?" he growls quite convincingly.

"You're diggin' your own grave on that one," Walter laughs.

"Dennis was a bastard," Phil teases. "But we were all terrified of Walter Skinner. Now talk about baddass..."

"Hey, hey, hey. I was just a big pussycat," Walter objects with mock indignation.

"Pussycat my ass...you'd better say tiger by the tail..." Phil laughs.

"Ok, Howdy, you asked for it," Walter laughs. And then he moves. I've never seen Walter Skinner in action in the field really. I mean I knew he was good. Strong and fast in apprehending that child killer down in Baton Rouge according to Mulder. But I guess I didn't realize how fast. Before any of us can move very much at all, he's up onto the deck and has Phil pinned to the boards.

"Now what was that about the tiger?" he growls into Phil's laughing face.

"Tiger, meet crane," Phil giggles, and then incredibly Walter is flipped over and deposited, with an oomph, under the smaller man. The AD is totally immobilized.

"Show off," he laughs, breathless. His face is reddening slightly.

"Uncle?" Phil presses. Walter really can't move. I don't know how Phil is doing it exactly. It appears as if he's holding Walter by his pressure points and educated use of leverage. It's quite a demonstration.

"Ok. Ok. Let me up, Karate Kid. I'm done."

Phil gives a self-satisfied smirk down at Walter and gets off him.

"Never mess with him, Walter. You should know that by now," Dennis is laughing from his spot on the deck.

All of us are laughing now. Walter is getting up and smoothing his shirt and jeans down. I just have to ask them...

"Phil, were all of you in the same unit? I mean in Vietnam. I know Walter served over there. Did you all know each other in..."

There's dead silence suddenly. Oh...damn. I think maybe that wasn't the right question to ask. Walter's face has gone mask-like, closed off and unreadable suddenly. Phil's too. Only Dennis seems to still be with us. But he doesn't look very happy either. It's Dennis that answers me.

"Uh, no I was in infantry. Phil was in special ops. We weren't in Walter's unit."

"Oh," I reply just looking at them all. I'm stuck. I'm sure the war was painful for them but I don't know how or why. Their reaction was a little bit of a surprise. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned anything. I watch as Walter shakes it off, comes back to the here and now.

"I was in special forces as well, but Phil and I were in different units and different fields of operation."

Phil springs back quickly too and is almost his old vibrant self again.

"Yes we only knew Walter by reputation," he replies. There's a hint again of teasing in his voice. Walter's face changes back to a more tranquil expression. Then some good-natured laugh lines appear on his face as well. Phil picks up on it and smiles wide. Before either of them can continue the exchange, Dennis speaks.

"Yeah. *On leave* reputation."

I think I can actually see Walter's ear tips turning red. Oh ho. So, Mr. Skinner was a bit of a hell raiser back then as well.

"Gentlemen. I am an armed Federal Agent. You will not go there," he growls, barely containing his chuckling as well.

"No, come on. I'd like to hear this," I tease getting into the game.

"Well, Scully - Walter had a reputation for hard drinking, brawling and dope smoking that was notorious in every bar in Saigon," Dennis begins.

"Oh shit," Walter snorts, "I'll never have any credibility on the job with her now, you asshole."

I'm laughing.

Phil continues, "Yeah, we were scared shitless we'd run into him in a bar fight. Guys were saying he was 7 feet tall, could out drink and out toke any guy in country, and knock you out with one punch."

"What a load of crap..." Walter interjects.

"Well that might have been a crock, WS, but you can't deny what the ladies said about you..."

"Phil. I'm getting my Glock..."

"Yeah, tell Scully the nickname," Dennis chimes in.

"What nickname?" I ask innocently.

"That's it, I'm going for my gun," Walter mock snarls, and he disappears inside the house.

"What nickname?" I ask again.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I should be saying this is none of my business and act accordingly by telling them to forget this line of inquiry. I should be bothered that this is a trifle misogynist. I mean, the words ladies and Saigon whores have hooked up in my head. But for some perverse reason I still want to know what nickname Skinner was saddled with. It can't be any worse than *Spooky* or *The Ice Queen*. Maybe I want a level nickname playing field here. Or maybe it's because of all the years Skinner grilled me in his office. Or maybe it's because for some odd reason I think this nickname is something Mulder doesn't know. In any event, and for whatever reason, I'm about to find out.

"Well, I am probably going to pay for this later, but let's just say WS had a reputation as quite the ladies man in Saigon."

"Phil..." Dennis warns.

"Oh come on Den, you know the girls really liked him and respected him."

"Phil - he is going to kill you," Dennis is laughing now. Almost helpless with it.

Phil is smirking. Somehow I think he's *quite* capable of handling himself. And also he's a shameless tease. But this is fun and I feel...ok I feel like one of the guys here right now...and it's a nice feeling.

"Oh, he's not going to kill me. After all the ladies thought he was handsome and very sweet. He was always a gentleman, but tough as well. He would protect them against guys who were less respectful sometimes. So he got his nick. Le Bouledogue." Phil finishes.

"Most of those women spoke French and English along with various Vietnamese dialects..." Dennis starts to explain.

"My French is a little rusty..." I begin.

"It means bull dog," Walter's voice comes out of no where, and suddenly all of us are being hosed down with ice cold water from the garden hose that had been curled up on the opposite side of the deck. Most of the water is directed at Phil but Dennis and I are getting our fair share. I'm yelling. I can't help it. It's cold.

"SONOFABITCH!" Phil yells.

Dennis is laughing even more hard and so is Walter. He's laughing like an idiot and it's a sight to behold. Head back, bellowing with mirth Walter Skinner isn't a bad thing to see.

"How did you get that hose without us..." I start to sputter.

"Hey, an old special ops soldier never forgets his training. I just went in through the back door, came out the front and around the side of the house. You three were easy pickings," he explains, shutting off the hose handle at last.

Phil is soaked to the skin, but chortling heartily. Dennis is pretty wet as well. I'm the least damp of all. I saw Walter deliberately and quickly aim away from me as a matter of fact. I guess that gentlemanly reputation might have been a little more than Saigon whorehouse rumor.

Phil finally gets himself under control and speaks.

"What was I saying about probably paying for this later?"

"Paybacks a bitch, ain't it?" Walter drawls, "Oh, no offense, Scully," He adds as an afterthought grinning sheepishly at me.

"None taken."

"Folks...I guess we'd better go in and have lunch as well as dry off and change now," Dennis snorts out the last of his laughter.

We all agree and make our retreat back into Dragon's roost for dry clothes, good food, and the conversation of friends.

xXx

Saturday, May 22, 1999 10 PM. Dragon's Roost. Crossroads, Maine

I find it rather refreshing that Dennis and Phil don't think they have to entertain Scully and I every minute of every hour we're up here. It says a lot for their talents as hosts. Every guest needs some unorganized free time. It's what makes tours such a friggin' drag. All that planned shit. Sticking to a schedule. If this is Tuesday it must be bloody Belgium. You know what I mean?

So, tonight we're relaxing with our own pursuits. More about that in a moment.

We all worked hard today. The deck is really beginning to take shape. Scully's fourth pair of hands was more than a help. They were invaluable really. I don't think we'd be nearly as far ahead with construction if it hadn't been for her aid. Man, she can really swing a hammer. The stairs are almost done. Bill Scully, Sr. must be looking down on his daughter with pride right now.

Christ I would if I were him. She's...Scully is more than I ever expected she would be. Ah, hell. I always knew she was a crack agent. I mean her reputation for being an ace in the field and the autopsy bay goes all the way back to Quantico. No one disagrees about her prowess on the job. Least of all Mulder. Least of all me too. But, job prowess is one thing. One type of reputation at the bureau. Scully has a couple of reps some ignorant individuals have saddled her with there. The first is the *Mrs. Spooky* appellation. Ok, well if they knew how close they were on that one they'd shit. But Mrs. Spooky isn't so bad. Mulder rather likes that designation now anyway, I think. Scully sees it for the joke it's become. It's humorous under the circumstances. But, it's the other rep she has which now, I see, is, as I suspected, far from the truth. Dana Scully is as far from an Ice Queen as you can get.

There is no way she doesn't feel. Care. Care very deeply. About all the things that really matter in life. No way in hell is she an Ice Queen. I should have guarded her more carefully against the morons spreading that crap at the bureau when I was still her supervisor. Now it's too late. One more thing I sat on the fence over all those years. Fuck me. Really. Or better yet *kick* me in the ass.

Well there isn't much I can do about that situation. But at least outside the job - in situations like this one I can try to be a friend to her now. A confidant for sure. Maybe it'll help make up for my being remiss earlier. I hope so. She deserves a lot more.

I really enjoyed running with her today. It was very companionable. Maybe we can do that again while we're up here. If the weather holds up it would be...it would be a real good deal.

Anyway. Tonight, Scully and I made dinner for Dennis and Phil. It was my suggestion. We threw together a salad and spaghetti. Phil drove into Crossroads and picked up some Italian bread and a nice bottle of red wine. It was a meal worthy of a bunch of hard working carpenters I guess. At any rate, it stuck to the ribs.

We all went our separate ways after dinner. Phil went out to the studio that's attached to the back of their garage. He and Dennis have a combination pottery studio and photographic dark room out there. Phil has a small gas kiln as well as his pottery wheel. So, he's out there working with clay. It must be incredibly relaxing. I went out there and helped him slap and knead some clay around once. You do that to get the air bubbles out of it before you work with it. It was rather calming. Almost a zen experience. Phil is into the Asian philosophies of course.

Dennis is upstairs in their home office. He's doing his correspondence on the PC. Taking care of his art business as well. The more mundane marketing part of it I guess.

Scully and I are down here in the living room. The CD player is on. Chopin. She's reading *Bare Bones* by Stephen King. She switched off with her mother. Margaret is reading Anne Rice now as well. I feel content tonight. Content despite that bit with the Nam memories during the afternoon.

Sometimes when someone mentions the war I just freeze up. My mind locks. It doesn't happen often and I've learned to shake it off quickly - but...well sometimes a disturbing image just grabs hold of me...jumps up in back of my eyes and...well never mind. I know Phil had a bad tour just like I did in the end. He was wounded as well and he won't even talk about it. Dennis explained briefly that Phil was stuck underground for a while with the VC guy he'd killed after the guy had shot him. I can't imagine what that was like. It had been the end of Phil's war. He was shipped back to the states after that incident.

So, this afternoon, when Scully asked her perfectly innocent question about us serving together, Phil and I both had a PTSD reaction I think. It's good to know though that we could get over it at least.

Shit, the hose. Ok. Well it was fun. I...hey I felt like a kid again for a minute. I just needed to let off some steam. Cool 'em off. Phil enjoyed it too. He's a nutcase but I like him a lot. Admire him for being a whole person after what the war did to him. Crap, I guess it's lucky all of us have our heads screwed on reasonably tight. You could say the same thing for Dana Scully. If anyone would be a candidate for PTSD it'd be her. She does have some of the signs. So does Mulder too. Neither of them are going to give into it though. They're both bullheaded enough not to do it. God, I have got my hands full haven't I? I shake my head in bemusement at Mulder and Scully's *true grit*. It's the mark of a rare person who can persevere even over their personal foibles. They really are unique, strong individuals. It's lucky. They're going to need that strength in the battle to come. We're all going to need it.

I've been reading the evening paper. Well I should say, looking at it. Mostly I've been thinking. My eyelids are growing heavy. Well it was a busy day. My head nods forward and I jerk it back up.

"Walter?" Scully asks quietly, "Would you like to go to bed?"

I grin at her a little sheepishly.

"Sorry. Yeah, I probably should turn in. I guess I'm pretty boring, aren't I?"

She looks at me quizzically for a second, and a bemused look crosses her face.

"Uh...no. You're not boring. But I think you've put in a long day. You...you did twice as much work as I did."

I shrug. Well there were a couple of times where we had to lift boards she couldn't quite handle alone. Shit. After a little more weight lifting she's going to be surprised how that will change.

"Well, I'm going to be 47 in a couple of weeks too Scully. I guess I'm feeling it tonight."

"Walter..."

"Yeah?"

"I'd never believe you were 47. Not in a million years," she smiles at me tentatively. I stare at her for a second and then smile back equally as tentatively. If I didn't know better I'd think...I'd suspect she was flirting with me? Fuck. No way. She's just making a sweet compliment. Trying to make me feel less like an old fart. Before I can think about it further or reply, Dennis comes thumping down the stairs.

"Hey, I bet you two want to go to bed don't you?" he chuckles. "I should go get Gumby out there and drag his butt up to bed too so you can pull the couch out, Walter."

"Oh, well sure...Scully and I were just discussing the idea of shut eye as a matter of fact," I smile and stand up.

