TITLE: Anno Domini

(Part 1 of 1 part)

NAME: frogdoggie

E-MAIL: frogdoggie@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: VA

RATING: R, for language only.

SUMMARY: Skinnerfic. LGM fic. Implied MSR. The Millennium approaches. Happy New Year? Read on and find out.

FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? I use them to roast weenies with a marshmallow chaser.

ARCHIVE: Sure. Anywhere - as long as my name and e-mail addy stay on it.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Minor spoilers for Fight the Future, Triangle and Millennium. Missing a slice umm...part, or just want to read more of my fic? Go here to find it: https://www.squidge.org/3wstop.

KEYWORDS: vignette angst Skinner Mulder Scully Frohike Langly Byers R

DISCLAIMER: Walter Skinner, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Frohike, Langly and Byers as well as all other incidental X-Files characters mentioned belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. 

Thanks to Susan for having the fastest pink highlighter in the west. Your beta kung fu is the best.

Written in December of 1999.

Anno Domini

by frogdoggie

December 31, 1999. 11:00 PM. Washington, DC

The wind blew bitter at his back, causing him to pull his collar up around his neck. The back of his ears was numbing up quite nicely. His mouth twitched into a terse grin of self-deprecation. No hat. No...no hats for him. No gloves either. A hat and gloves would mean giving in and not toughing it out. He was too stubborn, too bullheaded to give in to the cold. Yeah, 'Bullheaded' could be his middle name, he thought. Walter 'Bullheaded' Skinner. Might beat the hell out of Sergei.

He let his feet lead him more quickly, picking up his step as a concession to getting his blood moving in the chill air. He wanted to reach his destination before midnight as well. He'd worked late, stayed downtown at the Hoover and taken a cab down here all in order to reach the right place at the right time. It stretched just ahead of him now. The Wall. Long, shining, black monument to his and so many other's memories. Walter Skinner set his jaw and strode on.

He came here every New Year's eve. Tradition. It was important to uphold tradition. It was something that anchored a man. And Skinner was badly in need of some anchoring right now. Something solid to hang onto that would tell him he was still a man and worth keeping tradition with these other men who died in the service of their country. Skinner had almost been one of them. Sometimes he wondered if it had been better if he'd stayed one of them.

Skinner crossed the park, thankfully deserted except for a few people scurrying to their own destinations and reached the black expanse of rock etched with names. He stopped and stood looking along its length. He contemplated the idea that if things didn't go well tonight...he could very well join them again. In fact...if the Apocalypse was upon them...many would join the names on this wall. Many men, women and children. He felt a chill up his spine that had nothing to do with the low temperature on this late December evening. A chill that drew his mind away from the wall and to Georgia...or Maryland or...wherever they were now. Wherever Mulder and Scully were now.

It all came back to Mulder and Scully. Everything did. Even this...the possible end of the world came back to his two agents and whether they were successful in beating the odds again. Why he needed an anchor came back to them. Why he wasn't sure he deserved to think of himself in the company of these men, these heroes, any longer came back to them too.

He shook his head in disgust at his defeatist thinking. Fuck that idea. No, he couldn't let himself think that way tonight. He had to hope that whoever was balancing the scales, at this, the dawning of the new millennium, would tip them in his favor a little. He had done what he could...when he could...and for better or worse, he'd tried in his own way to fight the fight. He thought Mulder had understood that after reading his mind. He had faith that sometime soon, Scully would understand it too. He'd made mistakes, grave errors in judgment over the years. Been compromised in the worst way possible - but he still tried to support them. He gave them what aid he could and even though he failed...he tried...and he soldiered on. He would soldier on. Just like these men on this wall had done. Just like all the men in his unit had done.

Skinner stopped in front of the first name. Just like Corporal John "Cracker" Rand had done. He reached into the pocket of his trench coat, fumbled with cold hands, and finally pulled out his flask. Uncapping the shining metal container was a trick too with cold, clumsy fingers. But, he managed to do it. Walter Skinner tipped the flask a bit and poured a small splash of bourbon onto the ground. He watched it bead up at the base of the monument, the alcohol keeping it from freezing. Then he drew himself up straight and stood at attention in front of the name before him.

"Cheers. Happy New Year, and Semper Fi, Cracker," he rumbled, his breath ghosting into the December night.

Skinner brought the flask to his lips and took a healthy swig of bourbon. He felt the clean, burning warmth course down his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes but they had nothing to do with the smooth, liquid fire flowing into his guts. He raised the flask and tilted the neck towards the name carved in the black rock.

