TITLE: Window Watchers
AUTHORS: frogdoggie and Crash
E-MAIL: frogdoggie@hotmail.com or lunagrl@peoplepc.com
CATEGORY: RH
RATING: NC-17
KEYWORDS: Skinner/Other Romance
SUMMARY: The Assistant Director is brushing up on his surveillance techniques and winds up on a date with the object of his voyeurism.
SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder and the X-Files are all property Fox Broadcasting and 10-13 Productions. They are used without permission and no copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this fanfic…DUH! Jill Sharpe is property frogdoggie and Crash. If you wish to use her in a story you have to ask us. The Magnetic Poetry kit mentioned in the story does not exist, it is a fictionalized version of the ones we all know and love. Remember kids, we're storytellers here, not reporters this IS a work of fiction.
FEEDBACK: Greatly appreciated and may be sent to the above addresses.

SPECIAL THANKS: To Ten for taking a chance on a Skinner story.

WINDOW WATCHERS
By frogdoggie and Crash

I set my coffee mug down on the Plexiglas cover to my oh-so-expensive cherry desk and thumb the start button to the PC. Monday, oh joy. Another wonderful start to the work week. Another day, another dollar.

Here I am at the j-o-b. It's not such a bad job. It pays the rent. Executive Assistant. The title is more important sounding than people are willing to give you credit for. But the truth of the matter is, it is an important job. Without the Executive Assistants of the world, countless executives would never make planes, plans or business deals. We are the grease for the wheels. We are the people who make it happen.

I sigh heavily and look out the window.

He's there. He always is. My daily diversion has arrived in his office at the FBI. I always wonder what it is he's staring at there in his office. I'm always staring at him when I'm not otherwise engaged. He's a fascinating man to watch. He always is standing behind his desk. I think I've seen him sit down maybe three times in the year I've been working here.

He's so big, muscular. For an old guy, he's got a great ass. I don't mean that in a bad way, come on. He's just really in good shape. It's a shame I've never seen his face. But if it's as good as the rear view, he's a keeper.

You can think of me what you will for my voyeurism. But fuck it, a girl like me needs a little distraction from time to time. I spend most of my time, here in this office. My fiancee left me and other than a few really wacky girlfriends, I've not got much of a social life. So to hell with anyone who wants to give me shit for appreciating a nice looking man...but I digress.

I occasionally see people in his office. I tall dark-haired man and a red-headed woman. I wish the glare from the sun weren't so bad, I could get a better look at them all. Those two are always just a blur to me. But my G-man is always really animated when those to are in there. I often wonder what that's about.

You could say I spend too much time thinking about them, yeah. But hey, the lives of FBI agents have to be so much more interesting than my mundane life as an Executive Assistant. I spend my day faxing, collating and typing. Yipee!

Bald guy over there is chasing down international terrorists and drug dealers. Certainly my job is safer than his, but you know paper cuts can be nasty.

He turns his head and I get a quick glimpse of his profile as I see him put a hand to his face. I gather he's pushing his glasses up his nose, but at this distance and with the glare it's hard to see. I have to fill in a lot of the blanks on my own with this man I watch.

Hell, sometimes I'm so bored over here I make up little stories about his life to entertain myself with. I like to imagine he's single, although he's probably got a wife. Maybe he's divorced. Probably has kids too. He looks to be mid to late forties, so I just figure he has them.

I imagine, from what little I can see of him, he spends good money on his clothes. He always looks so perfect. Extrapolating from that I figure he's really anal. A perfectionist. I bet he makes his bed in hospital corners.

Ooh, now there's an interesting direction to go in. His bed. I'll bet it's a big king-sized one, with crisp white sheets on it and a dark, masculine comforter. I bet he makes it every morning.

A wicked grin passes my lips. I wonder what he's like in bed. This is something I have trouble speculating on beyond guessing he's meticulous about making love...a thought that makes me warmer than I should be here in the office.

But I can't help but wonder. Does he use his tongue to make perfect circles around his lover's nipple? Or is he so anal he's mechanical in bed, the act of sex merely that to him? An exercise that ends in a result.

I see him sip his coffee just now. I'll bet he's even really picky about that. Something exotic, like Sumatran from Starbuck's. He probably even grinds his own beans.

I try to get a look at his hands, but he's just too far away. Too bad. You can really tell a lot about a man by his hands. You can tell what kind of care he takes of himself, how meticulous he is...a host of things. But mostly I want to see his hands because I'm fascinated by a man's hands. They're so large. I imagine FBI man's are. I'll also bet they're soft. He's in that office a lot so I don't imagine he's out busting bad guys too often. Must be a manager of some sort.

I begrudgingly turn my head back to the PC and the work before me. Can't daydream forever, no matter how appealing it might be. Work calls so I get to it.

xXx

The J. Edgar Hoover Building...

Mondays. I hate them. The weekend starts and before you know it, it's over and Monday's here again. It's back to work. Back to the J.O.B. Back to the Hoover Building, back to my office, my desk, my grind, my getting reamed by the F Butt-fucking I. Just another week in Hoover's army. I should have stayed in the damn Marines. Christ.

Hey, just excuse me here, all right? I'm having a mid-life crisis this morning. Look, at 47, I'm due, ok? Cut me some slack.

You might ask, if you were foolhardy or had a death wish, what I did on my weekends that makes me hate Mondays so much. If you ask nicely I just might tell you. Oh what the fuck. I'll tell you anyway.

Well you know what - I have no friggin' idea what makes my weekends so special. No idea other than the fact that I'm not chained to my desk, catheter practically inserted up my dick with a stack of paper work in front of me as high as my nose. On the weekend, I can get away from my agents, the bureaucracy, the unending political intrigues and office politics. I can, if just for 48 hours or so, try to forget that I'm Walter Sergei Skinner, Assistant Director, pencil pusher, drone, slave to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It isn't easy to do it, but by Sunday night I've almost succeeded in the task. And then Monday rolls around. Piss up a rope.

But, my weekends are pretty run of the mill. Boring you might say.

Boring you might definitely say.

Take this past weekend. Friday night I picked up Chinese food and a video tape from Blockbuster Video on the way home. "Batman Forever." Ever seen it? Don't bother. Shit. Fell asleep in front of the TV. Had a tremendously bizarre dream featuring yours truly as Batman and Fox Mulder as Robin the Boy Wonder. Don't even ask. Blow-me. Ouch! Wrong choice of words soldier. Well, at least it wasn't a Nam nightmare. Thank God for small, weird favors I suppose.

Saturday, I drove the Vette over to Hank Luttrell's garage and gave her a tune up. That was the high point of the weekend. Listen, I love that car. I think I almost loved my Vette more than I loved my ex-wife Sharon sometimes. Knowing Sharon, if she had found that out she would have tried to get her lawyer to include the Vette as the other party in the divorce suit. Jesus. At any rate, I tuned her up and then went for a long drive, top down. My baby purred too. She really did. Yeah, Saturday was perfect. Well, during the day.

Eventually I had to go back to the apartment. I almost thought about calling someone for a little company. The only problem with that idea was - I don't know anyone. I came to that rude realization when I was making myself a light dinner. Who the hell could I call? I hadn't been out with anyone in a fucking coon's age. Well, except Marita Covarrubias about four months ago but I don't want to go there. Hey, a guy gets...well you gotta get laid once in a while. Marita was available and willing OK? I guess I could have called her if I knew where in the hell she was at the moment. Mulder thinks she's dead. Hell. Figures. Fuck Walter and die. Well, there is precedent after all. God damn.

Anyway, I had returned Batman Forever earlier in the day and brought home Casino. Sharon Stone. So, I was going to get some feminine company after all even if she was only a virtual blonde. I poured myself a bourbon after dinner (well before dinner too but we won't dwell on that point), cranked up the video tape and eventually cranked up myself as well. I mean as in priming the pump. Pumping the porpoise. Shaking hands with Mr. Johnson. Beef jerky. Oh, I know a million of them. A litany of idiotic terms for masturbation. Yeah I beat off. What the hell do you expect? Hey if you were one of my agents would you want me coming into the office with a massive case of blue balls when it was your turn in the hot seat or you were up for review maybe? Fuckin' A you wouldn't. You'd want me to beat my meat to get some relief. So, consider it a public service agents. Skinner spanks the monkey and you all get a nice easy ride. And I'm nothing if not the model public servant. Yes sir. Oh and I almost forgot - fell asleep in front of the TV again.

Sunday I slept in. Dreamt about Sharon Stone and Mulder. What the fuck? Never mind. Read the Sunday paper. Ran some errands including grocery shopping. Some kid laughed at me in the store. Little ankle biting dick. Yeah, well - ever see me pushing a grocery cart? I suppose...Returned the video tape. Went home. Cleaned my gun. Cleanliness is next to godliness. A dirty gun can bring you closer to God. I'm not quite ready to go there yet. So, I keep my piece clean.

At around 7 PM I finally opened my briefcase with Mulder and Scully's expense report in it. Oh joy! Oh rapture! Oh Pepcid AC what would I do without you? Shit on a shingle. Now you know why I hate Mondays. But I had to get ready for my meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Fiscally Challenged at 11 AM Monday morning. I poured myself a bourbon and put my nose to the grindstone. Several piles of ground up Skinner later I poured myself another bourbon, shut the damn briefcase, red lined report inside, and went down into the living room to watch the late news. Fell asleep in front of the TV.

Are you seeing a pattern here? The National Anthem is my nightly lullaby ladies and gentlemen. Sweet Land of Liberty of thee I Sing. Go to hell and suck my dick when you get there sweet land of liberty. I never thought I'd start to hate that song. No way. But I am. I can't help it.

And why can't I help it? I can't because like I said, my weekends are boring, routine, mundane, and God help me, lonely. I hate to admit it but I am terribly lonely. A...a man doesn't like to admit something like the fact he has no one. Not a single soul to... to share his life, such as it is, with. Loneliness isn't supposed to bother men. We're supposed to be strong. Grin and bear it. Stay stoic. Right. I try. I really do. But I fail, and I fail miserably. I miss Sharon. We were in love once. Hell, I'm so desperate sometimes I miss Marita. And what about those dreams with...Jesus.

So, here I am Walter Only the Lonely Skinner, arriving for work bright and early on Monday with my 20 oz. cup of Starbuck's Sumatran coffee in one hand and briefcase full of gut ache in the other. Good morning to my world. You're welcome to it.

"Good morning, sir," Nancy, the guard at the metal detector greets me. She's a peach is Nancy. Efficient, professional, friendly, armed and dangerous. She's also a gorgeous red head. When she's on, Mondays are a little more easy to take.

"Good, morning, Ms. Tewilliger. How's Buster doing?"

"Oh, he's fine. Whatever he ate must have worked itself through. He's back to being a hog again," she replies waving me on through.

Buster. Nancy's 150 pound Rottweiler ate something he shouldn't have eaten. Probably the fucking paper boy. The dog's a monster. I saw her with him once. He's big enough to ride for God's sake. How would you like to contend with something that big having Montezuma's revenge? Nancy's a better man then I am Gunga Din. Spare me from mammoth mutts with crap attacks. I have enough problems with my own...well I'll spare you that bit of info too. Let's just say I should own stock in Metamucil.

I move on to the elevators. Punch the up button and wait. And wait. Sip the coffee and wait. Punch the button. Fuck. Wait. Sip. Punch. Fuck. Wait and wait and...

"Good morning, sir."

I glance around and then down to the side. Oh gee, look who's here.

"Good morning, Holly."

Duck and cover men. It's Holly from records. Fastest foot in the west. I hope you like size seven spiked heels because you're about to meet one up close and personal. Crap. I will never, ever live that down. I still have the tiny white scar where Holly delivered her love tap to my face.

Holly has apparently forgotten and or forgiven it seems, however. Or at least she's better at covering her embarrassment. Or maybe, just maybe (and it wouldn't surprise me in the least), she's fulfilled one of her secret fantasies - to beat the Big Dog senseless and is laughing about it behind my back. Well, little Holly, just you wait. I've been working out. When it comes time for the rematch I'll take you, Ms. Records Clerk. No question.

No, I'm just bitter and I know it. Shit. How many men my size do you know who've had a 5 foot 6 inch woman beat the living crap out of them? So what if she had to Mace me to do it. I mean God.

Holly's a good kid though. I really shouldn't be so hostile towards her. It's not professional and it's certainly not polite. So, I smile a tiny Skinner smile at her. You know how it looks. Maybe half my mouth curls up?

Holly smiles really wide, her whole face lights up and she reaches forward to punch the up button.

Ding.

Christ on a crutch.

Well maybe I should smile at her more often. There must be some kind of electrical connection between her finger and the friggin' elevator. Helps to make the fickle finger of fate a happy finger? Who the hell knows. We ride up together.

I approach the reception area outside my office. I steel myself to enter. Why you ask? I mean it is my office reception area. I rule there right? Well...in theory.

"Good morning, Mr. Skinner."

Not sir, mind you. Not even Assistant Director Skinner. Mr. Skinner. I'm surprised she doesn't call me Walter in that lilting Australian accent of hers. I struggle not to sigh, not to cringe a little.

"Good morning, Christine. Any messages?"

Christine Abelarm. Australian import and my new Executive Assistant. She married a US citizen God bless her. So, here she is, Ms. Efficiency personified ostensibly guarding my office door from the hoi polloi and the troublemakers who threaten my sanity 24/7. I'd like to think Christine is my good right hand.

Who am I kidding? She does her job and suffers yours truly because, God love her, she's a loyal Fibbie. I know she finds me...repugnant. Well maybe that's too strong a word. I think she just feels I'm a bastard. An A Number One asshole and unattractive to boot. At least the little nose wrinkle she makes every time she sees me tells me I'm either not her cup of tea, or my Degree fails me on a regular basis.

And really, Christine doesn't suffer fools or tight asses. It's too bad she sees me as both. But to her credit, she hides her ire at me very well. And we manage to coexist. Just. I've bent over backwards to keep the peace. I don't even ask her to get me coffee unless she's going for some herself. I mean what more can I do?

"No messages, Mr. Skinner. You're 9 AM with Director Freeh was canceled but you still have the 11 AM with Agents Mulder and Scully."

"Yes, thank you, Christine."

Muldurrrr..She trills that name oh yes sir. I have to tell you something mildly amusing here as well. She likes Mulder. I've seen the way she acts when he's lurking about waiting to see the boss. Her pupils dilate. And you know why? Because Mulder is a dead ringer for her husband. I kid you not. His eyes are a little more green than hazel, his hair is maybe a trifle lighter, and he cuts it short, but otherwise he...well the resemblance is - shall we say spooky? So every time Christine sees Fox Mulder she has this natural reaction. She's lusts for him. Man, her husband must be one lucky fucker. Christine is a damn knockout. They grow 'em up right down under let me tell you. No worries.

You know when I think about it - I'm surrounded by women at the Hoover building. Some, in fact a lot of them, are like Christine. Attractive, intelligent, professional women. So why the hell do I spend my weekends alone? Well for one thing, I don't fraternize. It's against regulations. End of story. For another, I don't like to mix business with pleasure. Even if I thought about flaunting the fraternization rule I wouldn't do it. If I had it in my mind to take one of my agents as a lover, or say, Jana Cassidy, the AD of OPR (it would be a cold day in hell there Daddio), into my bed I would reject the notion. You see, I hate talking shop in the sack. I mean when I'm contemplating my lover's exquisite backside or luscious tits I don't want to be discussing why her stakeout from the night before went South, you know. And I sure as hell don't want to hear about how some hapless agent is going to get reamed up the ass by OPR because he gained 20 extra pounds while his wife was pregnant or some equally asinine shit. Talk about your sex suppressant. A sure route to Limp City if there ever was one.

No, dating my coworkers is out of the question. No office romances for AD Walter Skinner. No, I have to find a woman outside the Bureau. A woman outside? Yeah. Outside. Outside and across the street. And that brings me to the woman I've been watching. The woman with the office across the street from mine. The woman I've watched every day since I noticed her a month ago. The woman...I call her the window woman.

I don't know why I started watching her. Why did I notice her at all I ask myself? Oh, for God's sake. I really have to stop deluding myself this way. Walter, Walter, come on Mr. AD. Get with the program here. I noticed her because she's attractive and I'm a total hopeless raging bag of hormones right now. You know what they say about bald men? Right - locked and loaded at all times thanks to the extra testosterone. Whatever. But things are, if you'll pardon the expression, a little hard right now. Yes sir.

At any rate, I noticed her because she...I don't know, she just seems interesting. And you know she's not my type at all really. I like tall, leggy women. Blondes, although I won't turn down a brunette or red head. Yeah, take Agent Scully for instance. Now there's a hell of a beautiful red head. But she doesn't do a thing for me. Well...ok so I'm lying to myself again. Yeah, I'm attracted to her. Crap, I'd have to be dead below the waist not to be. But it's not so much physical with her. I admire her passion, her intellect. The mind inside her physical being a hell of a lot more than her body. Honestly. She's a crack, talented agent and I admire her tremendously. She's bucking for sainthood too if you ask me. I mean Jesus, anyone who puts up with Mulder's bullshit has to be a candidate for canonization.

But I don't feel that spark with Scully. The drawing, the urge to merge. She's a fantastic woman. But I don't want to ball her. Besides that I think she's taken. You don't think I know she's sleeping with Mulder? Hey, I didn't get to this office because I was unobservant, insensitive maybe, but not blind. I know they're lovers and I could give a shit.

Flies in the face of what I said about fraternizing you say? Yeah, well chew on this: I was talking about Walter Skinner not those two agents. They are an exception to every fucking rule in the book, ladies and gentleman. And with what they've been through if they go home at night to each other's arms I'm not going to protest or stand in the way. I mean hell, somebody around here deserves...deserves some happiness. Besides - their solve rate is one of the highest in the bureau. Higher since they've been fucking. So, what me worry? They look good, I look good. Enough said.

But I digress. I was speaking of the window woman, wasn't I? Yeah, I noticed her about a month ago and now...I make it a point to watch her every day. I don't like to contemplate what this says about me. I mean the tendency towards voyeurism it shows must be in my nature. Well fuck. I can always rationalize it as surveillance. I don't get to practice my talents in the field very often any more. I'll just use this as an excuse to stay sharp. Frosty. If I can watch her and make little observations, little theories about her, without her seeing or knowing, it will keep my skills at surveillance from really dying on the vine. So what if being a peeping Tom is illegal in all 50 states. Hey, I'm the fucking AD of Criminal Investigation and I know the law. The law says this is an exercise in investigation. Right? Damn straight.

So I watch, and observe and guess about her life. She's young. God, from what I can see through my window and her window she's probably between 25 and 30 years old. I'm old enough to be...well not her father, but certainly an older brother. Uncle. Whatever. Fuck I'd look like her Daddy though. I mean bald and over 40 does that to you. It doesn't matter how youthful you feel or how you work out to stay hard, fit and trim. You look older than your actual years.

She's on the petite side. Just like Scully. I can see a suggestion of dark hair. I think it's brown but it could be black. It's cut to a medium length. Stylish. I wish I could see her face. But through the glare and the streaks on the glass (my window, not hers - the butt hole window cleaning contractors doing the Hoover building should be strung up by their nuts), I can't quite manage to see what she looks like in detail. I'd like to see her eyes. I bet they're brown, and soft. I bet they're full of intelligence mixed with humor.

She's got a hell of a body too. I can't help but notice the fact she's got great tits. I know it's rude to be watching a woman and making these comments. But, Christ it's just been so long since...well since I really admired a woman I guess. I didn't admire Marita really. I just slept with her out of desperation though I hate to admit it. She's a looker but there's something missing there. Quite frankly, she's cold. A cold fish. Even in bed. It's an experience I'd repeat out of the raw need for physical release (with another person and not just Mr. Hand I mean), but I didn't really enjoy it. I don't think she did either when it came right down to brass tacks. I think she's looking for someone else. And I don't know where the hell that rat bastard is either. So let's forget it.

At any rate, I think the window woman is a knockout despite her petite stature. And you know from watching her interact with her coworkers a few times I think...well she seems like a warm human being as well. She laughs easily and seems to have lots of friends. It's nice. A hell of a pleasant thing to see on a shitty Monday morning.

And, there is also an extra bonus - The window woman dresses well. She seems to have an innate sense of how to dress for her height. Just like Scully. Some women miss this critical fashion point. Just like some men don't know they look like shit in brown suits. She definitely looks good. Conservative for the job but with flair. Sharon used to have that ability. She always looked great. This woman does too.

I know she's a coffee drinker. I'd seen her mug on her desk. But I knew for sure when I saw the Starbuck's cup one morning. I wonder if she likes Sumatran? No, I'd peg her as an Irish Cream drinker maybe. She just looks the type. I wonder what her job is over there? I don't think she's in management. She does too much of her own work. Gets her own coffee. I see her taking files and papers somewhere a lot. Maybe she's a secretary or executive assistant. Maybe she's in personnel or human resources. Accounting? She doesn't look like an accountant. Data Processing? It's hard to say. Whatever she does she looks to be a dynamite professional. I imagine her boss is lucky to have her as an employee.

So, I watch her now as she sits at her cherry wood desk (at least I think it's cherry wood, once again hard to say through the glare) and I wonder. Does she have a boyfriend? Husband? Kids? Or is she single? Available? What would it be like to just...just go over there some day and hang around until she came out of the building. Approach her. Find out. Find out she's unattached. Lonely. Lonely just like me. Maybe ask her for coffee. I could find out if she likes Irish cream or Sumatran then. I let out a heavy sigh. Just a harmless fantasy. She's probably married and has a kid or two. Some computer systems analyst or young stud in middle management probably snapped her up a long time ago. But a man can dream. I glance at my watch. Shit. It's almost 11 AM. I turn from the window and prepare to call Christine to see if Mulder and Scully have their butts parked in the reception area outside my door.

Later...

My head...my head is...my head is starting...my head is starting to pound...

"Sir, I think if you just read that letter you have in your hand there from the Wisconsin Electric and Power Company, you'll realize that blowing up the substation was a total ac....

"Agent Mulder."