"Yes. I think I've had about enough of Stephen King tonight," she wrinkles her nose.

We all laugh briefly. Then Dennis stops and smiles again.

"Say, listen. I was just up there e-mailing out the reminders. Uh...Wednesday evening I have an opening at Chatterers, a local gallery. It'll be a one man show but Phil's coming for moral support. You're both invited to attend too if you'd like. I was kind of saving the news as a surprise. But I thought I'd better let you know in case you had other plans..."

"Hell, man, that's fantastic!" I reply with genuine respect and admiration for him, "Count me in. I'd be honored to attend."

"Oh, me too. That sounds marvelous. But I didn't bring anything to wear to an art opening..." Scully replies looking a little perplexed.

"Jeans will be fine, Dana. This isn't New York. Chatterers is an informal, eclectic kind of place. Sort of an alternative gallery scene for Crossroads. But it seems to be up and coming. I was glad they were enthusiastic over my slides. These photos aren't my usual type of work," he adds with a somewhat wicked grin.

"Oh, that's good then. I'd love to attend, certainly," Scully replies, smiling sunnily

I look around the room at the numerous landscapes and the few portraits of the rugged inhabitants of Maine that grace the walls. Excellent examples of Dennis's talents as a photographer. I notice Scully glancing around as well. What does he mean? No landscapes?

"What kind of photographs are they?" Scully asks with interest.

"Male nudes."

I bark a quick laugh at Scully's sudden expression. It's a cross between *oh oh what did I get myself into now* and *wow, I can hardly wait*.

"Think you two can handle a little gay eroticism? Oh, the images are very tastefully done - don't worry," he hastens to reassure us, "no willies waving in the wind or anything."

"I wouldn't miss this show for the world," I laugh.

Scully raises her eyebrows at me and then she cracks up.

"Ok, I'll admit it. Neither would I," she replies, laughing musically.

"Excellent!" Ok. We can all go down to the gallery together Wednesday night. Man, that will be a riot. I know you'll enjoy it. There should be a pretty good crowd."

"I hope so. You'll sell some," I throw in as a comment.

"I hear you Walter. We have to pay for that deck somehow," he laughs. "I'll go roust Phil," he finishes at last. Scully and I nod as he leaves the room.

"Sounds like it will be a great time," she says, yawning a little.

"I think it will be a time all right," I rumble, "Yeah. So, you don't mind being my date?" I blurt out suddenly without thinking. What in the hell made me ask her that?

She looks at me for a second, her eyes and mouth crinkling a little with a suppressed smile.

"I was just going to ask you the same thing. And to answer you - no. I won't

mind at all."

I nod.

"Good. We'll watch each others backs then. Deal, *Agent* Scully?"

She smiles at my teasing use of the work title again.

"Deal, *sir*."

I nod again.

She puts her book under her arm, and starts to leave the living room.

"Good night, Walter. Sweet dreams."

"Good night, Scully. Thanks. You too," I reply, watching her walk away. I turn away at last, and bending, work to fold out the couch.

xXx

3 AM. Dragon's Roost

I hear....someone screaming. I'm awake in an instant. Years of training make me grab for my weapon, and then I'm out of bed, through the bedroom door at a dead run, and down the hall in a matter of moments. I almost bump smack into Walter, dressed only in his sweat bottoms, as he rushes into the foyer at the foot of the stairs to the second floor. He has his Glock in hand as well, raised and ready.

"I heard..." he breathes out hard. Another piercing shriek rends the air. It's coming from upstairs. Dear God! It sounds like a man's dying up there.

I'm about to dash up the stairs when Walter grabs my left arm.

"Hold up, Scully," he sighs. I look at him in confusion as he flicks the safety on his Glock, and lowers it wearily to his side.

"It's Phil," he adds looking down into my questioning face. His eyes are almost unreadable, but I can still see the world weariness there.

"Phil?" I ask studying his face.

"Yeah. He...he's having a nightmare, Scully. Nam. Uh, it's happened before when I was up here," he answers. "I was just disorientated for a minute," he shakes his head in disgust, "The job," he adds with a shrug.

I nod in understanding and flip the safety back on my Smith and Wesson.

"Should...should we go up and check on him?" I ask with concern.

Walter looks down for a moment and then he touches my arm very gently.

"Scully, this...maybe this is an instance when I'd better go in alone. It's something between old soldiers. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

I can more than understand it I think. I'd seen that look in my father's eyes several times. There are some things that just can't be shared with non-coms or civilians. Even fellow FBI agents and friends. Especially women friends I suppose.

"Walter, I understand. Just come tell me later if he's ok, all right? I...I won't be able to sleep otherwise," I admit, looking down myself now. I have trouble sleeping after Mulder has one of his nightmares. Until I know he's well and goodly asleep again I tend to lie there watching over him. It's a mark for my feelings of increasing friendship for Phil Meyers that I would do the same for him.

"Sure, Scully. I'll come down and knock on your door," he nods. Then without further comment he leaves my side and ascends the stairs towards the master bedroom.

Later...

There's a quiet knocking...

"Scully?"

"Come on in, Walter."

I haven't even tried to go to sleep. The night stand lamp is on, and I've been sitting here listening to the muted voices coming from above. Dennis and Walter trying to settle Phil down.

Walter opens the door quietly and comes into the guest bedroom. He looks haggard. God! He stands there in the doorway, and then shuts it carefully behind him.

"Is Phil all right?" I ask and then, before I can stop myself, "Are you all right?"

His shoulders sag almost imperceptibly and he looks at me oddly for a moment. Then he smiles tiredly and walks over to the bed.

"May I..." he indicates, asking to sit.

"Please."

I shift over a bit and he sits down heavily. He runs his hand over his face and up under his glasses for a moment. The bridge of his nose gets some attention from a large finger and thumb. After he lowers his hand he answers me without looking at me.

"Yeah. Shit. I'll be all right. So...so will Phil. Dennis is taking care of him. It's...it's an old story. We...we all get these nightmares. He'll probably be fine in the morning."

"God, Walter, I'm so sorry," I murmur, touching his arm gently. I realize with sudden embarrassment that I've been touching him a lot lately. Maybe...maybe that's not very appropriate. I'm discovering I...rather like touching him. Down Dana, I think with chagrin. He's...he's not...this might offend him...I tell myself. He glances down at my hand, and I pull it back slowly, placing both my hands in my lap. I look down at them.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Scully. I can't blame you for anything. Nam's to blame. It's just a fact of life for us. You...you learn to cope. I would expect you've had...similar experiences. I mean, Christ you've...you would have had to wouldn't you?" he adds with a far away tone in his voice.

"Walter, what happened to you over there?" I ask gently. Right now in this moment I...I really want to understand. I think...I think it's important that I know.

For a heartbeat or two I don't think he heard me, or if he did, he isn't going to answer. Then he starts to talk very quietly.

"I guess I can tell you. I...I've told Mulder most of it too. You...you have a right to know as well now. Uh...I was on point one day with my best friend over there. John. John Rand. We used to call him Cracker Rand because he was from Georgia."

He stops a moment to gather his thoughts further. I nod. It's as if he picks up on it without seeing because he continues.

"We...we were over the border - inside Cambodia I mean. Of course that was illegal at the time - but this was a very special op. Top secret. At any rate, John and I were on point. We...we were supposed to be alert...frosty. Well fuck - we were only 19 years old and despite all the special training sometimes...sometimes we were just kids. John and I were talking, very quietly but talking. It was a...stupid oversight. Christ, though...I mean we hardly exchanged 10 words...I...oh fuck it. I've had guilt over this for years, Scully. I really have to learn to get over it," he sighs.

"I understand..." I murmur. And I do understand. We're all human. And we're all young once. Walter goes on - that same dreamy, faraway cadence to his voice.

"But he started teasing me about some damn Saigon whore I'd been pumping the night before we left for the field. John was such a kidder. He was a good kid. They were all good kids," he nods as if agreeing with his own softly uttered words.

In profile, I can see his face soften at the mention of John Rand's name. I have to think Walter must have had special feelings for John. It makes his next words even more tragic.

"At any rate, we walked right into a gook ambush. John got it first. He got his head blown off right in front of my eyes. His brains splattered all over my flack jacket. After that it was every man for himself. I...my buddies were dropping like flies. I got hit twice before I even realized I'd caught a round. All I did was stand there and fire, scream, and fire. I didn't even take cover. I...I'm not sure I wanted to avoid getting hit."

I'm just sitting there staring at him now. I...this is horrible. I mean what Mulder and I've been through, what we go through on the job is one thing. We're adults, trained professionals. We're not 19 year old young men in brutal combat. We're not 19 year old young men who blame themselves for the deaths of their friends. It seems to me Walter Skinner gave a lot for his country. My God.

"Finally I took a round in the guts. I went down too. The whole unit was wiped out. All dead. I bought it too, actually...at least I thought so. I...I woke up when they were zipping me into the body bag. If I hadn't gasped the corpsman wouldn't have given me a second look I guess..." his voice trails off.

I have no earthly idea what to say. I...I have a fleeting thought of sliding over further, lifting the covers and....and what? Offering him a comfort fuck? Lord. How...how disgusting. That...that's...not a good idea at all. It's...so crass. But... I...I know Mulder would...would want...oh, forget it. Just...get a grip here Dana. This is a friend. A friend who is clearly hurting. Stop thinking with your /and Mulder's?/ libido and help him. But before I can say anything at all, he turns and gives my knee a small pat.

"Listen, Scully. Uh...you don't have to hear all this...it's ancient history. You...we're supposed to be on vacation here, right? But I appreciate your asking, and your concern."

Ok. I can tell he's closing himself off again. Becoming the AD for me. Fine. I suppose I should be thankful he got this far. This is terribly personal, and if he's not quite ready to share any of it I can more than understand. Maybe some day he'll be comfortable enough to talk about it again. In the meantime I'll allow him his privacy. There is no issue over that consideration at all.

"No problem. That's what friends are for. A trite saying in some people's book. But in mine - I think it has a lot of merit," I answer pushing my hair back behind my ears.

He smiles a little at my reply and gets up from the edge of the bed. There is a great deal of relief on his face. He looks much better than when he came in here. Good. Maybe he'll be able to get some sleep now. Then so will I.

"Thanks Scully. I...thank you for listening," he repeats himself.

"Good night Walter. Try to get some rest."

"I think I can...now," he mumbles as he turns away. He walks back over to the door and just before he opens it, he turns and speaks again.

As he stands there I can't help it. My eyes run over his torso. I track up and down his body, settling on his muscular stomach. I gaze, not in lust, but in compassionate understanding. I've never really paid attention to his scars until tonight. But now I do and my eyes mist over when I consider how he got them. God! He got one for them for me really. And for Missy. My attention is drawn away from his body by his voice. I look up into his glasses. The light from the night stand lamp makes them suddenly opaque. I can't see his eyes.

"Scully I told Phil that...that you didn't hear him screaming. He was very embarrassed about that point. I...I think if you could find it possible not to mention this...this incident in the morning he'd probably appreciate it."

I smile gently at him.

"My lips are sealed."

He nods. I can only hope he realizes I mean where his privacy is concerned as well. I hope...I hope he knows I care. I think he does because he smiles again as he turns and opens the door.

"Night Scully," he rumbles one more time and then he's gone.

xXx

Wednesday, May 26, 1999 11 AM. Outside the Rape Task Force war room, Local Police Headquarters, Downtown Holyoke, MA

"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder..." Rita Manconen is shaking her head in bemused amazement at me.

We've just left the Rape Task Force war room after I gave my presentation on the suspects profile. I laid it all out. Put it all on the line and told them what I thought we should do. Ok, it's a pretty audacious plan. Out there maybe. But I have a gut feeling it will work. And work fast. And speed is of the essence now. He hit again last night. I know this guy likes tall women with long brown hair. Last nights victim fit my profile to a *T*. All the victims have been at least 5 feet 9 inches tall. Last nights target was 6 foot 1 and on the basketball team here. Yeah, this sick fuck's got something for...and against tall, statuesque brunettes all right. Something wicked and perverse. Something we need to take away from him right now.

I'm half giddy with the anticipation of catching this asshole, and sick to my stomach with seeing another young woman assaulted and then disfigured with knife cuts. When Rita speaks I stop walking dead in my tracks. I turn and take her arm.

"Rita, come on. Don't you think I know my stuff? Don't you know this will work?"

She looks down and the smile leaves her face. I release her arm. When she looks back up her face is serious.

"If it would help I'd volunteer for it, Mulder. But obviously I can't volunteer. I don't fit his victim profile. I just thought it was...was ...ah skip it. Yeah, I think you're right and you're the only man for the job. I certainly can't do it and no one in there fits the..."