He repeated the ritual again and again until he'd accounted for all of them. Every man in his unit. When the flask was empty he returned it to his pocket and then stood back one more time to salute. He stood, his hand at his forehead despite the fact he knew the other man had approached and now stood nearby saluting as well. He lowered his arm and glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and he'd know...they'd all know. He lowered his arm and turned to face the other man who had drawn up beside him.

"You come here every year?" he asked, staring into the glasses of the grizzled, shorter man who stood holding an open bottle of champagne.

"Yeah, you?" he replied, shifting from foot to foot.

The man wore a black knit cap pulled tight down over his ears and a battered, black leather jacket. But his hands were clad only in fingerless gloves and Skinner noticed his fingers were just as red as his where they clutched the bottle.

"Every year. I've never seen you here..." Skinner answered tersely, his voice trailing off before he could help it. He was embarrassed. He'd been in this man's company twice and he couldn't remember his name.

"Frohike," the man replied, divining the reason for Skinner's discomfort but not drawing attention to it. "And you weren't supposed to see me," he added with a wry twist of his lips.

Skinner snorted slightly and inclined his head, nodding to give Frohike his due. He looked down on him and considered...should I tell this man that the world as we know it could end tonight? Should I tell him his fate lies in Fox Mulder's and Dana Scully's hands? No. Why bother. He can't do anything about it and neither can I. Better to let him remain unaware, at peace with his traditions. Let him share a few minutes in the company of someone trying to do the same.

Frohike tilted the bottle up, toasted Skinner and took a hearty swig. Skinner looked off over the park and saw a battered VW bus parked a discreet distance away, two heads visible inside. His lips curled up in another tiny smile as Frohike wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve.

"Marines, hey?" Frohike asked, clearing his throat.

"Yes. Special Forces," Skinner asked, refocusing on the smaller man. "You?"

"Army. Infantry," he replied, shifting to look down the wall.

"Tunnel rat," Skinner observed and Frohike's head snapped back, his eyebrows raised in suspicion.

"How did you know that, Mr. AD?" he asked carefully, squinting a little at Skinner.

Skinner gave him a wry look and stuck his hand out over the top of Frohike's head. Frohike chuckled then and Skinner withdrew his hand.

"Ok, baldy...don't rub it in," he grouched but with a measure of good-natured acceptance.

Skinner chuckled as well but then he grew serious.

"Sorry, that comment was out of line. I shouldn't have made light of your contribution. You had a hard war. My making light of it was uncalled for," he replied, gruffly. He shifted his feet and caught Frohike's eyes again, conveying his sincerity with his own.

Frohike straightened up to his full height, giving Skinner an understanding smile and wave of the champagne bottle.

"No offense taken. What the hell...if we can't laugh at the past sometimes..."

"We're condemned to repeat it?" Skinner interjected with a raised eyebrow and more than a hint of wry humor in his voice.

Frohike snorted loudly and nodded.

"There you go, no shit. Repeat it or go crazy from it."

"That too," Skinner agreed.

Frohike glanced at his watch and then back at Skinner.

"Well...I gotta book," he said, studying Skinner's face for a moment.

"Before midnight?" Skinner asked.

"Yeah...I leave ushering in the New Year to them," Frohike replied, shrugging his shoulder at the wall. "So they can celebrate in peace," he added, looking back into Skinner's eyes.

The wind blew some of Frohike's hair that wasn't tied back in his pony-tail or trapped under his hat, around his face. Skinner felt the same wind plucking at the fringe of hair at the back of his neck. It ruffled his shorthairs as well. At least he thought it was the wind. If he was a really imaginative sort of man he might have said it felt like cold but comforting fingers. He silently watched Frohike study him and then the hacker spoke again.

"Listen...uh...me and the guys...we have a little New Year's celebration planned now. Nothing much. Just some more champagne, Mexican food, videos...you're welcome to join us if you'd like," he offered, looking back over the park at the VW bus. The bus was still running, had been since Frohike stood talking. Now the engine revved and Skinner smiled a little again.

"Thank you, I appreciate the invitation...but no. I...I have other plans," Skinner answered, twitching a smile.

He was surprised and sincere in his appreciation. Never in a million years would he have expected Frohike to ask him to join him and his cohorts in crime. He was almost tempted to go along. He didn't really have anywhere else to go. His plan was to go home and await tonight's outcome. But no...it wasn't his place to intrude...especially when Frohike hadn't consulted the other two thirds of his companions in quasi-legal pursuits.

"Oh. All right," Frohike replied with a shrug. "Well...later, then. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he added wryly, saluting Skinner again.

"No problem," Skinner answered equally as wryly.

Frohike chuckled, nodded again and turned to walk away. Skinner's eyes tracked him as he crossed the park, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Somewhere off in the distance a bell started to toll. It chimed...and Skinner held his breath counting each mournful ring as it sounded in his ears.

