"Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear."

"The insane root

That takes the reason prisoner. "

~ Wm. Shakespeare

Part 4: Act of Faith
by J. Morningstar

Terror paralyzed her for one long moment; Pfaster's words echoing in her head.

//"Now, be good girly-girl. Don't cause me any problems."//

Fury took over then, and she was battling for her life. She fought fiercely -- without discipline, and was rewarded with a grunt when her elbow connected with solid abdomen and a hiss when her teeth broke flesh. She tasted the intruder's warm, metallic blood on her lips and was fiercely triumphant.

"Damn it Scully!"

Scully froze. That voice! It's tone was surly and irritated.

It was also very familiar.

Suddenly she was pushed away, freed from the imprisoning arms. She spun around, eyes wide, stunned at the identity of her assailant.

"Skinner? Are you insane? What the hell is going on?"

"That's what I'm here to find out." He snapped, grimacing as he cradled one hand against his chest.

Fear had sent adrenaline shooting through her blood stream. It was a struggle to calm her labored breathing. The short hallway was unlit, she peered warily the darkness, trying to discern his expression. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his eyes were hard and flat. He was furious. The thought both frightened and intrigued her. She fought the urge to step away while she stared at up at his towering figure, trying to divine some method to his apparent madness.

Twenty minutes ago they parted on amicable terms. What happened?

For a long moment studied him gingerly, then relaxed slightly. "Sir, I think maybe you've had a little too much to drink." It was the only thing that made sense.

His short laugh was without humor. "I'm not drunk, Scully." He rasped quietly. "But I'm beginning to wish I was." His gaze pinned her, and shuddered. She'd seen that expression once before, when he stared down the barrel of gun he had aimed at her heart.

This time she gave in to the impulse towards safety and quickly she stepped back, moving further into room. She was relieved that he didn't follow her, preferring, it seemed, to stay in the shadows of the vestibule. "Why don't you tell me what this is all about." She invited, then winced as she realized how patient and cajoling she sounded, hoping her condescending tone didn't incite his anger further.

"I want to know what you two have planned for me, and how long you've been scheming together." he said.

"Who?" She shook her head as if to clear it, then winced as the movement launched a shooting pain through the top of her head.

"Spender, Scully. CGB Spender." He paused. "I saw you together, in the hallway off the ballroom. You can stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."

She jerked. "Spender? That's what this is all about? You think I'm working with Spender?"

"You know, I don't even care what's going to happen. Hell, I've been a dead man for too long to care about that now." He stepped forward, grabbing her shoulders. "I just want to know why." His voice broke. "Why Scully? And why with him?" She continued to look at him; uncomprehending. "I thought we had reached an accord." He continued. "An understanding."

"Yes." she whispered, shaken by the intensity of his voice. "We did. We did reach an understanding." She reached out to lay a tentative hand on his forearm. "I just...I don't know what you're talking about."

But he ignored her protestations. "After everything that bastard's put you through, after all he's done to Mulder, why would you do this? Unless..." His voice trailed off and she watched as realization dawned across his face. "Unless he's blackmailing you."

She saw his shoulders sag and sensed the relief that pulsed through him. Sharp pains throbbed through her head and muddled her thought processes as she struggled to keep pace with his quicksilver thinking.

Skinner, she saw, was unaware of her turmoil. He closed his eyes, and for one brief moment, touched his forehead to hers. "Christ Scully. I can't believe I ever thought..." He pulled back and searched her face, willing her to believe his sincerity. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

Suddenly he stepped away and she jumped at his curse.

"That son of a bitch." He snarled. "Damn him!" She saw him lift his fist, and thought for a moment he might put it through the wall. She watched, fascinated, as he mastered his fury towards Spender.

When he turned back and approached her, she flinched, but settled at his gentle tone.

"You must be going through hell." he said, then once again grasped her shoulders. "Listen to me. Whatever hold he over you, whatever it is he's blackmailing you with, we can defeat it together. You're not alone in this." He shook her gently, his words urgent. "But Dana, you have to tell me everything. I can't help you if you hold something back."

Helplessly she looked up into his intense face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He continued, his voice low, urgent. "I saw you give him something. What was it?"

"I didn't give him anything, I...Oh God." She halted, suddenly recalling the matchbook Spender had dropped. She exhaled, her breath one long hiss, dropping her gaze. "Sir, I can explain. I..." She gasped, seeing blood his shirt, then searching and finding the injury on his left hand.