"No officer in there fits the victim profile. Not even Officer Reed. She's too short and she's a blonde."

Rita shakes her head again.

"Ok, I can buy that - but Mulder - you're gonna need some help here. I mean, have you ever dressed in drag before?" she asks, eyebrows raised quizzically

I look at her for a second. I think oh oh - has she read me here? I mean my bisexuality? No, she's just concerned and probably rightly so. My preferences, although they do take in that walk on the wild side - they don't involve walking it in heels. I break into laughter.

"What do you think?"

"Honey...You are no Ru Paul. I think you're gonna need a lot of help Mulder. Otherwise you're gonna look like a damn scarecrow. You've been about as close to looking good in drag as I've been to looking like Jada Pinkett."

I grin and look down.

"Yeah, well...I was kind of hoping you'd help me out there. You and Officer Reed."

"Oh sure baby. I know you need our help. And I know you want it too, you nasty white boy. Two gorgeous women like us making over your tall, skinny body and going *oh, sweetie you look so good in that skirt and wig.*"

I'm trying really hard not to lose it completely here. But it's hard. I'm just that close to the edge of hysteria, that the urge to laugh like a maniac myself is very strong. Luckily for me, Rita stops the joking and gets serious again.

"Yeah, Mulder. I'll be happy to help. And I'm sure Sheila will be too. If getting you dressed up like a first class drag queen will catch this perp, I'll put the panty hose on you myself."

"You're on, Agent Manconen," I smirk, "Come on honey chile, I thought we passed a Gap outlet on the way downtown this morning..."

xXx

Wednesday, May 26, 1999 6 PM Dragon's Roost Crossroads, Maine.

The hot shower water feels good after today. We really humped it on that deck. We didn't even stop for lunch and then fell on dinner like wolves without taking time to clean up. But I believe that tomorrow may be the day we finish the project. All of us can be proud at the effort. It's a job well done...I just wish Mulder...well, you know. I don't want to get into an angst attack over my lover here. I need to finish up the shower and get my ass in gear if we want to make Dennis's gallery opening in time.

After dinner, I let Scully have the downstairs bathroom first while Phil and Dennis got ready upstairs. I was prepared to cool my heals for a while in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, but Scully surprised me. Ok, I guess I'd bought into the stereotype of women taking a long time in the bathroom. The only benchmark I had to compare with was Sharon. She took forever to get ready. Shit - Scully isn't Sharon. For one thing she's an agent. You learn to get ready for anything fast. At any rate, she came out to the kitchen in her bathrobe, toweling her hair after what seemed like a very short time, and told me the can was all mine.

So here I am, soap all over me, and hot water washing away some small muscle aches along with the accumulated dirt and sweat. I felt my chin and decided to shave as well so that was done first off. Now I'm finishing the rest. I remember the last time I took a shower in this house. With Mulder. God. I have to stop...thinking...my mind wanders back to that winter memory and I can't help it. I let my soapy hand wander down to stroke my cock. Then I cup my balls and massage them a little too. I close my eyes and let the warm water run over my head as I feel the heat start to build in my groin. God I really miss Fox. I...I...Christ. I can't take the time to beat off here. This is ridiculous.

I shake my head and change my teasing pulls to a more impersonal, businesslike touch. Ok. I haven't done my self exam this month. Why not now? Yeah. That's the ticket. Think about something like testicular cancer for a second Walter. It's bound to squash the heat of arousal flooding your cock. But even as I examine my testicles for lumps, I'm thinking of Mulder. I keep reminding him this is something he should be doing for himself too. But hey, I guess I could do it for him, couldn't I? Yeah...that would be...Oh piss on it. There's a thought that's not going to help matters here. When I realize I'm still getting hot - I decide I'd better go for a sure fire cure at last. I reach forward, twist and then gasp loudly. The freezing water slams into my nuts, and my dick goes as limp as a garden hose.

Later...

Scully has kindly vacated the guest bedroom quickly as well so that I can dress in here. I put my clothes out on the bed earlier before I hit the shower. I had to laugh. Scully watched me while I was laying them out. I suppose she wanted to see if I was going to opt for AD fashion or really take Dennis' words as gospel and go for the casual look. I know she didn't bring any really dressy clothes up here. There was such a comical look of relief on her face when I put the jeans and black t-shirt on the bed. She left the room with a smile.

Ok. I am going to wear the tweed sports jacket I brought but hey...I look good in it, all right? Mulder says it has a nice brown underpattern that matches my eyes. Crap. I sound like fucking Calvin Klein or Mister Blackwell. Well, it does make me look like I at least half way know how to dress. And I want to look my best for Dennis's shindig here. Wouldn't do for one of his friends to look like a bum. In the back of my mind the words, *Scully's date* flash like a neon sign. But I pull the plug on the thought and the sign winks out.

I smooth a hand over what's left of my hair and exit the bedroom to go join the rest of the gallery entourage.

Scully is waiting in the hallway. She's put on her black dress suit coat over a white t-shirt and jeans. Instead of sneakers she's wearing the sensible shoes she wears to work as well. So, I guess she still had her bureau attire in the garment bag? Sounds like me. I grin a bit. Can't drag the bureau out of the agent or the AD it seems. She looks casual...she looks...well she looks really nice.

"Dennis is bringing the car around," she says when she sees me. I nod and adjust my Glock under my coat where it rests in the holster in the small of my back. I see Scully hide a smile.

"What? Aren't you armed tonight?" I ask her, raising an eyebrow, "What would Kersh say?" I tease her a little. Oh blow me. That was a shitty thing to say. Christ!

"The same thing you would have said, *Where's your weapon agent*?" she replies with a mixture of humor and annoyance in her voice. She pats the small of her back for emphasis and then she finishes her reply.

"So, I'm packing heat, as they say."

"Scully, I really am sorry about Kersh..." I begin. But before I can finish the thought, Phil comes in the front door.

"Transport awaits, my good people," he bows and waves with a flourish. It's good to see he's feeling better since that Godawful nightmare the other night. As Scully and I move to follow him out the front door, she leans towards me and whispers.

"Walter, I know. It...it's ok about Kersh. Really," she nods for emphasis and then she adjusts the purse on her shoulder and walks on after Phil Meyers to the waiting car.

xXx

Wednesday, May 26, 1999 9:15 PM The Chatterers Gallery. Crossroads, Maine

The gallery isn't overly large, but it's big enough to hold a good sized crowd and still be fairly intimate. The building has a clean, no frills, modern decor and most importantly - fantastic lighting. Thankfully, the galleries capacity is being tested this evening. It's very crowded and I'm tremendously excited for Dennis. This is a marvelous reception. It's due to end at 10 PM and even in this short time Dennis has sold several photographs.

Crossroads isn't a big town but the population seems to be both friendly and liberal as well. There is a very eclectic mix here. Out of towners as well as locals. New Englanders can sometimes be standoffish with strangers especially artsy or alternative types from New York. There are a number of those here tonight. There are also a number of flamboyantly gay men as well. So, the liberal boundaries are being tested and seem to be holding just fine. Everyone seems to be getting along, perhaps helped by the wine and finger food, as well as a mutual love of fine photography. It's pleasant to see.

Dennis, and Phil especially, are in their element. They introduced us to the Gallery owners, Tony and Angela Keyes when we arrived at the gallery. A charming couple trying to bring a progressive ambiance to the local cultural climate. I think they may succeed. After the introduction the guys left Walter and I on our own to view the photographs...and mingle. Well, Walter doesn't really mingle well. Hmmm...that's something of an understatement. More about that in a moment. But to be fair, I don't *do* mingle well either for that matter. So, we found ourselves eventually gravitating towards each other after visiting the wine and hors d'oeuvre table, and talking separately to some of the guests.

It's been an interesting experience so far, our tour of the exhibit. A real...*time* as Walter said the other night.

"Christ," Walter mumbles under his breath. He takes a long drink from his wine glass and then shakes his head.

We're standing in front of a black and white photo at the moment. It's obviously a profile shot of two men making love. It's in close-up however. You can't see faces. You can't even really see all of their arms or legs or any part of their genitals. The photo zeros in on just their tightly spooned together torsos, one man in back of the other. The partner behind has a leg draped up and over the thigh of the other. The man behind is either a very light skinned African American or very tanned Caucasian man. The other man is light skinned with a tattoo of a seated Buddha on his thigh, just visible in the picture. The photo makes the men look for all the world like a piece of living sculpture. Almost like fluid metal or molten rock. It's terribly erotic and very touchingly beautiful.

"What's wrong?" I ask Walter. I can see the tell tale redness at the tips of his ears that tells me he's getting embarrassed, "It...it's a lovely photo."

"Oh I won't argue that, Scully. It's masterfully done."

"Well than what's the matter?" I ask with a hint of annoyance in my voice.

I struggle to keep it out, but it's difficult. Walter has been rather uncomfortable almost all night. Shortly after we got here he reverted to surly AD mode. I think I know why, but I'm not positive. I was watching him. At first he was talking to an elderly couple. They all seemed to recognize each other and he was smiling and talking easily with them. When they moved away he stood alone for a few moments, sipping his wine. Then another man approached him and began talking animatedly with him. The man was one of the most flamboyant gay men at the opening. I watched Walter staring at this very attractive, tall, Hispanic Man like he'd grown two heads. There was even a hint of disgust mixed with panic on his face for just a second. It only took him a heartbeat to put on the AD Walter S. *Don't Fuck with Me* Skinner persona. I watched his face shut down like a steel door. Walter was polite. I don't mean to say he looked like he was being rude. He was just...stiff, formal and finally, mostly silent while the man carried on his side of the conversation. As soon as it was politely possible, Walter excused himself and went to the men's room. The attentive stranger was left shrugging his shoulders with a perplexed expression on his face.

Walter looks down at me and his face is still unreadable. His jaw tense.

"That's Dennis and Phil in the photograph," he hisses at me.

"Really?" I ask moving to look a little closer. His hand is on my arm and I pull back. When I glance down at his arm and raise an eyebrow he releases me quickly and then whispers down towards my ear.

"Yeah, really. Dennis has that seated Buddha tattooed on his thigh, "I saw it when were went swimming off Dragon's Roost last year," he hastens to add. God, I never thought Walter could have a prissy school marm voice in his repertoire. This is almost too...strange.

"So?" I ask furrowing my brow.

I really don't see any harm in the photo. Their faces aren't in it. I don't think it can be that widely known that Phil has the tattoo, can it? What the devil is wrong with Walter here?

"So...I just think there are some things that should be kept private that's all," Walter replies huffily.

/Excuse me!?/ He takes a final swig out of his wine glass, emptying it. He sets the glass down on a nearby small table. I'm gaping at him when he turns back around. I can feel the heat rising in my face. Private? Oh come on. This from the man who was...doing the wild thing with Mulder in that hotel room loud enough to wake me up so I walked in on them? Right. What's wrong with this picture? I'm irate and before I think better of it I speak my mind.

"I would hope you'll hold that thought the next time you, and I, and Mulder are in a hotel suite together."

Oh damn it Dana that was not the right reply at all. Walter's face proves my words accurate. He clouds up like a fast approaching storm front.

"Excuse me," he growls, "I think I need some air," he adds, turning to walk past me towards the gallery entrance. Oh for Gods sake. Wonderful. I certainly did put my foot in it. Well damn it, he had it coming. It was, if you'll pardon the expression, the bald truth. Oh shit. Now I guess I have to make nice. I let out an exasperated sigh as I hasten to follow him.

I find him standing outside on the sidewalk. He's leaning against the gallery wall with his arms crossed in front of him. His face is partly in shadow, only half lit from the street light nearby. For a moment he looks like he's been carved in stone himself. Like he's part of the wall coming to life. I take a deep breath and walk over to him. His head is tilted back against the wall, his eyes shut. When he hears me walk up he moves his head off the wall, stands up straight, and looks at me. His face is still partly in shadow.

"Come to stick it in again, Agent Scully?" he growls at me.

OK. That's it.

"I'm not the one who should be talking about sticking anything in anywhere, damn it," I growl right back.

"What?" he asks, staring at me open-mouthed.

"Cut the crap, Walter. Just climb off my back. How in the hell could you have said something like that in there? Do you know what a self-righteous piece of hypocritical bullshit that sounded like?" I reply intensely.

I'm keeping myself in tight control - talking quietly and carefully. If I don't I may really start yelling and I don't want to cause a scene out here. As it is after I utter the words I'm starting to shake with a mixture of anger and fear. "This is AD Skinner!" flashes into my mind. Oh God! Get a life Dana. We're way beyond that right now. He needs to hear this.

