TITLE: In Limine

NAME: frogdoggie

E-MAIL: frogdoggie@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

RATING: NC-17. SK/SC. This story contains explicit het sex. So, if you don’t like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution.

SUMMARY: Every relationship has a story. This is my version of Skinner and Scully's story. Missing a part of this opus or just want to read more of my fic? Then surf here: https://www.squidge.org/3wstop.

FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? They only serve to warm my body and mind.

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

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This season after "Signs and Wonders". Spoilers would include the entire series up to and including "Signs and Wonders", at any rate. References specifically to Duane Barry, Piper Maru/Apocrypha, Irresistible, Avatar, Zero Sum, SR819, Biogenesis, Sixth Extinction, Amor Fati, Orison, and Fight the Future.

KEYWORDS: story romance Skinner Scully NC-17

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

Completed in February of 2000.

Author's note: To my list mates on Scuttlebutts, especially Mel. See...I solved the wine problem! ROFL. Thanks to you all for making me feel so welcome. I appreciated it. I offer this story in humble thanks.

In Limine

by frogdoggie

He remembered how it began...

He couldn't exactly remember the first time she'd touched him though...he was almost sure there had been a casual touch at one point or another sometime before he'd been shot. Before he grabbed her hand in the hospital after coming out of surgery. He remembered being woozy from the painkillers and the sudden clarity of his focus when she'd bent over the gurney and he'd taken her hand. Yes, that was the time he counted as the first time she touched him. Her touch had been electric...warm, comforting and the expression on her face compassionate. He couldn't believe how fast his heart was lost to her in that hospital corridor.

Oh, he knew he'd been headed that way the minute she'd walked into his office with Mulder for their first meeting together. He'd chided himself over it however, saying...Walter...this has got to be a mid-life crisis. Come on. Get real. Your marriage is on the rocks and you're looking for the rebound here, you idiot. There were a host of other reasons not to even think about it. Good reasons and amongst them the ones involving what she looked like and what he looked like. He heard an inner voice in a moment of middle-aged angst and self-doubt telling him loud and clear that someone like her could never be interested in someone like him. But the crowning reason had been of course...she was his subordinate.

Scully was under his jurisdiction and he told himself 'thou shalt not go there.' He lived by rules and regulations, protocol...and that was something that just wasn't done in his book. But...he'd been attracted to her. He chalked it up to hormones...at least a sign that he was still alive between the legs when he felt that warmth of arousal making him hard for her. But he shoved it all to the back of his mind...no matter how loudly his cock was yelling for him to give it a shot. He got on with business...as he'd always done.

But holding her hand in the hospital had pretty much broken through his defenses and he knew he loved her. Loved her and knew he would never tell her. After all...she didn't trust him and he told himself he was savvy enough to know he couldn't convince her to wholly trust him...ever. For better or worse he had stuck to his balancing act...his fence-sitting posture. He'd told himself it was the right way...his way of treading the line so he could walk behind the scenes and still be of use to her and Mulder. He didn't blame Scully for not trusting him, though. It's hard to trust someone who won't be forthcoming even in matters of the heart...and he'd always wondered if she sensed that in him too and it just added to the mistrust.

He remembered having half a thought about trying to explain his feelings to her. But...he just couldn't let himself...couldn't bring himself to do it. Here he was, a vet, years of service in the field for the Bureau, an AD, combat hardened in more than one way...and the idea of revealing his innermost hopes, dreams and desires to a woman he was falling in love with was scaring him shitless. You would have thought he'd learned from past mistakes. After all, fear of communicating was one of the big things that had wrecked his marriage. But evidently he hadn't learned at that point. He kept his counsel, went back to his life and work... and soldiered on.

He remembered his feelings growing for her however, despite willing them not to, and despite their continued dance of mistrust. One day he made a deal with the devil in an attempt to save her life. A deal that failed to his shame. No, he hadn't saved her...it had been Mulder who had saved her, once again. Skinner remembered how much that had hurt as well. How impotent he felt under the weight of that special feeling Scully and Mulder had together and the certainty that he would never come under her regard in the same way. At the time...and for a long time afterwards he'd never told her he tried to save her.

