TITLE:  Abject
AUTHOR:  PD
DISCLAIMER:  They all belong to Chris.  May he love them and 
treat them as they would him - with kindness and care and hope 
for the future.
CLASSIFICATION:  VRA - MSR - Skinner/Scully something or other 
RATING:  PG-13
SPOILERS:  Nope 
ARCHIVAL:  Gossamer, yes - All others, please let me know   
SUMMARY:  Scully is everyone's caretaker, isn't she?
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Just for the record, I adore Skinner.  I really 
do.

All stories can be found at http://home.earthlink.net/~pdryder/

FEEDBACK:  I'd really like to know what you're thinking when you 
reach the end.  pdryder@earthlink.net

   


*******************
Abject


By PD
*******************



Georgetown
9:20 PM


He occupied the booth at the rear of the smoky bar and grill the 
same way he occupied his own body.  It was with authority, self-
assurance, rigid discipline.  This, in spite of having consumed 
several drinks.

His jacket and topcoat were slung over the back of the booth.  
His shirtsleeves rolled up twice, neatly to display his muscular 
forearms.  The knot in his tie was pulled down, and the top two 
buttons of his shirt were undone - just enough to expose a few 
wiry hairs sprouting from his chest.  His Adam's apple bobbed 
once as he tossed back the last of the single malt in the 
tumbler.  He would drink no more tonight.  He was a solid man and 
had been a drinker for a very long time, but he knew that five 
was enough to do the job, and six would destroy the whole thing.  
It was all about control.

Control.  Now, that's something she could relate to, he thought.  
Something they had in common.  That and a stubborn, obsessed FBI 
agent.  He admitted it to himself.  Sometimes, he hated Mulder.  
He pulled and tugged and ramrodded his way to his divine truth, 
and he never wavered.  He never backed down.  He never let Them 
break him.  And he hated the way he allowed her to latch on.  
Somehow, that was Mulder's fault.  Bastard.

"Get you another?" the waitress asked.  She of the tight jeans 
and T-shirt.

Walter Skinner shook his head.  "Total me up."

"Sure thing, honey."

The waitress and her round little ass wandered back to the bar 
under his peripheral scrutiny.  He wondered if she was smirking 
at him behind his back.  He lowered his gaze and absently 
massaged his forehead with three fingers.  He would never know.

His view of the hardwood floor of the bar suddenly included 
small, white tennis shoes that had apparently seen better days. 

"Sir?"

His eyes trailed from the tops of the sneakers, up the snug, 
faded jeans spotted with white paint, ventured over the too big 
denim shirt to her face - confused, concerned and amused at once.  
Blue eyes shining behind small, wire rim glasses, she raised her 
brows in the ever-present question marking her features that 
said, 'what the hell is going on around here?'.  

Over her ensemble of the evening, she wore a black wool overcoat.  
Winter and discontent were approaching.

"Sir?  Are you all right?"

"I'm fine Agent Scully.  Why do you ask?" 

She opened her mouth and closed it before she spoke without 
thinking.  She eyed his appearance and tried again.  "I was just 
in to get some food and I saw you.  You don't look - well."

He brushed off the assessment and leaned back in the booth.  
"Painting?"

She glanced down at herself and smiled.  "Kitchen cabinets.  But 
we needed a break and I lost the toss for a food run."

He ignored the notion that she could have ordered in and focused 
instead on the use of her pronouns.  "We?"

"Mulder's helping me.  Besides, he has more paint on him than I 
do, so..."  She said it with a fond smile.  An affectionate 
smile.  The ache behind his eyes stabbed at him, and she placed a 
warm hand on his forearm.  "Are you sure you're all right?"

He was making an ass of himself.  He formed an approximation of a 
smile, the best he could do under the circumstances, really and 
patted her hand in assurance.  "Really, I'm okay."  He waved a 
hand in front of him.  "I've had a couple of drinks.  You know, 
winding down from the day."  He smiled again, better this time.  
"Guess I'm thinking too much."

She chuckled and gave his arm a squeeze before she let go.  "You, 
uh - are you over your limit or could I join you for one?"

"Won't you be missed?"  He managed to keep the venom out of the 
question.

She shrugged.  "I have to wait for the food anyway.  Mulder loves 
the burgers here and they take forever."  She sat across from him 
and proceeded to slide all the way around.  "You mind?"

Skinner shook his head and signaled for the waitress again.  She 
fairly loped toward him.  "Sorry.  I got side-tracked," she said 
and flashed Scully a smile.

"No, that's okay," Skinner said.  "Um, I'll have another and the 
lady will have...?"  He turned to Scully and she regarded the 
semi-perky waitress.

"Whatever he's having," she said.

"Right."  The waitress turned on her heel and wiggled back to the 
bar.

Skinner turned to Scully to find her smiling.  "She's friendly," 
she said.

"Mm, not really.  So..."

"So?"

"So, you're painting," he said.

"Mm hm."  

He furrowed his brow and observed the smile on her face.  Was she 
laughing at him?  Teasing him?  Maybe she couldn't wait to get 
back home and share with Mulder.  The boss is getting drunk.  He 
eyed the table top.  "What are you doing here, Scully?"