"Oh God. I can't believe I bit you." Her voice was laced with remorse, as she reached for his hand, startled when he pulled away and cradled it to his chest.

"Don't worry about it." he said shortly. "It's nothing more than I deserve."

"Regardless, we need to take care of it." She stared at him expectantly and he stared back. "Now." She insisted. He looked at her without speaking for several long moments, then finally relented, allowing her to guide him into the bathroom.

As she held his hand under a stream of lukewarm water, her mind desperately scrambled to make sense of what was happening. She tried to reconcile the man she had left in the ballroom with the man who had manhandled her moments ago, and who now stood, quiet and contrite as she washed his blood and her saliva from his injured hand.

In all the months she felt her sanity slipping away as Pfaster's voice ate at her piece of mind, she never felt as fragmented and unbalanced as she did at this moment. She expected eccentric behavior from Mulder. But Skinner? Skinner was rational; orderly.

Early on in their acquaintance, she had neatly filed Skinner into a carefully prescribed box, and he seldom strayed out of its parameters. His unholy fury and cold rejection a month ago was one of the more notable exceptions - a highly unusual aberration. Most of the time Skinner could be depended on to act in a consistent and steady manner. After days on a case, living in the world-according-to-Mulder, Scully knew she could always find solace in returning to the comfort of Skinner's logical, reasonable intellect. He was her touchstone, a calm and welcome port when the sea of Mulder's conspiracies and monsters became too stormy.

If it was true that she kept Mulder honest, then it was also true that Skinner kept her grounded.

In the months since Pfaster's attack, she discovered that the dependable patterns of her own mind could be warped and corrupted. She learned that she could be haunted by sounds that did not exist. She realized that she could obsess over running water and deadbolts, or on a handful of phrases mouthed by a twisted killer. She found that she could too easily lose control of her carefully fostered composure.

And now, suddenly, Skinner was no longer predictable. Or was just that she had blinded herself from seeing him as anything other than a flat, two dimensional character. Had she been arrogant or naive in trying to catagorize a man she instinctively knew was more complicated than the public persona he showed to the world?

She sighed and turned off the faucet, careful to keep her gaze fixed on his hand. She knew he was watching her, and the weight of his stare was heavy. She felt it smothering her.

She studiously avoided his scrutiny as she gently patted his hand dry. "It doesn't look too bad, but the skin is broken. We should put some antibiotic ointment on it. Come." She led him by the wrist to the sitting area and pushed him down on the couch. He was amazingly docile, but she refused to dwell on the idiosyncrasies of his manner.

She on the edge of the coffee table facing him. There knees touched. She lifted his hand and placed it palm up on her lap and was amazed to discover how it's warmth and weight soothed her ragged nerves. Some of the tension in her spine released and she relaxed slightly as she concentrated on dressing Skinner's wounded hand.

"Tell me the rest of it Scully." The husky timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she looked up to find hunched towards her, his face inches from her own. At this distance, she saw that his eyes were the color of deep, brown chocolate. She wondered how she ever thought them flat and expressionless.

"Scully?"

His voice startled her. She realized that she'd been staring into his eyes and ducked her head, abashed. She stilled her hands for a moment to concentrate on her narrative.

"As I was leaving the ballroom, someone called my name. Had I known who it was, I would have kept walking. But he was hidden in the shadows. As you already know, it was Spender. He asked if I knew where Mulder was. He reached for a cigarette, then pulled out some matches, which he dropped on the floor." She paused for emphasis. "That's what I picked up and what you saw me hand to him."

"But Spender doesn't use matches, he uses a lighter."

"That's just it. There was something written on the matchbook cover. Something I was meant to see."

He was cautious, but couldn't contain the curiosity her remark piqued. "What?"

"‘Rex 84.'" She started at his hiss. "You know what it means?"

He didn't answer, and she could almost hear the wheels turning as he struggled to put the pieces together.

"Where is Mulder?" he asked finally.

"Mulder's in Wisconsin. Investigating the murder of a priest. He called tonight, not long ago. He wants me to fly out tomorrow." She paused, hesitating. "I asked him if ‘Operation Rex 84' meant anything to him."

"Of course it meant something to him. That's the kind of conspiracy stuff that makes Mulder salivate. What did he say?"

