From: frogdoggie Date: 12 Jun 2002 04:57:26 -0700 Subject: NEW: Fishing for Friendship (1/2) Source: atxc TITLE: Fishing for Friendship (Part 1 of 2 parts) NAME: PMD and frogdoggie E-MAIL: mary.davidson@sympatico.ca, frogdoggie@hotmail.com CATEGORY: SA RATING: PG-13. SK/SC friendship. SK/SC UST. SUMMARY: Skinner and Scully explore issues of trust, and more. Missing a part of this story? Then surf here: http://www.squidge.org/3wstop FEEDBACK - Yes, please...we'd like your feedback. Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. ARCHIVE: Sure. Anywhere - as long as our names and e-mail addys stay on it. TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: The story occurs immediately after "Triangle" and there are spoilers for that episode as well as "Avatar". KEYWORDS: story angst Skinner Scully PG-13 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. We'd like to dedicate this story to Paige Caldwell. Paige, we'll miss reading your fanfic, author and friend, but we wish you every happiness and success in whatever endeavors you undertake next. You're a class act, Paige and your support has meant a lot to us. Good luck, stay safe and walk in peace. Thanks to truthygirl for beta and morningstarsong for previewing the story. :-) *Author's notes at the end "Fishing for Friendship" by PMD and frogdoggie I open the door to my apartment, let out a heartfelt sigh, and wrestle the fishing gear inside along with my bags. "Home, sweet, home," I whisper, placing the packaged tackle box and rod against the wall next to the front door and lock up. I'm so exhausted that instead of hanging my coat up I drop it on the couch and head right into the bedroom. As I start to undress and change into my silk pajamas I think about my horrible flight from Florida. Skinner and the Gunmen left Florida early in the morning. I took a flight out in the evening with Mulder when he was stable enough to be transferred to DC. The flight was crowded so we couldn't get seats together, unfortunately, but we were lucky enough to be seated near each other. Mulder was across the aisle and I could check on him by looking over my sleeping aisle seat mate. He fell blissfully asleep before the plane was in the air. So, his trip home went well. My trip home was terrible. I was stuck between a man who thought he had flirting down to an art and a man who did a fair imitation of a buzz saw. The first was easily taken care of; I told him I was a federal officer. He paled, apologizing for his behavior and looked straight ahead for the rest of the trip. Being a federal officer and carrying a gun certainly has its advantages in all sorts of situations. I handled 'Mr. Buzz Saw' the way my mother used to handle my father; a gentle nudge to the ribs to stop his snoring. I should have remembered however that my mother said that only worked for about 5 minutes. My memory was jogged when he started sawing wood again. I never got any rest on the flight. Even when I arrived home I was prevented from getting to bed right away by the fact that there was a note slid under my apartment door from the building manager. Apparently, Bill's birthday gift had been delivered in my absence and the UPS man left it at the manager's apartment. So, I trudged down there and brought the packages back to mine. Now that I've got his gift settled inside, I hope I can get a good night's sleep without any more interruptions. As I'm taking off my blouse there's a knock at the door. "Now what?" I mumble with a sigh. I quickly button my blouse and exit the bedroom. When I look through the peephole I'm very surprised to see who's outside. What is he doing here? xXx I hardly ever act on impulse. Oh certainly I take chances, but only after an endless internal debate where I weigh my options. My life, especially my professional life, is normally made up of carefully considered moments--- perhaps too carefully considered in some instances. Maybe that was in the back of my mind when I discovered I had Agent Scully's cell phone. Perhaps I thought it was time to break from a life of order and embrace a rash, unpremeditated act; embark on risky business without studying any options. Or maybe this was just another unusual incident in a long line of unusual incidents that had transpired between Scully and me since Mulder went missing in the 'Bermuda Triangle'. At any rate, when Mulder called me on Scully's cell phone I told him I'd immediately inform her that I had it. My way of letting her know was driving to her apartment unannounced with her misplaced cell phone in hand. I've been standing outside her door for a couple of seconds now, debating whether I should knock or use the cell phone to call her. I have her home phone number committed to memory. It would be easy to just return to my car, dial it and tell her I'd bring her cell into the office in the morning. But something inside me makes me raise my hand and knock on her front door. For better or worse, I'm taking a step off that line I tread. Now I just have to hope I don't step into something I'll regret. I can hear her footsteps behind the door; sense her standing on tiptoe to