"Scully, you don't know anything about it," he rumbles at me, "Can't you give that night in the hotel a rest"

"I can try if you'll illuminate me, Walter? Tell me so I can understand the difference between your views on privacy and mine, all right?" I cross my arms in front of me and we stand glaring at each other.

"We didn't take pictures of it..." he blurts out.

"What does that have to do with the price of tea in..."

He holds up a hand and his shoulders sag slightly.

"All right, all right, call off the dogs, Agent. Christ you are one ornery woman sometimes, you know that?"

I let out a quick laugh. I can't help it. He gives me a terse nod, and then a small smile just creases his mouth.

"I guess I had all that coming," he sighs again. Both of us relax a little. He starts to walk over towards Dennis and Phil's car where it's parked out front at the curb.

"Care to join me in my office, Scully?" he gestures towards the bumper.

I follow him and we both lean back against the car's fender. We stand looking straight ahead, facing the building. It's almost 10 PM. People are starting to drift out of the gallery as the reception winds down. I watch them and wait for Walter to say his piece.

"I'm sorry, Scully, it's just that...ok...it's just that I'm still uncomfortable with my sexuality at times," he admits quietly. "Jesus...this is still new to me...but you'd think I'd be able to...well, it just isn't easy after years of hiding and denial I guess," he muses aloud. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, shifts his head suddenly, and his neck cracks. He does seem to calm further after the sound.

"The exhibit made you uncomfortable?"

"Yes, to a degree it did. Most of it was ok - I didn't care about the nudity and eroticism as such. I guess it was just seeing that picture of Dennis and Phil. Even though it was, for all intents and purposes, anonymous, it just...Oh hell. It just made me wonder how they can be so easy about it. Publicly celebrate loving each other that way. I guess I'm still a little overwhelmed by overt expressions of homosexuality. Uh, overt expressions of any kind of emotion hasn't exactly been my forte," he adds with a gruff chuckle.

I nod in understanding.

"And I guess I was a little jealous as well," he adds even more quietly.

I sigh. Yes. I can understand that idea for sure. How many times have I wished Mulder and I could kiss or hug each other hello and good bye in public. Or even hold hands? I more than know that feeling. You do get envious sometimes.

"I guess I understand that one," I add, ruefully. Expressing my thoughts.

Walter looks at me again with a quizzical look on his face, then understanding dawns.

"Shit, I must be tired," he grumbles, "Yeah, you would know that wouldn't you.''

"Walter was the discomfort with the gay lifestyle why you were...why you didn't enjoy talking with that Hispanic man earlier?"

He clears his throat.

"That obvious was it?" he frowns a little.

"Well, I just happened to notice you talking to that elderly couple..." I begin.

"The Ryersons? Great people. They remember when Sharon and I used to come up here," he replies, distantly, recalling that time long ago.

"Well I was still watching when he started talking to you."

"Oh. Yeah, he made me uncomfortable. He was...he was fishing around trying to find out who I was, and more importantly, who I was with when I told him I was a friend of Dennis and Phil's."

"He thought you were gay?"

"Scully, he was sure I was gay. I...Mulder and I have to be careful. You of all people should understand that concept."

"Of course."

"Right. So, he...he made me very uncomfortable. Finally I told him I was with you. Then I excused myself and went to the bathroom," he finishes.

His voice is as carefully neutral as possible. Ok. I guess I should be flattered in some back handed compliment kind of way. Deep down I am flattered, though. Deep down in a spot where I'll hardly admit it. I feel...it feels nice to be considered date material by Walter Skinner. Very nice. I shake myself a little to send that thought into the back of my mind so I can refocus on the matter at hand.

"Oh. Well, ttthat's ok. We did a...agree that was ok earlier." God, stop stuttering here Dana. Try to sound at least half way intelligent.

"Yes we did," he nods, "At any rate, guys like that...the more flamboyant gay men...make me nervous. I know it's wrong to feel that nervousness and embarrassment. God. I mean, how can I feel distaste for a man like that and still...and feel attracted to him at the same time? How hypocritical is that Scully? But I do. I...I don't enjoy feeling like a bigot - not to mention sexually confused. No kidding - Crap," he mumbles the last.

I look down at my feet and crush the nervous grin that suddenly threatens to jump to my lips.

"It...it makes me disgusted with myself," he grates out dismally.

Any feelings of humor on my part fall by the wayside at the tone of despair in his voice. I look up at him and touch his arm gently.

"Walter...I know you'll reconcile it all in your mind eventually. You're too intelligent and compassionate to do otherwise. If...if you ever need to talk about it...I just want you to know you can talk to me. Really. Like I said - friends are there for friends."

"I appreciate that Scully. My prejudicial attitudes are something I'm working to overcome. I mean that, really. And I am sorry I snapped at you in there. It was uncalled for," he replies.

His hand comes up and rests over mine where I'm touching his arm. He looks down at me and catches me looking up at him. For a moment we gaze into each others eyes. I'm struck with how brown his eyes really are behind those wirerims. They're soft, almost like soft, brown velvet - without a hint of hazel like Mulder's eyes. And he has long eyelashes. I never noticed that before either. I blink. My body is suddenly very warm all over.

Walter clears his throat, "Thanks Scully. Thanks for being so patient. Thanks for watching my back," he replies quietly. A shiver goes up my spine. Jesus he sounds like...he purrs just like a leopard...

"Apology accepted," I nod, struggling to regain my composure. I extricate my hand from under his, and remove it from his arm. My hand is shaking a little.

Walter levers up off the car's bumper and straightens his coat on his shoulders.

"We'd...we'd better get back inside so the guys don't think we ran out on them..." he grins at me a little.

"Good idea," I nod, swallowing as I calm myself down.

He gestures for me to proceed him and we walk back towards the gallery entrance.

xXx

Thursday, May 27, 1999 9:30 PM The Dean's Office. Mount Holyoke, College. Holyoke, Massachusetts.

Nice of Dean Randall to have a full length mirror in his office I think as I stand in front of it admiring the view. I turn around, staring over my shoulder at my reflection and come back full circle to study myself further. Jesus. Who'd a thunk it? God, this is so...strange. But it feels kind of...ok...I'll admit it I feel kind of...pretty! Yeah I look mighty fine.

Shit.

"Mulder, I have to admit - you don't look half bad," Sheila Reed giggles as I pull down on my skirt.

"Really? You don't think this is too short?" I ask squinting down at the hem of the Gap Jean skirt where it clings to my thighs. I almost stumble in the sensible heels the two women chose for me. That was some trick - the shoes. We had to go to a tall woman's shoe store that Sheila's best girlfriend shops at in Springfield to get them.

Rita Manconen laughs, "Uh, Mulder you want it short. Remember?. We're looking to hook a pervert tonight."

"Uh, can we avoid using my name and the word *hook* in the same sentence please," I wince slightly. Jesus I do look like a 20 buck blow job whore. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...

"Honey, you look fine," Rita advises, getting serious again, "Just adjust that wig a little and for God's sake, remember to keep that jock strap tight. That short skirt is going to show our perp your surprise package if you're not careful."

"Shit, I hope I've still got the gift by the time we've collared him," I grumble. The fucking strap and the pantyhose they bought to hold in Mr. Johnson are almost making me a castrato.

"Look at it his way - it's making your voice higher," Sheila wise cracks as if she read my mind.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I reply, smiling despite my discomfort. I give myself one last once over in the mirror. Oh baby these lips were made for lipstick weren't they? Whoa! I'm just a little worried I could get to like this look. God damn! Let's put that nasty little thought right out of my nasty white boy mind as Rita would say. I adjust the wig and walk over to the conference table the Dean has in his office. I'm rather proud of myself. I can walk in the shoes without wobbling. I've been practicing on and off all afternoon, with Rita and Sheila's instruction.

I pick up my Smith and Wesson and put it in the holster that's attached to the top of my skirt at this point. I have it slung cowboy style so I can fast draw. I'm wearing a jeans jacket over my white t-shirt to hide my weapon. I would have opted for a shoulder rig but it got in the way of the bra and false tits I am NOT at all used to wearing. None of us wanted my draw to be impaired in any way tonight.

"So, I guess we're ready to rock and roll," I let out a long breath and turn to my fellow peace officers.

"Almost, Mulder. Let me check that wire one more time," Rita suggests.

While she runs her fingers over the devices attachment points in a business like manner, Sheila Reed makes a quiet exit from the office and into the outer reception area. The rest of the local Rape Task Force members are waiting out there. I have to thank the guys for being so polite. The locals have been kind enough to give me some privacy. The time I've needed to turn myself into *Foxy* Mulder - maniac bait.

Rita finishes patting me down and straightens up. She gestures for me to proceed her towards the door.

"Ladies first," she smirks a little.

"Let's hope *Luck Be A Lady* tonight," I reply tersely, setting my shoulders.

"Amen, baby," Rita replies with a quick nod of her head.

xXx

Thursday, May 27, 1999 9:30 PM Dragon's Roost, Crossroads Maine.

"Ok, smack that thing," Phil laughs as Scully holds the bottle of champagne up high. She lifts it back, and up, and then she brings it forward with a mighty double armed swing. The bottle smashes quite spectacularly against the deck's railing. Champagne flies all over and she jumps back slightly laughing brightly.

"Whoa, good arm! Good arm, Dana!" Dennis congratulates her as he hands her a towel. She drop pitches the bottle up and into the trash bin Dennis and Phil have been using on the desk project. Phil goes for the uncorked bottle we're going to use in our celebration tonight where it sits on the deck in an ice bucket.

It's a fantastic, clear, mild ,balmy night and the deck is complete. We stood back for a few minutes to admire it's lines. Then we went for the booze. We've given it a true Naval christening and appropriately the champagne shower was delivered by the only Navy brat here. I smile at that thought. Yeah, after her lecture last night she qualifies for that brat moniker. Just like Mulder. But fuck it - I needed to hear her little speech. It...it gave me a reality check I think I needed right about then. Short and sweet describes Dana Scully in more than one way flashes errant, through my mind. I smile more widely as Phil comes over and hands me the other champagne bottle.

"What's this?" I ask slightly bewildered. It doesn't occur to me at first that he wants me to do the honors of uncorking it. I'm flattered and touched when I realize it.

"High class hootch, what do you think, WS?" he answers slapping the bottle into my outstretched hand.

I grin at him, "Oh, ok..." I reply. Then I mime pulling the bottle back over my head.

"You asshole," Phil laughs, "No, no no. Don't smash it. Uncork it, you big lug."

"Oh. Well, why didn't you say that then?" I mug for him. They're all laughing at me. I join in as Scully hands me the towel. I wrap the towel around the neck, and point the bottle away from them all. I pull the cork. It comes out with a resounding pop and quite a bit of champagne.

"Glasses! Now!" I laugh.

They all line up in front of me. Scully is holding two glasses so she's thought about me. I smile at her as I fill all the *cups*. She hands me my glass at the end. After we're all plied with liquid refreshment we start to walk down towards the beach almost in silent agreement. I carry the bottle along with us and we stop and sit down where the grass just borders the sand.

I set the bottle down next to me and we all sit there for a few minutes in companionable silence, sipping the champagne. It feels cool and tart on my tongue.

"Well, that's a job well done," Dennis says at last.

"Amen," Phil nods sagely.

"Indeed," I agree.

"Yes, sir," Scully grins.

We all look at each other then with bemused expressions at our self contained formality. Then Phil giggles and gets up.

"Yeeeeeeeee HAAAAAAAAW!" he hollers, grabbing Scully by the hands. He pulls her up and dances her around and then down onto the sand. Scully is laughing helplessly.

"You lead, you lead," Phil trills his laughter, and Scully takes over. They're dancing to no music at all and it's so fine...so...sweet. They look like brother and sister dancing on the sand. Like...like fraternal twins almost, except Phil is older.

I glance over at Dennis and his eyes are filled with love as he watches Scully dip Phil deep and then pull him back up. My heart flips with a mixture of pain and sheer joy. Pain from missing Fox, and joy that Dennis and Phil are so in love. And maybe, I realize, down deep, joy that Dana Scully is so obviously enjoying herself. Phil and Scully collapse in each other's arms, laughing and talking to each other. Dennis notices me looking at him.

"She's a hell of a woman, Walter. Fox is very lucky," he says quietly taking a sip of his champagne.

"So am I," I muse turning my attention away from him and back at the laughing twosome walking arm and arm back towards us.

When I look back at Dennis he has an eyebrow raised. Oh shit, yeah. I guess that didn't come out quite right, I think hastily. It sounded like I...like Scully and I...uh. No. Better clarify that point.

"I mean Fox and me. I'm lucky she understands about Fox and me."

"Shit. No kidding," he nods in understanding.

"Yeah, Scully is a very understanding woman," I agree taking another swig of my champagne. I empty the glass and reach for the bottle as Phil and Scully return to our side.