"Not a lot, actually. The phone cut out. But it was clear that he was surprised and concerned that I mentioned it."

If Skinner wanted to remain tight-lipped about Rex 84, Dana would not pressure him. She had won round one when she bullied him into letting her care for his hand. He could have this one.

Scully returned her attention to the task at hand. She carefully spread ointment over the puncture wounds. She then covered the area with a gauze two-by-two, securing the edges with silk tape. As she inspected her handiwork she murmured, "Human saliva is more dangerous than a canine bite, you know. When was your last tetanus shot?"

When he remained silent, she looked at him finally, and recoiled from the intensity of his regard. The quality of his gaze reminded her of something, something just out of reach. She frowned, uncomfortable beneath his heavy stare.

She searched for something to lighten the atmosphere. "Why do you think Spender is planning something against you? Is something going on? Something new?"

Skinner began to respond, but Scully winced suddenly, and held up a hand to stay his words. "You know what, I don't want to know. Not just now." She closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples. "I can't take one more thing tonight."

She heard him swear softly. Suddenly he was nudging her chin and tipping her face up so he could study it. "What it is, Scully? Headache?"

"Just a slight one. Look, can we talk about this more tomorrow?" Waves of sharp pain echoed through her skull and down her neck. She knew what was coming, how the pain would make her lose control, bring her to her knees. She didn't want anyone to see her like this. Especially him.

She had to get Skinner out of here.

It was a mistake. A stupid, foolish mistake. Had any of his agents perpetrated such a imprudent lapse in judgement, he would have made it his personal mission to boot them from the Bureau.

A rational man - a sane man - would have knocked on the door, waited to be invited in, and then politely but relentlessly ask his questions.

Skinner was no longer sure that sane and rational were categories in which he belonged.

He told himself he needed to surprise her - that knocking on the door and allowing her to view him through the peephole would give her too much time to prepare. He told himself he wanted to read the look on her face the instant he confronted her.

And she made it easy for him, allowing the slow, heavy door to lumber shut instead latching it firmly behind her. He had the space of one heartbeat to make up his mind, to choose his approach.

He never intended to harm her, just immobilize her so he could question her on his terms - basic academy-taught skills. So when he grasped her from behind, he had expected a clear, by-the-book response to the physical threat. Instead, she fought like an undisciplined hellion.

She bit him.

The feeling of her lips and teeth on his skin still lingered.

He shook his head, trying to banish that wayward thought.

The red hair all but hid her face from his view. He nudged her chin up, focusing on her intently, dismayed to note the redness about her eyes and the knot between her brows. That she was in great pain was clear, but he sensed something more. Her chest moved rapidly and her respirations were shallow pants. She has twisted her fingers together and held them carefully on her lap, but the whitened knuckles and the periodic twitching of her arms betrayed the state of her nerves.

Her voice was barely audible, as if forming words was in itself, painful and exhausting. "Please go away, Sir. I just need some time alone."

He ignored her request, and as he continued to observe her, he allowed his focus to blur. He considered the aura of energy which he always perceived about her, and experienced a sudden and inexplicable vision of darkness and helpless agony.

A few years ago, he would have laughed at such a fanciful notion, but no longer. Six years of supervising the X-Files had exposed him to phenomena that could not be explained through conventional thinking. He felt a connectedness with this woman, whether he could explain it or not. He sometimes thought he sensed her presence in the building, even when she was somewhere in the depths of the basement and he was several floors above. When she and Mulder were in the field on a case, the air in the building seemed stale and stuffy, and he would feel his senses dull and his mind soften.

"Scully, I'm not going to leave you like this. Come on now." he cajoled. "I want you to take something for your headache. Have you got anything with you?"

He watched her close her eyes and draw a deep breath. "Please go. I can take care of this myself." Her voice was as fragile as spun glass, and he feared that she would splinter apart at any moment.

"I'll leave as soon as I'm convinced that your going to be alright." He saw her worry at her lower lip with small white teeth and knew she was considering his words.

"In my purse." She finally said and moved as if to rise.

"No, you stay, I'll get it." He found it the beaded black evening bag she had carried in the ballroom and held it up. "This one?" At her negative response, he looked further and found a larger leather bag. He returned to her side and placed it gently on her lap.