"Yes, sir?"

"There is no excuse."

"Yes, sir."

"But, sir, Agent Mulder is right. Under the circumstances, the...uh, unidentified flying object..."

"So, you admit it was a UFO, Scully..."

"Mulder, I didn't say that....I..."

"Hey, but you just did...you said..."

"Agents, remember me? Assistant Director, Walter Skinner? I did call this meeting after all..."

"Sorry, sir."

"Yes, sorry, sir."

"Fine. Agents there is no possible excuse or justification for blowing up a Wisconsin Electric and Power Company substation, this charming letter from said august company notwithstanding..."

"Yes, sir. But..."

You know, at times like these I'd really like to just reach over my desk, grab Agent Mulder by the throat, and show him just how efficiently the Marines taught me to kill a man with my bare hands.

For the love of the living God! How in the hell am I going to justify his blowing up an electrical substation in Wisconsin that blacked out in excess of 100,000 homes? How can I say in my report that a UFO they were trailing had some kind of what...car trouble...and crashed into the substation, blowing it to kingdom come? Christ's blood. It's lucky they weren't blown to smithereens and most of the suburbs of Oak Creek and South Milwaukee, Wisconsin along with them. And of course there was an explosion. A rather large one. But the fried corpse of a large Holstein, yes, you heard me right - a dairy cow (Wisconsin is after all, the dairy state), in the transformer at the substation makes the Wisconsin Electric and Power Company think that vandals with a sick sense of humor are responsible for this debacle. Not Mulder, and therefore not the FBfuckingI.

Jesus. I sigh with resignation as I glance at the letter again. OK. He does have me here. WEPCO has disavowed the Bureau of any blame for the destruction of property and the resulting blackout even though Agent Mulder was practically frothing at the mouth while trying to proclaim that the saucer's occupants were undoubtedly participating in *cattle mutilations*. Hence Clarabell's charred remains. God, I bet Scully loved doing the autopsy on that one. I hope he put it to her good back at the hotel in payment for that little inconvenience. She should have slapped him in the ass. Oh. I don't think I want to contemplate that image right now. Uh...no way.

While I'm off in my own thoughts here Mulder has blatted on and on...well crap. OK. It's a wrap here ladies and gentlemen. I've certainly had enough and I know they have too.

"Agent Mulder?"

"Uh, yes sir?"

"All right look. I suppose this letter does serve to pry your butt out of the sling it's hanging in right now. But for God's sake, try to rein it in here once in a while. There isn't always going to be a convenient letter of absolution from the powers that be, Mulder. And I'm certainly not going to alibi for you over something this outrageous. Do you get my drift?"

"Like a snow bank in winter sir."

"Agent Scully?"

"Yes, sir."

Oh baby - the argon laser beams are going Mulder's way let me tell you. Scully's flashing blue eyes look like they could cut through metal right now. They could certainly cut Mulder a new...Mulder my man, I bet it's back to sleeping on the couch for you tonight. Your rotten, lumpy, leather couch too, not the comfy couch which I'd guess Dana Scully has in her living room. That'll learn you buckaroo. This woman is not going to sit here and take the blame with you forever. Wise up. She doesn't have endless patience. She doesn't have a bottomless well of endless patience...like yours truly - Walter Skinner, AD of Understanding.

"Good. You're both dismissed."

They look at each other, blink, get up, and flee. Scuttle on out agents. And don't let the door hit you in the ass. Piss on it. God I have a splitting headache. Exedrin headache number 9 or maybe it's 9 million. Whatever. I reach over and open my desk drawer so I can find the Exedrin. I'm gonna dry swallow the capsules. I don't even want to take the time to get up, go to my executive can, and pour myself a glass of water. When my head feels like it's going to blow I need the meds and I need them now - you know what I mean?

But, as I'm reaching for the drawer I see something at the very edge of my peripheral vision that catches my eye. I swing around slightly while I open the drawer and fish for the Exedrin bottle. The pills go down and I hardly notice because my mind is more calm, more restful and serene as I catch sight of my window woman across the way.

xXx

Meanwhile, across the street....

The big boss has come in and needs his remarks for his speech typed. So I begin the meticulous task of sorting through his chicken scratch handwriting, typing away while grabbing the phone that never stops ringing.

Suddenly, I look up and it's 11 AM. I glance across the street and see that the FBI guy has the dark-haired guy and the red-head in his office. It looks like he's rubbing his forehead...maybe that meeting's not going so well.

11 AM? Holy smokes, where did the morning go. My co-worker across the room from me is asking the same question aloud. I chuckle and tell her it was abducted by aliens. That gets a laugh.

We laugh a lot here. We have to keep from crying. It's not that our work is hard, there's just a lot of it and my coworkers and I have formed a strong support net to keep all of us semi-sane, perfectly sane is too much to ask for.

Allison, my co-worker, is now commenting on how much she likes my dress.

This is quizzical to me because it's not much to look at in my opinion. I don't spend a huge amount of money on my clothes, but I spend enough and I always try to look good. My clothes are well tailored to fit my tiny form.

I'm very small, so clothes are a bit of a challenge for me to find. I generally have to have my pants altered so I opt for long skirts. For some reason I can always find those to fit. Today I have on a black and cream-colored, checked jumper. I love this dress except for one little detail. It's kind of thin and I always feel so naked under it. Fine if I was trying to seduce someone, but not so good for the office.

So just to make myself feel a little more secure I wear a pair of spandex bike shorts underneath. No one knows, and I get kind of a kick out of it. It satisfies my need to feel less naked, but it also appeals to the smart alec in me that likes to pull jokes on my coworkers. They're not knowing about this is one of my jokes, even if I'm the only one who gets to laugh.

But today I'm feeling frisky. I want someone else to be in on the joke.

I grin wickedly at Allison.

"What?" She asks chuckling.

"I have to tell you something, Allison...about this dress..."

"Yeah?" She says leaning forward, anticipation in her voice.

I get up and cross the room to her. "It's kind of big and flowy so I always feel really naked under it."

She cracks up. "Jill, you're too much."

"But I do like it, so when I wear it I always wear bike shorts to make me feel a little more dressed."

"You DO NOT!" She protests, laughing.

"Do so."

She still doesn't believe me and I wholly forget myself. I'm standing in front of this huge bank of windows, facing the FB-fucking-I and I lift my skirt to show her the shorts. We both laugh, until out of the corner of my eye I see across the street.

My G-man is at the window again. But this time he's facing our building. And smudgy windows or not, he's staring right at me. I'm mortified. I can't believe this is happening. Oh shit!

I go quickly back to my desk and sit down, pretending not to have seen him and making a little more small talk with Allison until we both settle back into our work. Now I sit in silent mortification. He is still watching.

I can't tell what exactly he's doing because I won't look out the window. I don't want him to know I've seen him watching. I mean, when did the watcher become the watched. Well, duh Jill, you did have your skirt over your head who wouldn't have looked. Jeez.

I wonder what I thought. The musing almost causes me to laugh out loud, but I stifle the giggle. I mean, I don't think I'm a fashion model, mind you. I'm only 5 feet tall. But I take care of myself. I run every night and watch what I eat. Did he find me attractive?

Good Lord! He's still at that window. God, what IS he thinking? Maybe he's thinking of having me arrested for indecent exposure...but I think you have to be completely naked for that. Maybe he was wishing I WAS completely naked. Oh yeah Jill, right.

God knows I'd like to see him naked. Hey, it's been awhile OK. I've not felt like dating anyone much since my engagement fell through. I know what you're thinking, but no I'm not one of those bitter women. I still love men and I still want a relationship, it's just scary for me right now. So, I pathetically stare out my window at Adonis over there.

I suppose it's the safety of the situation. It's not like I'll ever meet him. And hey, harmless fantasy gets me through my nights these days. Don't begrudge me that.

I do wonder though. Wonder what it would be like to meet him. Wonder if he'd really be interested in me. Alone in my room at night, I wonder more than that. I imagine myself making love to him, touching him...OK, Jill you're at work. Get focused here.

Just one more look. I turn my head to the window and he's still there, still staring. I finally meet his gaze and he mine. We stare. But not for long because both of us realize what we're doing and quickly turn back to our work. I know I can't focus on mine. I wonder he is in the same predicament.

xXx

I get up and stand very close to the bank of windows in back of my desk so I can observe the window woman better. I'm cautious at first. After all, this is supposed to be a covert operation. I can almost make out her face. I don't, under any circumstances, want her to know I'm watching her. But her attention is elsewhere - centered on a co-worker and their bantering conversation. So I grow more bold and move closer still so I get a really great view. In the back of my mind I'm thinking that this is a really asinine thing to do. It's very, very foolhardy to be taking this much of a risk that she'll see me.

But God in heaven, I can't help myself. She looks so...fresh, so young and so alive. She's laughing now at something her co-worker has said. Another young woman. Another attractive young...

Did I tell you what she was wearing today? She's dressed in some kind of cream and black checked, gauzy flowing - what are they called - oh right - jumper. Yeah - it suits her wonderfully too. Suits her proportions I mean. And you know something - that dress is almost see through. Oh, I noticed that right away even through my God awful streaked window. For a moment I looked away in shame because - Hell - I felt that familiar heaviness growing in my groin and...I don't want to go there right at the moment. Not...not over this lovely young woman. Please, not now. It's just not...well, it's unseemly and it's weak as well. So, I squash my feelings and set my mind to just basking in her heady laughter and the warmth of her interaction with her friend. They're just having a really good time. And so was I. And then I was having a...really good time? God help me I was.

It's strange how a man's mind works sometimes. For instance - a guy can get as hard as a rock in seconds flat - even a guy my age - and all he can be thinking of is the word polyurethane. I was standing there at my window in the Hoover Building with a huge woody and the word polyurethane flying through my frontal lobe like a rocket. And why was I both hard and thinking of rubber at the same time? Because polyurethane is one of the chief components of spandex. And my window woman was wearing spandex bike shorts under her flowing, gauzy, see through, checkered jumper.

Ok. Now, I can imagine you're going to ask "Mr. Skinner, how did you know she had spandex bike shorts on under her jumper?" Well, because this absolute nutjob, this crazy, wild (carefree, youthful, just the opposite of...me) woman, pulled her dress up over her head and showed every asset she had to her co-worker. In front of her bank of windows. In front of my bank of windows. In front of my fogged up specs - right in front of my fucking nose. Could I look away. No way in hell, Jose. I was hooked like a damn fish and I was twisting at the end of the line.

God damn. She's gorgeous. Small but perfect. She must work out. Jog. Something. Muscular thighs. Nice, tight ass. Oh God...that ass. I saw her ass first because she had her back half turned to me. She did a little twirl, thick brown hair flying, to show off the shining, tight, hugging bike...Oh Christ. Why in heaven's name do the manufacturers make those things so you can see every line of a woman's genitalia in shiny, minute detail even across a busy street and two sets of friggin' smeary office windows!? They should be standing here with a massive jones on and a set of balls that feel like you could go bowling with them.

Those shorts left nothing up to the imagination. My fevered hormone hopping imagination went into overdrive as I stood in full view of this beautiful, heedless, fun-loving woman. Watch out Walter a little voice told me. She's going to see you, you stupid bastard! But a big insistent voice between my legs was howling - "Man, you should have requisitioned some binoculars!" Belay that disgusting shit. Oh Jesus though, I can't help it. I want to see her up close and...I can't help but think what it might be like to...to touch her hip. Just caress that warm flesh...without the spandex getting in the way. She's so small my whole hand could practically cup one buttock and...I gotta stop watching. Walter, just...just walk away now. Back off. Back up. Go away before...before...

OH SHIT! She sees me standing here. DAMN! I can see her face now and I wish I never...She knows I'm watching her, that I see her, that I've seen her - almost all of her. OH HELL. She knows I'm watching because she's looking right into my wide, embarrassed, staring eyes. I can't believe...Fuck! I flunked surveillance 101 here big time ladies and gents. Christ on a crutch. I can't believe I was busted so easily, that I was so careless. Well of course I was careless. My brains had gone South to Wally World. I should really have my head (the big one), examined for even standing here indulging myself in some perverted peeping Tom game.

Walter you have really done it now you stupid son of a bitch. You had absolutely no right to be watching the window woman. It was an invasion of her privacy for God's sake. When she lifted her shirts she didn't expect some middle aged civil servant to be salivating over her thighs from the window of the building across the street. She was just having a bit of fun. Some harmless youthful exuberance that I've defiled with my prurient thoughts about her nicely muscled, yet soft in the correct places body, and her alabaster, glowing skin and her lush, full tits and...Christ, I am one sick fuck. I still can't look away. But I notice, neither can she and I think...I don't want to think. I just want to bury my head in shame.

I need to get away from this window right now. I tell my legs to move and tell myself that this is just a harmless fantasy again. I begin to rationalize it all. I need to let it go. I need to obfuscate my feelings. To deny my wants and needs. To smack them back. To crush them down. Screw them down tight. Bury them, bury them deep. I will never meet her. I will never talk to her. Never touch her. Never...love her...Don't be an idiot Walter. Love at first sight does not exist. It's a fool's dream. A dream for middle aged, lonely, pencil pushers who drool over woman half their age. Give it up. Go back to the grind. Go back to the line. Stand on it and...the sensations recede as she finally looks away. My cock wilts at last and I turn to take my seat again at the helm of my ship in Hoover's fleet. I should feel relief. I should go back to work. I should...

But...I gotta get out of here. I gotta get some fresh air. I gotta get...some Starbuck's Sumatran coffee...

xXx

Oh thank God, he's turned away. Jeez is it warm in here or what. I...I can't believe I did that and I can't believe he watched me do it and now I can't believe we were staring at one another.

My mind is wandering down a dangerous path here. I mean, is he lonely too? Does he want some kind of connection with me? Oh Jill, get real. You just made a spectacle of yourself, of course he's going to stare!

Now we're both mortified. Way to go.

I've got to get the hell out of here for a bit. "Allison, I gotta go get some coffee. You want anything."

"No, I'm fine. You OK? You look a little flushed."

"Uh...yeah, fine. Just need my caffeine." I plant my sunglasses firmly on my face and walk purposefully down the hall. Sure, I can hold my head high away from that window. Hypocrite!

Finally, I'm awash in the early morning bustle of the busy Washington, DC streets. 9th to be precise. I'm headed for Chinatown and the Starbuck's that's there. Gotta have some coffee.

I know most people think of it as a stimulant, and yes that's what it is. But for some reason it calms me, just like nicotine does for a smoker. First there's a rush and then the calm. I definitely need to calm down.

I can't believe I'm still hot AND aroused. I know I'm acting like a foolish school girl, caught out in her crush on the handsome senior. But cut me a break here, he is a gorgeous hunk of man and, dammit, I'm lonely.

I've been alone for a year now. Sure, I've had meaningless dates that I ran home screaming from. Ugh. The guy with the chinchilla was the worst. I simply cannot believe...OK, so Romeo asks me to dinner and we live a good distance apart so we agreed to meet at this seafood place.

So I get to the seafood place and it's one of those all you can eat places. How romantic. Then, he arrives a good 30 minutes late. We have a less than wonderful dinner, everything was overcooked and tasted of freezer burn. Then, he tells me he's forgot his wallet can I handle the bill! Cripes.

I was ready to leave then, but because I'm nice I agreed to give him a second chance at the evening and see a movie with him. So we leave my car at the restaurant and go to his house so he can get his wallet.

I guess it was an effort to impress me, but it fell way below the mark let me tell you. He decided he'd show me his pet chinchilla, which basically resembles a mouse on steroids. So he decides to play Outdoor Adventure Man with me. He said, "Do you know how a chinchilla bathes?" In my head, I was screaming, "NO, AND I DON'T WANT TOO!!!"

Unfortunately, the only word that came out was "No".

He then preceded to show me how the poor animal bathes by dumping it in a bucket of sand. Apparently, sand works as soap for these delightful rodents...which would have been interesting had it not thrown the sand all over me and my date. They use the sand as soap by tossing it upwards of ten feet in the air as they roll around in it. Charming, don't you think?

At any rate, that's typical for my dates so I guess you can understand why I've felt the need for my fantasy G-man across the street. I can write his dialogue and make him whoever I want him to be and not get treated to a sand bath in the process.

But part of me does want more...OK, all of me wants more. I want someone's touch. I want someone to wake up with. Someone to have dinner with. Someone to tell me they love me.

As I was staring like a deer in headlights at old G-man a little bit ago. I think I saw something, besides the embarrassment and shock, I think he's lonely too. I have this senseless desire to meet him, but I know I won't. That's ludicrous. And even if I did meet him, why would he want anything to do with me. I'm too young . I'm sure if he is single, he's got his pick of any of his contemporaries he can match wits with. I fear I'd fall short of the mark.

I finally end my five block walk to Starbuck's and wander inside. Fortunately, most everyone is at lunch and not out for coffee now. I can be leisurely about this. I stare at the vast array of coffees. God it's hard to pick somedays. But I have a favorite. I always get the Kenyan with a shot of Irish Creme in it. I make my way to the counter and place my order.

XXx

Well I'll be damned! Starbuck's isn't a zoo for once. I guess the lunch crowd's decided to chow down instead of tank up. Not that a crowd would have mattered to me.

I can buck a crowd with no problem. Oh, I'm not rude about it or anything. I don't need to...push. When you're in a crowd with me all I need to do is make eye contact with you and believe me buddy, you'll move. Trust me on this. You'll get out of the way. No question.

But today I don't need to use any of my special crowd controlling talents. Thank God for small favors. I actually feel myself relax, sag into myself a bit. I don't need to maintain that stick up my ass, ramrod straight stance I'd need to intimidate friends and influence people. No sir. I can just stroll in, wander up to the counter, order, and...MOTHER OF GOD! Oh God, she...she's HERE...that's a fucking see through cream and black checked jumper thing and I can not believe she's here... what in the hell possessed her to...I'll never drink coffee again, I swear to God, if you'll just make her a hallucination...a mid-life crisis vision...fuck, I'd rather have a PTSD daymare then this sight...my worst nightmare right now....God in heaven, this is one of life's Twilight Zone moments...no shit...oh Lord...talk about your damn X-File...Mulder I almost believe, you bastard...I....Oh my GOD!

The window woman is standing at the counter big as life - well not big - but she's there and my knees are buckling. I can't fathom the way my entire body is reacting. I was less terrified in combat, for crying out loud. This is horrible. After everything I did... my disgusting peeping Tom act...watching her at my window like I did...after she saw my face...I know she saw, she knew my...feelings? Jesus. She must know. After my watching her with the skirt, the spandex bike...I was hard...I...she must have seen my...desperation? Loneliness? My attraction...my...erect...I have to leave right now. Walter turn around immediately. About face soldier and head for the exit.

But I can't leave. I'm paralyzed on the spot for a split second and then...my legs are carrying me forward and...it's as if I have absolutely no control over my actions. My body is telling me what my mind is denying here. My body knows I want to meet her. I want to talk to her...just...to just...but what in the hell will I say to her? Sorry I was staring at you Ms. Spandex Woman....but I needed to practice my surveillance techniques? Oh yeah, right. Sorry I saw you showing your ass to the world? Uh huh, oh sure. Sorry I got as hard as a rock when you turned around and I saw the outline of your...Oh Christ, Walter, get a clue you fuckwad. Wait I have it! Hey, I know what I should say - Look my good woman, I'm armed. Take this gun and shoot me in the head. I need to be put out of my misery. I'm dying of embarrassment anyway.

Damn it to hell. I can't believe I've put myself in this predicament. And my body is betraying me. I'm walking forward to meet her. Her back is turned to me. She's leaning on the counter trying to decide what to order. If I try really hard I can compose myself before I reach her. I'm trying, straining, to think of something, anything to say to her. Anything to explain my disgusting behavior (like there could possibly be an excuse), and to apologize for being a middle-aged, drooling pervert.

I'm looming right behind her now. God, she looks so... petite, so beautifully fragile, delicate yet... I sense an inner strength. I can see it in the way she holds herself, how her back muscles...Oh Christ I'm doomed. Walter, you're done. Sunk. I give into the sensation completely, there is no point in resisting any longer. It's too much...too...wonderful...too...I can smell the scent of the delicate perfume she uses. See the glint in her clean, shining brown hair. I open my mouth to speak but no words will come out. God damn it I'm just staring again. Staring at the back of her head. WHY CAN'T I GET THE SOUND TO COME OUT OF...Suddenly the counter help speaks. Thank you Lord - I'm saved by J.I.T. - just in time inventory. Hallelujah!

XXx

"Sorry, ma'am we're out of Kenyan."

Damn! I study the menu again closely. My eye strays to the Sumatran and just as I'm considering it a heavy voice behind me makes the decision for me.

"The Sumatran is quite good."

I turn to face my advisor and...OH. MY. GOD. My fantasy G-man is towering over me, live and in the flesh. I can't believe it. I...say something you idiot.

"Is it strong? I like it strong." I say huskily forgetting myself for a moment. Who is this wanton woman who has taken over my body. Oh Damnation! Could that have sounded any worse, Jill? Please don't let him be offended....please don't let him be embarrassed...please don't let me faint on the spot and fall on his highly polished G-man shoes.

"Uh...well it is strong. But it's less acidic. Easier on the gut. But, if you like it strong...you'll love the Sumatran," he rasps.

Oh Godohgodohgod! What do I do now? I never in my wildest dreams...OK, yeah in my wildest dreams, but I never truly expected to be standing face to face with him. OK, Jill pull it together. It's do or die time now.

"Uh...Yes, the Sumatran sounds like a great choice." My voice is faltering.

The clerk eyes me and the G-man up. "OK. Are you next sir?"

"Yes, I'll have the same as the young lady. Sumatran." He turns and looks at me and his face is tense, reddening slightly. His voice is faltering as much as mine.

"And...look, let me pay for your coffee, all right...I..it's the least I can do." His jaw goes slack and I can tell he's really embarrassed and there's something else behind those spectacles. Pain. He's embarrassed, hurting and trying to communicate and, Oh God. This poor man. He's realized what he just said to me and he feels like an ass.