He remembered the first time she'd kissed him. In the elevator. God...that had been a hell of a shock. Not the kiss so much. In truth...he had seen it coming. No, it had been that split-second look, that flicker he'd seen in her eyes afterwards that had shocked him. That tiny flicker had caused hope to well up in him, hot and bright, and he'd fanned it for a long time before he'd finally gotten up the courage to act on it.

He had hesitated because despite that flicker of attraction for him that he saw in Scully's eyes he asked himself...what's wrong with this picture? She's desperate and she still doesn't really trust you but you're her last hope was what was wrong. She grabbed you and planted that kiss over what...or more correctly...who? Fox Mulder, that was who. You're helping her to locate the man she's probably really in love with and the kiss was one of gratitude to begin with no matter what he thought he'd seen in her eyes afterwards.

He remembered when he first thought she and Mulder were in love...and how to his surprise, that had hurt like hell. It had been after that case, the first case with Donnie Pfaster. Mulder's actions during Scully's earlier disappearance courtesy of Duane Barry, had started him thinking along those lines. It was just...intuition really...signals...a look...a gesture. He had gotten the idea then that there was more to Mulder and Scully's partnership than business. They fought like cats and dogs in the beginning, believer and skeptic and then gradually he could see the lines even there begin to blur between them. Skinner was, if nothing else, a good manager. He was attuned to his subordinate's personalities and all signs pointed to something going on between Mulder and Scully...acknowledged or unacknowledged even on their part...that said they were more than just working together.

He only had to see her storming into his office, demanding his help to know there was so much more there than mere FBI 'I'll watch your back and you'll watch mine' between her and Mulder. She'd been like a fucking juggernaut for Christ's sake. Time and again she'd thrown herself between him and Mulder, or asked for support or help for Mulder. And Mulder had done the same for her really. Antarctica being the most obvious instance of it beside trying to save her from the cancer that nearly killed her. So...where did that leave Skinner? It left him not wanting to interfere or step between two people fighting an untenable fight who cared so much for each other.

He remembered that after that there were so many memories he didn't want to remember. After the nanocytes. He could barely fathom how he was living with death inside him 24/7. But...he was familiar with the condition...with death. Of course...everyone was destined to die, it was a fact of life. And it wasn't that he was afraid to die. He'd faced that fear in Nam and on the job too and knew it well. Knew what it was like to stare death in the face. Yes, he'd been to war...he knew what it was like to realize that any minute...in the space of a heartbeat...you could die at another man's hands. But this was different. In wartime the other man didn't often ask you to betray the woman you loved before he pulled the God damned trigger.

But he had betrayed her and Mulder. Even after everything he'd said to Scully in the hospital...about the idea he should have helped them long ago. How he was dying in vain because he hadn't been as much help as he could be in their quest. He didn't recognize the man who did what he did after that speech. The dismissal from his office...the fucking brush off and 'thank you very much Mulder and Scully but you'll report to AD Kersh and only AD Kersh'. He felt like Pontius Pilate washing his hands of the whole matter. But he had washed his hands of it and he'd said it because he knew...he knew Alex Krycek would come knocking on his door and he just couldn't risk them...risk her. And Krycek did, and he betrayed them and he felt like Judas Iscariot then.

For a long time he had a gut full of guilt, shame and self-loathing over his behavior. He'd done Krycek's bidding and hated himself for it. He'd made a vain attempt to console himself by arguing that it was the lesser of the two evils since Krycek insisted he was working for the resistance. But he had always told himself that resisting one master and serving another made Krycek a fool and a traitor anyway...and it made him a fool too as well as a pawn for not just telling him to hit the switch and end it all for him. Because by that point...he wanted to die. One look in Scully's eyes outside the psych ward with Mulder howling inside a padded room had made him wish he had the palm pilot in hand so he could hit the switch himself.

