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     This author's email address has changed to: bevan1013@mindspring.com

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From: pdawnnah (abevan@mail.zebra.net)
Title: "Aeternus"  (From the Latin, meaning "eternal")
Category: VRA


	Disclaimer:  The inimitable Walter Skinner and that 
Smoking Beast we all love to hate both belong entirely to 
Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox Productions.  If they were mine, 
I probably wouldn't have time to write fanfic.  Now, you 
can't beat that logic with a stick, can you?  I didn't think 
so.  I'm a college student, and that equals no money, so 
sue me if you really want, but the most you'll get is my 
computer.  Um...on second thought...PLEASE DON'T SUE ME!!!!  
There.  You think that'll placate the gods??

	Summary:  Skinner/other romance.  Walter has a painful 
dream about the soulmate he hasn't found yet...and gets a 
horrifying glimpse of Destiny's vicious cycle.

	Classification:  VRA.

	Rating:  PG. (I just can't stay away from these bad 
words!)

	Spoilers:  None.

	Timeline:  Since it was inspired by "TFWID", I guess it 
should be stuck somewhere after that ep...Mid-fourth season, 
we'll say.

	NOTE:  I know, I know.  "Gee, pdawnnah, this sounds an 
awful lot like _The Witch of Blackbird Pond_...  Well, bite 
me.  It's not *exactly* like it, and let's face it.  The 
woman who wrote that book has been dead for quite some time, 
so she's not really likely to care a whole lot, is she?  
*grin*


	*~*~*~*  Aeternus  *~*~*~*


	Walter Skinner was dreaming.

	This particular dream was recurring.  He usually had it 
whenever he'd been especially stressed or worried about 
something.  God knew that was a pretty apt descripion of his 
current situation.

	The dream was about *her*.  The scenes, the times, they 
were all different, but she was the constant.  She would hold 
him, comfort him.  Stroke away all the fears that bound him.

	Walter shifted and groaned lightly.  The dream always 
relaxed him, made him feel better, but something was wrong 
this time.  It wasn't the same.  Usually the dream was soft, 
soothing, romantic...The girl was there, just like always, 
and she was smiling at him as they lay in a green field, 
surrounded by clover.

	He could smell the flowers.

	But then the dream changed.

	Tonight...Tonight he was searching.  Running.  The 
field was gone, and all was dark, and he was running, hellbent, 
through the forest.  There would be no respite, no solace.  
For he had to get to her, find her and take her away before 
They carried out their plan.

	Her intelligence far surpassed that of any of the men, 
even the local magistrates, and that fact frightened them.  

	And she knew certain things, as well.  She had the gift 
of The Sight.  She knew who was with child, when the weather 
would turn...When a bad storm threatened.

	Walter tossed, distressed.

	He'd tried to get her to come with him when his ship 
had sailed again.  She could escape the cold Connecticut 
winter, the even colder stares of the townsfolk.  But she 
had refused, smiling serenely and assuring him that she 
would be fine until he returned in the spring, that all 
would be well.

	She had been wrong.  Would he make it in time?

	Walter thrashed.  He knew the answer.  He'd known it 
for aeons, for an eternity.

	Through all the lifetimes, he *never* made it in time.

	He could see her cottage in the distance, could hear 
the angry, fearful shouts of the townspeople.  The sky was 
alight.  They were burning her home, destroying what she'd 
worked so hard to build, and terror pierced Walter's heart.

	Where was she?

	She was somewhere in the throng ahead, and she was 
screaming her fear, her indignation.

	Her *pain*.  Dear God...

	*Catherine!*

	"Catherine..."  he murmured.

	He stormed the crowd, pushing his way to the center.  
A dull roar erupted from his chest as he saw her, his 
Catherine, lying on the grass, sturggling to move.  Her face, 
oh God, her face...

	He threw himself down next to her, gathering her 
quieting form in his strong arms.  *Catherine...?*

	*William?*

	They'd branded her.  The bastards had branded her a 
heretic, cut a vicious semicircle in the center of her forehead.  
But they'd cut too deeply, perhaps had even meant to, and her 
lifeblood was draining away.  He desperately tried to staunch 
the flow, one hand pressed tight against the wound.

	But Catherine was gone.  Again.

	Tears slipped from beneath Walter's clenched lids.  And, 
all at once, he knew that it was always that way.  They always 
took her before he could save her, even before he could tell 
her goodbye.  That he loved her more than anything.

	In the dream, he threw his head back in agony, then 
focused on a man standing at the forefront of the crowd.

	Cancerman.

	He was smoking, of course, and Walter wanted to kill 
him, wanted to rip his face off, so he couldn't smile his 
damn smugness anymore.  And he couldn't hurt her ever again.

	Instead, Walter spoke, and his tortured voice was 
nothing more than a whisper.  *One day, I'll find you before 
you find her, before you can take her from me.  And I'll stop 
you.*

	He smirked.  *What about now, Walter?  What about this 
lifetime?  I've found her...and I'm waiting for you to do the 
same.  And when you do, I'll kill her yet again.*

	"...not this time."

	*Yes, Walter, every time.  Destiny, Walter, and the 
wheel turns with unerring accuracy.  Because you never know.  
You never know until it's too late.*

	And then he saw the flashing memories of a thousand 
lifetimes, of a thousand deaths.

	"...no..."

	He howled his pain, his rage.  His powerlessness.

	And Walter Sergei Skinner bolted upright in his bed, 
shaking, the thin sheet clinging to his bare, sweat-soaked 
chest.

	He could remember bits and pieces, but already the 
dream was becoming hazy and vague.  Soon, it would be no more 
than an impression, the casual knowledge that he'd dreamt of 
unpleasant things.

	But somewhere deep inside, in a part of his soul that 
had always terrified him, Walter carried the memory of the 
woman he loved.  The one who always went, without the struggle 
she somehow recognized as futile, to meet her certain death.  
He remembered her, and he would know her.  So he would, 
without exception, gaze deeply into the eyes of every woman he 
met, searching her out.

	Searching for the other half of himself.

	*~*~*~*  Finis  *~*~*~*

	pdawnnah (abevan@mail.zebra.net)