"Least you can do? Listen, I...we...we'd better talk, ok? Do you have some time?" I stutter out. Oh, God Jill you can do better than that. "At least you can share a table with me if you're going to pay for my coffee."

He averts his gaze. "Oh yeah, I've got the time. I'm just not sure I've got the guts." He says tersely. Oh boy, is this ever awkward. He's really uncomfortable and this isn't a picnic for me either. God how could I have been so stupid as to have...well hey, he WAS looking, he didn't have too.

The coffee arrives at the pick up counter. We reach for the cups at the same time and our fingers brush. I knew it, he has beautiful hands, this G-man. G-man, isn't it time you were properly introduced, Jill?

"Well that makes two of us, Mr.?..." I say taking the steaming cup of coffee from his large hand. He picks his up and gives me a nervous smile.

"Skinner, Walter Skinner."

"Jill Sharpe."

"All right, Jill Sharpe - lead on, I'll follow."

We make our way over to one of the few tables in Starbuck and sit down. I'm having trouble looking at him and he's having a rough time looking at me. I'm fumbling for something to say when we both break our silence at the same time...

"I can't say how sorry I am about that business at the window..."

"Listen, about that little display in the window..."

He starts to trudge on, but I stop him. After all, I was the exhibitionist here. He just happened to be looking out his window at an inopportune moment. I have to say I'm impressed he's not totally avoiding me. Most men would have pretended the whole incident never happened. In a way I'm sorry he didn't choose that course of action...but in a way I'm glad.

"I hope you don't think I'm in the habit of displaying my spandex on a daily basis. God...what you must think of me. I know that's the FBI over there for heaven's sake. I should really apologize."

His face flushes more deeply. I'm amazed at how the flush reaches all the way up over his naked scalp. Oh boy. I wonder if it does that when he...JILL, pay attention.

"You should apologize? Why the hell should you say you're sorry? And so what if it's the FBI over there? I can't hide behind my job when it comes to doing something that's illegal in all 50 states. You were just having some innocent fun with your co-worker. I was the one who was making a disgusting spectacle of myself. I shouldn't be...I mean I shouldn't have been watching you at all. It was an invasion of your privacy. If anyone should be saying they're sorry, it's me, Ms. Sharpe. I was really terribly in the wrong. I can't expect you to accept my apology though. And I wouldn't blame you if you told me to go to hell and roast on a turning spit there."

"First of all, it's Jill. I think we might as well be on a first name basis, don't you think." He nods at me perfunctorily. "Look, I should have thought about displaying my assets in front of an uncovered window. I have more sense than that, I just didn't use it."

We both laugh, but he's still in apologize mode. This guy is chivalry personified and it's starting to annoy me.

"Nonetheless there was no excuse for my voyeuristic behavior. I don't...I'm not in the habit of playing at...of acting like a Peeping Tom."

I can't help the bubble of laughter that forms in my throat, it just comes up and then I manage, "Well it was more like Walter watching anyway, wasn't it?"

Walter laughs a little, this deep low rumble that really turns me on.

Oh God, Jill get those hormones in check.

"Touché. And to be honest I didn't mind the view. I started my stakeout and surveillance while you two were talking and laughing. You just looked like you were having a lot of fun. I'd had a...well this was not a good Monday morning, Ms. Sharpe. I suppose if I was going to make an excuse of some kind that would be it. Your youthful exuberance just served to warm my heart, it buoyed by spirits a little. Made me forget pushing paper for a couple of minutes I guess." He looks down, but a shy smile is playing about his lips. God, he is just so damn cute. Oh brother, did I really just think that.

"Walter, please call me Jill. OK? And there's nothing to be embarrassed about, I'm flattered, really."

"Jill? OK. Well, Jill, I'm glad you were flattered but I really do hope you'll forgive me. I don't think it was particularly flattering to have some...some old fart ogling you. It was a really foolish action on my part to be spying on you - even if I was enjoying the show. Shi...excuse me - that didn't come out right either. Sorry, I'm really batting a thousand. Can we just call it a day? If I keep this up I'm going to end up eating my whole leg instead of just chewing on my foot here."

Oh boy. I reach across the table and touch his hand softly, "Walter, you aren't an old fart. Any woman would be honored to have you admiring her. I can't believe someone like you would actually be entertained by a file care worker like me," I say with a laugh.

He grins a bit. "You look like you're pretty important to them over there."

"Well, in a manner of speaking...what about you, you must be a pretty big fish at the FBI?"

"Yeah, well...Nothing you'd be interested in. Like I said - I push a lot of paper..."

"Hey, I bet you at least get to create your paperwork."

He nods, but doesn't say anything. He looks like he needs some Ex-Lax. Oh boy, more avoidance behavior. And here I thought things were going well. But get real Jill, why would someone this sophisticated want anything to do with a boring executive assistant like me. I guess it's time to go back to the grind, get out of here and save face while I can.

"Well, I'd better get back to work..."

xXx

I'm sure you've heard that old adage about a man going into his second childhood when he becomes a senior citizen? You know the myth that says old fucks go back to being rug rats? Well, I'm beginning to half believe it might be true. The reason I'm leaning towards believing it is because I think I've discovered that in middle age you go back to being a pubescent teenager. So, ankle biting can't be far behind right? Don't believe it? Well, take a good look at Walter Skinner right now ladies and gentlemen. Take a real good look.

I'm sitting here talking to this lovely, vivacious young woman and I'm acting like some gawky, pimply faced, blushing, voice cracking, 16 year old dork. Gone is the hard as nails *I eat bad boys like Mulder for breakfast* AD. In his place, is Walt Skinner, clueless, foolish, speechless, high school hulk. I used to be that way. And now I am that way again in the presence of Ms. Jill Sharpe, Spandex Window Woman of my dreams.

I can't believe the depth of my attraction to Jill. It isn't all physical either. I can't deny the physical attraction of course. It's there all right and I'm squashing it down as had as I can right now. But, there is something...something that comes across from her that transcends, that bypasses the outside appearance. A warmth and intelligence that I can see in her eyes, emanating from her spirit, that makes my heart sing as well as my blood boil. I want to just sit down somewhere calm and quiet and talk to her for hours. To find out what makes her tick. Find out about her hobbies. What books she likes. Movies. Music.

I don't know if this is a mid-life crisis. Maybe it is one. The whole idea is quite frankly a total farce. She's half my age for Christ's sake. I mean what can we possibly have in common? Maybe I'm trying to recapture my youth. I don't know. Shit. But I do know I want to spend more time with her. I want to find out if...if maybe we do have common interests. If we could...if we an make some kind of connection. This hasn't been long enough to find out. I need more time...I need...

Damn it...I can't express myself again. That fucking 16 year old Walt Skinner was a worthless sack of shit back in the 70s and he's killing me now. Christ. Now she says she's going to leave. She's actually getting up to go. God! I have to say something to make her stay. I have to ask her if she'd like to...if I can see her again. I open my mouth and the words come out this time. But even though they come out I wince with the idiocy of my question.

"Jill, have you ever seen a '61 Chevy Corvette Convertible?" Oh brilliant fucking query Walter. Or should I say Walt - yeah hell - bragging about your car is something a 16 year old geek would do, isn't it. I want to die.

"What?" Jill replies a confused look on her face. I hold my breath for a second and let it out slowly as she sits back down.

"I'm sorry, that didn't make much sense did it?"

"Well I will admit I didn't quite get the relevance, Walter. Maybe you should explain," she replies quietly staring at me quizzically.

There's a tiny grin playing about her lips. Well at least I have her amused. Maybe she is a little interested in me? Or maybe she wants another good laugh. I try to back track to get to my point.

"Well, I have this '61 Chevy Corvette Convertible. It's red. I restored it and I thought...well maybe you'd like to see it. Go for a ride. Uh...I guess I'm asking if you'd like to get together again sometime. After work."

"Walter are you asking me out?" she asks smiling more widely.

Oh bloody hell. Well...that's at least close to the response I was hoping for from her. Too bad it's a question that makes my fumbling efforts even more obvious and causes my balls to shrink up to the size of marbles.

"If you'd be amenable I'd like to see you again, yes," I reply. I managed to get that out a little better. At least my voice didn't warble. Thank God.

"Oh, well..." now she's fumbling a bit as well. She's looking down at her hands. Oh shit. I didn't mean to make her upset. Maybe she isn't interested in me after all. I can understand it if she wanted to run the other way. No kidding. I mean fuck - what do you think I looked like at my window for heaven's sake. I sigh a little but I'm willing to give it one last shot.

"Hey, don't worry about declining, Jill. I just thought I should do a little more here to make amends for my earlier inexcusable behavior. I mean buy you a meal at your favorite eatery or..."

"Lunch maybe?" she asks looking up into my eyes. There's a more accepting look on her face now. An expression of...eagerness. I swallow and blink a little. I really should learn to kick myself in the ass while I'm sitting down. It's a technique that could come in handy at times.

"Well, I was thinking more like dinner. Dinner out - say Friday evening?" I ask raising an eyebrow. OK here it comes. Will she? Won't she? Why should I expect her to even...

"Actually, Walter that sounds nice. I'm free Friday. Would you like to meet me right after work?"

I can't help myself. I smile. I mean really smile. I give her one of the genuine Walter Skinner smiles that only a select few people have ever seen. The one where you can see what a good job my childhood dentist, Dr. Goodman, did with the braces I wore.

She smiles as well and I make the date. Date? God in heaven. Suddenly, all is right with the world.

"I thought maybe I'd pick you up in the Chevy at your home. That way you can go home and change, relax a little, whatever, after work. And of course you can see my car. It really is kind of a nice vehicle. I...I don't get a chance to drive it very much. So, I take her out for a spin when I can. If it would be all right with you I could pick you up say, around 7 PM?"

"I have to admit I am getting rather curious about that car," she chuckles a little. She really does have a musical laugh. I knew she would, "it sounds like you're very proud of it," she adds.

"Gee, how could you tell?" I reply with a gruff chuckle. That makes her laugh a bit harder and now I'm smiling like a clown. Well I rein it in a bit here. I need to keep my head on a little straight. I calm myself and remember to get the details.

"Ok. So, I'll pick you up at 7 then. I guess I need your address. I should get your phone number too. In case my Friday work day goes South I'll call to let you know about any change of plans, of course." Oh brother, that isn't bad Walter. Smooth. I haven't asked for a phone number that smoothly in a long, long, time.

"Here, I can give you one of my business cards," she nods rummaging in her purse, "the card will have my work phone number on it." She comes out with a little card case, opens it and proffers a card. "If you have a pen I can give you my home address and phone number. You can write it on the back."

Holy shit. She's giving me her home phone number. I figured she'd give me her work phone. But this means she must...Jesus.

I take the card and try really hard to keep my hand from shaking. Thankfully I do and I take a pen from my inner suit coat pocket. She recites her address and home phone number and I jot it down on the card's back. I pocket both the card and the pen back into my coat pocket.

"Walter, should I dress up Friday or..."

"Why don't you decide where you want to go first. Anywhere you like, Jill. Like I said - I want to make amends so we should go someplace you really enjoy."

"Oh, well that would be just fine. I do have a place in mind. It's not too formal. Italian food. Business casual should work."

"Great. Business casual then. I'll pick you up at 7 PM."

"I'll look forward to seeing you again, Walter," she replies glancing at her watch and rising once more, "I'd really better get going. Everyone will wonder what happened to me."

I stand and smooth down the front of my suit. I extend a hand before I think better of it. Maybe I shouldn't...touch....but she puts her small hand in mine. Her touch is electric. I pin her eyes and she looks down at our intertwined hands. I end up shaking her hand in a very business like fashion to cover the fact that my insides are practically melting from the feel of her skin against mine. Her return handshake is strong, firm for a woman. I like it. It shows back bone.

"It's been interesting, Mr. Skinner," she says more formerly as she looks back up at me. There is a hint of amusement in her eyes again, "I look forward to continuing our conversation this Friday." I release her hand and mumble.

"Friday."

She nods, turns on her heel and heads for the exit. I watch her leave with only one thought left in my head. What the hell am I going to wear Friday night?

xXx

I had looked forward to Friday with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Now that it was here and I had a solution to the problem that was upper most in my mind I felt a whole lot better. I was a tad more relaxed about tonight's date. What was the problem you ask? Well up until Thursday morning, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to wear. Hey, cut me some slack. Like I said - men do think about the way they dress for success. In the office and with women. At least this man does. So, give me a break here and let me elucidate.

The week went by fairly quickly and, for once, fairly painlessly. Mulder and Scully were out in the field on what was purported to be a hoax. That was one reason my life was less miserable. But I did say purported didn't I? We shall see. I hoped I was completely off the hook. At the least, I hoped I was off the hook until they returned and I had to assess the damages.

I was busy though. Odds and ends. Reports. Budget meetings. An OPR hearing. Some agent clocked his partner in the head after a disagreement on a stakeout. Jana Cassidy was in her glory. I had breakfast with her on Thursday morning. Did I tell you about our breakfasts? Oh yeah. It's some kind of executive perk that the Bureau thinks it's granting us. A little private dining room for the Assistant Directors off the main employee cafeteria. On most days all the AD's show up and we have an informal coffee clutch. We suck up to each other or debate Bureau bullshit. The food's ok. I tend to avoid the breakfasts most of the time. One of the reasons I stay away is because agents use the opportunity to button hole us for special favors. It's some kind of asinine accepted Bureau tradition. If an agent has an unusual request he won't bother taking it through channels if he can catch you at breakfast to browbeat you about it. Ask me how many times I've seen Fox Mulder when I look up from my eggs over easy. Get the picture on why I make myself scarce?

The other reason I absent myself is because Jana Cassidy shows up for almost every one of them and that woman and I usually mix like the proverbial oil and water. But this Thursday, Mulder was out of town and Cassidy was in a good mood having just gotten done roasting Agent Walker's nuts on the OPR spit so I was ensconced in the Assistant Directors dining room. And you know sometimes things work out better than you expected and you find a solution to a problem from an unexpected source as well.

I had come in early so the dining room was empty. Just fine by me if the other Ad weren't in yet, or had business elsewhere. So, I was sitting there, alone and enjoying it, over my usual, two eggs over easy, two strips of low-fat bacon, one piece of whole wheat toast, margarine on the side, skim milk, orange juice, and coffee. I was chewing away and all I could think about was Jill Sharpe, Friday night and what in the hell was I going to wear? The problem was Jill had said business casual. Now I have two types of wardrobe. Business and casual. The two words do not normally combine in my closet. So I was in a deep quandary.

Shit, I suppose I could go buy a new suit. Something from oh I don't know - Ralph Lauren or Donna Karan. As a rule though, I prefer Calvin Klein for more casual clothes. He's casual without being...well his stuff just flatters me OK? If I purchased a new suit though I'd have to have it tailored a bit. I always take my suits to a tailor. Off the rack just won't do it for me. But my tailor was booked up the fucking ass so I knew I'd never get in by Friday. I was toying with my eggs when Jana Cassidy made her appearance at my elbow.

"Mind if I join you, Skinner?"

She never calls me Walter. It's either Assistant Director Skinner, AD Skinner or Skinner. I call her Jana because, fuck it, I'm not calling her Cassidy. It's too close to Hopalong Cassidy and if I think about calling her Hopalong I'm gonna blow chow from laughing right in her face.

"Not at all, Jana. I see you opted for the pancakes." God damn, that woman can eat. But I have to give her credit. She's in marvelous shape. I know she works out. I've seen her in the gym. She has to stay svelte for a number of reasons. One is, of course, it wouldn't look good to have to call an OPR hearing on the AD of OPR because she's gone up a dress size from too many morning flapjacks. The other reason is she's married to a guy 16 years her junior. Oh yeah. Peter Murphy. She kept her maiden name when they got married last year. He looks like a fucking GQ model. In fact he is a fucking GQ model. It's rather interesting to contemplate what they must...well I don't want to think about that vision right now. I mean the vision of the two of them together. Not over my eggs. That's worse than seeing Mulder looming over my plate.

At any rate, Jana did reply.

"Oh, I just have a weakness for these things. Don't know why. Been that way since I was a little girl." She has that tough clipped speech of the hard nosed Bureau bureaucrat. Just like me. If her voice was an octave lower and you were sitting at this table you'd think you were hearing stereo.

"Were you ever a little girl?" I ask raising an eyebrow. She expects me to stick it to her sometimes. In truth, we grudgingly respect each other. We're adversaries but I think there's an underlying understanding between us. I leave her to her turf most of the time. She leaves me to mine - most of the time. But we fence verbally. It's a sign of our...strange, warped affection for each other.

So she gives me a quirky little grimace that passes for her smile and replies, "As much as you were a little boy, Skinner."

I chuckle and then she has a follow up jab. At least I thought it was a follow-up jab but as it turned out...

"By the way, Skinner. Nice outfit. That's a great color on you - gray. Isn't that a Versace suit?"

I look at her and put my fork aside. I look down the front of my suit thinking, great color? what did I do - spill egg on my lapel or something? I look over at her and narrow my eyes.

"What's wrong with the suit?"

"Nothing, Skinner. I'm trying to pay you a compliment. Take it. I don't give them that often. You look good in gray."

I stare at her like she just sprouted two heads. What the hell is wrong with her? Oh. I know - maybe Peter put it to her last night or more likely this morning, so she's in a really expansive, magnanimous mood. Who the hell knows. But this is a first and I'm a little taken aback. I decide to answer politely to see what comes next. You never know what pearls of wisdom can spout from the mouth of a mad person.

"Well, in that case, thanks, Jana. And yeah, this is Versace."

"I thought so. Peter did a shoot for September's GQ for some Italian designers - I think one of them was Valentino. All the suits were a light gray. I think it's going to be the color this fall. There were some particularly nice casual outfits. A little too casual for here," she replied gesturing around the room to encompass the four walls of conservatism," but somewhere else they'd be stunning. You should pick up that September GQ, Skinner. You might see something you'd like in that spread for the Italians.

Bingo. Well I was way ahead of her. I subscribe to GQ. I already had the September edition. I also had the fucking Valentino suit hanging in the back of my closet. Bought it the day after the magazine came in the mail. It just never occurred to me...well I bought it at the end of August on the off chance that Marita or someone...well just forget it. I knew it looked good on me. I just hadn't had a chance to wear it to get anyone else's reactions yet. But now, with Jana *trust me, my husband is a male mannequin* Cassidy telling me I'd look stunning in gray...I guess I had the solution to that problem. I gave a silent thank you to Peter Murphy for putting a happy face on his wife this morning and went back to tackling my eggs.

And here it was Friday. I had been busy enough that I really hadn't watched Jill. In truth, I didn't need to watch her anymore. I mean why? I was going to see her that evening. I called her a little before 1 PM to confirm that I would be picking her up at 7. She said she'd be ready, no problem. So we were on. I left work a little early just to give myself enough time. I wanted to make sure I didn't rush through my preparations.

So, here I was in my can in the apartment in Crystal City and I was starting to get very nervous again. Christ on a crutch. I stood in front of the huge vanity mirror, stark naked and had the biggest moment of self doubt I think I've ever had in my entire adult life. What in the hell are you doing, Walter? How can you possibly contemplate squiring a woman who is at least 10 if not more years your junior when you're half blind, bald and over 40. So what if you're in good physical condition...ok, prime physical condition...and as hard a God damned bronze statue. You are not worthy.

I take my glasses off and place them on the vanity. Well, fuck it. I have to give it a try. You can't blame a guy for wanting to at least step up to the plate again. I don't get up at bat very often at all. If I strike out I guess that's just life. But I'm not going to run like a fucking dog with my tail between my legs. I set my shoulders and come to a decision. I'm determined now to do the best I can and show Jill as good a time as I have in me. I can't do anything else. It's against my character to just give up. No Skinner just calls it a day before it's time to take his bat and ball and go home. I step into the hot shower water, Gillette Mach 3 razor and shaving gel in hand, resigned to my fate but a hell of a lot more calm, cool and collected.

I finally get out of the shower and return the gel and razor to the vanity. I towel off. I look at my face in the mirror. Good. A nice close shave. No nicks. Since I got that larger fog proof mirror for the shower I've had a better shave. Another GQ tip. I reach for the Old Spice and slap some on. I like Old Spice. I haven't used anything else since I started to shave. It's understated. Masculine. Sharon loved it. I sigh. I'd better not go there tonight. Hell no. I take one more look over the rest of me and shrug, reaching for my briefs. Boxer briefs by Hanes tonight. Hey, I know how they make me look. What they do for me below the waist. I know my assets in some areas. I'm not totally clueless or lacking in confidence. Besides I need something a little more high rising for coverage. Well with the scars...uh, from Nam...you know what I mean. At any rate, so what if the skivvies are white? You're not going to notice the color, believe me. It's just a fact. Ask Marita if you can find her. Ah shit - I'd better not go there either.

Christ! What am I thinking about here? Marita and my cock? Balls! I wince. Balls indeed. I'm slipping on the briefs and it occurs to me as I arrange myself inside them that I'm assuming a lot here and it's not very polite and not fair at all to the woman I am going to be with tonight. I have to stop myself here. Check myself. Not every woman is Marita - good to go at the drop of a hat. It's presumptuous not to mention arrogant and disgusting for me to assume Jill Sharpe would have any intentions of sleeping with me tonight. Christ, 45 minutes ago I was having doubts about why she had even accepted my invitation to go out at all. Now I'm deluding myself into thinking she' going to see my equipment displayed so invitingly in my Hanes? Get a life Walter. Face reality.

With some kind of perverse twist of fate, I choose that very moment to reach forward and open the section of the mirror that fronts the recessed medicine cabinet over the vanity. I'm looking for my toothpaste. I find instead, as the box falls out onto the counter, spilling the contents, the box of condoms I purchased when Marita was here over 4 months ago. Lovely. Here's something else I can angst over for a few minutes. I wince, fish out the toothpaste, grab my toothbrush and get to work.