He remembered touching her then. He'd taken her hand and called her Dana. His actions had been atypical and besides just wanting to connect with her in some way to express his horror for what happened, he'd hoped through his action's atypical nature she would realize what was really going on in that hallway...with Fowley breathing down their necks. He'd allowed himself to slip up and reveal knowledge he knew she'd know he couldn't possibly have gotten from her...had to have gotten by other means. He was the desperate one then. Desperate to convey to her what he knew and the position he was in. He guessed in the long-run she had known...but not exactly in the way he'd hoped. Careful what you wish for Walter he'd thought at the time. She'd called him a liar and although it was true...he'd lied by sin of omission and he'd certainly betrayed her...the word still cut like a knife.

He'd gotten drunk afterwards. Royally so. And after that he felt like he was wasted most of the time without drinking a drop of alcohol. Sleepwalking through the job...his life...with the sword of Damocles hanging over his head and that lingering look of disgust and mistrust in Scully's eyes going along for the perambulation.

Mulder had almost died, Scully had gone to Africa without permission to save his life, and Skinner was left to try to pick up the pieces in DC. Pick up the pieces but instead he'd fumbled the ball. He had tried however, and on face value what he'd done at Mulder's request may have ultimately been the only course to take...but nonetheless he had to face his failure. The only bright note, if you could call it bright, came when Mulder told him he knew he was compromised and why. At least Mulder knew and still trusted him enough to ask for his help. It had also done one other beneficial thing. It had made him a believer. He could see and understand that what was afflicting Mulder couldn't be of human origin. He'd suspected as much and had enough inside knowledge to know it was a possibility. But he'd been in denial, skeptical until that day in the hospital. Believing brought some hope to him...but it also brought more shame because by admitting he had been in denial he admitted yet another mistake in his strategy as well.

He remembered having the crushing certainty...almost a premonition, that he was a danger to Mulder and Scully the minute he got involved as well. The things in his blood were more of a hindrance than any check he put on himself over the years. He knew if he was aware of Mulder's true whereabouts after he disappeared from the hospital, the information could very well be common knowledge for the wrong people with just the flick of a switch. So, he distanced himself from the case. Pulled back...and suffered for it anyway.

Krycek had come to him in his office and demanded information. In one terrible moment during his threats and posturing Skinner's phone rung and it had been Scully on the other end of the line. Listening to her he felt his guts twist into knots. She was asking him about a book. He had no idea what she was talking about but he could tell by her tone of voice that she had thought he might have sent her the book. It sounded like she still had an infinitesimal amount of trust in him and assumed it was him. At the same time his heart filled with emotion...with an almost mind stunning happiness over that development, he felt sick at heart because Krycek was standing there listening and if there was any chance he could understand what they were talking about it would be disastrous.

He'd hung up on Scully, cursing himself inwardly for crushing that tiny bit of trust he'd heard. Then he'd turned to Krycek and cursed him. He'd told him point blank to go to hell. Instead...the bastard sent him there. For a few agonizing minutes the activated nanocytes brought him excruciating pain and then...chaos. Scully rushing in. Kimberly rushing in. Krycek rushing out and running away...escaping. Scully back at his side. Kim had called 911 of course but Scully made him lay down on the carpet and checked his vitals. He'd ended up holding her hand again. "Krycek," he'd gasped out. "It was...I'm..." he'd started to stutter out an explanation, an apology and she nodded. "I know," she said and then the paramedics had arrived. As they were taking Skinner out, he got a last glimpse of Scully's face. He could tell that Mulder must have told her. Told her and she had pity for him. For Skinner that was almost worse than her scorn.

He remembered when he finally decided enough was enough. The point where he had finally allowed that tiny flame over the idea that she cared something for him to grow into a conflagration. When he finally had to get it all off his chest. When he couldn't stand it anymore and knew if he didn't say something to Scully in way of clarification or confession or...something...he was going to eat his gun.

It had been during the Millennium group case. What he came to refer to as the Frank Black case since Black had an integral part in its success and at that point he was sadly in need of hearing some successes anywhere in his life. The case had dealt with the Millennium group's plans to bring about the end of the world by resurrecting four dead FBI agents in an interpretation of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Skinner remembered at the time seeing a macabre joke in that scenario during his briefing with Mulder and Scully. He'd looked at Mulder during the meeting and thought...Jesus, guys...get in line. Line up behind the cigarette smoking bastard and a raft of little gray men and wait your turn at bringing about Armageddon. He'd barely suppressed the crazed laughter that rose up as he sat alone in his office afterwards.