On the twelfth ring his heart thudded in his chest...and then there was silence. He let his breath out slowly, listening. He really didn't know what he expected to hear. The sound of Four Horsemen on the ride - the sound of hooves? He did hear sounds wafting to him on the air...he heard...cheers. He heard music floating on the wind...and laughter. He felt his heart lift a little...and then his cell phone rang. He jumped slightly and then chided himself for doing so. Skinner plunged his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the cell.

"Skinner," he barked into it.

"The world didn't end, sir."

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner replied, his voice nearly incredulous.

"Yes, sir," the agent replied. There was a lightness in his voice. A quality that Skinner hadn't heard in Mulder's voice in a very long time. One of hope...and relief...pleasure, and...peace.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Skinner asked. He chided himself again, this time for sounding so clueless, so inattentive. But he'd been caught totally unaware and his brain was engaging a little slower from a combination of stress, fatigue and the cold night air.

"I said, the world didn't end," Mulder repeated with a slight chuckle.

Skinner smiled a little and let a touch of relief and approval creep into his voice as he answered.

"No, Mulder, it didn't," he replied.

"So...uh...I just thought you'd like to know we got things cleared up here successfully...and with a fairly low profile per your request," Mulder replied his voice convivial along with his typical irreverent delivery. Skinner grinned a little despite the close to insubordinate tone.

"I look forward to reading your report, Agent Mulder. I'm sure it will be highly interesting. I'm also sure Agent Scully will have it on my desk in her usual timely manner," Skinner answered acerbically.

He was rewarded with a genuine Mulder laugh on the other end of the line.

"Yes, sir, I expect it will be, and I expect she will," the agent replied.

He was silent for a moment and Skinner waited patiently. He thought he could hear the sound of an intercom in the background...someone paging a doctor?

"Mulder...are you and Scully all right?" he asked carefully, listening to the other man's breathing.

"Yeah, we're fine," Mulder replied, his voice again surprisingly buoyant.

"Good. Very good. Excellent work, Mulder. Tell Scully I said you both did an exemplary job," Skinner replied sincerely, not knowing what else to say.

"Yes, sir...thank you. And, sir...uh...I just wanted to say...Happy New Year," Mulder replied...his voice suddenly a bit softer and more companionable.

Skinner listened to the sound of his voice...the inflection...and it promised something he'd never hoped to hear again. It promised understanding, friendship and...forgiveness and he felt something tighten in his throat and chest, and something lighten in his soul. Walter Skinner smiled at the same time he felt tears in his eyes for the second time that night.

"Thank you, Mulder. Happy New Year to you too," he rumbled, clearing his throat.

There was a muffled voice suddenly on the other end of the connection, and Mulder said "What? Oh sure," and then he came back on the line.

"Sir...Scully says Happy New Year too," Mulder added, a smile in his voice.

The tears that had been held back, trickled down Skinner's cheeks, leaving cold, wet trails on his skin in the chill wind.

"Tell her I said....that I said the same," he mumbled into the phone.

"I will. Good night, sir," Mulder replied quietly.

"Good night, Mulder," Skinner answered more forcefully. "And God speed," he added impulsively.

"Thank you, sir," Mulder replied, his voice surprised but pleased as well.

The connection was severed and Skinner stared at his phone for a moment in wonder. Happy New Year. Happy...New...Year. Oh yeah. He'd have to say this was one of the best he could remember in a very long time. He lifted his glasses up and wiped his eyes on his coat sleeve. Readjusting his specs, he smiled yet again and then stuffed the cell phone back into his coat pocket.

When he looked up, the sound of a car door slamming caught his attention. He glanced around and then back across to where he knew the VW bus had been parked earlier. It was still parked there now...the engine no longer running and its three passengers standing at its side, gesturing expansively.

Skinner cocked his head and voices drifted over to him on the clear, cold night air.

"It's flat. What can I say?" Frohike's stringy blonde-haired companion complained with chagrin.

"You can not say you forgot to have the spare patched, Ringo," Frohike answered in dismay.

Langly. Skinner was pleased with himself. He remembered the long-haired blonde's name. He also remembered the other man... the man who was interceding as Frohike and Langly squared off toe to toe in argument. Byers. Yes, the bearded man who had doubled for Mulder in the hospital. Skinner smiled and shook his head as he watched them from across the park. They certainly weren't going anywhere with a flat tire and bum spare on board. He came to a decision, pulling his coat up around his ears again. Walter Skinner turned and took off across the park at a jog. He had 'Triple A'. Why not lend a hand. Why not spread a little New Year's cheer. Why not...why not indeed.

-THE END-