He watched her careful movements as she pulled a plastic case the size of a cigarette package from the purse.

"An injection?" he questioned.

She nodded and he noticed her gaze drop to her lap and the frown she directed at her stocking clad thighs. He was instantly aware of her dilemma. "I can give you the shot Scully."

She looked at him quickly, then winced as the sudden movement caused further pain.

"Come on, I'll give it in your arm. It will hurt less than giving it to yourself in your thigh."

She frowned at him suspiciously. "How do you know so much about this?"

He smiled ruefully. "I have migraines. I know all about these injection kits."

Scully was surprised, and in too much pain to hide it politely. "You, Sir? That seems so..." She trailed off, flushing as she realized what she was about to say.

"Seems so what? Human?" He chuckled then, noticing her embarrassment. "It's Okay Scully. I happen to think it's good if my agents don't see me as a mere mortal."

"Little danger of that happening." She commented without thinking.

He barked with laughter, then quieted when he saw her wince. "Sorry." But she smiled, her embarrassment fading. She seemed pleased to share a joke with him and he grinned widely in return.

As he watched her, his smile faded. He leaned forward then, and gave into the urge he'd been fighting for months, since the first time he observed one smooth lank of hair fall across her face. He reached out and with a tentative hand, tucked it behind her ear. He was surprised to find it so soft. He threaded his fingers along her temple again and once more combed them back through her hair. Her lashes dropped and her whole body seemed to sag. He held his hand there, cupped behind her ear. She opened her eyes and found him watching her. He saw her lips part and their gazes locked. He swallowed, suddenly finding it too warm in the room. "Come on, let's get this taken care of." He stood up and shed his jacket, then knelt beside her and carefully palpated the flesh of her upper arm. "Well Doctor, does this spot look good to you?" He was surprised to find her watching his hands intently. She blinked at him owlishly. "What? Umm, yes, that looks...perfect."

He carefully wiped the area clean with an alcohol-soaked pad, then pressed the cartridge against her arm, causing the needle to slip beneath her skin and inject the medicine. He was careful to hold it there for a full five count, ensuring that the syringe emptied completely.

"What's in this?" he asked.

"Demerol."

"Strong stuff."

She nodded and breathed deeply, leaning back into the couch, waiting for the medicine to preform it's magic. But his unblinking stare unnerved her. She looked up at him, willing him to leave.

"Thank you." she said at length. "I'll be alright now."

At his lack of response, her voice was more forceful. "Really, you can go now."

"Not yet. Not until I'm sure you'll be alright." He held up a hand to stay her protest. "I will get my way on this Scully. You might as well give up and save your energy for another battle." He beckoned her near. "Come on. Let me help sooth the last of the pain away."

"What? How?" She blinked suspiciously, pulling away.

"It's OK, I have headaches too. I know all about this stuff."

"Really?" She responded dryly. "More than a doctor?"

He chuckled as he pulled her to his chest and lifted a hand to stroke her aching head. But the position was awkward. With a deft move, he slipped her onto his lap and cradled her head against his shoulder. Again he lifted a hand and gently stroked from the top of her head the base of her neck, massaging the tense and knotted muscles.

"Oh" she said softly as he repeated the caress again, sliding his hands through her silky hair. Again he gently stroked her and finally felt her begin to relax.

"See." He rumbled. "I know what works." For a brief moment, he felt her smile against his neck, and he murmured approvingly. "That's it, just relax." He continued the rhythmic stroking, holding her close to his heart, combing his fingers through her hair. "That's it Dana, relax. Let the medicine do it's job. I'll keep you safe."

He felt her stiffen slightly, and murmur, "Sometimes I think nothing can keep me safe. Not really."

"I'll keep you safe." He insisted fiercely and pulled her closer.

She looked up at him then. "Who will keep me safe from you?"

He flinched, then looked away, his hand stilled on her neck.

She was instantly contrite, and gently pulled his face back to her. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I don't mean it. I really don't." He looked at her intently, then whispered. "Don't worry about it. We seem to bring out the worst in each other lately."

She looked down, toying with a button on his shirt. She struggled to find something to say to make it right again, to unlive the last few moments. He shifted her in his lap, and that is when she felt it. The hard length of his arousal pressing against her thigh. She looked up into his eyes and in one instant, all the hints and signals she had missed or ignored crystallized into one clear reality.

This man wanted her.

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