Then Scully had been attacked and injured in the line of duty. Skinner had been trying to find Mulder, who seemed to have gone missing when he got the word. He immediately went down to Rice County, Maryland, and walked into the aftermath of a battle that had been the Rice County Morgue. His ostensible reason was to see if Scully knew of Mulder's whereabouts. But in reality he knew deep down he wanted to make sure she was all right.

He remembered...he touched her then too. The last time he'd ever touch her informally. Her neck...he'd touched her neck and grimaced at the appearance of it. The touch and then he'd asked, "How are you feeling?" and then, "What the hell happened here?" after she replied. That was it. What he'd wanted to do was pound his fist into the wall because she was hurt. For a fleeting moment he wanted to embrace her and offer comfort that way. But, he knew instinctively that she didn't need or want his embrace in that morgue. That any kind of intimacy in that situation was wrong...and inappropriate. Besides, he realized that a formal accounting...giving her report...would serve to calm her. She'd carry out her duty because she was strong, a woman in a man's world...an agent and that was what was expected of her in that situation. So, he had given her the space to do her duty and in that moment, watching her wrestle with her disbelief in events and try to make a fair assessment of what had transpired....he knew he'd be lost if he didn't open up to her. If he didn't at least try to tell her how very much he admired her.

After she'd returned and was back at the Hoover, he had made his move. Mulder had left early. He'd actually asked for a few days off because his arm was bothering him and Scully insisted he wasn't doing either of them any good moaning and groaning about it down in the basement. They actually joked about it during the debriefing and for a few moments Skinner felt some long lost camaraderie with them as he listened and nodded and smiled a little at their teasing. He approved the short leave of absence. He also heard Scully tell Mulder she was going to stay and organize her notes from the last couple of cases since she felt things were in disarray on her side of the basement office. Mulder feigned incredulity that she could ever be disorganized and their banter had continued all the way through his reception area. Later, it was with almost a certain feeling of doom...as in his next actions would be doomed to failure, that he scrawled a note, inserted it into the report they'd just gone over, and took himself and the folder down to the basement.

He remembered arriving downstairs and then standing for what seemed like forever outside the elevator doors as they closed so he could marshal both his thoughts and his courage. He remembered Scully's reaction when he showed up in the doorway. She'd been at her desk, looked up and both eyebrows had shot to her hairline.

"Sir?" she asked.

"Agent Scully...I had a few questions about your report. Do you have a moment?" he replied.

"Uh...yes, sir. Come in, sit down...please," she'd gestured at the chair near her desk.

Skinner had walked in and sauntered over...his exterior conveying calm, restrained authority and his interior shaking like a leaf. He sat down, placed the folder in front of her and Scully pushed her glasses back into place on her nose as she looked down on it. Skinner opened the cover and spoke as Scully's eyes scanned the first sheet of paper that lay on top.

"I need you to clarify a few points, Scully. A 'yes' or 'no' in each instance should suffice," he told her quietly. Then he sat back and waited for her answer.

The top sheet was a single sheet of white paper - his FBI letterhead. The note was of course, written in his handwriting. The note said:

//Scully,

I need to talk to you. Would you meet me later? It's important and it's not something we can discuss here in the Hoover. Do you know the location of Garibaldi's Italian restaurant? It's located near your neighborhood. If not...I can write directions to it here. Could we meet there at 8 PM for dinner? The table will be in my name...and dinner will be on me.

Walter S. Skinner//

Scully read the note over carefully and her face grew very still at first. He held his breath as her brow furrowed slightly and then she looked up at him. Her face held a mixture of puzzled curiosity, worry and...yes...wariness. He sighed, preparing himself for what he thought would be the inevitable rejection. Scully's eyes held his for a few seconds and then she looked down again in order to find her pen where it lay nearby. She picked up the pen and spoke as she wrote on the note.