Later, after I'm dressed I turn around in front of my full length mirror in the bedroom and admire the view. OK. I look good. I'll admit it. Damn straight. Not bad at all. The suit is in light gray wool. Light weight darker gray crew neck sweater underneath. The sweater will be fine. It's cool out tonight. But not cool enough for a coat. And not cool enough to keep the top up on the Chevy. Skinner you have nothing to be embarrassed about, I think with a nod.

Well maybe one thing I muse with a slight frown. I consider the condom I retrieved from the vanity. The condom which now rests in my billfold inside the inner pocket of the gray Valentino jacket. Well, better to be safe than sorry I rationalize. After all, if by some miracle this exquisite young woman deigns to even consider bedding me tonight, it would be a real disservice to her not to have protection. A good Marine never goes under fire without his helmet. And I was a very good Marine.

But, I make a mental note not to think about having sex with Jill tonight. Why bother when it's a remote chance at best. Hell, she doesn't even know what I do for a living yet. We need to talk about a shit load of things. She may end up thinking I'm the biggest asshole on three legs she's ever met. So...I push that train of thought out of my mind. I glance at my watch. Shit. I have to get my butt in gear here or I'll be late.

I grab my cell phone, ID and Glock from the night stand. I holster the Glock and pocket the ID and phone. Now where the hell did I put my car keys? Oh yeah. They're on the dining room table next to my unopened stack of mail. I go to retrieve my keys, and exiting the apartment head down to the secured garage and my red '61 Chevy Corvette convertible.

xXx

5:45. It's 5:45. Get your act together Jill!

Christ! What a day. Work was, well work. More crap than usual. We had a load of paperwork to do. One of the lawyers needed some background material for one of his buddies in Congress. God, I love working in Washington...NOT!

So there I was, scurrying around trying to find all these files...distracted as hell. Why? Well, I have a DATE tonight. The first one I've had since...well since my engagement ended and I haven't got the faintest clue what the hell I'm going to wear! Accuse me of a being a girl. Guilty as charged.

So I wasn't the most efficient worker today. I must have dropped those damn files 16 times. To add insult to injury my overly perceptive co-worker sensed my malady.

"Jill?"

"Yeah, Allison?"

"You OK? You've seemed kind of distracted all week. Is something the matter." She was staring at me, really concerned and it was really sweet and all I could do was laugh.

"What?" she grumbled even more confused.

"Oh, Allison. It's nothing. It's really stupid actually. I...I have a date tonight."

"Ohh..." her voice lilted up in curiosity. I nodded. "Who is he? Where'd you meet him? What's he do?"

Good God, that woman can be nosy. And to be honest I didn't know how to answer half those questions. Hell, I barely know myself. We have to talk about some of that tonight.

"Well...I met him at a coffee shop." That was true. "He works for the FBI, his name is Walter." OK, whew all true and I didn't have to tell her I met him because he saw me half naked in front of our windows. Good Lord, what a situation.

Then she had to go and remind me of my main problem. The whole reason I've been freaking out since Monday. "So Jill, what are you going to wear?"

I wanted to scream. I've been puzzling over that very statement all damn week. What to wear. I told Walter business casual. We're going to this little Italian place in Arlington. It's small, quiet, but they have excellent food and an excellent wine list. Ol' Jill will be needing some wine to get through tonight, believe me.

I gave a lot of thought to picking that place, since Walter was so kind as to let me choose. I've often been there with my girlfriends and I always thought it'd be the perfect place for a first date. It's low lit, and they have classical music playing. There aren't many distractions from your food or your company. So I thought it was an excellent choice...to bad choosing clothes couldn't be that easy.

"Uhh...well Allison. I ..."

"You mean you don't know?" She practically shrieked it at me.

I laughed. "I'm afraid not."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Please."

"Wear something red. You look gorgeous in red. Sets off your features. Are you going someplace fancy?"

"No, just to the Pines."

"Ah well, why don't you wear that red dress I've seen you wear, the one with the princess waistline. You look great in that."

Thank you, Allison! Boy, was that a relief. I would have come home and spent two hours, that I didn't have, starring aimlessly in my closet praying for inspiration. But she was right. That red dress was great and it was perfect. Now if I could only figure out what shoes...

And now the damn phone is ringing. "Hello."

"Jill? It's Mac."

Oh for the love of God. Why does this asshole pick NOW to call? My EX. He has wonderful timing, let me tell you. He picks just PERFECT times, like now, to call and screw with my head. This is the guy that called me the night we before we were to go away together for the weekend with a bunch of our friends to break off our engagement. Then he spent the next 6 months trying to get me to marry him again. He's no rocket scientist, that's for sure. Not that I was too bright for ever dating him, but not foolish enough to stay.

"Mac, I have absolutely NO desire to speak with you this evening, or any evening for that matter."

"But I love you I want us to..."

"You don't love me. You just want someone to annoy...and it's not going to be anymore. Do not call me again. Is that clear you idiot? I'm sick of this. I've moved on, why can't you? Good night." I slam the phone down and feel the tears fall down my cheeks. Wonderful. The fucking bastard can still make me cry. I shouldn't be surprised. He made me love him at one point too.

Our relationship started out normal enough. He seemed sweet. He was very attentive. Too attentive. Within six months he wanted to get married. When I agreed, it started. The relationship was...well, abusive OK. He only assaulted me a couple of times, the rest was just mental battery. But it was enough. It took me another 4 months to get up the courage to get out. A fact I'm not proud of, and probably why I haven't dated much since then.

So here I am, months later about to go out on a date with another man I hardly know. I sigh and wipe the tears away from my face. I hope to hell you're not a bastard, Walter. I deserve more than that. Ha! Don't think so highly of yourself there, Jill. You got into your previous mess. Walter had nothing to do with that.

OH CHRIST! How did it get to be 6:15? I rush into the bathroom and turn the shower on hot. I jump in and let the steam enfold me in it's embrace. The hot water washing away all the nastiness of that call and all the stress...well at least some of it. I cover my skin in lavender soap inhaling the sweet scent. After a few minutes, I start to come back to myself. You can get through this, Jill.

Walter's not Mac. And this is just a DATE. People go on them all the time and survive. You may be a bit rusty, but remember, HE asked you out. I still can't believe it. I mean, here is this sophisticated, GORGEOUS older man and he asked ME out. He must be on drugs! No, Jill get real. He was quite lucid when he talked to you...if a bit clumsy.

I'm still chuckling about him using that line on me about his car. Some women would be offended that he'd use something like a car to impress them, but I couldn't help it. It was so old-fashioned and so darned cute. He's just a big teddy-bear under that gruff exterior. That much I know. I could just tell from all the fumbling and stuttering. He may not be smooth, ladies and gentleman, but I have a good feeling about this one. I think he's got a good heart. God, I could use that. I just hope I don't blow it.

Hair and make up are done. I look passable I guess. The dress does look good. It's long and flowy, like the one he saw me showing off in. God. But I have regular underwear on tonight...well, sort of regular. Red lacy stuff to go with the dress. I do not know WHAT I'm thinking. I mean, like we're actually going to go there tonight, Jill? Not a good thing to do on the first date...you don't even KNOW this guy.

But it has been a long time. And he's so damn sexy...Jill Sharpe get your mind out of the GUTTER. This is a FIRST date. You are going out to get to know this man and hopefully see him again, NOT get laid. Now act like a lady...when did I become possessed by my mother?

I turn on some soft romantic music, Harry Connick, and start to relax. 6:45. He'll be here soon. I pour myself a glass of wine, some Lindeman's Chardonnay. It's Australian I think, really good especially since I ordinarily don't drink Chardonnay...but then I don't ordinarily go out with men who have seen me half-naked in a window. Could this situation be any weirder?

Clementine, my cat, winds herself around my bare ankles, the dress is long so I don't need pantyhose, but it reminds me I still haven't chosen footwear. Cripes. I run into my closet and search frantically. I finally find a pair of sedated brown slides that I usually wear with this dress. They have a bit of a heel on them so I look a little taller...this will be an advantage with my TALL date.

Lord Walter is tall, and big. It's almost imposing. I have to admit he's kind of scary at that size. My EX was that big. I've always been attracted to tall, big men. Ridiculous since I'm so small. Were some psychologist analyzing me, they'd say I've got some bizarre Daddy complex. Some need to feel protected. But that idea was more than blown out of the water by my EX. Don't go there Jill. Don't let that bastard ruin this evening for you. Go out. Get to know this man. Have fun...

There's the doorbell. Oh God, come on feet now is not the time to forget how to walk.

xXx

Later at the Pines...

OK, so I survived the car ride. It's not that Walter is a bad driver, that's not what I meant. In fact, he can really handle that Chevy. I just...Lord, it was a little awkward. Well, hell things are going to be awkward, we just MET! Calm down, Jill.

Oh, and he looks gorgeous. Christ, he's got on this great suit, looks expensive, undoubtedly is. I feel a little out of place with him. I mean, even bald this man is straight out of GQ. What the hell is he doing with me? Calm down, Jill.

He opens the door of his Vette for me and I dimly wonder if he was ever in the military. He's got that way about him, ramrod straight, very formal, gallant. I step out of the car and we walk up to the door of the restaurant. Just as I'm about to open the door, he touches my elbow and I stop. I think I just felt an electric shock.

CALM DOWN, JILL!

I give him a quizzical look.

"Here...let me get the door..."

He takes the door handle and opening it gestures for me to proceed him through. I'm wondering why he isn't...touching...look - some men I've been with have an annoying habit of taking my arm and practically propelling me into a room. Or worse yet, because I'm short they awkwardly grope the small of my back and end up shoving me through into...well, at any rate...I marvel that Walter isn't doing one of those numbers. I like it. At least I think I do. He's looking at me closely for a minute. I've been staring at his large hand on the door just a little too long. Oh damn...

"Is there a problem?" he asks, a tense note in his voice.

"Problem? Oh no. It's just that I'm used to the guy, my date I mean, practically shoving me into a..."

He's looking at me like I'm from another planet. Oh for God's sake. Can I sound any more idiotic. Now what do I say?

"Oh, you mean the wrist lock and lead or the hand on the back shove that makes your teeth rattle?" he quirks a little grin.

I raise an eyebrow. What is this the Psychic Friends Network? God - please tell me this guy isn't too good to be true.

"Bingo," I reply with a little wince.

"Yeah, I thought so. Listen - I see one of my agents always guiding his female partner through doors, and it seems a little...well it seems rather insulting or a little too assuming. I don't know - like she can't make it through on her own or something. I'm sorry. I guess I'm a little out of practice here with this guy guiding thing. If you'd feel more comfortable I can give you a nice firm shove so you're propelled through the door and do one of those swan dives onto...

He starts to chuckle then because I know I'm gaping at him like a fish out of water. Ok, so I thought he was serious for a second there. Give me a break. I'm out of practice at this too.

He stifles the chuckling. The laughter sounds like something he's not used to doing very often. He's almost embarrassed by it. But he's still smiling a little when he finishes his comment.

"After all I wouldn't want you to think I'm not gentlemanly enough to make your teeth rattle."

You know, I should return his humor but suddenly I can't bring myself to joke. The expression on his face is almost diametrically opposed to what he has said. He's tense again. Uncomfortable almost. I think he really is feeling his way here despite the humor. Maybe he even thinks it was a terribly lame joke even though he practically read my mind and it wasn't half bad. I touch his arm. More electric shocks. Oh brother.

"It's OK, Walter. Believe me - your behavior is more refreshing then you could ever know. I guess I haven't been out with a gentleman in awhile...and believe me - you are a gentleman," I give him a shy smile and he gives me a little smile again. God he looks so different when he starts to smile. I wish he'd...Lord.

"I take that to mean you don't want the shove?" he asks quietly.

"You take that right, Walter. But you may escort me inside, sir," I smile lifting my arm up a bit so that he'll see I'm giving him permission to be assuming. Oh, please do assume, yes...oh Jill, you've got it bad girl. Bad girl.

Walter nods and a look of relief passes over his face. He does take my arm very gently in his and we walk into the Pines together, arm and arm.

We finally get settled into our seats and Walter orders us each a glass of Chianti. We order our food. I guess we're both hungry. The waiter brings the wine. We make small talk. Very small talk. The weather. The restaurants decor. The Skins first losing game. The food arrives. Now that all the formalities are out of the way, here we are. Starring at one another. Oh God, Jill say SOMETHING! Walter saves the day.

"So, did you get a chance to unwind, to come down after your day at work?"

Thanks to my asshole ex-fiancee, no. "Yes, Walter. We had a day at work as usual, but it's the weekend and I'm ready to wash my hands of that nonsense," I say chuckling. He doesn't need to hear about Mac...hell, I don't need to hear about Mac.

"You know, I guess you could say I was a little distracted when we first talked," he grins a little at himself and I smile.

"Yeah, you were." We both laugh.

"Nevertheless - I'm sorry to admit I never really did hear what you say you do."

I give him a smile. "Well, Walter mostly I do the administrative stuff. Airline reservations. Meeting scheduling. Filing. It's terribly exciting, you should try it some time." That gets a gruff laugh.

"But do you enjoy it?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. I love the people there and it pays the bills. What about you, Mr. F-B-I," I lean in on him, "you never told me what you do over there."

"Oh. Right." Another wave of emotion passes over his face. I can't quite pinpoint what he's feeling now. If I was going to hazard a guess I'd say it was pride mixed with a healthy does of disgust - maybe even self disgust. God. What must his job really involve? But he's telling me and I listen closely to try to get a clue.

"I'm one of nine Assistant Directors. Specifically, I'm AD in charge of Criminal Investigation," he replies looking down at his hands for a moment. He toys with his fork. He's playing with his veal as I try to fathom what AD of Criminal Investigation portends.

"Criminal Investigation? What does that entail exactly? Just violent crimes or other..

"Well, there are seven separate sections under my jurisdiction. Civil rights, counter-terrorism, drugs, white-collar crime, organized crime, investigative support, and yeah - violent crime..."

"God, Walter that sounds mammoth - it sounds like a lot of responsibility..." I whisper. No kidding. I can't even imagine what the guy must put up with on a daily basis. I have a rough idea how many agents are in that building.

"Mammoth?" he asks with a shrug. "I suppose you could term being in charge of 80 per cent of the bureaus agents and around 70,000 or so cases a year mammoth. Yeah, I kind of like that word - Mammoth," he grins in self-depreciation and then he waves his hand in a dismissive gesture as I stare at him half in shock. I'm having dinner with a damn Assistant Director of the FBI - a man who is one step down from the throne of power across the street. One rung down from Director Louis Freeh. Oh God. And you thought I was nervous before...I'm nearly choking on my Chicken Pines now. I take a bite of my manicotti as Walter continues.

"But mammoth or not it's mostly pencil and paper pushing. I'm a bureaucrat, Jill. The real work is done by my field agents. They..." he lets his voice trail off again and then I know the emotion now. It's regret. I flinch and try to change the subject a little. But, and I'm a little guilty about it, I do want to know more. I'm starting to really like Walter Skinner. A lot. I want to know a lot more about him. I swallow hard and press on with another question.

"Are two of your field agents the tall, dark-haired guy and the red headed woman I see in your office a lot?"

"Right. Yes...how did you know?" he asks. His face is a mask suddenly. I can't believe how fast it closed down. I'm not sure why it did but it's flustered me. I'm not sure what to say next. I grope for the words. What comes out isn't too great.

"Just a guess, you always seem more...animated, when they're in there."

"Animated?" his face unmasks then. He shakes his head ruefully. "Yeah, that might be one word for it. But...Uh, Jill?"

"Yeah?"

"So, you've been watching me too?"

I turn as red as my dress. Way to go, moron. Cat's out the bag. I couldn't be more mortified. I stumble for something to say until Walter starts chuckling again. God, that rumbling sound. It's just too sexy. I look up and he reaches across the table and touches my hand.

"It's OK. How in the hell can I possibly complain about it? I'd have to be the biggest hypocrite in DC...in the world if I did. Besides," he continues, a wry little smile playing about his lips, "I'm flattered too." We both smile and then laugh. He pulls back his hand and takes his wine glass up for a sip.

"So, they are two of your agents?" I ask again, fishing. God he looks so good when he laughs. I just want to keep him talking and laughing now. I know my face is starting to flush deeper and it's not just from the laughing or the wine.

He's putting down the glass and smiling again, nodding his head. I think I am going to find out more here. All right.

"Oh yeah, they're both agents assigned to me. They comprise a rather unique division actually. Their unit is designed to track unsolvable cases. Some of the cases are rather...difficult. Pains in the ass to be frank. Christ, they can be pains in my ass," he grates an abrupt laugh, "Sorry. It's just that the nature of their work is difficult, hence the agents are a bit difficult. But those two have a very high solve rate. They're a credit to the Bureau," he finishes. I can tell he has a genuine liking and pride in the tall guy and the red head. He's loyal to his agents. I wish my boss could hear Walter talk. He might learn a thing or two.

"So what does this division actually investigate if the cases are so difficult?" I ask. I'm finding all of this very intriguing and can't help myself with the constant questions. I may accuse Allison of being nosy, but I'm very inquisitive in nature as well, and let's face it, the FBI is a fascinating subject.

"Uh, no offense Jill, but I'm really not at liberty to discuss what they investigate in detail. For security reasons. Their cases are of a sensitive nature. I'm sorry that..."

"Oh, well, that's ok. Maybe I should change the subject?"

He nods, "Yeah, I think we'd better not go there. It might be a good idea to talk about something else under the circumstances."

"All right. Well, I'm still curious about your car. It is great, by the way. Did you restore it yourself?"

Oh, good choice Jill! He's puffing up now. I knew he really loved that car. That's so sweet.

"Yeah, that Chevy is my - how does that popular saying go...big toys...."

"Big toys for big boys..."

"There you go. Right, " he nods and smiles, "the Corvette's a welcome distraction from the job. I still tinker with it to keep it in top form. Did you ever see that TV show - Route 66?"

"The show is on Nickelodeon, in re-runs. I've seen it listed but I've never watched it."

"It's being re-run? I didn't know that."

"Yes. Nickelodeon re-runs a lot of classic television shows."

"I'll have to make a point to try to catch it. God, that show brings back a lot of memories."

His face gets kind of soft for a second or two. He looks younger, more idealistic for a moment. The effect looks really good on him.

"Well, at any rate - those two guys in Route 66, the characters portrayed by George Maharis and Martin Milner had this great red, '61 Chevy Corvette convertible. I coveted that car for years after I watched the show as a kid with my father. One day I lucked into finding one. She needed a lot of work but I was more than happy to get her up and running again. She's given me hours of pleasure," he ends with another gentle smile and I'm just mesmerized by his face and his eyes. He starts to finish off his veal and I'm panicking a bit.

OK, I have nothing to follow that up with. What the heck do I know about cars other than that his looks great. He looks great. And oh brother... Walter to the rescue again.

"By the way, Jill...I...should have mentioned this earlier. I hope you'll allow me that out of practice learning curve again."

"Learning curve?"

"Yeah, the one that made me forget to mention how lovely you look this evening. Truly stunning. I mean it. You...you look great in that dress. Red is really your color."

I'm blushing again. He really is the perfect gentleman. Where has he been all my life? Jill, let's not go into histrionics here.

"Thank you, Walter. I must say you look very dashing yourself. I love that suit. Is it Italian?"

"Just like the restaurant. And by the way - I have to hand it to you there too, Jill. This veal is excellent."

The meal really is good. The Pines has outdone itself. My chicken is melting in my mouth. Now I feel like I'm smiling like a Medieval village simpleton. I am not worthy. I am not worthy.

"Who is the designer on the suit?"

"Valentino. Someone told me gray was going to be the in color this fall. So, I thought I'd better get on the stick here and look fashionable for once. So, it's a success?" he asks with a raised eyebrow and a gesture encompassing the jacket.

"Oh, yeah..." I breathe out slowly. If it was any more of a success I'd be drooling. Oh my. I try to recover as quickly as I can. "Gray, huh? It's interesting how fashion trends change every year. Last year it was brown for men."

"Yeah, no kidding. But I look terrible in brown. I opted out of that little fashion faux pas last year. But, I imagine it's worse for women's fashions. I've seen some of those spreads for the Paris runway shows. What the heck is going on there?" he asks with a wry look.

I give him a short course in why I hate Paris fashions 101.

We're both smiling and laughing together a little more, a little more easily. I'm finally starting to relax here. It's actually going well.

He's funny and sweet and just what I need after...don't go there. But I've got this niggling wonder. I think Allison's nosiness is starting to rub off on me. I can't believe it falls right out of my mouth...

"So, Walter, is there a Mrs. Skinner? Oh, God. That didn't come out right...I...didn't mean to imply..oh hell..."

His low rumbling laugh cuts me off again. "It's OK, Jill. We're both in uncharted waters here." I give him a weak smile. "I know some men in big business step out on their wives," he holds up his ring finger and displays the vacancy there, "even without seeing the ring, it isn't an unreasonable doubt for you to express."

I'm nodding like one of those bobbing birds, you know, the ones that sip from a cup? I should slap myself silly. He's continuing his explanation and I finally stop nodding and listen. His voice is quiet, almost sad but it's mixed with some bitterness. It really makes me focus my attention.

"There used to be a Mrs. Skinner. My e-wife's name is Sharon. I'm divorced. The Bureau...uh, the job got in the way actually...in the way of our marriage I mean. I let it come between us. It was largely my fault the marriage was a failure. I'm not proud of that but at least...well, it's over and my ex-wife and I...we try to remain on good terms...civil terms...if possible." He returns my weak smile. "What about you? My keen investigative skills tell me there's no ring on your finger, as well. So what's a nice girl like you doing unattached."

Oh boy. That's the sixty million dollar question isn't it? Why isn't Jill married. I start to get flustered. It's still not easy for me to think about Mac, let alone talk about him. For crying out loud I had the wedding invitations, the gown and was about to start helping the bridesmaids get their dresses and...JILL CALM DOWN!

"I was...engaged. About a year ago. He broke it off, but I should have. The relationship was, well, abusive and I had no business being in it, but I was young, stupid and in love. I'm not proud of it, but hey it's over and I lived." I give him a weak smile that almost covers my shuddering breath.