peer out the peephole. I can imagine the shock on her face when she sees me standing outside. I haven't even changed out of my work clothes. She probably thinks this is a dire emergency. I suddenly think this was a very bad idea. The door swings open. I was right about the shocked expression on her face. "Sir---uh---why are you here? What's wrong?" "I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I didn't mean to alarm you. Nothing's wrong. I just---I discovered I had your cell phone and---" "My cell phone?" "Yes, you probably have mine. We must have inadvertently switched them in Florida somehow. I found out when Agent Mulder called you on yours." I hurriedly deliver my information in the hopes that speaking rapidly will get things over with quickly so I can get the hell out of here. She looks tired, I'm tired and now I'm sure this was a very bad idea. "Oh---well---don't stand out in the hallway. Come in. I'll get your cell phone." I hesitate for one more second and then follow her beckoning hand inside. My fate---whatever it will be---is sealed as I walk past her into her apartment. xXx My shock at seeing him at the door quickly changes to concern. He looks as tired as I feel--and uneasy as well. I feel a touch of uneasiness too with him being here. Our relationship has never been simple. As we stare awkwardly at each other I'm a bit suspicious of the man and his motives. Why is he here? I could have picked up the cell at work, the next day. Is there some ulterior motive for why he's here? God, I'm so tired of doubting Skinner and his motives. I wish I could learn to trust him more. I do trust him at times. Why else would I go to him for help to find Mulder if I didn't? But then that is the dichotomy of our precarious relationship; half trust, half mistrust. As his dark eyes stare at me, waiting for me to say something, I decide I need to regroup. "Sir---I was going to make some coffee. Would you like some too?" He hesitates for a few seconds before answering. "Well, if it's no trouble---" "It's no trouble at all, sir." "Then a cup of coffee would be nice." "Okay---good. Well, uh - please - make yourself comfortable and I'll be back in a few minutes." I'm almost to the kitchen when it dawns on me I've forgotten something. When I turn around he's still standing where I left him. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here. "Sir, how do you take your coffee?" "Black, thank you." I should prompt him to sit down again, but I find I just want to get away from his tense, studied gaze. I nod and hurry off to the kitchen. I'm about to go into the freezer for the ground coffee when I stop myself. I forgot: I hadn't had time to go shopping. He's going to have to settle for instant. As I get the instant out of the cupboard I wonder why Skinner's so nervous? Is he afraid he was followed from work? Is it the angry retorts I threw at him in his office? Oh My God----it's got to be the kiss. Why did I kiss him? Well, I know it was a thank you for helping me. Maybe I thought that with Skinner going out on such a precarious limb, his actions warranted more than a handshake? That said, wouldn't a hug have sufficed? A kiss--Dana, you must have been insane to do that. What the hell was I thinking? That's the point. I don't believe I was thinking; I was reacting. And it was only a kiss between---what? Friends? As I'm thinking, my uncertainly about whether Skinner is friend or foe has me at a loss again. I put the kettle on and stare into the polished silver of its surface, pondering the kiss. I guess I'll always wonder why I did it. But I think I'll settle for thinking of it as something I did on impulse; maybe a spur of the moment thank you for all the help he's given us, over the years---and leave it at that. I really hope he's not here to discuss anything remotely connected to my actions in that elevator. Let's hope he's really here to exchange cell phones and that's all. The kettle screams, drawing my attention. I take the cups out and fill them with instant coffee. Then I pour the water, turn off the stove and exit the kitchen. "Here you go," I say as I walk over to the couch with the hot drinks. Skinner's attention shifts from the packages standing next to my front door to the coffee cup I extend to him. "Oh---thank you," he murmurs as he takes the cup from my hand. I sit down in the overstuffed chair next to the couch. Then he clears his throat. "That looks like a fishing rod and reel over there. I didn't know you fished." "I haven't for a long time but I enjoyed it when I was younger." My mind wanders for a moment and I remember fishing with my dad and brothers. Melissa would be sitting on the bank, playing with her dolls. Mom was close by, laying out a picnic in case we didn't catch any fish. Melissa could never understand why I wanted to touch slimy worms when I was so afraid of snakes. But I didn't mind them or the slick, scaly fish that Missy found disgusting as well. How could I explain to her that I didn't mind any of the 'icky stuff' associated with fishing and it wasn't even the fishing that was near and dear to my heart; but the time I got