"A 'yes' or 'no' should work. However...would you want me to query Mulder about the matter as well?" she replied, writing /Is this about Mulder? Should Mulder be hearing this?/ on the note. She started to turn the file towards him but he shook his head and spoke. He could read well enough upside down.

"No. I won't need Agent Mulder's...confirmation," he replied, shaking his head. He felt a stab of jealousy rise up cold and dark in his chest. Did everything have to be about Mulder, he thought. He felt his jaw tighten and fought back the emotions as he watched Scully look down at the note again and hesitate, obviously debating with herself what to do. Then she came to a decision, looked up again, and spoke.

"All right," she stated matter-of-factly. "Then if I can draw your attention to this line here," she began, pointing to 'Would you meet me later?'. "The answer would be 'yes'," she added. "And 'yes' here as well," she continued, pointing at the restaurant's name.

Skinner felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "And this last item?" he prompted pointing at the time as Scully's pen hovered over the paper.

"Yes, that's correct too," she replied looking up at him. Her face was as impassive as she could make it but he could tell she was still worried and extremely perplexed as to what this was all about.

"Good. Thank you, Scully. I'm clear on those points now," he replied, trying to convey to her his good intentions through his eyes and the mild tone of his voice.

"You're welcome, sir," she replied, as he scooped the file back up and stood. He gave her a curt nod and then he left her side and exited the basement office.

He remembered he didn't go home. He worked until 6:30 PM. He still chided himself on his conduct just before he left work. He detoured into his executive bathroom and took a few minutes to run his electric razor over his face. At the time he thought to make an excuse for shaving but realized there was no sense kidding himself. He was doing it to look good for her. As if that would help.

He'd left the Hoover and it was snowing. He'd been careful on the drive to Garibaldi's restaurant. Careful despite the fact that he'd been running over and over what he was going to say to Scully on the way. He finally had what he wanted to say in some semblance of order by the time he parked his car. By the time he got inside the building he'd decided he at least wouldn't make a total fool out of himself. Garibaldi's was intimate, and usually not crowded on a Thursday night. It lived up to form. He'd gotten there just before 8 and since Scully wasn't there as yet, he requested a quiet table in the corner and told the host that a woman would be meeting him. The few minutes wait until Scully's arrival had been torture. It gave him just enough time to doubt having any success come from anything he was going to say to her. And then she'd arrived and none of it had mattered because she was there, they were alone and he knew he was going to lay it all out on the table, for better or worse, and as well as he could.

They followed the social niceties...at least the old-fashioned Skinner version. He stood when the host showed Scully to the table. Pulled the chair out for her and she sat down, raised eyebrow and all, her back stiff. But God...she looked beautiful he thought as he sat down across from her. She was still in her work clothes, obviously she had chosen not to go home either. The well-tailored lines of her suit accentuated her figure. The light from the single candle on the table brought out the shimmering highlights in her hair and Skinner knew he was staring at her for a few seconds before she cleared her throat a little.

He remembered saying, "You must be hungry, would you like to order and talk afterwards?" It was a delaying tactic he knew but he wanted to at least see that she was fed...and hell...he needed the food to give him strength too. She'd let out a breath she must have been holding and nodded. "Yes...that would be fine," she said and then he knew she was delaying too.

They'd ordered...the veal for him, fish for her. No wine. By some kind of mutual silent consent when he'd asked her what wine she preferred...she said, "None, tonight, thank you," and he nodded and said, "Yes, I think I'll pass too. I'm driving as well," and put the wine list away. They both knew wine was a bad idea. Better to keep a clear head.

The meal had been eaten mostly in silence. A business-like refueling. Fork to mouth, fork to mouth and conversation about the wild winter weather. A couple of questions asked about her mother from him and one asking him how he was feeling from her. Margaret Scully was fine according to Scully. He told her he was feeling fine too. Like hell he thought. He felt like he was falling apart.

Finally they reached the coffee course...no dessert thanks and then...he'd just started talking. His voice low, rumbling, intense...he spoke quietly explaining systematically the reasons he'd asked her there that evening. All of it...from the fact that he admired her so very much because of her strength, dedication, loyalty and professionalism, to his self hate for betraying her and Mulder. He'd let it all out in a long one-sided speech while she sat there silent and attentive, her face impassive.

