From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 30 May 2001 20:01:12 -0000
Subject: Rapids (1/1)  by Ima Believer
Source: direct

Reply To: ima_believerxf@yahoo.com


Title: Rapids
Author: Ima Believer
Category: SSR, Scully Angst, Skinner Angst
Spoilers: post-Emily. References to One Breath, Never
Again, cancer arc.
Rating: R
Distribution: Please ask.
Feedback: would be welcome: ima_believerxf@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: not Ima's

Special note: This story was part of a challenge on IWTB wherein 
several authors posted stories under the same name; readers were 
invited to guess who wrote what. If you would like to read more of 
Ima's stories, or would like to guess or discover the author's 
identity, go to http://www.geocities.com/iwtbxf/


Summary: It's a cold January

Notes: This is also in response to Kimberly's fearless leader
challenge. Elements and miscellaneous notes at the end.

---------------------------


It all devolved down to this. 8:30 on a Friday night, the
first Friday back in the godforsaken January cold--DC is
the South, her ass. Sitting at HIS goddamned desk,
surrounded by all that paranormal bullshit crap that he
doesn't even fucking believe in anymore, staring down at
one lousy pain pill sitting on the blotter as though the
entire slippery slope of abuse--dependence, writing false
prescriptions, addiction, detox, relapse, firing, revoking
her license, moving on to stronger stuff, theft, track
marks, overdose, death--was wrapped up in that one stupid
Percocet when the only reason she still fucking had the
damned thing was because she refused to take them unless
she was in so damn much pain she couldn't fucking stand it
and she'd black out before she'd ever admit that it hurt
too goddamned much. "Keep a stiff upper lip, Starbuck."
Thus spake the Captain. Well, her upper lip was goddamned
trembling now and it was only fucking poetically just that
she was here in the fucking basement because it felt like
the entire fucking weight of the fucking Hoover Building
was crushing her fucking head only this time it wasn't the
fucking cancer coming back to eat her goddamned brain from
the inside out and she should be fucking thankful that she
was still fucking alive. But she didn't have a daughter and
she didn't have a prayer of having another child and she
didn't have a sister and she didn't have a life and she
didn't even have a goddamned desk and he didn't have a
fucking clue.

The office door pushed open with a curt "Mulder..." but
Skinner's expression changed as soon as he saw it was
Scully at the desk--softened and sharpened, something
paternal mixed with something...else. "Agent Scully, I
didn't realize you'd still be here so late." 

"Just trying to catch up on some paperwork, Sir," she said
quickly, cursing herself silently for feeling as though she
was caught goofing off even though it was well past work
hours. Or worse, caught having nothing better to do on a
Friday night. "Was there something you needed?"

"Nothing important. Agent Mulder isn't here?" Skinner
studiously ignored the lack of papers in front of her and
the pill there instead.

"He left a couple hours ago, Sir." *Now ask me if I give a
shit* she muttered to herself almost out loud.

Skinner gestured at the chair Scully usually occupied and
awaited her nod before he sat. Past those preliminaries, he
suddenly turned casual, stretching out his legs and sinking
into the chair. Shifting to one side, he reached into his
pants pocket for his wallet, drew out a photo, and handed
it to her.

The picture was grainy, low-quality, but the child in the
picture was beautiful. A stunning little Asian girl, aged
about five or six. "That's Lee Heh," Skinner said quietly.
"This picture was the first I ever knew of her."

Scully stroked her finger just above the photo as though
stroking the girl's hair. "Vietnam," she breathed, taking
her eyes from the picture to look at Skinner for a moment,
checking for resemblance.

"My third brush with fate, almost at the end of my tour.
Blast killed three of the men in my unit. I was one of the
lucky ones. I was thrown about ten feet; ended up with a
broken arm, a broken rib, and a ruptured Achilles tendon.
Her mother took care of me." Skinner told this story almost
as though it had happened to someone else; yet at the same
time, he seemed dangerously close to revealing himself.
Scully made a mental note to spend part of the weekend
daydreaming elaborate tortures for Mulder, who had
obviously told Skinner all the gory details of how the
Conspiracy of Shit had fucked with her miserable life this
time. Preferably something that would impair his future
ability to produce children--as an FBI pathologist, she had
no shortage of ideas.

She studied the photograph another moment or two, not
asking. Abruptly she said, "Let's get the hell out of
here," rising and handing him back the photo with one hand
while drawing her keys from her pocket with the other.
"We'll take my car." Already at the door, she stared in
disapproval at his failure to jump when she said jump,
dammit.

She screeched out of the parking garage; Skinner had barely
gotten the seat adjusted and the belt fastened. A few
minutes later, she pulled over and slammed the car into
park, not bothering to find a legal space. "I'll be back in
a minute; drive around the block if anybody comes." 

Seeking liquid courage. The liquor store had a display: "On
sale now: Award-Winning Wines from South Africa." A bottle
of red with a picture of a dog on its label caught her eye;
she leaned in closer to read the label. 1993 Mulderbosch
Faithful Hound. Jesus fucking shit. Might as well be her
fucking picture on the label--it was the story of her
fucking life. Mulder's fucking faithful hound. At least it
wasn't in the "Values Under $10" cheap shit display.