He reaches across the table and touches my hand and my eyes flick up to his. He may be a very straightforward and direct man, a bit of a hard case, but there is a real warmth in Walter's eyes and it's making me melt. "Hey, Jill...I'm sorry I didn't mean too.."

"Walter. You didn't do anything. Hey, don't worry about it..." As if on cue, the waiter arrives offering dessert and coffee and provides us with much more pleasant things to talk about.

xXx

Later in the evening...

"I had a marvelous time, Jill."

"Oh, so did I Walter. Listen, I've got a great bottle of Australian Chardonnay upstairs, why don't you come in for a drink...I'm really enjoying your company."

He smiles across the dark expanse of the car. I'm feeling a little tipsy from the Chianti we drank at the restaurant and little more than warm from his masculine presence. Sue me. It's been a long time OK. I'm not looking to get laid here...OK, maybe a little. But can you begrudge me wanting to spend time with such a lovely man.

God, things may have been awkward at first but the rest of the evening has been great. We had wonderful meal and I REALLY like talking to him.

He's very easy to talk to and an excellent listener. I think I've talked the poor man's ear off. God, what if I'm making a total ass of myself here. What if he wants nothing more than to kick my ass out of his shiny red Corvette and speed off into the night, never to look through my work window again...

"Australian Chardonnay? Sound interesting. Yeah, I could use a night cap. I'd like to come up, Jill. Thanks."

xXx

You know there are times in a man's life when he sits back and wonders if maybe, just maybe he's been living right - clean, morally, decently - after all. The fact dawns on him and then he realizes, God is about to reward him with something he's desired for a very, very long time. God is repaying him for being the good son. The good Marine. The good bureaucrat . The good man that he has always thought he strove to be in life.

Dinner with Jill Sharpe was one of those rewards for me. I haven't spent a night this enjoyable since...well since before Sharon and I stopped having dinner together. Jill...maybe I should really say Jill was the reward. It would be more honest. More accurate.

The whole dinner experience was pure joy. An emotion I haven't felt...haven't let myself feel in years, I think. At least it seemed very new. Refreshing. Pure. Just like the light that shone from that young woman's eyes. This is such a strange feeling for me. I...I don't want to ever feel it fade. No way in hell. I want to...prolong it as long as I can. I want to celebrate it.

And besides the joy, I'm sort of proud of myself as well. I managed to get through the evening without making a total old fart fool out of myself. Yeah, not completely anyway despite my trying hard to let her think I was a lost cause. Crap, that dickless remark about making her teeth rattle. Walter, Jesus I don't know my man - sometimes I have to wonder.

But I think I scored points on the car maybe. At least she'd heard of Route 66. And I'm eternally grateful she actually sounded interested in the J-O-B. It's a fucking snoozer as a rule. I mean if I can't stomach it a lot of the time what young woman would...well most women yawn, believe me.

She asked about Mulder and Scully! I can't believe...Christ I can't believe she was watching me too. Me. That's a miracle considering she got a look at Mr. I could model for GQ too Mulder getting his ass fried on my griddle on more than one occasion. I mean if I was a young, attractive and intelligent woman I know who I'd be hanging around looking for after work. It wouldn't be Wally the bald headed wonder either. Shit. The fact that she passed Mulder off as that tall, dark haired guy with the red head floored me. Well, she did notice the hair. Oh fuck. Get off the self-depreciation express here, Skinner. It's not Mulder she's asking up for a night cap here. Yeah. It's Walter S. Skinner. So put that in your X-Files and shut the drawer Fox.

Oh yeah. She's asking me up to her apartment. It's very nice on the outside. Georgian in style. Looks to be old - probably a clever restoration that turned some moldy old edifice into trendy flats. There are little balconies on some of the apartments. It's classic. Nice place. Christ why the hell am I obsessing about her home? Why? Because I'm scared shitless. Oh God. I cannot believe it but my knees are shaking. What a time for Walt to show up again. Remember him - the 16 year old geek? I gotta get a grip here. Come on. So what if my whole body is screaming - Go for it Walter, go for it, she's asking you up, you know what that means, big dog. Belay that crap. She just said "I'm really enjoying your company." She didn't say "Walter, I'd really enjoy fucking you." GOD! What is wrong with me?

I'll tell you what's wrong. It's been too long since a woman, any woman, showed any interest in me. I mean me as a person. As a human being. Not since Sharon. Jesus there haven't been that many women since Sharon - and certainly not many since that whore...Oh Christ! I will not think of that tonight. Please banish...rid my mind of that woman's dead face . I don't like to beg, God, but I will right now. On bended knees. I'll pray and thank you ahead of time if you'll help me to forget her immediately. Before I take my next breath. Thank you.

Marita was in it for the kicks. I mean that night we had together was purely physical. Rutting I guess you'd call it. I woke up with a note on my night stand. It might as well have been a fucking $100 or more likely a $10 if I wanted to rate my performance honestly. She'd left to catch an early flight to Vladivostock - yeah right - fly the friendly Czech skies was more like it. C'est la vie. Like I said - let's get physical, get off and get out. I guess that's it.

But with Jill...this is a whole different ball game. I like her. I mean I really...I like her a lot. And I can't deny I'm terribly attracted to her. Hell, she's gorgeous, intelligent, witty. You'd have to be dead in the water not to feel attracted to someone as vivacious as Jill Sharpe.

But, I can tell she's vulnerable. She's so young. Even though she comes across as confident, even a little tough I can tell she's one of the walking emotional wounded as well. I don't want to take advantage of her...of her vulnerability and loneliness. I know I fantasized that she'd be lonely just like me. But now when I'm confronted with the circumstances of her situation and the fantasy is proving to be all too real...Well shit, I can't be thinking of just...of putting my own desire for a connection off on her. She might not be ready for Walter Skinner and his raging middle-aged man's libido. God. Who would be? So what if she watched me at the window and she's asking me up to her place for a drink. She's just trying to be friendly. Grateful. Whatever. I don't know. I can't hope to guess...so I just have to go with the flow and show some damn respect here. Rein it in and act like a middle aged man with a little common sense.

For crying out loud! She's coming off a very bad relationship after all. Some young stud hurt her badly. Damn it to hell. I don't understand some of these young guys. They use, abuse, take women for granted and....Fuck. Well that's the way I used to be before hours of therapy cranked my head back into place. Not physically abusive - never - but emotionally - oh yeah. It's to my never ending embarrassment and grief that Sharon sued me for cruelty at first in the divorce. Well, her emotions were really running high. I...I had cut her off emotionally and that is as cruel a thing to do as hitting a woman I think. I could rationalize her vitriol - but it hurt. Later on she changed it to irreconcilable differences. That at least was close to the mark although by that time it didn't serve to describe the chasm that stretched between us.

No, it would be a great disservice to Jill to pressure her into anything, even dating me, after she'd been involved with some scumbag of an EX. Right. I'll just go up, have my glass of wine, say goodnight and maybe ask if I can give her a call again sometime with the hope she might say yes. That'll do it.

So, I follow her up to her door, she unlocks the glass main entrance and we head upstairs to her second floor apartment.

I'm standing just inside her apartment door, rooted to the spot, gawking at the decor like a second rate reviewer for the Home Gardening TV network. She's moving around, turning on more lights. It really is a nice apartment. Trendy but homey. And she's got one of the balconies. With a little table and chairs. Sort of like mine in Crystal City. Maybe we can have the wine out there. I'm watching her move gracefully around her domain. She is graceful, elegant, like a... like a.....

"Clementine!" she's scolds.

What the heck? As she stares down at my legs I feel the tell tale sensation of...cat. I know it's a cat. I look down to see a sleek black and white feline rubbing against my pants legs.

"Hey..." I start.

"I'm sorry! Walter, she'll get hair all over your suit," Jill blusters heading over to swat her away. I bend down and pick the cat up instead. I like cats. Ok, I know it's a weird picture, a bit of strangeness involving Walter Skinner. But Sharon and I used to have a cat when we were first married. Jimi Hendrix. A great, big Tom cat. He was special. So, yeah, I like cats, ok? This one was a nice one too. She snuggled right up against me as I scratched behind her ears.

"Are you sure it's ok?" Jill asks as I patted Clementine.

"Oh no problem. I used to have a cat. Long time ago. Jimi Hendrix."

Jill laughs musically, "Well did your cat play guitar with his tongue?"

I laugh like hell because she's blushing a little - tongue - yeah right. "Nah, too scratchy," I joke back. Keep it above the belt now, Walter. Put the T word right out of your mind! "But I think he tried to set it on fire once." I answer letting Clementine down so she can be on her way.

Jill trills her relief as the cat saunters away.

It's always a good idea not to wear out your welcome with a cat. They are very independent creatures. I watch as Clementine winds her way past the couch and overstuffed chairs that border the Georgian style fireplace which makes a great focal point for the room. It's not quite cold enough for a fire tonight. Pity. Jill has a busy collection of framed photographs on the mantle piece. Curious, I follow Clementine as she waltzes past the fireplace grill.

"Can I get you that wine, Walter?" Jill is asking. I can tell she's noticed I'm looking at her personal possessions. Maybe that's a little rude. I'd better say something here.

"You have a nice place, Jill. This fireplace is classic. I bet it's great on a cold night."

She walks forward to stand next to me. For a moment I look at her face and hair and imagine what it would be like to see her body illuminated in firelight. Oh God. I blink and turn my attentions back to the mantle photograph collection.

I notice a photo of two older people. I gesture at it but pull my hand back and down. It's shaking. Damn it. I hope she didn't see.

"Are these your parents?"

"Yes. My father, Frank and my mother Irene. My father's a patent attorney. My mother's...well my mother's very civic."

I bark a harsh laugh.

"What?" she laughs in return.

"Civic? God you've never seen civic until you've met my mother, Esther.

She's cornered the market on the How dare you lady business."

"Does she have one of those gray page boy haircuts?" Jill giggles.

"Right. And a mouth that looks like she sucks on lemons 24/7," I chuckle in response.

Jill is giggling big time now. She looks really relaxed, like I'm actually entertaining her as much as she's filling my heart with happiness. Maybe it's the wine that's making me feel light headed. But I doubt it. It's more likely the fact that I haven't felt this good in months, shit, years, and I think maybe Jill hasn't had this much fun for a while as well.

"What about your father?"

"My father passed away a number of years ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that..."

"Hey, it's ok - it was a while ago. I'm fine with it. Don't worry." I smile at her in reassurance. It was a while ago - before I went to Nam. And my father worked himself to death making the family fortune. We're as rich as hell despite the fact that it killed him to get us there. But, I'm not going to mention any of that shit to Jill. It smacks of ego and I don't like obvious displays of ego.

I touch a second photo on the mantle piece since she seems willing to talk about her family.

"Brother?"

"Yes. Frank Jr. He's my older brother. An architect. Frank lives in San Francisco with his wife and kids. So, I'm Aunt Jill, twice over," she laughs easily again, "Do...do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asks gently. I guess she's a little hesitant to ask after her earlier perceived error in the Sharon department and the father thing.

"I have a younger sister Sylvia. She's married with a couple of kids too. She lives in Ambler, Pennsylvania - near my mother. I was born and raised in Pennsylvania."

"Oh, well, I was born in Tennessee but we moved to DC eons ago. Dad's been in practice here forever. I remember very little about Tennessee really. DC is my home.

I smile down at her and look at the tastefully framed photos again. I notice a larger photo in the back and reach to pull it forward a little so I can get a look at it. This photo is older. The people in the picture are dressed in clothing from the late 60s or early 70s. Haircuts from that era as well. It looks like some kind of family reunion photo. Ugh. Esther was always making us take those horrendous family reunion photos. I remember one a lot like this...one with me in my...Oh fuck. Uniform. A guy...Nam vet.

I open my mouth and it just comes out. I can't help it. Christ on the cross.

"Vietnam?"

"What?" she asks moving a little closer to peer at the photo, her eyebrow raising.

I pick up the photo and hold it out to her pointing at it with my finger, "This kid here, the young guy, he's in uniform. I assumed from the rest of the attire - the era of the clothing I mean - that he was fighting in Vietnam."

"Yes, that's my Uncle Gary. I mean that was my Uncle Gary. He was MIA. They never found him. Never found his remains either I guess. My father's younger brother. I never knew him. My father...my father and Gary were very close. He doesn't like to talk about it very much."

"Was your father a vet?" I ask. I can feel my jaw clenching. Fuck. I hate this reaction. When I'm confronted by the war, by some war memory at an unexpected, vulnerable moment it...it catches me off guard. I get...I have trouble handling it sometimes. I struggle now to suppress the shuddering I know will begin to make my hands tremble even worse then they are already. I try to stop my jaw from tightening so I can speak. So I can talk and get past this God damn interruption in the evening.

"No. He had a heart arrhythmia. He flunked the physical. He still has it today although it doesn't give him any trouble."

"Oh," I wheeze. Oh shit! Please don't let her ask it, but I know she will. With the way my face looks. The jumping jaw muscles. She'll want to know, she'll say...

"Were you in Vietnam, Walter?"

Please Jesus...just let me get through these next few minutes...

"Yeah. Class of '73. I mean I went over in 1973. Right out of high school."

"Did you enlist?"

"Right." and there it is - the fucking shudder. It starts to play through my body ending up in my hands. I put the photo back on the mantle piece so I don't drop it.

"Walter..." Jill starts to say something else. She lays a small hand on my arm and God help me, I jump. She pulls it back. She's standing very close. I turn and pin her eyes. There is a look of such compassionate understanding on her face my breath is nearly taken away. I struggle to get a breath into my lungs, to speak again...to offer some explanation for my actions.

"Jill, I'm sssorry," oh hell, don't stutter for God's sake, "I...my tour of duty was less than pleasant. I...have trouble talking about it. A lot of trouble. My whole unit...everyone but me was wiped out in a VC ambush...it..."

That's all folks. I can't say anymore. It's too much and I hate myself for this inability to cope. After all the friggin' therapy you'd

think...Hell. She's patting my arm a little, stroking me, her gentle touch, soothing. She's trying to calm me, to...

"Walter, don't...please...you don't have to tell me any more. It's obviously upsetting you. Why...why don't you sit down on the couch and get acquainted with Clementine some more. I'll...I'll go in the kitchen and get that Chardonnay."

She's an angel. I mean it. Beautiful and caring. So caring. I swallow hard.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I could use that glass of wine. Thanks," I nod. She smiles into my eyes, turns and leaves the room.

I'm cursing myself. But I can't dwell on this self-flagellation. If I do it's going to ruin the entire evening with Jill. The marvelous dinner, the pleasant getting to know you conversation about our families. Everything. God. I can't let that happen. But I have to ask - why could I talk to Mulder about my war time story and not...well that's obvious. Mulder has a dick. Crude but an obvious difference. I have trouble talking to women about a lot of things. Vietnam is probably at the top of the list. Oh hell. I'll drop it now. I have to try to drop it now. Right now!

She went to get the wine...wine? Hey, I should go help her with it. Maybe help her uncork that bottle. I'll just have a polite glass. I don't want to drive drunk after all. Maybe I should consider a cab? I could. The Vette would probably be ok on the street in this neighborhood. I have an alarm system. My mind jumps in all directions as I traipse out of the living room, following the path Jill just took into her kitchen.

Sure enough, Jill is standing by the fridge, bottle and corkscrew in hand. The bottle is fighting back. She's making a valiant effort with the corkscrew but the bottle is winning out.

"Shit" she curses quietly. I smile. Some men don't like to hear a woman curse. I've never minded it. Sharon could let fly like a stevedore. It helps in some situations. Believe me. In the general scheme of things a woman's language is...well it's a low priority.

"Hey, let me give you a hand - you don't want to cork it," I offer coming up next to her. Jill looks up. She seems relieved for a moment but then she gets a really odd look on her face. She glances at the front of the fridge and...she shifts in front of it. What the hell?

She's wrinkling her nose and practically shoving the wine bottle and cork screw into my hands. All her dancing around in front of the fridge is really making me curious. I take the bottle, but use it to shift her gently to the side before I take it from her. I just want to get a look at...the...oh BROTHER...

You know, my sister Sylvia's kids have one of those little magnetic refrigerator letter game things. Her kids spell out shit like - carrot and green beans. Maybe *eat your spinach*. Well...I think Syl would have a coronary if one of her boys arranged those little magnet letters to...in this verse...well I wanted to laugh really loud but held it back hard as I read the poem that was arranged so artfully on the front of Jill's plain white fridge. I made it even more difficult to hold it in because Jill was as red as a beet and trying desperately to keep me from reading it.

Ode to Oral Sex
Lick my nipples,
One by one.
Lower to my navel,
Swirl and circle,
Your magnificent tongue.

Lips salty,
Center so hard,
Push in.
Push out.
Lathe, tease, lap.
I can't get enough,
Of your exquisite mouth.

Well, so much for forgetting about the *T* word. Christ on a crutch. I decide to pretend I haven't read it despite the shear idiocy of that idea. I mean she's seen my eyes tracking over it. Why hide it? Because she's dying from embarrassment and I probably should be but it's making me want to laugh till I choke.

Then she starts to talk and I have to bite my...oh Crap.

"I had a party here a month or so ago with a bunch of my girlfriends. The magnets...Allison...uh....is the wine open yet?"

Just as she says it the cork gives a little pop and the wine is open. I smile into her red face and extend the bottle. She knows I know. Knows I'm laughing inwardly about the poem. Knows I'm getting more of a kick out of this then I should. But she's also going to not hear me say it. I won't do that to her. I...hell I have more respect for her than that now.

"Presto," I reply, "open."

"Oh. Good. Well go back in the living room. You're my guest Walter. I don't expect you to serve yourself here."

"All right," I smile gently at her. I don't want her to think I'm repulsed by the poem or by her either. I mean come on - I was in the Marines. And, I'm not going to even tell you what goes on when you're an FBI field agent and on the road. What I've done, seen and heard is beyond the pall compared with that wicked little bit of refrigerator humor. But I know she wants to forget about the whole incident so I'll be more than happy to let it drop. I turn and exit. I can feel her shift back in front of the fridge, just in case. I can also feel her eyes boring into my back. I smile as I leave her side and enter the living room again.

Once I'm back out in the living room I look around for Clementine but she seems to have disappeared. I also decide I'd better find the can before long. All the suppressed laughter and the wine from dinner are taking their toll on my bladder. I call back into the kitchen.

"Jill, may I use your facilities?"

"Oh, right, sorry." I can hear her opening a cabinet in there. She must be taking out her wine glasses. She didn't have them out when I was in there before. She must still be a little flustered. I feel a very warm sensation flooding my chest. I hope she's flustered because she likes me. I hope...my reverie is interrupted by her voice, "Down that short hall and to the left Walter."

I make my way to her bathroom and make room for the Chardonnay.

When I get back into the living room she's still not out of the kitchen. I'm starting to laugh now. I have a feeling she's probably trying to compose herself further before she makes an appearance. I wish there was something I could do to make her less...I notice the CD player and rack system in the corner. Music. There you go. I call back into the kitchen again.

"Jill. Would you like me to put some music on out here?"

"What? Oh sure. I'll be out in a minute, Walter. I'm sorry I just...I wanted to rinse out these glasses. They were a little...dusty."

I chuckle and head over to the CD player. I'm a little unfamiliar with it. I own a Sony and this an RCA. But there's a CD in the machine already. I open it to see what she likes. Harry Connick? Nice. She could do a lot worse. I remove the CD on the theory that she already listened to it. So, want to be a little original here? Well...yeah - so sue me.

I rifle through some of her CDs and quickly discover I'm at a total loss. Few of the groups or individual artists are recognizable to me. Damn. It figures. Well if I was in doubt or denial about our age difference here it is rearing it's head to butt me in the face. I sigh and take out the other Harry Connick CD I find near the bottom of the stack. Ok, safe territory I figure. What the hell.

I place the CD in the player, hit the on button and the machine does the work. Presently the music begins to ebb and flow throughout the room. She has a good speaker system. Harry Connick sounds like he's sitting in the corner playing his piano and singing rather than serenading me from the wafer thin CD.

Man this is nice music. Romantic. I think I might have heard this CD before. The CD player is next to the door to the balcony. I walk over and open the balcony doors. It's a beautiful night. Yeah. Fantastic. I think it would be an inspired idea to have the wine out here I think...I hear a tiny sound behind me and turn. It's Jill with two glasses of wine in her hands. But her face...she isn't looking at me, she's looking at the CD player. And she's...it's...

"Hey, Jill..." I stumble over the words. She's obviously very upset and I have no idea why.

"Did you find that CD near the bottom of the stack?" she whispers.

"Yeah. I...thought....it's Harry Connick." I don't know what to say.

She's struggling hard against tears. Fucking hell. I do not want to see her cry. I can't stand to see a woman...what did I do?

"Hey, hey..." I start to do the best I can to calm her. I walk over and take the two glasses out of her hand. She's standing between the couch and the CD player next to the coffee table so I take the glasses and set them down on the table's surface. She sits down carefully on the couch. She seems a little dazed. I sit down next to her, not too close.

"What's wrong?" I pitch my voice low. I try to keep the damn quaver out of it that my self doubt wants to throw in.

"God, I'm so embarrassed," she begins, "About everything. That stupid poem...and now I can't believe I'm doing this...breaking down over...hell breaking up. I'm ruining the evening, Walter. I'm just so sorry."

"You're ruining the evening? I thought. I'd...with the photo...I. Listen - nothing you've said or done could possibly ruin this evening. It's been wonderful. Jill I haven't had this nice an evening in...well I can't remember when," I chuckle a little in self-depreciation now. Yeah, well I can remember the last evening I spent with a woman all right. I don't want to remember it at all. This evening has been sublime in comparison. Sweet and touching. I want Jill to know it more than anything in the world right now. I slip my hand over hers where it rests on her knee. She looks up into my eyes. Tears are glistening in hers.

"I really appreciate you saying that Walter. More than you could know. This...this has been a lovely night. I don't want my angsting over that CD to wreck it all."

"The CD?"