A good poker-face at last Skinner had thought. She must have worked on it during the drive here he told himself, a twinge of bitterness capturing his heart. He squashed his acerbity down as unfair however because he knew what he was telling her had to be a terrible shock to hear...as well as it being an imposition to think she even wanted to hear it. But he pressed on. He got to the end and found himself begging her forgiveness. Unabashedly telling her that he couldn't go on with her scorning and distrusting him and finally...why. Because he loved her. God help him...he did and he was sorry to tell her this way but...

He remembered the look on her face before she had interrupted him. He couldn't even qualify that look. As close as he could come was stunned amazement and then his heart sank with her next words.

"Take me home...please," she whispered.

"What?" he asked, his brain dulled and confused by disappointment for a second.

"I'd like you to take me home. Now. My car's in the shop and I had to take a cab here," she replied quietly. "It's snowing badly. I'd prefer not try to get a cab," she added.

"Oh. I...see," he'd replied slowly, softly.

He had been going to say 'Why didn't you ask me to drive you in the first place then?' but practically bit his tongue to keep from saying it. Why bother? The answer was obvious. She didn't ask him to drive her to the restaurant because she hadn't been sure she was going to come at all. He looked away from her tight face, mumbled that he'd take her home immediately and motioned for the waiter to bring the check.

He remembered the ride home. No words between them. The only sound the swish of the windshield wipers and the purr of the Olds' finely tuned engine. Silence. Snow mixed with sleet blowing hard around the car and against the windows. He had all he could do to concentrate on driving. Glancing over at Scully where she sat in the passenger seat, remote and lost in her own thoughts was out of the question. Somehow they made it to her apartment building and he'd pulled up close, finding a lucky parking spot.

When she hadn't opened the door immediately and dashed out into the night he'd finally turned to her.

"We're here," he'd murmured gesturing with his head towards the building's doors. He couldn't help but look at her then, and then...it had been almost like a dream. Her lovely face, framed by her red hair, pale against it and the dark passenger side window. Her eyes...something about her expression...and she'd said...

"Would you like to come in for some coffee? I think...I think we should talk further."

His pulse quickened as he nodded. "Yes, coffee would be fine," he managed to get out. And they'd gotten out of the car, he locked it up and they walked quickly, in the driving snow, to her front door.

He remembered her shutting her front door and locking it. Hanging her coat up. Taking his coat and hanging it up. Turning to him. He remembered his eyes playing over her face...and seeing all that he ever needed or hoped to see, or know for the rest of his life and then all rational thought left him. One minute he was standing by her coat closet, staring into his love for her reflected by her love for him in her eyes and the next minute he was embracing her, they were crushed together, devouring each other's mouths. He heard a sound, almost a sob, a long, low moan and he knew it was coming from his own throat as he kissed her, drinking and tasting her like a starving man at a banquet.

Scully whimpered against him, grabbing at him convulsively, her hands roaming everywhere. Touching, caressing and his muscles jumped and twitched under her fingers. Her hands exploring his chest, his back, his ass, drawing him closer so that their crotches met and ground together, and Christ he could hardly believe how quickly he got hard from just the friction of rubbing against her.

And God...he touched her then. He'd never forget touching her that first time so intimately. His large hands cupping the back of her head to deepen the kiss. Splaying his fingers over her back, down her toned and finely muscled biceps, straying to her hips, clutching spastically at her ass and then kneading her buttocks hard as their tongues danced together.

They made love right there on the floor of her apartment. They didn't even undress completely. They managed to remove their his and her suit coats but they gave up then, merely ripping the rest of their clothes off from the waist down. He still had on his starched white shirt and power tie...even his glasses as he fumbled for his wallet, in a panic, knowing he still had a condom inside. Found it and succeeded in opening the packet using his teeth and one hand, as his other hand was temporarily trapped under Scully's blouse and rubbing her breast. He managed to extricate his hand and gritted his teeth as he removed the condom from the packet. Scully's hands were busy on his cock, pumping him diligently to get him completely hard. Finally he was able to slide the condom on and he ended up, his back to the wall somehow, with her in his lap, straddling him.