"I told you.  Getting food -"  The waitress returned and set 
their drinks down.  She turned and made a beeline for the 
restrooms.  "- and having a drink."  She took a sip of the 
Scotch.  "Mm.  And talking to you."

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why, Scully?  Why are you talking to me?"

"I - sir, would you rather I left?  I'm sorry if I intruded, but 
I didn't think that - I didn't realize that my company would be 
so invasive."

She started to slide out of the booth.  He reached for her arm 
and held her fast.  "I'm sorry.  Please stay.  I told you - 
just...  I'm just thinking too much."

Scully nodded and fondled her glass.  Skinner observed the 
change.  Well, now, she was uncomfortable.  She sat down happy, 
and willing to - what?  Willing to what?  He sighed and downed 
half his drink.    

"Is this about Mulder, sir?"

She wavered.  He blinked and her image swam in his eyes.

"Because if it is, I'd just like to say that on our own time, it 
is no one's business.  No one's."

Well, there it is, he thought.  They're lovers.  He tipped the 
heavy glass to his lips and let the smooth fire of the scotch 
trickle down his throat and take away his senses.  He let his 
hand and the empty glass drop to the table with a solid thud.  
And there, her hand was on his arm again.

"Sir.  Let me get you a cab."  It was amazing how her tone could 
change so drastically from one moment to the next.  Now, she felt 
sorry for him.  Great.

He saw her shape next to him and watched as she inched closer, 
her knee pressing against his.  "Sir?"  Her hand was grasping at 
his bicep.

His head lolled on his neck.  The sounds in the bar sounded like 
the ocean in his ears and time was no longer part of his world.  
Her voice faded in and out like the waves.

" - it's me...  not so good... I know... right now -"

He raised his head and found her staring, searching his eyes.  "I 
called you a cab.  Mulder will be here soon."  Her voice low and 
soothing.  Quiet.  Sensual.  He reached out and took her hand.  
Pulled her closer.

"You - you're always so proper," he said.  

She frowned and let him tug on her hand.  "Proper.  Always, 
Scully.  When do you - let go?"

She was close to him.  So close.  He could smell everything.  Her 
perfume, sweat, paint and what?  Arousal?  No.  Not for him.  
Never for him.  He leaned closer.  One hand tangled with hers, 
and the other reached for her.  His fingers clutched at the back 
of her neck.  

"Scully..."  Breathing her in.  Her breath leaving her in short 
bursts.  Aroused?  Or terrified?  "I want to - just -"  He leaned 
in the last fraction and touched his lips to hers, lightly, just 
tasting.  She let him pull away on his own.  He heard her sigh, 
and he tasted her breath.  It was comprehension, sadness, warmth.  
Pity.

He closed his eyes under the sudden and overwhelming cloud of 
shame.  She drew her hand down his cheek.  "It's okay," she said, 
and then she said it again.  "It's okay."

"What's going on here?"

It was him.  The hateful, obsessed, irrational - 

"Mulder," she breathed.  "It's all right.  Help me."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder.  Help me."

Skinner felt Mulder's strong arms hooking under his armpits and 
lifting him.  He wanted to slip through them and take out his 
knee caps just to hear the pop.  They hauled him away and 
conversed as if he wasn't there, and maybe he wasn't.

"Did you order the food?"

"I did," she said.  "Just help me."

"What's going on?" Mulder asked.  "What the hell was that about?"

"I don't know.  He's - I just bumped into him."

"You call a cab?  I'm starving."

"Yes, and you'll live for a few more minutes.  Do you have any 
money?"

Skinner felt the cold chill of Fall kissing his face, and the 
insistent traffic drowned out the ocean in his head.

"Go with him, Mulder.  Make sure he gets home all right.  I'll 
see you at home."

"Yeah.  Keep my burger warm?"

"Always.  Are you going to be all right, sir?"

Skinner managed a nod as they poured him into the waiting cab.  
He slouched against the door and breathed in the scent of vomit, 
alcohol and body odor as the cab rumbled around him.

"I want you to know, sir, that I wouldn't disrupt my date with a 
cheeseburger for just anyone."

"Except Scully," Skinner slurred.

"Scully's always an exception."

Skinner's vision cleared enough to note the passing scenery and 
his destination of home.  They rode in silence for miles.  Over 
the putrid odors of the cab, Skinner smelled her.  Not on 
himself, but on the man next to him.  She was all over him.  

Mulder broke the silence as they slowed to a stop, and his voice 
was firm.  The words, possessive.  "Don't ever do that again, 
sir.  I mean that."

Skinner nodded as the cab came to a halt.  He began to dig for 
his wallet.  

"I got it," Mulder said.  "Can you get up there all right?  You 
have your keys?"

"I'm all right," he assured him and opened the door.  

"I'll help you up."

"I'm fine," he said sharply.  "Bastard," he whispered and closed 
the door on Mulder's idea of concern.

He lumbered through the lobby, into the elevator and managed to 
enter his apartment without incident.  He pictured them as he 
leaned heavily against the cool wood of the door.  She would open 
her arms and embrace him as he walked in.  She would lean against 
him, hot and wanting and kiss him with those lips, open and warm 
and so, so sweet.  And then he would let her go so he could eat 
his cheeseburger.

He would let her go.  But he still had her.

Bastard.


END