"Listen, Scully and I have an idea," Phil says, breathlessly.

I'm filling my glass again as Dennis asks the obvious question.

"Idea?"

"Yes. Phil was just telling me about that dance club you two go to in Derry sometimes...the Lighthouse?"

"Oh yeah..." Dennis starts to reply. I spill a little of the champagne over the edge of my glass at hearing the words *dance club*

"Wouldn't it be great if we all went there and really let loose?" Phil is grinning like an idiot and squeezing Scully's waist, "I can just tell Scully's a great dancer. It'd be a blast."

"Oh, hang on..." I interrupt.

"Yeah, we should go to the Lighthouse. I could really go for bustin' a move myself," Dennis enthuses.

"I haven't been dancing in months," Scully continues. "I think it would be stupendous, don't you Walter?" she asks looking down at me.

"Oh come on you guys, I'm whacked..." I blurt out.

God I can just see me at some loud gay dance club tonight. Piss on that idea. We're too old for this. All of us. Well.. Dennis and Phil are a couple of years younger than me but still...I'm tired and a little sore from hammering all afternoon. Now I just want to get hammered and crawl into the sack. And anyway, I'm still smarting from the last time I took a road trip to a gay dance club with Scully and Mulder. Christ!

"Oh not tonight, I didn't mean tonight," Phil assures me. "But come on, WS. You can rest up and we can go tomorrow evening. It would just be so much fun. I know you like to trip the light fantastic on occasion. Whadda ya say, big guy?"

I look up into his smiling, excited and enthusiastically flushed face, and what can I say?

"Sure, Phil. I should be able to drag my sorry, tired ass into *The Lighthouse* tomorrow night," I growl. When he pulls a dejected look, I reach forward and cuff his knee, grinning wide to let him know I'm only pulling his leg. He lets go of Scully and plops down on the sand next to me. He reaches over and gives me a swift peck on the cheek. I sputter. I can't help myself.

"Thanks WS. I...I...it'll be a lot of fun," he whispers. I look into his eyes. I can see it there. The nightmare is still heavy on his mind. He needs the diversion. He needs to get out and forget it as much as he can right now. Shit. Been there done that. Well if dancing like Mulder's proverbial dervish is what banishes this man's monsters as well, I'm there with him...for him. No question.

I clear my throat, "Yeah, it'll be great. I'll save the first dance for ya," I smile and lift up the champagne bottle as everyone looks on in awkward silence for a moment. "Anyone want some more before I suck it all down?" I ask raising an eyebrow.

Scully laughs and then so do Dennis and Phil. They all grab for their glasses and I fill up another round for all three of them.

Scully sits back down next to all of us and takes a sip from her glass. Then her brow furrows deeply.

"Oh damn," she exclaims taking the glass away. Her face changes to a look of bemused chagrin.

"What?" Dennis asks, his brow furrowing as well.

"I don't have a thing to wear to the club!" she blurts out. "I can't wear...I mean I don't want to dance in jeans. Damn!" she adds.

"Oh...no problem," Phil giggles, "We'll just go...shopping!" he enthuses again.

"Oh could we do that?" Scully replies sounding for a moment like a school girl. She realizes what she sounds like though, and I smile as she reassumes her more tough Agent Dana Scully face, "I mean...that would be great. I noticed a couple of nice shops in Crossroads."

"Oh yes! We can go to *Gale Simon's Boutique". They have some marvelous dresses there. I bet you'd look smashing in this little green number I saw in their window about a week ago."

"Green? Oh yes, I could definitely go for green. What a marvelous idea," Scully smiles and takes another sip of her champagne.

"Oh. But I hope you brought your charge card, girlfriend. That boutique ain't cheap." Phil adds.

"Oh, I'm never without my Visa card, believe me," Scully replies laughing.

"Oh good. Hey, maybe we can look for shoes too," Phil bubbles, really getting into it now.

Phil and Scully are ignoring Dennis and I completely now. They've moved off into some kind of fashion zone discussion group all their own. I'm just staring at them, my mouth open at the image and content of this conversation. Dennis senses my befuddlement and chuckles, poking me in the arm. I turn to look at him. He gestures with his head at Phil and Scully.

"I told him he should branch out into fashion design," he grins at me.

I guffaw. Yeah I could see it. Phil really does have a flare for color and patterns. It shows in his pottery and ceramics. He's be a whiz at designing clothes too. Shit, the guy's so talented anyway.

"Maybe they should go into business together," I chuckle.

"Should I mention the suggestion?" Dennis kids me.

"Fuck no. Mulder'd kill me if I lost his partner to some pansy dressmaker," I chortle loudly so Phil can hear the good-natured ribbing.

"Dennis he used the *P* word! I heard that you tight-assed old faggot. Just wait until tomorrow. I'm gonna rock and roll your fucked up fashion clueless butt big boy! You better have your charge card too."

I bury my head in my hands, shaking with laughter as Dennis slaps me on the back.

"Oh come on Walter it won't hurt. He'll be gentle," Dennis laughs at me.

"God! Shopping and then clubbing. You three are gonna owe me big time," I look up and groan with fake dismay.

Scully has her head down on her knees she's laughing so hard.

What the hell. It could be a lot fun. We deserve more celebrating over the deck anyway. And if it isn't fun...well I'm not going to let on I'm not having a good time at all. No - this is the new Walter Skinner. Mr. Congeniality. So, bring on the party. I'm your man, I think, as we all gather up our glasses, and the bottle. We get up, and once more, with silent assent, turn and head back towards the house.

xXx

Friday, May 28, 1999 9 PM. Outside The Lighthouse Dance Club. Derry, Maine.

We've arrived at the club a little early. Well so much the better. We found a parking place fairly easily as a result. I drove my Taurus rental to Derry. One of us should act as designated driver, but for some reason I don't think that's going to happen. I'll feel a lot less worried about taking a cab back to the house and leaving the rental on the street here then one of Dennis or Phil's cars. And Walter's rental SUV has "boost me" as Mulder would say, written all over it. Besides, Walter needs a bourbon - badly. So getting here early was optimum. I shake my head. God, I hope this isn't going to be a repeat of our night together at *The Boiler Room*. If it is, Walter's date is going to hail herself a cab earlier than anyone expects.

But to be fair he's doing his best to get it together. And I have to admit we all really did have a lot of fun this afternoon. Shopping. It's taken on a whole new meaning after going through a dress shop with Phil Meyers.

I love this dress. I did buy the green satiny sheath with the straps. Somehow we found shoes to match. God, I dropped a bundle on the charge card but...well I am on vacation. And this dress! It's...well let's just say Mulder's going to drop his teeth, ok?

I think Walter liked it too. If his expression when I came out of the fitting room was any indication the dress was a big hit, even with him. Dennis gave me a wolf whistle and Phil slapped him on the ass.

After I finished with my purchases we went in search of a men's store. The one we found was...a bit different....

Earlier...

"No!" Walter barks emphatically. "Not in a million years."

"Oh come on WS, try it on. It's going to look fabulous! Really. Don't you think so Dana? I mean it's understated enough for AD Skinner isn't it?"

I grin and nod. It really is a stunning suit and I have a feeling it will look exquisite on Walter. But...he's really balking, and I don't trust myself to reply without laughing.

"Sir, I think it will look magnificent on you. You have the height, physique and bearing to carry it off with aplomb."

"Yeah, right," Walter glares a the salesman who interrupts. The man holds out the expensively made, deep blue Italian suit towards Walter. It's a deep blue but the blue is iridescent under the lighting. The material looks like the deep blue of a tropical bird's head and it's not something Walter Skinner would ever think of wearing - as he said - in a million years.

"Dennis, help me out here, man," he looks forlornly at Dennis where he's leaning up against one of the stores pillars.

"Well, Walter to be honest - it's a great suit. Try it on. You never know. You might like the look," he shrugs, smiling sunnily at him.

Walter gives us all one last surly look and enters the fitting room, suit held out in front of him like it's a piece of forensics evidence.

When he comes out he's a sight to behold. To say he looks magnificent is a total understatement. He looks...royal. Walter saunters over and checks himself out carefully in the full length mirrored alcove next to the fitting rooms. He studies his reflection intently. He moves the suit coat around on his large muscular shoulders experimentally. Phil is staring at him like he's been hit with a hammer between the eyes.

"WS. If you don't buy that suit...you should arrest yourself for fashion crime. It's a knock-out."

Walter turns, and his face breaks into a slow, lazy grin.

"Yeah, I think this one's a keeper. Wrap it up, please. Oh, and can I see some shirts to go with it?"

The Present...

I'm glad he left the specs back at Dragon's Roost - and his Glock too for that matter. The contacts go so much better with his suit, and it fits way better without the bulge from his uh...gun. God! I have to stop that kind of thing right now.

It's just that...even though he looks a little nervous Walter Skinner looks...well he's going to turn heads in here. I'd better stick close in case some guy pinches his ass. Somehow I don't think Walter would respond to that kind of attention in the same...magnanimous fashion as Mulder.

Dennis and Phil are walking towards the club entrance, ahead of us. I fall into step beside Walter and wind my arm through his. He looks down at me startled for a split second and then he takes my arm.

"You look great, Walter. I'm not kidding," I smile up at him in reassurance. "Don't worry, this will be fun evening," I add.

"Yeah?" he asks a bit doubtfully, looking back at me carefully. "Yeah," he repeats with a smile and more confident nod of his head. I can practically feel him puffing up in the suit.

We walk on towards the door and his step is back to that confident AD saunter he does so well.

"You think Mulder will like this too?" he asks, glancing down at this lapels. Then he looks a me for a second, smiles and looks away. "He's gonna think he's died and gone to heaven when he sees you in that dress. Uh...I'm glad you didn't bring your weapon tonight," he adds quietly, "It...it would have spoiled the effect." He isn't looking at me. He's scanning the doorway ahead as Dennis and Phil approach it.

"I think Mulder's going to adore the suit. And thank you for the compliment, kind sir," I pat his arm.

"My pleasure, Madame. Shall we go *once more into the breach*?" he asks indicating the now open door Dennis is holding for us. I can hear the thump, thump, thump of the base beat coming out of the depths inside the old factory building. My blood starts to race.

"I'm ready for battle if you are, sir," I reply, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, I think I am. Let's do it," he chuckles and Dennis ushers us through the door into the thudding sound assault of the Lighthouse.

The club is crowded but not to capacity yet. It is early as I said. But the place is cavernous inside. It's just an old converted warehouse - one floor with three huge bars to one side of the space. There are some tables and even booth space along the walls. But the middle is a gigantic dance floor mostly. I can just imagine what this will be like later. The music is loud all ready and the strobe lights in play, but Walter seems to be handling it a lot better then he handled the scene at *The Boiler Room*. Well, of course that night was a lot different. I think he was pretty well close to the edge that evening. He's much more relaxed now. And I think he's making a big effort to handle it. We all decide to make our way to the bar first for drinks.

"I'm buying" Walter announces as soon as we reach the rail. I'm on his right side, Phil's on his left. Dennis is next to Phil and we've all got our hands on the bar in anticipation of ordering.

"Ok, the next round's on me," Dennis volunteers.

I order tequila and Phil and Dennis beer. Walter places his order for top shelf bourbon with the bartender.

"Yes, sir!" the bartender answers Walter, openly ogling him. See. I knew that suit would really attract attention. Well that and the fact he fills it out like a statue. God, does he ever look spectacular. Handsome. Oh brother. Down Dana, down, I think quickly, reaching for the shot of Cuervo Gold the bartender has placed in front of me. I'm going to need this to fortify myself tonight.

"I take it we're calling a cab to go home?" Phil queries with amusement.

"Yeah, they run late here, don't they?" Walter asks smiling as he drinks some of his bourbon.

"Yes, they do," Dennis replies taking a really healthy swig of his beer.

"Good," Walter smiles and nods. Then he clinks his glass against mine.

"Cheers, Scully."

"Skoal, Walter," I reply with relief, putting the shot to my lips.

He upends the glass and I do the same with my shot. The tequila burns like liquid fire down my throat. Whew. Ok! Much better. We're just about ready to hit the dance floor.

The DJ changes gears. When we came in she had been playing some kind of German heavy metal group. Phil said it was *Rammstein*. I couldn't understand the lyrics but it wasn't very danceable. Now she's opting for The Puff Daddies. This is more like it

"Oh, I love these guys. They've really helped swing to regain some popularity!" Phil enthuses. Walter puts his glass down on the bar and puts his hand on Phil's shoulder.