to spend with Ahab. How precious that time is now since he was taken away from us too soon. One of my fondest memories of fishing was the day I caught a particularly large fish and he gave me his favorite lure. When he died I put the lure in his casket. It was cremated with him. A slight movement from Skinner interrupts my reverie. "Then the gear's for someone else?" he asks. "Yes, it's a birthday gift for my brother Bill." "Ah - I see. I used to enjoy fishing." "When you were younger?" "Yes - when I was younger. I used to go with my father," Skinner says, a far off look on his face. xXx The fishing tackle spawned a rush of memories. I was taken back to fishing with my father on Tipton's Creek off Chesapeake Bay. Our summer home at Judge's Point had some of the best fishing in the area and I have a vivid memory of my father introducing me to what he considered an art from our small motorboat. I was 8 years old. When I made a face at baiting my hook with a nightcrawler, my father laughed and presented me with the box of lures he'd made especially for my first day on the creek. "Here, son," he said. "A real fisherman uses these instead of worms anyway". It was an honor to be considered a real fisherman. I felt ten feet tall to be in my father's company as an equal that morning. Years later I remembered that day as an eight-year-old and thought, 'what a damned contrast'. In the intervening years I hadn't lived up to my father's expectations. I'd been a restless youth, enlisted in the war against his wishes, come back wounded in body and soul, and on that very creek in another motorboat I told him I was applying to the FBI rather than joining him in the family's trucking business. "How can you do this to the family?" he said. "But Sylvia's more interested in the business, Dad. I don't see why my sister can't---" "You're my son, Walter. A son should do his duty by his family," he replied. It was the last time we ever fished together. It was the last time we really talked and the next time I saw him was at his funeral. I'd just made Assistant Director. I did a lot of thinking about duty as I stood next to his coffin. I suppose I've been trying to do my duty to prove something to him ever since. The click of china jolts me out of my mental walk down memory lane. I refocus on Scully as she places her coffee cup down on the end table next to her. "Sorry---" I say. I drink some of my coffee and then place my cup on the coffee table. "Fishing memories?" I nod. "I expect you have some too," I reply. "Oh yes," she says, her mouth curving in a smile. Watching her smile makes me relax slightly and I suddenly have an urge to talk about my memories---at least the positive ones. I clear my throat. "I have this vivid memory of trying to bait my first hook when I was eight. Up to that point I can't remember ever seeing a nightcrawler that large. I don't think I was quite prepared for the size of the worm or the idea I had to---" "Skewer it?" "Precisely," I chuckle. "Well, for what it's worth, worms weren't my brother Charlie's favorite thing in the world either," Scully replies. "But they didn't bother you?" "I can't say that I was fond of them, but no, I didn't mind baiting my hook. I think spending the time with my father made me willing to accept the 'ick factor'." I can't help smiling. "I was spared the 'ick factor' by a box of lures my father made me specially for the occasion. That was the first time we fished together," I say. Scully raises an eyebrow in interest. "Really? My father made his own lures too. He gave me his favorite one after I landed a big perch when I was ten years old." "Do you still have the lure?" Scully's face falls a little. "No---I---it was cremated with him," she murmurs. I flinch and regret asking the question. "I'm sorry." Scully makes a gesture of dismissal. "It's all right. I have a lot of good memories associated with that lure." We lapse into silence. As I sit awkwardly fumbling for my coffee it occurs to me how little I know this woman. How little we know about each other. Perhaps our lack of acquaintance impedes any trust growing between us as much as the things I feel guilty about holding back from her. But how close can Dana Scully and I become? Would she ever trust me enough to call me friend despite all I've kept from her -- what I might never be able to tell her? And because of what I know, is it safe for us to become any closer? As I look into Scully's face over the rim of my coffee cup I ponder those questions. I don't know the answers. I don't think I'm going to find them tonight either. xXx As he stares at me intently over of the rim of his coffee cup I'm suddenly seeing Skinner as less of a colleague and more of a human being. I'm not sure how I should feel about that. I'm thinking of him as more of a friend than as a foe even though suspicions about his alliances linger in the back of my mind. Is this a new chapter in our lives? Dana, just ask him for the cell and he'll go. This prolonged encounter will only serve to confuse you more than you already are. It's so much easier if he remains a mystery to you. But then I've always