"Yes. I had it on the bottom of the stack but I should have thrown the damn thing out. That was Mac's CD. My EX's CD. It took me a long time before I could even listen to Harry Connick. And I love him. But that CD - God...we...well we played that a lot when we...look, never mind OK. It's old news. Not something I want to have stop the presses here. That isn't fair to you."

I'm watching her face and listening to her words and it's mesmerizing. If Mac was here right now he'd be in deep shit. I am armed after all. I'd be tempted at the very least to scare the living shit out of the bastard. At the worst...I'd...I don't even want to think about what I'd like to do to him.

"I'm sorry the CD brought back bad memories," I mumble. She looks away but she turns her hand over to grip my fingers and give them a little squeeze.

"It's ok. How could you have known I hate that CD. The memories are bad but...I need to get past Mac. I really do."

Ladies and Gentleman I have to tell you every once in a great while Walter Skinner knows exactly what to do in this type of situation. I mean to comfort a woman when she's upset. I usually lose my mind temporarily and end up making some facile remark or moronic joke that gets her to laugh or if I'm unlucky, cry harder. But not tonight. No, tonight I'm gonna shine. Because I know what to do. And I know, I just have a feeling it'll make Jill happy.

"You know Jill. I think you need to establish some new memories to associate with Harry Connick," I suggest with a small smile.

"New memories?" she ask snuffling a little.

"Yeah, come on," I tell her taking her hand and pulling her up off the couch as I rise.

"Walter...."

"Dance with me, Jill." I reply quietly into her widening eyes.

"Oh....Oh..." she repeats, as holding her hand, I lead her out onto the balcony. She allows me to lead her out there, to draw her close. To place her head against my chest. Her head comes up just over my heart. I hold her close. And we dance. And it's...it's really fine.

I'm not a bad dancer. Not at all really. I move her around the balcony slowly. I can just hear the sound of the traffic below us but it's fading. I can hear Harry Connick a lot better because I want to hear him more. And I can hear Jill, her breathing. She's brought one hand up to my chest and rests it there. She sighs.

"What?" I ask her. I can feel her smiling against my sweater.

"I can hear your heart." she whispers.

No kidding I think. It's thudding like a jackhammer.

"I expect you can," I answer quietly.

"Walter, this...you didn't have to...Mac would never...he never would take me dancing..." she tells me, her voice muffled against my shirt.

"Shhhhh. Forget Mac. Just...just dance."

And we do. We keep dancing and I...I can't help myself. Not anymore. I've wrapped my arms around her. I let my hands play gently up and down her back in time to the music. Just a featherlight massage to calm her. Gentle her sadness.

I'm aware that she's rubbing my chest slightly. It feels...oh God. I...that feels so good. Oh Jesus. She's just so soft...and she smells so...what is that aroma...I can't quite place it. I rub my face in her hair. Get the scent, lavender. She smells like fresh lavender. I love that scent. My mother used to use lavender. It's such a understated feminine...It's beautiful on Jill.

I kiss her hair and when she senses my lips making contact she looks up. It's no effort for me at all to bend down and kiss her lips. So...easily. So...I try to make it a chaste kiss, friendly...but a bolt of raw lust travels from our joined lips straight down to my groin. The warmth makes me gasp slightly against her mouth and I deepen the kiss. But so does she, opening her mouth to allow my tongue. I'm getting hard before I even realize it's happening. I'm so into the feeling of her hair in my hands, her scent, her warmth, her taste, her wonderful soft, full lips. God. I'm only dimly aware of the throbbing in my groin and the fact that she must know of my arousal. She's pressed do close and my growing erection is trapped against her thigh.

I pull back gently and she lets out another little sigh as I hold her away from me slightly. My breath is rather irregular. Ragged. No shit. I sound like a badly tuned engine here.

"Uh, I'd better go..." I mumble. Walter Walter Walter. What the hell? Well!? Yeah you better go, you fucking love monkey. I mean if I don't I think we know where this is going and I don't want her to think all I did was pay for the meal and then come up here expecting to get my payment in return...I mean how God damn crass it that you son of a bitch...you damn...

"Walter...I'd like you to stay. Really. I...if you'd like you can stay."

"Stay? For the night?"

"Yes," she smiles up at me.

Her eyes. There's not doubt in my mind. She wants me to stay. And I...I know I want to stay too. Oh yes ma'am, Jill Sharpe. I want to stay. Oh yes ma'am.

XXx

Well, this was going very well until now. Now when I'm in here, trying to be ever so sophisticated and open this STUPID bottle of wine. I'm glad Walter isn't in here to see me struggling.

"Shit."

"Hey, let me give you a hand - you don't want to cork it," he says startling me out of my reverie. Oh good, he can open the bottle easier than I can. I hand him the bottle and cork screw stepping towards him away from the refrigerator a bit and then I remember.

Oh shit. The refrigerator. The damn poem on the refrigerator. Christ! Of all the stupid, sophomoric...OK, so my girlfriends and I had a party a few weeks ago. We had a little too much wine, talked a little too much about our less than wonderful love lives and then got into the magnetic poetry kit. The one with the "erotic" tiles. Oh brother.

Allison and I came up with a doozy. Ode to Oral Sex. Lord. Could we have been more childish and now there it is, in all it's glory and Walter is staring at it. I shift my body to block his view but the damage has already been done. I feel the heat in my cheeks rise and I look at my feet and hear myself mumbling some stupid excuse.

"I had a party here a month or so ago with a bunch of my girlfriends. The magnets...Allison...uh...is the wine open yet?"

The cork mercifully gives way and I manage to get a look at him. He's trying really hard not to laugh. Oh God. If I was him, I'd laugh at me too. I couldn't be more mortified. He hands me the bottle and I shoo him out of the kitchen, I'm desperate to compose myself here.

I mean for God's sakes. I finally get a date with a nice man, an attractive man and he has to see that. Well maybe it's not so bad, he did seem to find it humorous. But God, how DUMB!

I hear him ask for the bathroom and send him in the right direction. I get the glasses down from the cabinet. They're dusty. I haven't used them since that fateful party that turned me into a lurid poet.

I run the water and rinse out the glasses. I dry them slowly, willing my breathing to return to normal. This is just a DATE, Jill. You've had them before and if you expect to keep having them you need to CALM down.

I lean against the counter a bit staring at the two wine glasses lined up next together. I remember the last time Mac and I shared a quiet evening like this. It was two weeks before we broke...DON'T go there.

"Jill. Would you like me to put some music on out here?"

No Jill. Don't go there. Not when there is a perfectly wonderful man in your living room you CAN go to. Stop living in the past and start concentrating on your future so you can bloody well have one.

"What? Oh, sure. I'll be out in a minute, Walter. I'm sorry I just...I wanted to rinse out these glasses. They were a little...dusty."

I hear him rummaging around in the CD's and take a deep breath. Get it together girl, no time to come apart now. It was just a silly poem and hey, if he hasn't heard that kind of language he ought not to be working for the FBI. I chuckle a little inwardly too myself. Maybe it will give him some inspiration for later. Jill. It's just a DATE.

Music suddenly floods the house. Harry Connick. But not the CD I was listening to earlier. Not the one I'd forced myself to buy so I could...No this is one of Mac's CD. The one I DIDN'T get rid of. I don't know why I kept it. The damn thing gave me so many bad memories.

I took all the rest of the CD's he'd bought me or left with me and sold them to one of those used CD places. But this one...this one was our favorite and I guess I kept it as sort of a reminder of mistakes made.

I'm standing in front of the stereo staring at it now and I feel emotion washing over me in much the same way the music is. My eyes mist over. Dammit, don't cry. It's OVER Jill.

Oh God, Walter sees me now.

"Hey, Jill..."

Don't let him see you this way. "Did you find that CD near the bottom of the stack?" I say it more to myself than to him.

"Yeah. I...thought...it's Harry Connick."

I feel myself starting to cry. Dammit pull yourself together. He starts walking toward me, takes the glasses of wine from my hands. "Hey, hey...What's wrong?" I manage to sit down.

I force myself to look at him as he sits down on the couch next to me. "God, I'm so embarrassed...About everything. That stupid poem...and now I can't believe I'm doing this...breaking down over...hell breaking up. I'm ruining the whole evening, Walter. I'm just so sorry."

"You're ruining the evening? I thought...I'd...with the photo...I. Listen - nothing you've said or done could possibly ruin this evening. It's been wonderful. Jill I haven't had an evening this nice in...well I can't remember when," he chuckles a little and looks at his feet. He's such a sweet man. I'll be damned if I'm going to let my past or my stupid ex boyfriend ruin this for me. Why let him win?

I tell him about the CD being Mac's and how I should have gotten rid of it. He apologizes and I tell him not to. He's so sweet, how could he have known. It strikes me now how different he is from Mac. Blame on Walter's age or better rearing, but he's a hell of a man compared to the hell the other man put me through.

"It's OK. How could you have known I hate that CD. The memories are bad but...I need to get past Mac. I really do."

"You know Jill. I think you need to establish some new memories to associate with Harry Connick," he says in a low sexy voice. What the?

He guides me out onto the balcony and pulls me to him.

"Dance with me Jill."

Oh God. He really got this right. We may have had some awkward moments all evening but none of them compare to getting this one right. Mac was always promising to take me dancing, among a million other things he promised to do but never did. And here Walter has come in totally out of the blue and satisfied my one girlish wish.

I lean my head in against him, just over his heart and listen to it's rapid, reassuring beat. It's keeping time to the music that doesn't seem so objectionable now. I rest my palm flat against his broad chest and can't help myself. I let loose with a contented little sigh.

"What?" He rumbles softly.

"I can hear your heart," I whisper.

"I expect you can."

"Walter, this...you didn't have to...Mac would never...he never would take me dancing," I say quietly.

He tells me to forget Mac, and for once I do.

I get lost in the sensation of his large hands roaming softly over my back and soothing me and I feel the sadness rushing away, replaced by something else. Desire. It's not like it hasn't been here all night, but now it's really making it's presence known.

Heat builds in my cheeks, but not from embarrassment any more. No. This is arousal. He feels so good, I rub his chest reveling in his hard, strong body. My mind flashes to thoughts of what's under this expensive sweater and then I feel him kiss my hair, ever so lightly.

I tilt my head up to look into his dark, brown eyes and I see the desire I feel mirrored there. And we're kissing. I think he meant for it to be chaste but we're both to far past that now. His lips open and mine follow suit as our tongues stretch to taste one another. I feel like I'm sinking...drowning in him and it feels so good. I don't want this to end. I feel myself growing more and more aroused and suddenly realize Walter is in the same situation and the kiss stops.

We're both breathless and yet he tells me he wants to go. He doesn't want to any more than I want him too.

"Walter...I'd like you to stay. Really. I...if you'd like you can stay."

"Stay? For the night?"

"Yes," I give him a sexy smile.

xXx

So at this juncture what does Walter do? Do I say "Oh I'd love to stay too? I'd love to make mad passionate love to you all night long so that the memory of that asshole you used to be with can be expunged from your every brain cell? No. I say instead.

"Maybe that's not a good idea."

"Not a good idea?" she echoes a look of confusion on her face. Oh hell I don't want her to get upset again.

"Jill...Look. I know some guys take a woman out and...well they expect that if they show her a good time - paid for the meal...you know they expect something in return. I...I don't want you to think I asked you out tonight just so that I could..."

"Sleep with me?"

"Right. I don't like to do that type of thing. I'm not going to lie and tell you I haven't had a few...well one night stands in my life. But...I don't as a rule...especially not when...well, when I respect someone. When...oh crap, this isn't coming out right at all..."

Oh great Walter. Tell her you pick up women for sex because you just crave their company sometimes and get tired of fisting your own meat. Yeah just come right out and tell her you pick up whores and they die in your bed. You stupid swine..."

"Walter, I know what you're trying to say..."

"Well then you must know I don't want you to think I just came up here to bed you, Jill. It's...it's not right."

She gives me a little slap on my chest and moves out of my arms. She puts her hands on her hips.

"What makes you think I didn't lure you up here to get you into my bed, Mr. Skinner?"

"What?" I ask incredulous.

"What makes you think you're so undesirable that any red blooded woman wouldn't try to seduce you?"

I just stare at her. She's starting to giggle a little. She moves to stand by the fireplace. I chuckle as well.

"Because you're what, 25?

"27."

"27, and I'm 47 , bald and half blind that's why. You can't be serious."

"I am serious. It *was* on my mind. I won't lie. But Walter...whatever happened tonight would have been fine. I...I haven't had a man treat me like this in a very long time. You...God, you are so different. You have to know I'd really...Oh damn. Listen - I don't know why but I seem to be a magnet for...for total imbeciles. Sometimes when they take their shoes off I count their toes. You know what I mean?"

"To make sure they have 10?"

"No shit. At the end I was counting Mac's toes every night," she makes a little stabbing *this little piggy went to market* gesture that really makes me snort through my nose.

I bark a laugh. She laughs as well. Her laugh is just so musical, so sweet. Better than Harry Connick could ever hope to sound.

"I mean clueless inbred mutants, Walter. It's terribly frustrating. Annoying and in the end - God, it's so scary a lot of the time. I mean I'm afraid...I..."

"That you'll never find anyone? That you'll be alone for the rest of your life?" I ask quietly.

Her face grows suddenly very serious. No more laughing now.

Christ she's only 27 and she's afraid of that nightmare already? Damn she should try fearing...thinking about dying alone at 47...no that's unfair. It's all relative. It hurts no matter what age you start to think about never feeling anyone's arms around you in a loving embrace again.

She's looking directly at me and I'm pinning her eyes. Her expression becomes fearless now. Her chin's up. She's defiant.

"Yes. I'm afraid. And you sound like you are too."

I hold her eyes and answer but not in defiance. I answer in agreement. It's the first time in my adult life that I've ever admitted being afraid to anyone. But it feels marvelous to say it. Liberating.

"Yeah, I'm afraid. And I'm lonely too."

"Well, then, Walter Skinner. If I want to seduce you...I...I'm a big girl. I may be short in stature, but I'm a grown woman here - I make my own decisions. I'm asking you to stay and I know you didn't come up here to just hop in the sack. So, what do you say. Yes or no?"

I feel like laughing again. Laughing with delight. She's incredible. I'll say she knows her own mind. God! She's trying hard to maintain her serious face but I think what she said about her height is starting to tickle her. She looks me up and down and then glances at herself and she's giggling once more. It's good to see her laugh. I...I want her more than ever now...I...want to see her smile and her eyes dance all night long.

"Come here..." I just manage to grate out. She walks into my arms and I pull her close, tight.

"Jill, believe me when I say I know what being alone, what being afraid of being alone is like. But no matter what my feelings or your feelings in that area I want you to know something."

"What?" she asks in a whisper. Her head against my chest.

"I don't love 'em and leave 'em Jill. I'm too old for that shit now. I'm no cocky young stud. No God damned...."

"Twelve toed troglodyte..."

"No way in hell."

"I know that Walter."

"I don't just walk out. Not...not when I feel something special for a woman. I just don't leave the next morning and...what I'm trying to say is - if you and I do this...if...I'll probably want to...to ask..."

"Walter..."

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to see you again. A lot. A whole lot."

"God, woman. My ego..."

Jill laughs again and rubs my chest, her fingers caress my nipples and I feel my cock twitch in my pants.

"It feels good to have it inflated doesn't it? Your ego I mean..." she looks up with a wicked little grin on her face.

"Yeah, my ego..." I grin back at her. And then we're kissing again. This time it's hot. Searching. Our tongues dance, taste. Oh God she...tastes like honey. Sweet, sweet, so sweet...." I take her head in my hands and deepen the kiss again. She lets one hand trail down over my chest. Down my stomach. Lower. Oh Jesus. She touches me through my gray Valentino pants. She's stroking...I'm practically swallowing her now. Moaning. Christ. I'm moaning for her.

I have to bend down awkwardly to kiss her however despite the fact I'm so aroused I can hardly think straight here. And I really don't care. She breaks, the kiss, breathless.

"Walter..."

"Yeah?"

"I think this might be more easy if...if we were lying down."

"Uh, yeah. Good point, " I smile sheepishly. She is short. This is going to be...interesting.

She walks out of my arms and over to the CD player. She turns it off and comes back to me, taking my hand.

"Should we bring the wine?" she asks gesturing towards the glasses.

I consider that question carefully. Imbibing more wine might not be a wise decision. If Jill's expecting my best performance here I mean. But what the hell. I've metabolized most of what I had at dinner, pissed out the rest, I think. I might as well go for it.

"Sure. I'd like to try that Chardonnay."

Besides I could use the damn wine - to still my roiling guts. I'm nervous again. Nervous? Well...that's an understatement. I'm starting to quake. Why? Well, try saying the phrase 47 into 27 OK? Like division. 47 into 27 does not compute. You get a negative number my friends. So allow me the wine. I'll need it.

"All right, why don't you bring it," Jill replies letting go of my hand. I pick up the glasses and I'm relieved to see that, well hell, my hands aren't shaking badly at all. I smile. A little wine will go down just fine. Jill leads now and I follow back down that short hallway to the end. To her bed.

"Why don't you go on...I...I'd better make a stop," she gestures shyly towards the bathroom.

"Oh, no problem." I nod. I walk on towards her bedroom. Before I reach the door however, my attention is drawn to some more photos. These are hanging on the wall of course. I stop and study them. Two kids are playing in a meadow. It's a series of photos. The kids are running and then tumbling. I guess the little boy must be Jill's brother. The little girl is Jill. She looks so innocent. Fun loving. Mischievous. She still has a lot of those things in her. To her credit that reprobate of an Ex-fiancee hasn't broken her spirit. I'm thankful for it.

Jill comes up beside me having finished in the bathroom.

"Looks like *Little House on the Prairie* doesn't it?"

"It looks like a dream..." I let my voice trail off and smile down at her. She rubs my bicep with her small hand. I step aside slightly to allow her to pass ahead of me into the bedroom.

She walks through the door and turns on a lamp on the dresser right next to the bedroom door. The room is bathed in a warm glow. The bed is illuminated in it's soft light.

"Ah, the redoubtable Clementine," I chuckle. So now I know where the cat went. She's curled up, sound asleep in the middle of Jill's King-sized four poster bed. King-sized? Christ the Ex must have been...well this may work out all right after all I muse as Jill heads over to roust the cat.

"Clem, come on, it's the couch for you tonight, I'm afraid." She picks up the black and white bundle of sleepy fur, and walking past me puts her outside the door and shuts it behind her.

"Did you leave some food out for her?"

"Oh yes. She'll pig out and then the couch will look just as good as the bed," Jill replies. She walks over and takes one of the glasses of wine from me.

"Tell me what you think of the wine," she smiles taking a sip. I smell it's delicate bouquet before I take a drink of the aromatic liquid. Then I raise the glass to my lips. She's watching me as I swallow. The wine is wonderful. Smooth. Exquisite. Excellent.

"This is superb. Very delicate. Australian you say?"

"Right"

"It's very unique. You have good taste in wine."

"Thank you."

I don't know what else to say. Neither does she. We stand awkwardly staring at each other. Well I suppose I should make the first move maybe? Hell I don't know. I don't know how this works with the 20 somethings nowadays. I smile and take the glass from her hand. I put both glasses on the dresser next to the lamp.

xXx

OK. So we're in my bedroom. Now what? Christ Jill, don't stand there like the freaking Virgin Queen! Something besides making facile conversation about the stupid wine.

OK, it's not stupid wine. It's rather expensive, very good Australian wine. I've never much cared for California Chardonnay. Mac loved it, this may have something to do with how I feel about California grapes, but I refuse to give this peculiarity of mine any more thought.

And why should I. I'm standing here with someone who isn't a damn mutant for once. Walter is sweet, a gentleman and he makes me laugh. So what if he's a good deal older than me, don't give me that Daddy complex shit. He's a hell of an attractive man and any woman would want to be with him and any woman would be...

Nervous as hell right now. I mean, it's not like I've done this for awhile. Oh, I know, it's like riding a bike, not something you forget. But still, in a sense sex frightens me a bit now. I never seemed to be able to please Mac and I know rationally that it was because he was impossible to please. But I have something of a performance anxiety now. And I want this to be good for Walter. I really like him and I want him to like me.

We're just standing here starring and I wonder if he knows how scared to death I am that he won't find me desirable. That I'll get out of this dress and he'll be repulsed or something. OK, Jill that's stupid. He's obviously very attracted to you, you wouldn't be here in this situation if he weren't.

And speaking of situations, I've also got to mention protection to him. I mean, I don't want him to think I'm some uneducated fool who isn't concerned about those sort of things, but I also don't want him to think that I think he's got a disease or something and I am ON the pill.

I'm now realizing why it's been so long since I've had sex. IT'S TOO BLOODY COMPLICATED! My God. With all this angst going on it's a wonder any of us ever procreate. I feel my breathing quicken in anxiety and then I look into Walter's eyes. They're soft and brown and I'm drowning in them.

I feel his warm heavy hands take the wine glass from my hands. His body is so beautiful. I love watching him. As he turns from me my hands move unconsciously to the buttons of my dress and I begin to undo them one by one, trying to hide the tremor in them.

xXx

When I turn to look at her she's unbuttoning her dress. Her small delicate fingers play down the front. I'm entranced at how graceful her hands are as she moves them over the buttons. But as I'm watching something critical jumps into the forefront of my mind. Something I know I need to say. To ask. I step forward and touch her hands, stilling them.

"Jill..."

"Yes?"

"I need to ask you...we should talk about protection." I reply. I let go of her hands and step back to gauge her reaction.

"Oh, well, I was going to bring it up, yes. I'm on the pill but I'd appreciate it if... well if you don't have a condom with you, I have some. In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I know a lot of men carry them routinely. Mac had one that first...well..."

"Better to be safe than sorry."

"Right. I've never had the pill fail but there's always a first time..."

"Hey, I couldn't agree more."

"And Walter..."

"Yeah."

"I've been tested. No Aids. No STDs."

"Oh. Ok. fine. Me too. The FBI...we get more physicals then you even want to know about."