He remembered capturing her eyes then. She was poised there for a moment, his latex clad erection tipped up in front of her. He searched her face and whispered one word...almost a benediction as well as permission.

"Scully?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered, and he'd helped her to lever up. God...it took all his self-control to not just impale her...ram his cock home like a plug in a light socket so he could complete the circuit and send the arc of electricity that was buzzing in his groin, hot and fast, up into his brain. He locked eyes with hers and he'd never forget the expression in them...the joy...and he'd never forget what it felt like as she slowly slid down his cock. A look of fulfillment. 'I'm whole' her eyes said..."'I'm filled, body and soul'...'complete at last'. And he knew she saw the same in his eyes.

He grabbed her thighs and then her hips, supporting her and she tilted up, placing her feet against the wall and they began to thrust together. They were clumsy at first until they found their rhythm and then dancing in perfect synch and he pumped against her with long, slow, deep thrusts and no words at all between them. The only sound was the slap of their slick flesh meeting and their harsh breathing punctuated with moans of arousal.

He remembered it didn't take long until they were slamming together, rocking hard, fucking like two animals in heat, panting and primal. He lowered his head to Scully's neck, worked his mouth down under her blouse collar and sucked in her flesh...his need to mark her as his, mindless, but suddenly a compulsion. She groaned loudly and arched towards him eagerly, raking his muscular arms so hard he could feel it through his dress shirt and knew she had cut him with her nails.

In and out, in and out he thrust and she clung to him, her hips plunging, angling to grind against his pubic bone so even if he'd wanted to get a hand between them to rub her clit he couldn't. So he angled up too, trying desperately to hit her G-spot before he lost it. He wanted her to go over first, wanted to feel her tighten around him in orgasm. To give her pleasure to make up for all the pain he had caused her and finally with two hard strokes up toward the top wall of her vagina she cried out and arched back in his hands. Her face and neck muscles tightened, cutting off her voice in a silent scream as she came.

Skinner watched in wonder for a few seconds and then Scully's exquisite grip on his cock proved to be too much and he felt his hips thrusting automatically...rapid, sharp stabs, pumping his cock into her and suddenly he felt his orgasm explode up out of his balls like a rocket. He knew he roared. His hips were like a piston, ramming his cock into her as he started to ejaculate. He shut his eyes and roared to God...in praise, in ecstasy, in gratefulness and in freedom. And then they collapsed into each other's arms, both of them gasping, their chests heaving.

Later as they lay in her bed, in each other's arms, having managed to strip naked at last, it had been Scully's turn to confess. Her relationship with Mulder. Her partnership with him, a special closeness, like a sister and brother, and then their desire to find out if it could be more...and the brief affair that told them it could never work out. The sex almost ruined what they had, their partnership, their friendship and for almost a year after they stopped sleeping together things between them had been tense, awkward and sometimes acrimonious. Opposites sometimes attract she said. But they are just as likely to repel if they grow too close and that's what she felt had happened between her and Mulder. Their differences were only good on the job, a little at arm's length so they could keep each other honest. They were a disaster up close and personal...at each other's throats despite the fact the sex wasn't half bad. So, they had stepped back, renewed their friendship and like any divorced couple who remain friends and confidantes, moved on with the job and their lives.

He remembered the wistful, regretful smile she graced him with when she said she moved on except for one thing. Her unrequited love for him still beat within her loudly, making her nerves raw with the thrumming of her body and soul. Sometimes opposites didn't attract...but that often 'like sought like' she said. For years...she had loved Skinner too because almost from the first moment she'd met him she'd sensed a kindred spirit. Skeptical...always in control, whether it was advisable or not to be so professional. An analytical mind...so many things that were like her.

She was attracted to him sexually almost from the first as well. She'd chalked up the heady rush of lust to the fact that she hadn't gotten laid in eons and brushed off even the sexual attraction as something that wasn't going to lead anywhere. She didn't even stop to recognize that along with the wetness between her legs came a soft, sweet liquid feeling like warm honey coursing through her...the love for him that was filling her heart.