"OK, Howdy. It's time for that dance I promised you, then," he grins. The look on Phil's face is so sweet I could just...well it's touching in a way. I think quite possibly Phil has a great deal of hero worship for Walter. At any rate, he's almost beside himself with pleasure that Walter remembered about the dance. That he'd want to dance with him at all. After all, this is swing dancing. Walter is going to have to touch him.

Under the circumstances of my earlier conversation with Walter this is a big step for him too. PDA - or close to it - with another man. My admiration for him goes up another notch. Of course, I could tell myself that he doesn't look like Walter Skinner at all this evening. Anyone would have some trouble recognizing him in that suit, without his glasses on a dance floor under banks of strobe lights. But that's a bitter and petty idea, and I can tell by the way he's taking Phil's hand in his that it's not on Walter's mind at all.

As Walter and Phil make their way out on to the dance floor Dennis turns to me.

"So, Dana, wanna dance. I'll warn you, I've kind of got two left feet."

"No problem. I can lead," I laugh, teasing him.

"Hey, why not," he laughs back, "I might learn some better moves," he nods stretching out his hand. I take it and lead him out onto the dance floor to join Walter and Phil

xXx

Friday, May 28, 1999 10 PM. Near the Student Center. Mount Holyoke College. Holyoke Massachusetts.

I'm standing under one of the campus streetlights holding a compact from my shoulder purse and looking at my reflection in the tiny mirror. Shit, I cannot believe I need to reapply this lipstick again. What the hell is it with my lips? They absorb the stuff or something.

This is my second night out. We've been at this since 8 PM now and no pervert. My feet are killing me and I don't even want to talk about how crushed my nuts feel. Christ. I gotta take a leak so bad my eyes are turning yellow. Just as I'm thinking about finding a...Oh sure...a ladies room...Rita's electronic voice hisses in my ear.

"Anything yet, Mulder?"

I whisper into the air. I know the mike will pick it up.

"Nothing. Listen I gotta take a piss, Rita. Where's the closest..." I can't say it. I just can't say it.

"Ladies room?" she volunteers helpfully. I can hear the male Task Force Officer with her in the surveillance van laughing like hell.

"Is that Officer Murphy?" I ask with malice in my voice.

"Yeah, it's Murphy," Rita answers, peeved as well. I hear her asking him to can it. I smile.

"Tell him his grandmother's still peeling potatoes in Ireland" I offer with a wince. My bladder really does have to be emptied here. And soon.

Murphy is laughing harder, "Tell him his mother's as crazy as a whorehouse guard dog."

Well the guy isn't far off regarding Teena I think grimly.

"Hey, the nearest can please? I'm going to explode here in a second."

"Ok, Faber Hall right over on your left. The housemother will let you use her apartment bathroom."

"Thank-you!" I hiss into the mike. Man when we catch this perp I'm gonna shoot the fucker and ask questions later I think, putting the compact back in my purse. I readjust my now very tight pantyhose a little and head off towards Faber Hall in as lady-like a dash as I can manage.

xXx

Friday, May 28, 1999 10 PM. The Lighthouse. Derry, Maine

Scully comes back from the rest room looking a lot more fresh than when she went in. She danced with Dennis, and then Phil, and then Dennis again. I can't believe her stamina. I ended up doing back to back Puff Daddy numbers with Phil and I had to come back over here for some tonic water and a bourbon chaser. But hell it *was* a blast.

That guy can dance. I knew Phil was graceful what with all the karate. But man, he can swing. He's out there with Dennis right now dancing to some number by a group I've never even heard of before. By this time the dance floor is packed with gyrating male bodies. This is a predominantly gay men's club. There are very few women besides the DJ and a few lesbians we saw earlier. No, for the most part the floor is crowded with men and Dennis and Phil are moving off into the thick of it, grinding against each other in passionate abandon.

I...I had to stop dancing with Phil earlier actually for pretty much that reason. The passion I mean. It was a little uncomfortable for me. Yeah, I got turned on. What can I say? So did Phil. I know he could feel my hard on. I could feel his too. I don't think he was worried or embarrassed about it though. He's a shameless asshole anyway. But I mean that in the best way. He's got guts and he makes no excuses for his life choice. I gotta admire his moxy. He's...ah shit...he's just a helluva guy. He was smirking at me when he knew I felt his cock bumping my thigh, though. But it was just teasing. He's so in love with Dennis he'd never take it here. And he knows I'm not looking for that kind of action with anyone but Mulder.

But still...I was a little embarrassed about that scene. It didn't feel right or proper with Dennis and Scully standing over at the bar watching us grind our bodies together. So, after the second number I guess maybe Phil had the same idea at about the same time. As I was bending to tell him I needed to go take a leak, he reached up, kissed me on the cheek and said, "I need some water, sugar pie," and laughing, sauntered off back to the bar. I was chortling laughter at the new nickname. I left the dance floor. I was hoping he wasn't going to mention that nick to anyone else anytime soon as I made my way to one of the men's rooms that were out in the lobby.

Now Scully comes back over to the where I'm braced back on the bar and watching the crowd. She orders another tequila shot from the bartender. Christ she can hold her booze pretty well too. But of course she's been dancing like crazy. She's probably burned the first two shots off by now.

"So, having a good time, Walter?" she asks, turning and leaning her back on the bar. The shot goes down without even a blink.

"Fuckin' A," I burp before I can help myself. Then I laugh.

"Sorry. I don't usually curse in front of a woman if possible."

"Thank you for noticing," Scully smiles.

"For noticing?" I ask frowning a little.

"That I'm a woman," she laughs musically, setting the empty shot glass back behind her on the bar.

Oh yeah, I noticed. I've noticed that little fact since she came out of that fitting room in the boutique this afternoon. Jesus if I wasn't gay...I'd think...I...man I just think she looks gorgeous.

A thumping techno beat starts up in the building as the DJ switches seamlessly to another CD again. Scully listens for a moment and then her face lights up.

"Oh God, I love this one," she enthuses looking around to see if Dennis or Phil are coming off the dance floor. Neither of us can spot them now. They must be deep in the crowd. I bend over and shout into her ear.

"What are they playing?"

"Voodoo People, by Prodigy," she answers starting to move to the beat. I look down and get a complete unobstructed view right down her dress. Oh muther...maybe it's time for another bourbon...

"Walter would you like to dance?" she looks up at me, her blue eyes flashing.

"Uh..."

"After all you are my date for the evening," she teases.

"Oh yes, that's right," I nod then, smiling wide, "Ok, sure. But this is a little different for me, so, be patient. And watch your feet," I laugh.

Scully smiles back and I place my hand in the small of her back in order to guide her out towards the dance floor through the crowd.

Shit yeah. This song sounds like a sure route to a broken ankle for one of us. Well, what the fuck? I'll give it a try. I'm liquored up just enough to be loose, so maybe I'll avoid trodding on her feet. Lucky I am well booze fortified too. I think this is going to be some dance I tell myself as I watch Scully's ass moving ahead of me out onto the floor. I know I'm going to have all I can do to keep up with her. I've seen what this woman can do to Fox Mulder on the dance floor. I'm suddenly glad I'm in shape. That I don't have to worry about my heart I think with a wry chuckle.

We approach the first line of heaving bodies at the edge of the dancing mass of humanity. Does it seem the music is suddenly cranked up a notch? The din is almost deafening. I can see the sweating faces and forms of the first men in front of us and I start to think...maybe this isn't such a good idea...when Scully turns, takes my hand and yanks me into the fray. Oh Christ on a fucking crutch....

As we hit the dance floor some guy on the CD bawls out *Magic People, Voodoo* people and the crowd roars, surging hard all around us. Oh fuck here we go again. Jesus! There's not enough time to prepare...no time to...to...I... we start to dance. We have to move. It's move or be crushed. I shove myself a little closer to her as Scully starts to spin. My mind is telling me I'm doing it in case some bozo careens into her. But my body? Hell...I don't know what my body is telling me to do anymore. My bourbon soaked brain obviously isn't going to help tell me. It doesn't give much of a shit at this point. Scully is twisting sinuously in front of me and I feel compelled to reach for her body....to...I...I can't take my eyes off her. God, she's fucking unbelievable.

I...I don't think....I don't want....I don't think I want...to know what I think or want. The lights shine into my eyes and the stroboscopic effect disorientates me, making Scully's body twitch crazily before me. My hands reach out and they're caught in the same effect. I can't...take ...it looks like they've got a life of their own as I tentatively grip her waist. She's warm under my hands. Like liquid emerald as she moves, dipping and twisting, rubbing against me like a...like...she's...this is too much . Someone shoves me from behind...hard, and my hands convulse down further, onto her hips...and Scully grinds back against me as I'm thrown forward into her. I pull back, push her away, and she shifts under my hands as the music shrieks it's electronic atonality. The sound of the screaming music, and the sight of Scully's sensuous movements rock me to the bone. I gasp with the intensity of the sensations buffeting my senses.

Scully turns around in my arms and I see her face at last. Her eyes are closed and her mouth open and gasping, as she writhes in total abandon. Then she opens her eyes and I see....I know....I know....someone in the crowd slams into my back again and throws me against her. I groan loud with the contact. I grab Scully's hips tight.

All I can hear are the words. The songs words...and they're strangely, weirdly right on the mark...

The Voodoo
Hoodoo
What you don't
dare do people

Dare to what? Dare to...dare to...dare to get the hell out of here. I have to get off this dance floor. I have to get off it right now!

Just as I feel like I'm going to totally lose it a hand taps me hard in the back. I turn my head to glance over my shoulder and...Thank GOD! Phil.

"Mind if I cut in, big man?" he yells into my sweating face. He smiles wide at me.

Mind!? Mind!? I've barely got one left, I groan inwardly.

"No, man, I'm gonna die out here," I yell back into his ear. "Please...be my guest..." I gesture towards the smiling Scully. She spotted Phil right away and I'm grateful she's glad to see him. This...it's just too intense now for me. I...I'm going to make another really embarrassing social error here - a really bad faux pas. I...I need another drink, I think, as Phil moves over and takes Scully by the waist. I take one look at him as he pulls her close and they start to bump and grind together. Man, that's all folks...I'm fucking out of here...I spot Dennis at the bar and head off over towards him. Christ I need a drink. I want to stoke up my courage, and beat back my conscience - and the memory of the last few minutes. Yes, sir. No question.

Later...

"Phil, that was great," I'm telling the red-headed ceramist as we leave the dance floor and head over to the bar. I want another shot. Yes I do! I need it right now, I think as images of Walter's sweating, muscular body moving against me play across my mind. Oh Lord. Maybe two more shots. I need something here or I'm going to embarrass myself to death. I should learn. I always get horny when I dance. For heaven's sake, even Phil's starting to look good right now and he looks enough like Pendrell to make that a very....disturbing thought. I nod. Yes, I should make sure Mulder is around to dance with from now on. It's more safe. No more dancing with men I can't jump in the sack with afterwards I tell myself woozily. There you go, I agree, rationalizing my feelings completely. Problem solved, Dana.

"You can really bust a move Dana. I think you wore me out," Phil replies fanning his neck theatrically and mugging for me, "Come on I'll buy you another drink."

"You read my mind," I smile and we make our way back to the bar.

I glance at my watch. It's almost 11 PM. I have a fleeting thought that maybe we should be going. But I'm having so much fun I shove it far back in my mind. When we reach the bar Walter and Dennis are seated there. They're talking and laughing. Walter looks more fresh. I think he must have gone to the bathroom and washed his face. He doesn't look as hot and sweaty at all. A bathroom break seems like a good idea. We come up in back of them and Phil sits down, grabbing a bar napkin to wipe his face. I decide to excuse myself for few minutes at that point.

"Phil would you order me another shot of Cuervo? I'm going to the restroom."

"My pleasure. Hurry back though. You don't want to miss 11 PM tonight."

"Oh? All right," I reply agreeing to I'm not sure what, and I don't really care. As I hurry away I can hear Walter asking...

"Why am I afraid to ask what happens at 11 PM?"

When I return Walter is arguing with Phil. He looks half angry and half ready to burst out laughing at the same time. Laughter is rapidly winning out.

"No. I told you I wouldn't do it. So, you're gonna win the bet by default."

Walter is slurring his words just a trifle. He's had a lot of bourbon. Maybe my earlier idea about leaving wasn't such a bad idea.

"Hey. Walter, I'm betting you will do it. Come on. Phil has to learn he can't bet against us and win for once. Whaddya say?" Dennis chimes in, egging Walter on to do whatever it is they're betting on.

I come back over and sit down next to Walter at the bar.

"What are you betting on?" I ask picking up the shot that's waiting for me.

"We're betting that Walter won't get up and sing in the Karaoke contest at 11," Dennis answers, "Phil has bet he won't. I've bet he will. Walter is not cooperating."