I remember worrying about my decision to bring the condom. So, I guess I am a 90s kind of guy hey? Bull shit. All this crap about Aids and STDs. I know they're out there and I've been tested up the whazoo myself. But Christ what a way to live. Well, anyway I lucked out here. Yeah. Walter is one lucky buck.

"Well I guess I'm a routine kind of guy. I've got a rubber. God knows I haven't had much use for it. But I change it routinely too. So, I'm joe average that way I guess."

"Joe Average? Uh, I don't think so," she laughs again.

I smile wide. You know I'm gonna need another hat size after tonight. No shit.

She's goes back to unbuttoning her dress. I step forward again and replace her hands with my own.

"Would you mind?" I ask quietly.

"No, not at all. But I'll want to do the same for you."

"I was hoping that would be the case," I smile again.

xXx

"Would you mind?" He asks.

Mind. Hell no! My God, it's been so long since a man undressed me. The last time...well, I'll not go there I'm in too good of a mood. Let's just say Mac had a tendency toward the rough side. Quit thinking about that asshole, Jill. It's over, you made damn sure of that this afternoon.

I flick my eyes up to Walter's exquisite face, and mouth. I smile inwardly. I still can't believe he saw that silly poem. Oh well, instead of serving to embarrass me it may actually come in handy now. His large hands play over the tiny buttons of my dress, working each one free.

He looks so sexy in his concentration, his jaw is working a little and he's very focused. My arousal builds even higher as I think about all that concentration focused in on our lovemaking. This will be all right, I tell myself. It has to be.

xXx

I focus on the buttons on that red dress. My whole field of vision narrows to my hands. I can tell she's looking at my face. Studying my reactions. Waiting to see what I think of her body. But I'm barely thinking now. It's like my entire body is opening up - every nerve exposed. I feel raw...hot...and it's...unbelievably pleasurable.

The buttons come open without too much fumbling. I work my hands inside to touch. To...oh God. I remember wanting to touch the skin of her hip that day I watched her in her office. To touch her naked flesh...I'm so close to doing that now and my heart is thudding hard in my chest. I peel the dress down and off. It falls to the floor, pooling at her feet. I don't even notice what kind of underwear she has on. I'm just staring at her. At her beautiful breasts. I can't even bring myself to touch her again. I shut my eyes for a second. Jesus. She must think I'm...

"My turn," she purrs and I feel her step close and touch the lapels of my jacket. I'd already opened the buttons out in the living room. She begins to help me shuck it off.

I want to tell you a secret. I've never let a woman undress me. There's a very good reason. It almost kills me to admit it too. My scars. Yeah. The fucking war wounds. They aren't pretty and I've had more than one women who...well let's just say they were a sex suppressant ok? Christ I don't like looking at them and they're as much a part of me as the balls they almost bisect so...But some people don't like scars. Fact of life. I usually prepare someone for them too. And I haven't said a thing to Jill. I must be losing my mind here. I'm going fuck blind and we haven't even gotten that far yet.

I'm glad I'm not wearing a tie. She's removed my jacket with just a few deft movements. I'm turning to put the jacket on a nearby chair when I hear Jill's intake of breath.

"Oh." she lets out a little exclamation of interest and surprise. Hey. I guess the scars will have to wait.

"It's a Glock."

"I guess it didn't occur to me you'd be armed."

"Well, as federal agents we're required to carry our weapons at all times."

"It's German then. Don't most agents use Smith and Wessons?"

"Some do. We have a choice of the three manufacturers actually. Glock. Smith and Wesson and..."

"Sig Sauer."

"Right."

"I read an article on that once. In a gun magazine."

"Ah."

I take the holster off my belt and advance to the night stand. I place it there.

"Is this ok. It's not going to make you nervous?"

"Uh, no. And it's a hell of a lot smaller than the deer rifle in my closet down the hall."

xXx

He's eyeing me a little suspiciously but says nothing. So yeah, I've got a gun. I've never even fired the damn thing. I hate guns, but my big brother bought me one for protection when I moved to DC. The big dork. He and Dad are hunters. That's why Jill has a deer rifle.

I toy with the idea of telling Walter this but I have other things on my mind. Getting him naked as quickly as possible ranks pretty high on that scale. I move forward and he laughs and makes some quip about being well-armed.

Much to my dismay, he sheds most of his personal effects and glasses and takes them to the night stand.

I really want to undress him myself...

xXx

I chuckle, "Well I guess we're both well armed then." I take the opportunity to remove my watch and the money from my pocket. All of it goes on the table. I decide to take off my belt, shoes and socks as well. What the heck. Saves time. Then I reach up and when I do I grin a little.

"I'm going to take off my specs too. So, I'll apologize ahead of time."

"For what?"

"In case I miss the target."

"Oh God," she starts to giggle like hell then and I walk back over to stand in front of her. She reaches forward and starts to lift up the bottom of my sweater. She's still giggling but controlling it better.

"I giggle like this and sometimes I think I sound like such a blonde..." she shakes her head.

"Oh believe me...you are not a blonde." I rumble in my chest as I look down at her efforts over my sweater. The contact of her fingers is electric. I'm fighting really hard to concentrate. To actually push back my arousal a little. Normally I have very good control. But just this woman's delicate touch on my chest is threatening to send me into orbit and past the point of no return. She's still smiling a lot and I think while she's upbeat and happy I might as well tell her...

xXx

Stop giggling he's going to think you're a ditz. I make a blonde joke and he reassures me my hair color has not changed. I slide my hands under his sweater and start to work it off of him. He's trembling a little and it's really turning me on that he's that turned on by my touch. It does wondrous things for my ego.

His breathing is a little ragged and I sneak a look at his face. There are a myriad of emotions playing across his face. I suck in my bottom lip and study his face. He seems so serious. That focus he has really is amazing.

I've only been in this situation a handful of times. I don't make a habit of bedding men I've just met. It took Mac and I months to finally make love. I'm a little surprised at myself for jumping in with both feet like this. Part of me is worried we're moving too fast here. I mean, Christ, I only met this man on Monday. God, I hope he doesn't think I'm a slut.

I really wish I did know what he was thinking. He's pensive about something. Please don't let him be having second thoughts...

xXx

"Jill, remember when we were talking about Vietnam before, over that photo?"

"Yes. My Uncle Gary," she replies in a low voice suddenly quiet, serious again. She's gotten my sweater loose, is shoving it further, up over my pectorals, I help her get it up over my head, down over my arms. It falls to the floor at my feet.

"Well I need to tell you something else about the war...my tour of duty." I pull up my t-shirt, she helps me and that goes on the floor to join my sweater. She runs her hands down my chest, through my chest hair and I shudder with pleasure. Oh God. Her hands come to rest on the waistband of my pants at the button. I reach down and take both her hands in mine. I bring them up to my lips and kiss them, shaking my head.

"What's wrong?" she asks carefully.

"I was wounded, Jill. I just need to tell you. I...I have some scars."

I push her back gently and take over unbuttoning my pants. My hands are shaking now. I'm cursing myself inwardly again when I feel her gentle touch over my fingers.

"Walter...it's all right...let me...see them."

My breath catches in my throat as she unbuttons and then unzips the gray Italian designer pants. She works them down. I wriggle a little to help. I hear her breathing pick up as she watches me move my hips. I'd feel another jolt to my ego if I wasn't so miserable right at this moment. My pants pool around my naked feet. I'm standing there in my boxer briefs. It's the damned moment of truth for me again. I look down at the top of her head as she pulls on the band of the Hanes.

My briefs are at my feet and Jill's staring. My cock has gone to half mast. Well, I said I was miserable didn't I? God, I wanna crawl away and die.

But Jill is touching my stomach, my groin. Trailing her finger along my scars. Tracing the pattern. Gently. Sensuously. She's scratching me just slightly with her fingernails. The sensation is starting to drive away my misery with every passing second. The misery is being replaced with the heat of my arousal. I hiss slightly as she reaches my newer scar. The one that came courtesy of Luis Cardinal. But my sharp intake of breath isn't from any residual pain. It's from desire. My cock's coming back to attention. Oh yeah. Mr. Johnson's going to salute.

"This is a newer scar. The others are...old. White. But this one is fresher..." she says in a seductive voice as she runs her hand over the indentation.

"Yeah. I was wounded in the line of duty several years ago."

"You should never be ashamed of these Walter. They were earned in honor. And you're alive. That's the most important thing."

I don't know what to say. My words are completely taken away. But I try...

xXx

My God, he is so beautiful. I can't believe he's self conscious about these scars. I touch them as if in benediction. I want him to know it's OK. That they don't bother me.

I fight back some tears at the thought of what this man has endured in service of God and country. And here all this time I've been feeling sorry for myself over a stupid relationship. Grow up, Jill.

It's not like I've ever been shot. I've been hurt but never near death, so I suppose I need to thank my lucky stars that it's never been as bad as it has for Walter Skinner.

"You should never be ashamed of these, Walter. They were earned in honor. And you're alive. That's the most important thing." I tell him quietly. His face is a bit of a mask. He's still a little unnerved I think. I wish like hell I could take some of the hurt away.

I continue to run my hands over his scars in a soothing motion. I want to tell him that they're erotic, that because they mark his skin because they're his they're an incredible turn on for me but the words are dying in my throat as I watch his face.

He too is struggling for words...

xXx

"Jill...I..."

"Shhh." she hushes me, bringing the finger that has been tracing fire on my flesh up to my lips. My breath is coming quicker as she steps back slightly and brings her hand up behind her back to unclasp her bra. She lets it slide down to the floor. I know I'm gaping at her tits. They're exquisite. A little large for her frame but I'm certainly not going to complain. No, they're firm. Wonderfully firm and high...her nipples are erect already with her arousal. She's flushing as well.

I finally manage to step forward, out of the pool of clothing at my feet and touch her. I'm touching her breasts and I'm in ecstasy. I knew she would be so soft, so warm. So...vibrantly alive. I run my finger over her left nipple, slowly, erotically. I tenderly repeat the motion on her other nipple.

"Oh God...." she whispers.

"You're beautiful," I whisper back.

She brings her hand up and places it over mine as I knead her flesh, tweaking her nipple between my fingers.

"You have gorgeous hands, Walter. They...they're so warm and strong."

I move my hand from her nipple and bring it and my other hand up onto her shoulders. I draw her to me. We kiss again. My erection presses against her, tipped up, it's rubbing against her stomach. This time both of us are moaning before we break the kiss.

"I'd better get that condom," I suggest raggedly, looking down into her eyes. They're luminous. Dark brown, almost black with emotion. They glow deep down with her heat. I could get lost in those eyes. I could forget all about the war, the Bureau and all about Walter Skinner. I want to lose myself. I need to do it.

"Yeah..." she breathes out slowly as well and I leave her arms to retrieve my billfold. I remove the condom in it's foil packet and toss the billfold onto the seat of the chair.

When I turn back around she stands nude before me. With the soft, mellow light from the dresser lamp I can almost realize my earlier fantasy of what she would look like in fire light. She looks fey, but angelic as well. I let myself look at her. My eyes take in every inch of her trim, perfectly formed petite body. My eyes finally settle on that spot between her legs. On the soft, downy patch of dark brown, curly hair that lies at the apex of her thighs. I gaze, my eyes hooded, and I can't help it. God. I lick my lips.

She has her arms across her breasts. Suddenly, she's a little shy. It reminds me of how young. How vulnerable I know she really is even though she'd probably kick me in the slats if she heard me suggest it. I find it terribly touching and I taste the tang of unshed tears in the back of my throat.

I walk to her, condom in hand and stand close. I gently pull her arms away from her breasts and lift her right hand up to kiss her palm.

"You should never...cover...something...this lovely."

She looks down and her lower lip trembles slightly. I'm starting to worry she's thinking of that bastard Mac again. Or maybe...God I hope she's not frightened...I...

xXx

Finally both of us are totally nude. As he walks across the room to get the condom I watch the play of his muscles in his upper thighs and lower back. He's as amazing as I fantasized him being. So strong and muscular. He looks like Adonis.

My God, Jill Sharpe you've done something right here. I just hope I can continue to be worthy of such a man. I feel so alive right now and not just with my arousal. There is something else here that I can't quite put my finger on. I'm yearning to see the man before me again and again and he hasn't even left yet.

I almost feel foolish. I haven't had a crush this bad since high school. I'm completely enamored with this man and this is exactly the second time we've been together. I'm excited and scared and a million other emotions I can't quite put my finger on.

And he thinks I'm beautiful? God I...it's been so long...I unconsciously cover my breasts and pull myself together. A silly gesture but it calms me only slightly. I feel like shaking all over but manage to rein it in, all but my lower lip.

xXx

"I won't hurt you..." I manage to get the words out.

"I know. I trust you. It' s just that...no one's told me how beautiful I look in a long time. I...it's a little hard for me to..."

"Let me show you how beautiful I think you are...." My voice is rough I know it sounds rough. But God I'm so hot for her now. I toss the condom towards the bed, hoping it lands there and I go down on my knees before her. I want to worship her now. Worship her flesh. Worship her body and her soul.

"Oh Lord," she gasps as I trail my mouth over her breasts. I suck and nip at each nipple in turn, concentrating on the right one as that seems to be the most sensitive. I can feel the tiny nub swelling, straining even more taut as Jill starts to rub against my face. Her hands play over my scalp. The sensation is so tantalizing I groan when she stops to hold my head still against her soft skin.

"God, Walter. Allison must have had you in mind when she...OH GOD!"

She moans loudly as I take more of her heavy flesh into my mouth and suck like a baby at his mother's breast.

She's holding my head tight against her and making small noises in her throat. I release her breast and hug her to me, letting my hands play over her ass. I begin to work my mouth down over her stomach and lower until I'm kissing into the soft fluff between her legs.

"God, Walter...I can't...."

xXx

Oh God, it's like he's known how to touch me all his life. He's so gentle but...I...what he's doing to my nipples. No one has ever, well at least not like that, no one other bothered to find out. But here Walter's getting it right on the first try.

He immediately picked up on the fact that I love to have my breasts touched and he's even discovered that my right side is more sensitive. God that tongue. His mouth is indeed exquisite. I could let him do this all day...except for the fact I'm mad to touch him. I pull his head against me firmer and I start to lose myself in the sensations. God he feels so good.

His hands slide down over my ass and I think my entire body is about to turn to jelly. His mouth works lower, lower until he reaches the apex of my thighs. Oh no, my legs are going to buckle here. It's a weakness I have. Don't get me wrong, I really want him to do this, but while I'm standing is going to result in embarrassment or injury for one or both of us.

"God, Walter ...I can't..."

xXx

"Am I moving too fast?" I ask quickly pulling back and looking up in concern. Christ. I'm rushing her...I have to...think about her...not my needs...not my....

"No, no. It's just...I get weak in the knees." she laughs a little in embarrassment, "you're making me really hot, Walter Skinner. My knees are wobbling."

I chuckle and stand up.

"I thought I was the only one with shaking knees here."

"You too? Well I don't feel so bad now."

"Do you want to lie down?" I ask softly.

"I have to," she giggles slightly, "If I don't I'm going to fall down."

"Jill, seriously. If I'm moving to fast, I want you to tell me, ok? You'll need to tell me what you want. Your comfort is important to me. So, tell me what you'd like."

"Oh I like this...it...it's just been a while," she strokes my face and smiles into my eyes.

"Well, let's continue then - in a horizontal position."

"Are you asking me to assume the position, Mr. F-B-I?"

"Oh yeah, I'm asking you to assume it."

"Good"

She takes my hand and leads me over to the bed. She stops long enough to pull the comforter and top sheet back. We climb into the bed and lie down facing each other. Christ now that I'm stretched out next to her I realize - she is slight in stature. If I look down her toes are hitting my shins maybe? I hadn't thought what this height difference might mean all the way around here. I mean...she's small all over. I'm not. Especially in one critical area. Well by the size of this bed I gotta hope her EX was tall at least. I'll just have to make sure I take things slow here. God I don't want to hurt her. No way.

Jill's voice breaks into my reverie with a little chuckle.

"What?"

"We forgot the condom."

"Oh Shit!" I laugh despite my chagrin, "And I was all comfy..." I mock growl my displeasure.

"Well I can look for it," she offers archly. Her eyes are dancing now. I smile like a total goof ball. She looks like that mischievous little girl in the photograph. I feel 10 years younger staring into her eyes.

"Not on your life. I'm on the outside edge here. I'll look for it." I insist gallantly. Yeah right. I was the bozo who tossed it in the general direction of the bed too. Brilliant Walter. I climb off the bed, buck naked and start looking around for the rubber. Of course I can't find it right away. I look in the bed spread but to tell you the truth I don't think it ever made it onto the bed.

"Maybe it's underneath, Walter," Jill offers helpfully. She's struggling not to laugh as I get down on my hands and knees and start to crawl around. That did it. She's laughing like hell now.

"Hey, the view can't be that bad." I laugh in return.

"Oh the view is tremendous...I'm just thinking..."

I reach under and come out with a handful of dust bunnies. I sneeze loudly and now she's roaring.

"I forgot to dust under the bed..."

"Now you tell me," I shake my hand off and lean down a little lower. God, it's lucky I didn't have to crawl under too far. My dick would be covered in dust. Just as I spot the condom I can feel something....

"Christ!" I jerk up hitting my head on the edge of the bed. She pinched my ass. Hard.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, Walter. But I...I couldn't resist. Did you find the condom?"

"Yeah. And I found the bed frame too."

"Oh poor baby. Come back up here. I'll kiss it and make it better."

"Now that's more like it," I growl again. I stand up and she's sitting on the edge of the bed rocking she's laughing so hard. I lunge forward and she squeals a little. Then we're in each others arms. I have just enough time to put the condom safely on the night stand before we fall back together on the bed, entwined, laughing and gasping. I manage to accidentally stick my elbow in her ear and then we're laughing even more hard. But soon we find each other's mouths again and then we're quiet except for our heavy breathing and some nearly breathless whimpers.

We end up side by side again. I break the kiss and whisper in her ear.

"Tell me what you want Jill...anything."

xXx

What do I want? Well, that's the 64 million dollar question isn't it? This man...I mean, I truly can't remember anyone ever asking me what I want in bed. I mean sure I think about it, but no one has ever asked. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some shrinking violet. I'm perfectly capable of asking for what I want, but this...

But it's more than that. He's devouring me with his eyes like a starving man. He's openly admiring my body and paying strict attention to the places that make me respond and I've never been hotter for anyone before in my life. I'm shaking like a leaf with desire for this man.

My brain is on total information overload. I've got a million things running through my mind. I want to touch him and look at him the way he's touching and looking at me in hopes that I can make him a fraction as aroused as I am right now.

I want to run my hands over his chest and scratch his beautiful nipples. I want to suck on his Adam's Apple and run my tongue around his navel, the head of his...I just want to touch and kiss him all over, I want to just cover him with my hands...Suddenly, I know how to answer him.

xXx

"Can you touch me all over, Walter...I...I love the feel of your hands on me."

"Oh yeah. My pleasure." I smile.

"And don't forget...your exquisite mouth..." she giggles.

"I really have to thank Allison if I ever meet her," I grin as I begin to kiss the hollow of her throat.

We don't talk at all much then. I begin to stroke and massage her body following my hands with my mouth. I work over each breast in turn lavishing a lot of attention there because she really seems to enjoy having her tits suckled. Her hands play over my scalp again and for the second time that night I'm suddenly glad I'm follically challenged. Big time. Oh yeah.

Finally I work my way down her stomach kissing her belly button as I move along. She's breathing heavily now and so am I, as I reach that spot between her legs where both of us desire me to go.

She spreads her legs apart slightly to give me better access and then I begin to go down on her. My first efforts on her clit bring her off the bed.

"Walter..." she gasps.

"Are you all right?" I murmur against her, "I can stop..."

"Lord, don't stop," she laughs moving her hips up to meet my face.

"It's good?"

"God, yes..."

I smile around her and go back to work. Oh yeah it should be good. One thing I know how to do is give head. I'm not bragging. Sharon was a very honest woman. Marita was honest to a degree. So, I have proof. This is something I excel at, and let me tell you I enjoy it to no end.

Jill is writhing under my mouth. I'm letting my tongue explore inside her now, and she's so hot and wet I almost can't contain my own desire to replace my tongue with my cock. But I'm holding myself back. I haven't suited up yet and I really want to give her this first. This pleasure. And it's not only her pleasure. Part of my experience in bed is seeing my partner come. I want her to come first. It's gets me up. Harder. It really gets me pumped.

She's twisting and bucking under my mouth as I lave her. I place my hands on her hips, lightly so she can still move but firmly enough so I can feel her muscles, her movements against me. God, I love the feel of a woman moving under my hands and mouth like this. It's....Jesus.

"Walter....harder...I just....ohGod."

I knows she's close I can feel her tensing under my mouth but she's telling me she needs more. No problem. I lever up and she moans a little when my mouth leaves her body. I move to her side and bring my hands down over her now, rubbing her clit with my finger.

"Ok?" I ask quietly.

She's shut her eyes and biting her lip in concentration. She's got her whole mind focused on my hands and the center of her body right now. She looks so beautiful. I pick up the pace with my finger.

"Yessss," she hisses.

On of her hands comes up and over mine. She opens her eyes and looks into mine.

"This is so good," she whispers.

"Oh babe..."

xXx

Oh God, I'm so close. He's so brilliant at this. I feel my body tensing up and I know it's only a matter of time. I look into his eyes and tell him it's good. His face is beautiful and so aroused. I can't believe that doing this to me is so arousing to him and it makes me even hotter.

I put my hand over his and start to move my hand between my folds. I want this so bad, it feels so good. I want to feel him inside me but I can't verbalize it, my brain is only partially functioning. The only thing I can think of is Walter's hands, my hands driving me closer and closer to where I want to be.

I begin to rotate my hips and Walter's right there along with me. I'm desperately wishing I could find my voice here. I really want him inside me. I need him inside me. I want us to be together here. He's given me so much I'm starting to feel a little guilty. I want him to experience the same pleasure I am. Dammit if only I could speak...

xXx

She's beyond words then, shutting her eyes once more and I'm almost beyond thought myself. She's working a finger into herself then. She's rotating her hips, driving herself faster, harder to bring herself off. I know she wants penetration but she can't verbalize the request. I do manage to find the words as I gently move her hand aside and work three fingers into her.