Her love for him had been slow to burn itself into her mind. But when it finally flared up, white hot, it had almost taken her breath away...and it had made her afraid. She wasn't sure she trusted him although she very much wanted to, and even if she did...he was her superior and it went against her grain to cross that line. She'd done it once before with Jack Willis, and it had been a mistake, hurting her deeply. So, she'd crushed down her feelings for him, buckled down and set off with Mulder to fight the good fight.

And through all the years...she'd thought of him...what it would be like with him. Talking to him when it didn't have to do with the job, seeing him dressed casually, seeing him smile as he did that night at her. Feeling him inside her...everything about him...the inner man...and she'd kept it to herself.

He remembered her tears when she said she wished she'd had the courage to say something to him. How fine a man she thought he really was and how she knew he must have been in terrible pain. Despite everything he had done to her, that flame wouldn't die and it touched him deeply that though hurt, severely hurt and not afraid at all to show it, deep down Scully hated herself as much as he had for what she'd done to him by not saying anything. Her scorn and her mistrust...her anger had been based partly on the fact that her love was unrequited and the pain of his betrayal magnified by her silence.

He began to tear up as well, unashamed now to show his true emotions in front of her and said if anyone had been a coward it was him. He should have spoken up long ago and he still hated himself for everything he'd done to hurt her...the fence-sitting and the betrayal and...she put her fingers to his lips and told him to stop. It didn't matter anymore...they would go on together now and he felt like a huge, vast darkness was suddenly lifted from inside and he took her in his arms again and kissed her.

They slept then in each other's arms, woke with the dawn and made love again as the snow fell gently outside her bedroom window. That second time they took things slowly, exploring each other thoroughly, learning what pleasured each other the most. Taking their time to savor the feel of each other's skin, the soft contours, the hard muscles, the smell of each other and the taste. When they were ready, Scully unrolled a condom from her night stand drawer down his erection.

This time she drew him between her legs, cradling him. He nuzzled her hair and her neck and kissed where he'd marked her as her hands caressed the fine lines she'd etched in the flesh of his arms. When he finally entered her he had never felt more content, comforted, protected and alive in his life. When she came that time it was screaming his name and he'd gasped, "I love you" as he'd followed after her.

That had been three months ago. Now, as Skinner lay looking at her asleep in his bed he remembered it all and he was at peace. He knew she was too, even after the second case with Donnie Pfaster. When the nightmares came then, he'd been there to hold her, just as she was there for him when Vietnam darkened his slumber.

He smiled down at her. Oh yes, he could smile about it all now because he could remember it with her and even the painful memories were less so under the strength or her regard. Yes, he could smile and did so readily around her, no question. They were good together, good for each other, equals now in private for sure...and Bureau protocol notwithstanding...as equal as they could be in public as well. Yes, they held their own against each other in debate on the job. They gave no quarter. Scully kept him honest, they kept each other honest, which was what she and Mulder did for each other too. He had to chuckle about that idea as well because he now knew why Mulder valued her so in that respect.

In public it was still Agent Scully and 'sir' and in private to be honest, he still called her Scully a lot. She called him Skinner too. But in bed, they called each other Dana and Walter as often as not and in those moments...when they made love...they shed all masks, all artifice and Bureau personas along with their clothing, and always showed their true selves, their true hearts. He wasn't afraid to say he loved her and mean it and she wasn't afraid to say it in return.

Skinner knew that even when she left his side to go out with Mulder on the quest he would be there backing them both from here on forward. For her...and for Mulder too really, out of respect for their partnership and their fight. There was no choice now. He was Scully's...body and soul, and he would do anything for her including lay his life down if it was necessary. She said the same regarding him. And he knew that when she returned from the battle...in need of comfort or not, successful or not...wounded or whole...she would return to him. He knew because she said she would. And she also said she'd be there for him as he fought his battles as well.

So, he watched over her and she him, and he would remember. He would remember and no matter what happened, the memories would be good ones...now...and forever.

-THE END-