been curious. Maybe it's the scientist in me; wanting to know the facts so I can draw a conclusion. Maybe deep down I want to know that I've been wrong about Skinner all along. Maybe I'm finally heeding Mulder's urges to give him the benefit of the doubt. As I speak, I'm not sure how to satisfy my curiousity, but I do know I'm going to persuade him to stay a little longer. So, I ask, "Sir, would you like some more coffee?" His eyes register puzzlement. "I must be keeping you up---" His tone is hesitant---like he's torn between staying and leaving. It interests and yet unsettles me further to think he might be as curious to find out more about me as I am about him. "Sir, it's not that late. So---" He tilts his head in agreement. "Then yes, I'd like another cup. Thanks," he replies. He hands me his cup and I leave him alone with his thoughts. In the kitchen, I put the cups on the counter and then sit down at my kitchen table to compose myself again. I always thought the only things I had in common with Skinner were the Bureau and the X-Files; our duty to the work and our respect for Mulder's quest. I hadn't thought much about his personal life since that incident with Carina Sayles. To find out we have more in common is startling, to say the least. His pleasant memories of fishing with his father reminded me of mine when he talked about them. It's like he was in another world, a world of hope rather than fear. And yet, I got this sense that all was not well either. A small frown appeared on his face while he was lost in thought. I wonder if his memories regarding his dad aren't all good. Maybe we have more in common beyond fishing, work, and Mulder. I remembered the day I told Ahab I wasn't going to follow a medical career the way he wanted or expected me too. We'd gone fishing and had been waiting a while for a bite. I finally got the courage up and said--- "Ahab---Dad." He looked at me. "This must be serious. You haven't called me Dad in a long time. What is it, Starbuck?" "I---I've decided to join the FBI. I want to use my degree in forensic pathology as part of a career in law enforcement." I closed my eyes, ready for anything. And---nothing happened. I opened them quickly and saw an expression on his face that was far worse than any angry words he could have thrown at me. He was disappointed. "If that's what you want," he replied. I remembered thinking, 'Please Ahab, tell me what you're thinking' but believing it was better not to ask. We sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally Dad spoke and it wasn't what I wanted to hear. "Well, the fish aren't biting---let's go home, Dana." I let out a quiet sob and his face softened. "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to make you cry. But, Dana, I can't lie to you. I'm disappointed that you won't be practicing medicine in a hospital. I always hoped you'd become a doctor, maybe even a pediatrician. But, it's your life to live. Maybe someday I'll understand but for now---I'm afraid I just don't. It's hard to think of a daughter of mine out there in danger. I wanted something safer for you." "Ahab, I understand but it's something that I've wanted for a long time. Being a doctor does help make a difference but being in law enforcement gives me something more---so much more." He moved over, pulling me into his arms. "Dana, I wish you would reconsider. But if that's what you want---" We never talked about my choices after that. But I could always sense that disappointment from him in regards to my decision to his dying day. Even when Mom said he was proud of me--despite everything--I'm just not sure. I wish I was, but I'm not. I let out a quiet sigh, coming back to the present. I wonder if Skinner needs that understanding from somebody in his life that has since passed on? Is that what that tiny frown was about? Did he disappoint his father too? I let out another sigh and got up. I fill the cups again and walk back into the living room. Skinner's standing beside the rod, checking it over. He looks up. "Oh---sorry---I just wanted a closer look at the fishing tackle," he says. "No problem, sir." He places his hand on the rod, touching it lightly--- reverently. "This is a top-notch rod, Scully." "'Only the best' as my Dad used to say," I reply. He looks back at me. "That's what my Dad used to say too; 'if you're going to do it right, do it with the best.'" I notice a slight smile on Skinner's lips just before he backs away from me, physically and mentally. He looks back at the rod and into the past. It's a safer place to be right now, I guess. He finally lets go of the past, walks back to the couch and sits down. I hand him the cup and stand there, staring at this man, a stranger in some respects but maybe a kindred spirit in others. This is a crossroads and it seems so surreal. Which way do I go; back the familiar way to just being his subordinate and colleague or forward to trusting him---to calling him a friend? He shifts under my gaze. He's uneasy again. Will there ever be a time when we're not uncomfortable with each other? Maybe I should just ask him to leave. But if I do, would it