"Let me do the work...lover."

"Ohhhh...." she gasps. I can tell it's not from pain though. She's gonna come. I pump my fingers into her in long, hard thrusts. She starts to tense up. Her entire body arching.

"Wwwwalter!" she stutters.

"Do it. Come on..." I moan. She goes completely rigid against me and then her breath comes out in a low groan and she starts to spasm over my fingers clamping down on me like a vice. Oh God! What will this feel like later, I think as she throws her hips against my hands.

"So good, you feel so good, Jill. Beautiful. So..." I can't say any more because the sight or her body, sheened in sweat and exquisitely flushed really has made me speechless. As her spasms start to subside I draw her close and hold her, trembling, against me. I kiss her hair and feel her lips kissing my chest. She strokes my arm and she's murmuring something...

xXx

"So good, you feel so good, Jill. Beautiful. So..." He's murmuring to me.

I can't believe it. He's telling me how good it was for him when he's given me probably the most mind blowing sexual experience of my life. I feel like I've shattered, the whole room is spinning like a ferris wheel and it's not a ride I want to get off.

Every one of my nerves is popping and buzzing with excitement and I feel like my body is floating around the room like some celestial body. Celestial body. I'm covered in a sheen of sweat. Perhaps I'm the moon and now Walter is basking in my glow.

He holds me close and I sigh contentedly and begin to kiss his chest. There are so many things I want to do to him if only I could come back to myself. Words cannot express how I feel now, this experience is altogether otherworldly for me. Maybe we should call those two agents of his to investigate. Nah.

Walter here in my bed is more than enough for me. God, I don't ever want him to leave. I could spend the rest of my days right here making love to this wonderful man. OK, maybe that's a little irrational but the night is still young and I intend to show Walter just how grateful I am.

I want to touch him all over and make love to him until he screams my name. I want to return all he's given me just now. God I hope I can. I'm a little nervous. I mean, I hope I can make him as satisfied as he's made me. I intend to do my damnedest trying.

I slide my hand sensuously along his strong arms.

xXx

"What about you?"

"I can wait. Get your breath babe."

"But, God, you must be...you're so...this is incredible."

She's trailing her hands over the length of my erection. I shut my eyes, concentrating on control again. I know I'll be OK though. Once you get to my age you develop good control. You have to really. With the possibility of one erection a night you want to keep it up as long as you can. And I can keep it up. For a long time.

"You got me that way," I tell her as she looks into my face. I smile. I haven't been this hard for a woman in a long time. It feels so good.

"Well, I think Mother Nature might have had a little something to do with it. But I'll take the compliment."

She continues to stroke my cock. God she has such a delicate sensuous touch. Some guys like a woman to really crank them hard from the get go. I don't. I love this teasing stroke much more. It makes me tremble all over before long. It's something I can lie back and let a woman do for as long as she likes and not come too. It's almost like torture. But it's blissful torture.

"Do you like this?" she asks as she circles the head of my cock with one finger.

"Oh yeah..." I hiss.

"Tell me what you want, Walter. I want to do what you like too."

"This is right up there on my hit parade," I moan. She pulls back so I can lie down flat. She shifts to my side and props herself up on an

elbow so she can continue her gentle touch on my shaft. She hefts my balls up for a gentle caress as well. She moves them a around a bit in the sack.

"That's feels great," I whisper. She smiles.

"They feel warm and fuzzy," she grins.

"You're making me warm and fuzzy."

She laughs and pats my balls gently before she goes back to stroking my cock in her educated hand. It's like she's testing the length and width and weight of me. Measuring all most. Maybe she is a little worried about my size. I know I'm large. Some women have enjoyed it. Marita...well I gotta get her out of my mind. God yeah.

At any rate, my size has been a mixed blessing all my life. Some women find it a bit...well it can be a hindrance. It also makes it very awkward to ask a woman if my size is a problem. I mean what the fuck do I say? Hey baby - is it too much of a mouthful? a handful or what? Shit. But I have to say something to her. I don't want her to do anything she thinks is going to be painful.

"Is it ok?" Oh come on. Is what ok? Crap, Walter. Get a life.

"What?"

"My...I mean...look - I don't know how else to say this, Jill. There's a little size difference here. Between us. All of us..."

"Oh." she giggles as my cock bobs between us, "You want to know if I think you're too...well endowed?" she's giggling harder. Shit - I hope giggling means good here.

"Well...yeah."

xXx

Jill, stop giggling. Oh hell, I can't help it. He's just so damn cute. Walter is a big man. And I don't just mean he buys his suits at the Big and Tall shop. I think I compared him to Adonis earlier? Yeah, that fits.

And well, Jill buys her clothes in the petite department. I'm not big. I'm actually really small. As we're laying here together my toes are hitting his shins. My mind briefly flashes a picture of us walking down a street together. Mutt and Jeff. I start shaking with another fit of giggles.

Stop that. Laughter is not good here. Well hell, in a way it is. Who says you can't laugh in bed. Walter is smiling a little bemusedly at me. I don't want to make him nervous, but I can't help it. The situation is deliciously funny.

The truth of the matter is, I like big men. And Walter fits the bill to a "T". Mac was big and we never had any problems because of it, other than he could overpower me which did turn out to be a problem. But I'm not going to think about that.

This is Walter. Walter is kind and loving. He also has the most beautiful cock I've ever seen in my life. God, I mean I fantasized about what he'd look like when I saw him from the window, but he's completely exceeded all my expectations. I mean, this almost is too good to be true. Please don't let that be the case. Please don't let me wake up alone again in the morning...

xXx

"Walter you're very well-endowed. But is it a problem for me? Uh...no," she laughs bending over to kiss my stomach just above my penis, "I like a man to be muscular and large. Large all over. I've always liked big men, what can I say. "

"You can say anything you want baby, at this rate I can listen to you all night."

She trills her laughter and then trails kisses up my stomach onto my chest and over both my nipples. Over and over both my nipples. God oh Jesus. How did she know I like my nipples to be...bit. Oh CHRIST.

"Like?" she mumbles around my hard left nipple as she nips it.

"God damn. You are *so* percept...Oh hell..." I'm gasping and my hips are moving because Jesus I wanna fuck her now. I can't hold it back much longer. I rub her back spasmodically.

God my balls are really starting to tighten up. They're pushing my cock up practically onto my belly. I better think about getting down to business pretty quick here or we'll be having a going out of business sale. I run my hands up onto her neck and draw her head down to kiss her lightly. When she pulls back I gasp in her ear.

"Condom."

xXx

I have this theory. If someone does something to you in bed, chances are they like it too. Walter lavished a lot of attention on my breasts earlier so I have an idea that he might like the same. And never let it be said that Jill Sharpe can't give as good as she gets.

I trail my mouth up his chest and nip at his nipples. Oh yeah, the theory holds true. He REALLY likes that. I ask just to make sure.

He's gasping and his hips are bucking beneath me. Damn. I wanted to prolong this a little bit. It hardly seems fair that he got to give me so much. I could spend hours pleasing him now, but I do believe he's got other ideas.

I have to say, Walter is impressive in that department. He has so much control and he's been so patient with me. God this man...I'm at a loss here. But far be it for me to deny him what he wants after he's given me so much.

He draws me back to his mouth and we kiss lightly. He pulls away abruptly and gasps into my ear.

"Condom."

xXx

She nods and goes to the night table. I shut my eyes again because I'm starting to leak a little and I can feel that delicious pressure and warmth building deep in my groin. I grit my teeth. I need to hang on just a little longer.

I hear Jill rip the foil on the Trojan. Her gentle hands unfold it down my length. I open my eyes to watch her as she settles it carefully on me leaving the little reservoir tip bobbing with my every heavy breath.

We lie down side by side again and touch and taste each other a little more just to stoke the fire a bit higher. She looks so wonderful. I could...I could fall in love with this woman. I know I could. In time I may. I hope she feels the same for me. If she doesn't it won't matter though. I know she'll see me again. We can take things one step at a time and see what....see what happens. Both of us are rubbing together now. Rocking our way towards joining. I don't know how she wants to do that though. I need...I should find out.

I run my hand down her stomach and between her thighs. She's wet. Soaked for me. I know she's tight but not virgin tight. This may work out fine. She did say she liked it large. Well hell she's gonna get it big that's a fact.

"Babe," I gasp out my breath huffing in my chest, "How do you want..."

"Just like this..." she purrs and she takes my cock in one firm hand, levers up and takes me with one thrust of her hips.

"OHFUCK!" I gasp loudly. Jesus God that felt...Mutherfuck. I lay there stunned for a moment from the surprise of her engulfing me completely. My balls are trapped up against her thigh. We're in kind of an uncomfortable position. One of her legs is pinned under me slightly. I shift her over carefully so she's under me. I take my weight on my forearms. She brings her knees up high and spreads her legs.

"You ok?" I breathe out.

"Oh yeah.," she smiles up into my eyes.

"All right," I moan and I'm gone. That's all she wrote. I pull out and back. Then I thrust forward. I like a nice long thrust, not too fast or hard at first. I want to feel all of a woman along my whole length. It's...I can't even tell you.

"God, that's good," she moans. She runs her hands down my back and over my ass encouraging me by kneading my muscles. She's murmuring in my ear, telling me to do it, fuck her, fuck her now, and it's my greatest pleasure to give her every inch she wants.

I start to pump into her and she brings her hips up to meet mine as I thrust against her. Before long we've established a rhythm, an age old erotic dance for two. Neither one of us can talk any longer but words aren't necessary. All that's needed is skin against skin, heat, pressure and sweat.

xXx

With one quick thrust he's inside me and I'm in heaven. He so big, he fills me completely and it feels so wonderful. We've landed in sort of an awkward position and Walter moves us so he's over me. I shift my legs around to accommodate him further.

I run my hands over him wanting to touch every square inch of his beautiful body. I'm more and more amazed at how taken I am with this man. I could be falling in love here and it scares me how quickly it's happened. I mean, I hardly know Walter Skinner yet I feel like I've known him all my life. But I can't think about that now...not that the rest of the sensations flooding my body would let me if I tried.

He thrusts in slowly and I feel him all through my body. I've never felt anything quite so erotic.

"God, that's good," I breathe. My nerves are singing again, all of them feel like four alarm fires and it's the most exquisite torture I've ever experienced. But it's more than that, I feel safe, cherished...even loved. I don't know if that's what Walter intends but it is certainly how I feel and I almost cry from the joy of it.

We're both beyond words, but our bodies are talking. We're moving together in synchronicity. I open my eyes for a moment and take in his face bathed in sweat watching waves of pleasure roll over it. And I am happy. I've made him feel at least some of the pleasure he's made me feel and I can only hope to do it again and again.

xXx

I can tell she really does like my size. She's wrapped her legs around my waist and tilted up so she can get all of me as deep as possible. I start to pick up the pace to give her what she wants. She slaps my back lightly, moaning and I drive in hard.

"S'good. Hard. I...Oh God..." she hisses. I'm really grunting against her now. Straining and riding as hard as I can. I wanna come. Jesus H. Christ I gotta come. The pressure in my groin builds and builds. I'd like to reach between us to bring her off but I know I can't. This is the other reason I like to pleasure my lover first. When I get to the point of no return I'm lost in the moment. Just the build up to orgasm make me go fuck blind. When I come, I come hard. I'm not even aware of my surroundings and I have to hope my partner can climax by penetration and friction alone.

"Keep moving. God..." I gasp into her neck. She moves her legs up farther and that's all it takes. I feel my balls start to tighten further and I know I'm growling in my throat with the anticipation of release.

Jill groans loudly and God...she's gripping my cock hard enough to make me scream. So good. I knew she'd cum...Lord I knew she'd be so...hot...tight....so fucking..."

"Jjjill...Jesus...." I grind out both names almost simultaneously and then I...the air seems to implode all around me. The rushing in my ears drives what little mind I have left out of my skull. Light. White light behind my eyes. Blind. Deaf. I throw my head back and open my mouth. There's no sound. No sound. My muscles tighten all over my body and I thrust mindlessly, spastically again and again into my lover's sweet, tight body. Jill's gripping my ass, crying out her own mindless keen of pleasure, helping me to drive in deep as I shoot into her, into the condom, into ecstasy.

Finally I have sound and it's a roar.

"Bbbbitch!" I howl and then we collapse together into each other's arms.

xXx

I hear a woman's voice. Who? Jill...

"Walter, are you all right? Walter?"

Christ Jesus! I must be crushing her.

I blacked out for a couple of seconds there. Like I said - when I come, I come hard.

"S'ok. S'ok, Jill," I hasten to reassure her. I shift us over slightly so my weight's off her. God our bodies are hot, flushed, bathed in sweat. We're out of breath but both of us are smiling. I lean forward and kiss her deeply, pulling her close to maintain our connection for as long as I can. I can taste the tang of salt on her lips. She's still trembling with the last of her climax and it feels fantastic to feel her around me. I'm still gasping from the effort of making love to her. But I don't mind in the least. Hell. I'm in good enough physical shape and sex is a great aerobic work out anyway.

"God..." she whispers.

"You all right?" I ask, stroking her face.

"More than all right," she smiles at me. Her breathing is starting to come back to normal and she wiggles against me a little. God. How in the hell could I have called this ethereal woman a...

"Sorry..." I grin sheepishly, "Sorry about that last...about...the language.."

I know I called her a bitch. I...I say things when...well I don't know what I say most of the time. Or I don't remember it. But crap. I did remember that...God, crass, so crass...

"It's ok. You didn't exactly look like you knew what you were saying," she grins at me.

"No kidding..."

"So...no offense taken, Walter."

"Ok, well, I'm sorry about crushing...I mean falling on you like I did too."

"I have to admit you were a little heavy," she giggles, "I'll have to remember to try this on top next time if you're going to pass out on me. You'll already be flat on your back."

I chuckle, "Shit, yeah I guess that might be a plan."

She smiles again and leans forward to kiss my forehead. My breathing is starting to return to normal a little. I stroke her hip and then down her thigh.

"You were wonderful, passing out or not," she says when she pulls back.

"Lady, you were beyond wonderful," I kiss her again. Her kiss is just so tender. Man, she's so...so beautiful.

I bring the hand that's stroking her thigh down between us. She has to be in some discomfort here. Her leg is trapped under my hip again.

"Babe, I'd better pull out. You have to be uncomfortable."

She sighs a little sound of regret. God. I don't want to leave her either. It's so good to be in her like this - even limp and encased in the latex it still feels loving, comforting and very erotic. But I'm gonna cut the circulation off in the poor woman's leg if I don't get off her. She nods her head.

I grip the top of the rubber tight around my cock and slide out. Jill moves back a little and props herself up on the pillows. I move over towards the edge of the bed. I hate doing this in front of a woman. Christ. I never want to ask the woman to pull the damn used rubber off and dispose of it. It's...well it's just something I think the guy should do, you know. But it's fucking awkward. You have to hold it on yourself so it doesn't flop open and spill cum on the sheets. What a pain in the ass.

To make matters worse I've discovered old Walter's just about ready for sleepy time. God damn I'm exhausted. I can barely make it to the edge of the bed. I wanted to flush the rubber but I don't think that's going to be in the cards. I said I was in good shape but I'm not 21 any more. Remember 47 into 27? So...

I can feel Jill's eyes on my back watching this little production. Jesus. She must think I look like a fucking senior citizen here.

xXx

If I had any questions about how it was for Walter, they've more than been answered for me now. That was definitely a first. He passed out on me. He was completely and totally over the edge, gone. This does a lot for my damaged ego.

I feel bad he was worried about his language during...well there at the end. I mean, hell I was completely non-verbal and it's not like he knew what he was saying. I tell him I took no offense.

God, how could I? This has been the high point of my sexual experience. Everything, was well...perfect. It almost scares me how perfect it was. I'm more than a little sad when he moves out of me. I just love feeling him inside me, it feels so right.

He gets up and starts taking the condom off. Ah, the dreaded task. I know it's got to be a pain and I know men hate wearing them. It makes me appreciate that Walter asked me if I wanted him to wear it all the more. It says something about him being concerned about me, and although that's a new emotion on me, I could grow to like it.

Mac got angry with me when I made him wear one. And once, just to get back at me the bastard dropped the used condom on the vase I have next to the window. Of course I didn't find it. Clementine found it...well I won't go there. Hell, I don't need to go there. Get over it Jill. You have something much better to think about...hell to look at as well.

But I just wish he'd turn around and get back over here. As glorious as the view is from here, I'd rather stare at his face and have him hold me.

xXx

"I love the way the muscles in your back move, Walter. You have great lats."

I bark a laugh, "Thank you."

She giggles a little.

"What?"

"I wore you out didn't I?"

"Fuckin' A. But I'm not complaining, woman. No way in hell."

She trills another laugh.

"There's a trash can over in the corner by the dresser," she offers helpfully. Great. I'm not going to make it to the fucking can at this rate.

"Good," I breathe out as I peel the condom down my length. I tie off the end and glance over at the trash. Normally this would be an easy three pointer. Well I'll give it a shot. I arc my hand up for what I think is a perfect shot at the can and...

The condom ends up square on top of my Valentino pants where I left them lying on the floor. Piss up a rope. I bet Mulder could have done better. I know he could. I've played basketball with him a couple of times. God damn it.

"I'll get it in the morning," I wave my hand in the air. Jill is giggling helplessly behind me. I laugh weakly as well and shift to get back up onto the bed next to her. She sits up a little and pulls at the covers. I help her to pull them up around us.

"Wanna put your head here?" I ask patting my chest. I love it when a woman lets me hold her after we make love. I hope she will. She smiles.

"I was hoping you'd ask."

She snuggles close, putting her head right where I can stroke her hair. I lie back on the plush pillows and hold her close. She rubs her leg over mine a little.

"Walter?"

"Hmm?"

"I have some of that Sumatran blend for the morning."

I smile, "So you did like that coffee."

"Oh yes. It really is smooth."

I chuckle a little. She speaks again against my chest. Her breath tickles.

"Do you like omelets?"

"Love 'em."

"I'd like to fix omelets for us in the morning. How would that be?"

"Only if you let me help."

"Oh, so you like to cook?"

"Oh yeah. Love to cook. You'll have to let me show you."

"It's a deal."

"Good." I yawn widely, "Sorry. Babe. I...I hate to say it but I gotta crash here."

"God, no wonder. We'll have to work at building up your stamina, Mr. F-B-I. It'll only help you on the job after all."

"Yeah, well maybe the desk job is the reason I'm not..."

"I'm kidding Walter. You were magnificent. I mean it. Mac was never...well let me just say he never could have kept it up like you did. Lord have mercy. Talk about be royally fucked."

I almost choke on my laughter than. This woman is priceless. She is totally honest and brazen beyond belief. I love her for it. I could love her. I know that more than ever now. Most sincerely. She could have my heart with very little effort and it would be a pleasure to give it to her.

xXx

He's laughing at me now. OK, so that was an off color remark, but I don't think he minds. Not at all. And I really like making him laugh. He has a sexy laugh. I love it. I love...I love him. God, I don't know how it is possible, but I'm hopelessly in love with this man and I don't even believe in love at first sight.

I hope it is love, though. I hope this isn't just some hormonal thing. I mean, I want to see where this goes. I really do like his company and I love the way he makes me feel and I could spend days thinking of ways to make him feel good both physically and emotionally. I mean, I can't believe I was just telling him I want to cook for him in the morning. What was that about, Jill?

It's about just wanting to bask in the presence of another human being. A kind, warm, wonderful human being. I smile at him and his gruff laugh keeps tumbling out. Hey, I could get a complex here...

xXx

"Well, it's the truth," she slaps my chest playfully. I take her hand and kiss it sleepily.

"Jill. You were more than I could have ever asked for, babe. And I don't mean just in bed. I...this meant a lot to me, tonight. I just want you to know that, you do don't you?"

She looks up into my eyes and her smile is my answer. She rubs my chest slowly, sweetly. She's putting me to sleep with her gentle caress.

"Go to sleep Walter."

I can feel my eyes getting heavy. There is something else though. It's just on the tip of my tongue. Something I need to tell her. About my sleeping... about...the dreams...

"Jill. If I wake up...I mean during the night and...if I'm yelling..."

"Do you have nightmares, from...from the war?" she asks quietly as she continues her light massage over my muscles.

"Yeah. Sometimes."

"I used to have nightmares when I was a little girl. Our house caught on fire once and I used to dream about it for years afterwards. You know what I used to do when I had those nightmares?"

"What?"

"I used to think about that meadow. The one in the photos on the wall outside my bedroom?"

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I'd just think about the fun Frank and I had that day in the meadow and then I wouldn't have the fire nightmare. So when you said that photo looked like a dream, Walter, you weren't really far off base."

"Jill?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure, Mr. Skinner. Now get some rest."

The last thing I feel before I fall asleep is her loving touch. The last thing I remember is a warm meadow. The sun...the bright, warm, shining sun. And laughter.

xXx

I run my hands over his lean muscles in a soothing motion and he sighs contentedly. I'm finally getting to touch him all over as I have wanted to do all night.

I hope he knows. I hope he understands that I care for him, it's just so hard for me to form the words here. I need to get over that too.

He tells me about his nightmares. I can't imagine. I remember the ones I had as a little girl, but I'm sure they pale in comparison. I tell him my insomnia trick. The one that's gotten me through the last twenty years.

"Jill?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure, Mr. Skinner. Now get some rest."

He sighs as I continue my light massage and his eyes drift shut. The poor guy really is beat and I take a little womanly satisfaction at wearing him out so well. Hey, at least it's a good tired.

He's soon sleeping and I still my hands and snuggle in close. His arm drapes protectively over my body, even in his sleep, and now it's my turn to sigh contentedly. I don't need the meadow tonight. I've got Walter to make me feel safe.
-THE END OF THE WHOLE STORY-