"What's the bet?" I ask, tossing back the shot with a quick tilt of my head.

"50 bucks, cash money," Phil smiles blearily at Walter's frowning face. The AD is trying to keep up the serious front but he isn't succeeding very well at all. Laugh crinkles keep appearing around his eyes and mouth.

"I didn't even know you could sing," I lie. Mulder has mentioned it but I'm not supposed to know Walter likes to warble to 60s rock and roll.

"Oh I can sing all right. Damn straight," he growls taking another swig of his bourbon. He plunks the glass back down on the bar, "I just don't sing in public. At least not anymore," he adds cryptically.

I furrow my brow but before I can ask him what he means, Dennis interrupts.

"Oh man..." Dennis laughs, "I'm gonna lose for sure."

"Yeah. I told you he was too chicken." Phil laughs taking a sip of the beer in front of him.

I slap the shot glass down on the bar and all three of my companions focus instantly upon me. I reach down my bra and pull out my emergency 20 bucks. Ok, I figure these guys are good to borrow it back if I need it. I slap the 20 down on the bar and stare right at Phil.

"Here's 20 bucks more that says Walter Skinner is no coward. I think he's got the balls to do it. What do you say Walter? I ask looking over into his baby browns.

A slow grin spreads over his face. His head swivels over to pin Phil's eyes. He smiles even more wolfishly.

"You lose, Howdy. Show me the fucking mike."

xXx

Friday, May 28, 1999 11PM. Outside the Campus Library. Mount Holyoke College. Holyoke, Massachusetts.

"Checking in. See anything, Mulder?"

"For what seems like the hundredth time tonight I sigh and whisper into thin air in front of me.

"That's a negative Rita. Nothing. No one. No how."

"Well, it's a little early yet. This guy's been snatching them between Midnight and 3 AM pretty consistently. We may have had you out here a little too soon," Rita Manconen commiserates.

Oh yeah well so what? Number one I still needed practice in this get-up and number two I was anxious to try to catch this asshole. Number three...rapists are usually consistent in their MO, but this guy showed some leeway here. I think if he sees a likely victim an hour either way isn't going to affect him. But that isn't really very charitable. Rita wants to get our man as badly as I do. She was just trying to sound sympathetic.

"I could make a remark about eager beavers but I'll restrain myself," I hiss into the mike. Oh crap. That...what a really, and truly tasteless remark! Get a life Mulder. What an asshole. But, I can hear Rita and Sheila Reed as well as Murphy laughing in the background. Ok, I guess they took it for what it was - a rude joke made by an angry and tired peace officer. I hear them all chuckling for a few moments. So, the gangs all here I nod grimly. Now where's the damn perp? Something keeps telling me he should be here. This is it. This is the night.

I've deliberately placed myself on the more secluded side of the library. The one that's much less well lit. The side the Rape Task Force has all ready advised the college should have street lights added all along it. My entire presence is yelling *Come and get it dickwad. I'm a victim waiting here, buddy*. So where is the fucking idiot? Doesn't he know a beautiful woman is waiting to slap the leg irons on him?

Just as I utter my invective, I spot a man walking in the quadrangle directly across from where I'm standing. He hurries all the way past me, going out of his way to keep his face hidden. He practically jogs back around behind the corner of the arts building which lies right next door to the library. I watch his body language and I know. All the hairs on my body stand on end. It's him. I know it for sure

"Rita. I think the fish is eyeing the bait," I whisper.

"Where?" Rita's voice comes back over my ear piece, tight and intense.

"He just left my line of sight. He's gone behind the arts building. I expect he's working himself around behind me on the walk way here. I'm...I'm going to start walking away from the side of the building."

"That guy in the old Navy pea coat?"

"Yeah, he's overdressed for the weather. I think that's my Mr. Right."

"Ok, nasty man. Stay frosty," Rita hisses.

"Roger, honey chile."

My pulse is starting to race hard. I remove my gun from the holster at my side and hold it down in front of me out of sight. The safety goes off. I have to hope this asshole doesn't see it. From his profile I don't think he will. He comes up behind his victims, in the dark, and just before he presses the knife to their throats he says...

"Hey, baby, hold on a second I have somethin' to show you," the ski masked bandit chimes in right on cue. His hot breath is on the back of my neck. My stomach lurches. My lipstick glossy mouth quirks into a grim little smile.

I turn, gun up and my smile grows suddenly much, much more wide as I stare into the perps startled blue eyes.

"I'm not *your* baby, asshole. And I really got something I wanna show you..." I snarl, training my gun on his nose.

xXx

Friday, May 28, 1999 11PM. The Karaoke Contest. The Lighthouse. Derry, Maine.

The small portable stage is wheeled out onto the dance floor close to the bar. The microphone is in place and it's 11:05 PM. I'm drunk off my ass, and probably getting ready to make the biggest fool out of myself that I've ever made in my entire Godforsaken life.

I'm heading up with five other guys. All of us are drunk, and all of us are equally as...

Stupid. This is stupid...this is just completely and utterly idiotic. I mean I'm a 47 year old Federal Agent, an AD. A damn pencil pushing middle aged bureaucrat....not a 21 year old rock star wanna be. So I used to play the guitar and sing a little back...back during the war. So what? I haven't picked up the guitar in years. Oh sure I can sing. Not badly either. But not in public nowadays, and certainly not like this in front of...in front of everyone. Walter, what the hell is the matter with you? Come on...turn back around....I glance in back of me and see Dennis and Scully waving brightly at me. Phil's grinning like the village idiot and he lost the stinking bet.

Ah shit. I guess I'll have to go through with it. Ok. I'm going to do it. I know I'll never live it down. Never hear the end of it. What did I say to Phil? Payback's a bitch? Yeah, I should have seen this one coming. Getting old and slow. Old and...I put one foot in front of the other. I reach the stage. The DJ looks at me and the other guys standing there in front of her. Everyone is staring at her like dumb oxen waiting for the bang stick. I decide to be the first to speak.

"You have any ZZTop?" I ask hoping she won't.

"Yeah, I think we do," she smiles at me.

Doomed. I'm doomed.

Meanwhile...back at the bar...

"Didn't Walter ever tell you he used to sing and play guitar?" Phil is asking me as I watch Walter make his way towards the portable stage the club management has set up for the contest.

"Mulder mentioned he likes to sing. He thinks he sings well. But..." I laugh a little.

"But what?" Dennis asks.

"But Mulder's practically tone deaf," I finish with a wry grin.

"Oh, no. Walter can really sing well. He used to belt it out with the best of them. In country, uh, in Nam, I mean. I was told about his singing. Then I found out the rumors were true. I heard him once when I was on leave. He got up and sang some Jimi Hendrix with this bar band. He...he was really good," Dennis adds quietly.

I look at him as he takes another swig of his beer. Phil hasn't been listening, he's been watching Walter make his way over to the stage as well. The look on Dennis's face tells me I'd better not ask him why Walter doesn't sing and play the guitar anymore. I think I may know the answer anyway.

"Look, they aren't going to put him on first," Phil interrupts my train of thought.

"Oh great, we're gonna have to sit through five drunken slobs belting out God knows what until we get to the good stuff," Dennis laughs ruefully.

I join him and we sit back and steel ourselves for the worst. And it is pretty poor. Each guy is worse than the next. Well one of them isn't too bad. He does a pretty passable imitation of Tori Amos. So far that was the best of the bunch. If Walter is going to have any competition at all, he's the man.

Finally, Walter takes the stage. He's removed his jacket and one of the other contestants is holding it for him. The white muscle shirt he opted to wear with the suit is clinging to his biceps as he takes the microphone from the DJs hands. I thought that shirt wouldn't look good, but now I realize it's stylishly simple and practical given the dancing we've been doing. Oh yeah, right Dana. Admit what's really rolling around in your head. You like the shirt because it just looks good stuck to his wide, wet, muscular chest. God.

He nods at the DJ and she signals for her assistant to crank up the sound. Now in Karaoke, it's music only of course. No vocals so the contestant is forced to sink or swim on the lyrics. The audience is forced to sink mostly tonight since the guys voices have been so off key. I hold my breath as the music cues up. And then I smile. It's ZZTop. Well, at least I know Walter can dance to them. Let's hope he can dance as well vocally as he can on his feet. The strains of *My Head's in Mississippi* reverb off the walls. Dennis and Phil start to hoot, and clap. Walter shuts his eyes, brings the microphone up close to his mouth and starts to sing.

I'm shufflin' thru the Texas sand,

but my head's in Mississippi.

I'm shufflin' thru the Texas sand,

but my head's in Mississippi.

The blues has got a hold of me.

I believe I'm gettin' dizzy.

Help me now.

The growl in unmistakable. He sounds just like oh, I can never keep those guys straight, I mean they all have beards and wear sunglasses. But it's ZZTop all right. Walter just sounds...he...sounds fantastic. I stare transfixed as he continues on. He's holding the microphone tight in two hands, pressed close to his lips. He doesn't so much work the stage as take it over by sheer power of presence. His face is transformed with emotion. The lyrics, despite their very real strangeness makes me shiver slightly and not for that oddness at all. I know from the expression on his face and the way he's holding his body, and even with his eyes shut, that it's not Mississippi Walter's thinking about as he sings. It's Louisiana. It's Baton Rouge. It's Baton Rouge even though the next verse says Memphis.

I keep thinkin' 'bout that night in Memphis,

Lord, I thought I was in Heaven.

I keep thinkin' 'bout that night in Memphis,

I thought I was in Heaven.

But I was stumblin' thru the parking lot

of an invisible seven eleven.

What was I doin' out there?

I doubt Dennis and Phil have caught the double meaning . They're yelling and clapping, shouting their encouragement. Lots of other patrons are joining in as well. Dennis and Phil probably aren't making the connection with Mulder, and Walter, and that trip to Louisiana. But I am. It's almost breaking my heart to see him pouring this out on stage now. And he *is* pouring it out. His eyes tightly shut. Voice raw and rough with the bourbon and his heartache. I can barely watch but I do and he takes it on home to the end...

Where's my head baby?

Somewhere in Mississippi.

Last night I saw a cowboy.

He was floatin' across the ceiling.

And last night I saw a naked cowboy.

He was floatin' across the ceiling.

He was mumblin' to some howlin' wolf

about some voodoo healin'.

Mmm Baby.

The crowd goes wild when he substitutes the word cowboy for cowgirl. I'm laughing too despite the fact I know who he's talking about and I also know it's half killing the man on stage that the cowboy isn't out in the audience tonight.

Dennis leans over and yells in my ear, "What did I tell you? Is he good or what?"

"He's good," I nod, looking out at Walter as he finishes up the song.

"He's won this hands down," Phil claps hard as the music fades out.

The crowd is on their feet, whistling, shouting and clamoring for more. The DJ comes up on stage next to Walter, taking the microphone from his sweating hands.

"Encore?" she asks Walter, pointing the microphone back at his face.

"Hell no," he growls. The audience cracks up and claps again even harder. The DJ nods in benign understanding, and then pulls the microphone away from Walter's half stunned face.

"Well gentlemen, I think we have our winner," she shouts, taking Walter's right hand and pulling his arm up into the air. The crowd goes wild.

As Walter gives a half smile, partly in pleasure, but mostly with relief the ordeal is over, we lock eyes across the crowd. His smile broadens just a bit more, and I nod my approval. I bring my hands up to clap with the rest of the teeming masses between us.

It's time to make an exit, Walter, I think. Time to go home while the getting's good.

xXx

Saturday, May 29, 1999 Midnight. Outside The Lighthouse. Derry, Maine

All I can say is I'm glad it's still an unseasonably warm night. Dennis, Phil, Scully and I are all damp with sweat, still drunk, and now we're cooling our heels outside The Lighthouse, on the sidewalk, while we wait for the cab I called about 15 minutes ago.

If it was any cooler out we'd be suffering from hypothermia by now. But as it is, we're all fine. Drunk as skunks, but fine. Hence the cab. No one can drive and we wouldn't even want to try. Scully's rental will be fine on the street. One of us can come back and get it in the morning.

I'm not thinking too straight - but I'm thinking clearly enough to know we had to call the cab and then wait out front for it. Beyond that I don't know and don't really care. I just want that quick half hour ride home so I can plunk my body into the pull out couch bed. I just wanna pass out and snore myself into blissful oblivion.