tear down the road that we've started to build towards friendship---or whatever we've started to build towards? God, I wish he would give me a sign of which way to go. Then, he does. "Scully, it's been a long day for both of us. You really do look exhausted. I should go." Well, he's made the decision. I should be happy about this but I feel a twinge of disappointment. I mumble my reply. "Oh, well. Yes, you're probably right. Thanks for stopping by, sir." He gets up and puts the cup on the end table. "Thank you for the coffee, Agent Scully." He's almost at the door before I realize we've forgotten his main reason for being here. "Sir--the cell phones?" I ask. -END OF PART 1- TITLE: Fishing for Friendship (Part 2 of 2 parts) xXx Over the years as I've performed this balancing act I've questioned my ability to read people. I've wondered whether any talent I had for determining people's motives or divining their thoughts and motivations is still with me---whether it was ever there at all. But luckily, some event usually confirms that my powers of observation are intact, that I haven't lost the knack for detecting what's going on in someone's head. Watching Scully's face over the last hour or so is a perfect example. Because Scully's emotions move across her face and I know that fatigue has toppled her normally well fortified emotional blockades. I'm getting a glimpse behind her barriers and seeing her confusion and uneasiness about me. There's a lot of doubt there--- but something more. I can see hope---maybe the hope that this sharing of personal information, these new similarities we've discovered between us could carry us one more step toward trust and even friendship. I also know that my face is mirroring her emotions. I'm not doing a very good job of maintaining my stoic facade either. She wants me to stay longer. I imagine she's still trying to work out everything that's happened between us over the last few days and correlate all that with what's going on between us tonight. Hell, she's a scientist as well as an accomplished FBI Agent. I know on one level she's weighing this situation like it's a theory or case and she's looking for evidence and answers to just what makes Walter S. Skinner tick. We're very much alike in that way too. I'm doing the same thing as we stand here---and I recognize she realizes that as well. So, why don't I stay and allow us both to find the answers to our questions? There are a lot of reasons why I can't allow this process of discovery to go on any longer. But I think the main one is I'm afraid I'll find out we can never truly trust each other, can never really become friends and I'm just not ready to hear that tonight. I find myself making an excuse to leave and watch the disappointment flit across Scully's face. I'm almost to her door when her voice stops me dead in my tracks. "Sir---the cell phones?" she says. Christ on a crutch---how could I have forgotten what I came here for in the first place? She must think I've really lost it. I shake my head in self-deprecation. "I'm glad one of us is alert tonight," I quietly reply. Scully barely smothers a smile as I take her cell phone out of my jacket pocket and lay it down on the small table next to the door. "With all due respect, sir---I'm not the only one here who looks exhausted. I'll get your phone, it's uh---right here." Her coat has been taking up the half of the couch I wasn't sitting on all this time and now she moves toward it and pulls my cell phone from the pocket. It only takes her a moment to cross the space between us and then she's standing in front of me. Somewhere a clock ticks as I look down into her intelligent and questioning blue eyes. I can hear another steady tick, tick, tick thudding in my ears. It's my heart. I extend my hand. Our fingers touch as she hands me the cell phone. The electric heat of her skin instantly uncovers the one thought that I've been suppressing since I promised Mulder to return her cell phone---the one thought I've wanted to avoid tonight at all costs---the thought of Scully's warm, moist lips on my mouth as she kissed me in the Hoover elevator. And with that thought the desire I hold for her in my heart wells up and threatens to strangle me with its power. It threatens to take away all reason as it shows me I've been stupid to not admit I have feelings for her. At the same time it's urging me to get the hell out of this apartment. I can't let my true feelings for Scully complicate this situation. The consequences of revealing my love for her might in fact destroy any possibility of trust between us. It wouldn't do either of us any good to let her know. In fact it could be exceedingly dangerous for both her and Mulder. Besides, I didn't detect any feeling for me in her elevator kiss other than perhaps gratitude for my help in rescuing her partner. I know right now I have an overpowering need to look into her face to see what she feels as our fingers gently move over each other. But I won't. Because if I do, I know she'll see what's in my heart and mind at the same time I see what's in hers. I can't take that risk. "Thank you," I murmur, avoiding her eyes. For one second her hand grips my cell phone, refusing to relinquish it. Then her cell beeps loudly on the nearby table, startling us both. "Oh," Scully exclaims, almost dropping my phone. I scoop it up and pocket it as she steps to the table and lifts her cell to her cheek. "Scully," she says. I watch her raise an eyebrow and then smile in amused exasperation. "Well, obviously, Mulder. I'm talking to you on it," she says. "Can you hang on?" Scully presses the mute button and refocuses on me. "I'm sorry," she says, indicating the cell phone with a tilt of her chin. "Quite all right. I understand," I reply, turning to go. "Listen," she says, drawing my attention back. "I appreciate you dropping this off, sir. Really. It was very thoughtful." "My pleasure. I know I'm at a loss without mine so I figured that might be the case with you." Scully smiles and nods. "I kid Mulder about being cell phone dependent, but I think the same holds true for me. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention I admitted that, sir." "Your secret's safe with me," I reply. The significance of my words should lie heavily between us but they don't as we study each other one last time. In the brief seconds of the ticking clock and heart I can almost see what a true friendship between us might be like. I can see her pleasure at my rejoinder and genuine interest in my conversation. I can sense what the easy banter between two partners and friends and not a superior and subordinate could be like. But in a few short seconds the atmosphere is broken. We both smile awkwardly at each other and I know it's time for me to bid her goodbye. "Good night, Scully." "Sir?" "Yes?" "I enjoyed our discussion on fishing. Maybe---maybe we could continue it sometime." I almost refuse. I know I should but that ticking in my ears just won't let me. "I have some of my father's old lures. I could bring those into work and show them to you. Mulder too if he's interested at all." "I'd enjoy seeing them. I'm sure Mulder would enjoy it too." "In a few days then. I'll bring them into work after I clean them up." Scully nods. "Thanks again, sir." "You're welcome. Good night." As she places the cell phone to her ear again, I straighten my shoulders and slip quietly out the door. For better or worse, we've taken a step toward trust that both of us seemingly want. Where it will lead I'm still not sure. The only thing I can hope is it'll lead to better things for Scully, for Mulder---and for me too. xXx He walks toward the door and I feel---empty. We were just getting to know a bit about each other and then protocol and duty shuts a door between us. It's only me reminding him about the cell phones that keeps him here longer. Maybe this is too soon after that ill thought out kiss for us to speak so personally. As I watch him take out my cell phone and put it on the small table next to the door, I make small talk about him looking as exhausted as I do. It takes me only a few seconds to retrieve his cell phone from my coat pocket. When I walk back to Skinner my eyes stare into his. I still want to know where the conversation has taken us this evening. Is this the beginning of friendship between us? Have we crossed that line permanently or is this temporary? My questions are forgotten when he extends his hand for the cell---and our fingers touch. I feel a---it's hard to describe---a spark---a warmth--the birthing pains of friendship---an attraction? Does this surprise him as much as it surprises me? He has touched me before but-- -I've always considered it impersonal and felt nothing due to my mistrust of him. At least that's what it's been like for me; what about him? Maybe I'm just so exhausted that I'm imagining this reaction to Skinner's touch? All I know is that there's something there and it makes me less uneasy thinking of it leading to a growing friendship rather than something else. Or maybe----the kiss we shared floods back to me. Is this touch an after-affect of the kiss? Did my worry about Mulder cloud my feelings in regards to it and now, with him out of danger, my body is reminding me of other possibilities? It always comes back to that damn kiss, doesn't it, Dana? I may have thought it was a friendly one but there were two people there. What if he didn't? I look away from our hands to study his face, looking for any clue to see what he's feeling. I see nothing in the patented 'poker face' of Walter Skinner. Before I can look into his eyes more deeply, he thanks me for the cell phone and looks away. Was that loneliness I spied before his eyes left mine; not for love but for friendship? After all, I have Mulder but who can Skinner call friend? His turning away only strengthens my belief that there may always be more questions than answers with Skinner. But that only makes me more determined to discover the answers. And if I'm interested in finding answers in regards to Skinner then I must care about him as a friend. Only a friend would want to learn about another and use this knowledge to take away the loneliness. Only a friend would take the time and energy needed to