Tonight was intense. Wild. I'm not sure if I liked any part of it. Oh shit am I hallucinatory? A liar? Fuck...who am I kidding? I loved it. I loved every minute of it. Jesus, Scully...she....God. She was a lotta fun. Damn straight she's no Ice Queen. No fffuckin' way. Yeah, I really liked it all. Even the public display of my only half disguised ode to lust for Fox Mulder. Piss Up a Rope. Naked cowboy?! Good night. And of course Phil zeroed in on that one. Even though he might not have made the connection between Memphis standing in for Baton Rouge, he certainly knows why I changed the word cowgirl to cowboy and who my buckaroo is. God damn I wish Fox was here tonight. I hope he's doing ok. I hope he's safe. I...where is the fucking cab. I gotta ca...ca...cra...get some sleep.

xXx

Saturday, May 29, 1999 12:35 AM. Near Dragon's Roost. Crossroads, Maine.

I'm glad this is only a short cab ride. Mostly for the cabbies sake. He's a short, thin, wiry, 60ish African American man, and Walter is sitting in the seat next to him, his arm draped over the back of the seat, dwarfing the poor man as he grips the steering wheel tightly. Walter looks scary when he's sober but right now, with his eyes hooded from the bourbon and the shiny, dark blue suit he looks like a Mafia hit man. It didn't help our driver when he said he used to live in Pennsylvania and Walter flashed his teeth in a smile that said "Oh, the better to eat you with Lester from Pittsburgh.

And poor Lester thinks he's got three crazy people in the back seat too. Phil and Dennis are seated on either side of me and I'm giggling like crazy because they're playing footsy with each other, and all over my feet as well. It tickles like hell and Phil is making it worse by whispering really ribald comments he wants me to pass on to Dennis. My mind is so unfocused I can't get half of them right, and I'm sure they're twice as raw by the time I've delivered them to Dennis's ear. Of course that sets him off and he's having a case of the giggling fits as well.

Lester is looking back in the rear view mirror like he's ready to call for the men with the white coats. I think I see him actually shut his eyes for a minute when Walter starts singing "Jesus done left Chicago..." from some other ZZTop song. I'm still laughing and I know I should stop and I...can't...and I don't really care.

Finally and gratefully for Lester, I'm sure, we're deposited at Dragon's Roost. Lester gets one more shock as Walter hauls out the wad of 20s - the 500 dollars he won in the Karaoke contest plus the bet money. He peels off a twenty and gives Phil a wicked smartass smile. Phil sticks his tongue out at him. Phil's clutching Dennis by the arm for support. Dennis is the most sober of us. I think he wisely slacked back on the beer towards the end of the evening. Walter adds an extra ten to Lester's hand and the cabby does smile at last. Well that should help him to forget this party of four I hope. Lester practically jumps back into his car and peels rubber as he accelerates away from us where we stand.

"Oh, I'm so hot," Phil croons, fanning himself again.

"Yeah you should be ya friggin' Howdy Doody," Walter barks a laugh, "You've been dancing half the damn night."

"Yes, I was dancing wasn't I? With you, and with Dana, and with Dennis," he smiles beatifically, and I laugh at him as he makes a little bow.

"Yeah, we should change your nickname to "Tinkie Winkie," Walter rumbles.

"That's Twinkle Toes," Dennis laughs.

"Whatever..." Walter shrugs in bemusement, and heads off towards the front porch.

"Hey, I don't like either one of those so...sobriquets," Phil stumbles over the words.

Dennis and I have started to follow Walter up to the house. I turn back to Phil.

"How *should* we address you, kind sir?" I ask him, smiling dizzily.

"You can call me Speed Racer," he hollers, giving an Indian war hoop. Then he turns and as drunk as he is, he starts to run full tilt towards the beach, and the dark ocean waiting beyond.

"What the hell? Phil?" Dennis yells after his retreating back.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Walter asks as Dennis dashes between the house and the garage.

"Swimming!" comes his distant answer.

"Oh shit!" Walter exclaims.

"God, Walter, come on, he's going to drown his fool self."

"Christ on a crutch!" Walter swears.

He shakes his head, and then he starts off at a lumbering trot. At first he's moving rather like a large grizzly bear. But very quickly he's rolling fast, and Dennis is laboring to keep up. After a split second my brain starts to reengage, and I call after them.

"Wait, I can't run in these heels."

Oh right. Jesus. Like they're going to wait? I toe off the heels, bend down, pick them up, and then I'm running as fast as I can after their rapidly disappearing bodies.

As I'm running, I'm passing what I recognize as the clothes Phil was wearing. It's like a crazy Hansel and Gretel trail leading me. I pass the edge of the grass boundary between the lawn and the sand. On the first small dune I just spot what must be Phil's boxer briefs. I never did see his socks and shoes. Oh wonderful. I can just spy him now, up ahead, buck naked and sloshing through the surf. I almost slam right into Walter and Dennis where they've stopped dead in the dunes to watch the show.

"The idiot!" Dennis is half fuming, and half laughing.

"I don't think he's gonna drown," Walter advises. I stop to stand next to him and he glances down at my hand holding my shoes and smiles. I acknowledge the non-verbal compliment by brandishing the shoes and then dropping them onto the sand. Phil lets out another war cry.

"God, he must have the luck of the Irish, or the fortitude. That water has to be freezing," I laugh.

"Think so?" Dennis asks.

"Well, yes...ambient water temperature at this time of year..." I begin.

"Think I'll find out for myself," Dennis gurgles his laughter. Before either Walter or I can stop him he's practically torn off his outer clothing, thrown it all on the sand, and dashed into the surf after his lover. I'm thankful he's still wearing his boxers, it makes it easier to spot him, as he grabs Phil in a passionate embrace.

"Oh balls!" Walter laughs hard. "They are absolutely insane!"

"Well..." I look at him, my eyebrow raised.

"No fucking way," he shakes his head in amusement.

"Suit yourself," I smirk, and then I reach down for the hem of my dress.

"Uh, hey..." Walter gulps hard as I pull the dress up over my head. Yes, I am wearing underwear otherwise I wouldn't have done it. But I'm not wearing any pantyhose. I can almost feel Walter's eyes blazing over my skin as I give my own war hoop and run as fast as I can off over the sand. I can hear his muffled expletive as I run.

"God damn, woman!"

I hit the surf and...OH MOTHER MARY IT IS COLD! The shock makes my nipples spring instantly to attention. It also serves as a slap to my drunk better than anything ever could. I can almost feel myself sober up more as I splash over to where Phil and Dennis are yelling and splashing each other.

"Dana! Dana!" Phil shouts at me. I'm trying my best not to look below his waist so I'm looking right in his face. It's because of that that I notice his eyes grow large.

"Dana!" Dennis is laughing like hell, "Watch out!"

Just as he utters the words something, no someone grabs me around the waist and hips and picks me up with one swing. It's Walter, stripped down to his briefs and roaring with laughter.

"Water's fine Scully! The waters damn fine!" he's laughing hard as he pulls me back against his chest. I'm clinging to him so he won't drop me, but I soon realize he won't do that at all. He's...God, he's strong. He carries me out a little ways into the water and then he slows. I'm stroking his chest, half unconsciously. I can feel his hands tighten on my back and thigh.

"Walter?" I ask him. I look up into his face and he's looking at me...and..."

His face shuts down on me so fast I barely catch it between blinks. He sets me carefully on my feet where I'm not in over my head.

"Watch for rocks," he murmurs quietly, just stroking my waist as his hands move away. He looks up over me and shouts at Phil.

"Hey, cover your assets, you moron, there's a lady out here," he yells. He looks down at me very briefly, "Sorry about that, Scully," he smiles a little again and just when I'm trying to decide just what he was sorry about, he runs off through the water towards Dennis and Phil.

Of course he practically drowns me in his wake. I laugh hard too then as the cold water slaps over my legs.

"Oh, you're going to get it now!" I yell after him.

Then I'm running, I'm running hard right after Walter. I can see his muscular ass and legs carrying him down the beach. The hard column of his torso and his broad shoulders and hard arms, sending him hurtling forward to reach Phil where he's egging him on up ahead. I think distantly that the cold water must have sobered him up as well. He's really barreling forward like a rushing wave himself now. It's quite the sight to see.

"Come on and make me cover up, you old fart. Bet you can't make me," Phil's taunting him, laughing merrily. Dennis is laughing too, and Walter is still running on.

I'm surprised I'm gaining any distance on him at all but I am, and I'm laughing too. He's....he's....we're almost...almost....there.....

I don't think he even saw the rock. It was big but he never saw it jutting up out of the sand until he hit it head on and flew through the air to slam into Phil Meyers. Both men go down into the surf. Dennis is caught between a laugh and a yelp of concerned surprise. I scream before I realize it because both their heads have gone under water for a moment.

"Walter!" I scream.

"Phil!" Dennis echoes my cry of alarm

Phil pops up first a short distance away. He's sputtering and laughing, looking around for Walter.

"Christ! Talk about body surfing," he laughs. When he doesn't see Walter right away his face takes on a look of panic.

"WS!?" he shouts in alarm, "Oh Fuck! WS!?"

Walter surfaces practically right next to him. He rises up out of the water like Poseidon, water streaming off his head and torso. He gives a shout. It's not a shout of pleasure, however. I can tell from the look on his face that something is seriously wrong. Phil looks down in the water.

"Christ...he yells, totally serious, and sober in a flash. "Dana, there's blood!"

Oh Jesus. I push through the water, my mind falling instantly into doctor mode, Thank God. I'm not nearly as drunk as I was when I hit this water that's for sure and damn glad I'm not, I think, as I reach Walter's side. There is quite a lot of blood in the water.

"Walter, where are you cut?" I ask quickly. It's hard to tell in the dark if the blood is red or darker. Black would mean an artery. If it's an artery we're in deep shit here.

"My left leg. The calf," he replies tersely, huffing with the pain.

"What did you fall over?" Dennis asks, coming over, deep concern written all over his face.

"A rock, I think," he winces.

"Come on, help me get him out of the water," I hiss, using the command voice.

Phil and Dennis each shift to take a side, moving under Walter's arms. Phil is still naked but it doesn't even register with any of us. I run ahead as they walk, supporting Walter as he half stumbles out onto the beach. They half drag, half walk him up onto the dry area as quickly as possible and then set him carefully down.

I sit down next to his left calf and bend to look. I sigh with relief. It's not an artery. But it's bad enough. His calf is sliced almost from his knee all the way down to his ankle. The middle portion of the gash is very deep. At least 30 stitches I'd say. God. I know I don't have that much suture in my medical bag. If I'm lucky I have enough for 10 stitches.

Phil, get me Walter's t-shirt over there...and his jacket..." I gesture off to the left. I need something to apply pressure here fast, and something to cover him with. He's starting to shake from the cold water and shock. Phil scrabbles over the sand to grab the white t-shirt and suit coat. He scrabbles back handing both to me. I drape the coat around his shoulders and then fold the t-shirt and press it hard over the deepest part of the wound. Walter hisses slightly.

"Well there goes 39.95 down the crapper," he smiles grimly at the t-shirt.

Dennis tries to laugh but it comes out as a nervous squeak.

"With that wad of 20s in your pocket, I think you can buy another one," he shakes his head.

"Fuckin' A," Walter nods trying to avoid the pain with the tightly uttered curse.

"Dennis, go up to the house and call 911 right now. We have to get Walter to an ER. I don't have enough suture to stitch this up and he's going to need at least 30 stitches to close this wound."

"Christ," Phil breathes out a long sigh. He's been staring at the bloody t-shirt and breathing hard. I look up into his eyes and they're haunted. He's as white as a sheet. I would imagine blood doesn't bring many good memories back to him either.

Walter puts his large hand around the back of the red headed man's neck and pulls him closer.

"Stay hard, Phil. Come on, hold it together man. I've had a lot worse. So have you, soldier," Walter speaks to him soothingly as he holds their foreheads together for a moment. Phil's voice changes when he answers. When he speaks its with the strength born of survival in brutal combat.

"I'm with you, WS. What's the op?"

"Get your skivvies back on, soldier," Walter smiles at him and then Phil smiles back, touches his cheek, and leaves our side for a few minutes to retrieve his underwear.

Dennis dashes off the beach and toward the house.

"Dennis, bring my glasses, will you man! And my contact case!" Walter yells after him.

I look at him, eyebrows raised and his smile turns into a pained grimace as he answers me.

"If some ER intern is gonna sew me up, I wanna see what kind of job he's doing."

I laugh a little and he does his best to smile more widely back.

By the time the ambulance arrives, Dennis and Phil and I are dressed again. I guess it's lucky Walter was in his boxer briefs. At least they won't have to cut off the leg of that expensive blue Italian suit. I fold the remainder of his clothes carefully and place them in the back of the ambulance. Then I swing in and the driver shuts the door behind me. It's a tight fit in the back with all of us crammed in. No one wants us to drive drunk. Especially the EMTs. I hold Walter's hand as the siren begins to scream and we pull away from Dragon's Roost on the way back to Derry, to Derry General Hospital.

CONTINUED IN PART 3...