do this; to make another person happy and help them find---peace? So now I stand before Skinner still gripping his cell phone, this precarious line between us, unwilling to relinquish it. Wanting to tell him I still have many questions I want answered, but also that I'm willing to take a step toward friendship because I care about his answers and about him as well. And I'm willing to take as much time as needed to learn these answers, if not tonight---somewhere down the line. Then---my cell phone beeps, startling us both. I almost drop his phone to get to mine. "Scully," I say. It's Mulder. I'm amused when he asks if I have my cell phone back. Of course he's joking to lighten my mood and distract me from my exhaustion. And---it works. Then I remember that Skinner is still there and excuse myself from the conversation with my partner. I mute the phone and for the next few minutes Skinner and I talk. There is lightness to our talking; and for a few minutes, we're conversing not as colleagues but as friends. Then, I see it in his eyes. I was right----he is lonely. And his eyes mirror my earlier questions whether this relationship is a permanent friendship or just temporary. I want to take this loneliness away by telling him we can be friends but I don't know how to do it yet. It's too soon for me and by his hesitation---it's too soon for him too. The spell is broken and now it's time for him to leave. His good night to me is almost a whisper and then I decide to take the leap of faith toward friendship--- "I enjoyed our discussion on fishing," I say. "Maybe--- maybe we could continue it sometime." It's a start, I think. Now, it's up to him to take the next step. He looks like he's about to refuse my invitation. I feel happy when he doesn't. He offers to show Mulder and I some of his father's lures. I tell him I'd love to see them---just like I'm sure Mulder would too. There's relief and pleasure in his eyes when he tells me he'll bring the lures into work after he's cleaned them. I smile, inwardly, thankful that I can bring some relief or happiness to the man. "Thanks again, sir," I say. "You're welcome. Good night, Scully," Skinner replies. Yes, it is a good night, I think. Skinner's given me a glimpse of himself I never thought I'd see. We both opened the door to friendship and neither one of us shut it in the end. I put my cell to my ear and watch Skinner walk out the door. As I flip off the mute button I hope that this evening has lead to a permanent friendship. Mulder interrupts my musings about Skinner. "Scully?" "Sorry, Mulder." "Is anything wrong? You sound a little distracted." "No, I'm fi---okay. Uh---Skinner just returned my cell phone." "Returned it to your apartment?" "Yes, he just dropped it off." "That must have been interesting." "Yeah---it was very interesting." "You'll have to tell me about it in the morning." "I'll look forward to it." "Great. Well---I just wanted to make sure you're ok and say good night." "Thanks, Mulder. Night." "Night, Scully. Pleasant dreams." "You too, Mulder." As I hang up I wonder if Skinner will have pleasant dreams. I find myself hoping he will---too. With all he's gone though---he deserves them as much as Mulder and I do. *Author's notes: Collaborating with Peggy has been a pleasure. She respects and has a lot of love for the characters, especially Skinner, and that's very appealing to me. Brainstorming with her was always interesting because she contributes excellent ideas and bits of business that add something to the story. "Fishing for Friendship" was enjoyable to write, but somewhat of a challenge because we had to deal with issues of trust between Scully and Skinner and we still wanted to keep the story one of friendship/UST and not SSR. That wasn't easy for either of us in the long run...we're always more interested in romance for Skinner. ;-) But I think we managed to walk that fine line and still deal with the trust issues well. It stretched us as writers, but that's a good thing IMHO. All and all it was a fun experience and I want to thank you, Peggy, for your patience, good work, supportive spirit and friendship. -frogdoggie *Author's notes: I have never had so much fun writing a story in my life as I had with this one. And felt so sad about it ending too soon. I have enjoyed this journey into friendship not only because of the characters but also because of whom I was writing with. Jay, you have seen me at my best and at my worst and now we've created something to be proud of. If any of you get the chance to write with this man---do not hesitate with your answer---say yes. Trust me on this one. You have taught me so much when it comes to writing, dude. I hope I have taught you something along the way too. And I hope, somewhere down the line, we can collaborate again because I don't want this to be a once in a life time experience. I've always believed that good, touching stories come from the heart and the soul, not from the head. That is where my fellow collaborator writes from; his heart and his soul. And he has taught me to write from those special places too. Thank you, my friend. -PMD -The End-