Didn't matter. Tonight belonged to Jack Daniels. Flask
procured, she steered west, daring Skinner to say a word.

The gate was closed--Great Falls Park closed at dark to
anyone who didn't have FBI credentials. Scully pulled in
just in front of the gate and parked, indicating with an
eyebrow that this was the place. She and Skinner hadn't
spoken at all during the car ride.

An acrid smell assailed her when she opened the trunk: her
lunch from three days ago that she hadn't felt like eating.
Smoked turkey and brie with lettuce and honey mustard on
sourdough, by now considerably ripened. She was used to
such things, but if Skinner caught a whiff of it, he'd
probably think she'd dragged him along to dump a body in
Mather Gorge--maybe he could be persuaded into a repeat
performance when she did finally kill Mulder and stuff his
miserable corpse in the trunk. She grabbed two flashlights
and tossed one to Skinner; the flask of JD was tucked in
the inside pocket of her trench, opposite side from her
weapon.

Fuck, it was cold. Bare trees stretched attenuated black
skeletal claws toward a solid sky--starless, with full
cloud cover that glowed vaguely nuclear white, dark but
not. At the lookout at the top of the cliffs, water
bellowed deafening echoes from the gorge below. It hurt
just standing there.

Scully drew out the bottle and took a long pull, passing it
to Skinner with a look indicating that refusal would be a
capital offense. Message duly received, he took a small
swig.

"I'm supposed to be grateful that I'm still alive," she
said without inflection, not looking at him, voice barely
audible over the rushing water.

Skinner continued to face the gorge as well, but leaned
forward to bring himself close to Scully's ear-level. "No,
we're supposed to be grateful that you're still alive."

"Are you...all, whomever is included in this 'we'?" she
asked with a hint of mocking lilt, turning to face him.

"I can only speak for myself."

"Well, then," she sidled closer. "Are you?"

"Very," he answered, looking her straight in the eye.

Neither blinked. Eyes locked in a game of chicken, Scully
reached for Skinner's hand and stroked it open, then
dropped her car keys into his waiting palm.

"Let's go," she said, and whirled back toward the path,
pausing to chug from the bottle again.

"Where?" he asked as he fell into step beside her.

"Your place." She glanced at him sideways. "Unless you'd
rather get a hotel room."

"Scully..."

"I'm not going to sue you, Sir."

Skinner had to lean into the car and move the driver's seat
back before he could get in.

"But I thought you and Mulder..." The look in her eyes
stopped him.

"You thought Mulder and I what, Sir?" There was ice in her
voice.

"I was under the impression that your affections lay
elsewhere," he answered stiffly, formally.

"Regarding my 'affections,' Sir, I take it you are aware of
what transpired in San Diego, so you know that I have once
and for all had a stake driven through my heart.
Furthermore, Mulder and I are not, nor have we ever been,
partners in any other than the FBI sense; which is none of
your business unless you are taking a vested interest in my
sexual history, in which case I can furnish extensive
medical documentation for you to peruse while you make up
your mind whether or not you want to fuck."

Skinner immediately pulled the car off-road and killed the
engine. Without the seatbelt holding him in place, he
loomed over her.

"First of all, if we are going to have this discussion, I
must ask that you call me Walter. Would it be all right if
I called you Dana?" She nodded.

"All right, Dana. No, I don't want to fuck; I think you've
been fucked enough." His unblinking stare was almost
brutal; then, it was gone. "I would like to love you, and
I'd hope to give you a moment to feel something sweeter
than the shit you've been trying to will away or, when that
fails, to drink or drug or curse or fuck away. I'd only ask
that you don't hold me in contempt if I succeed. I learned
the hard way that it's not a crime to still be alive when
you weren't supposed to be, when your friends didn't make
it, when you've watched your child die."

"The girl in the picture." Scully recoiled, then sagged,
all the fight in her gone. Her voice was reduced to a
whisper. "What happened to her, Walter? That is, if you
want to tell me."

Skinner backed into his seat and started the engine. "I do
want to tell you. But not here, not in the car. We've done
too damned much talking in the car as it is."

Once Skinner had eased the car back onto the highway, he
dropped his right hand onto Scully's thigh, far too high up
her leg to be interpreted as anything but a proprietary
gesture; his pinky drew small circles on the inside of her
thigh. Scully slid two fingers into the cuff of his sleeve,
then changed her mind.

At Skinner's apartment, Scully draped her trench and jacket
over a chair and settled in the center of the couch.
Skinner handed her another whiskey, in a glass on the rocks
this time, downing and refilling his own before he even sat
down. He slid onto the couch next to her and cleared his
throat.

"When it first came up that I could look into bringing
her...Lee...bringing her here to the States, it was when
Sharon and I were preparing to get married. Sharon didn't
know...about her, and I didn't feel I could spring it on
her--I was a coward. So, I waited, and by the time I was
ready...war orphans like her, in Saigon, a lot of
them...ended up in prostitution by the time they were
eleven, sometimes younger--I knew that, but I'd refused to
think about it. She was tall for her age--no surprise, my
child--probably looked older.... They had to search for
her; it's unbelievable that they even found her. She was
thirteen when she arrived here. The first time she saw me,
she thought...she thought I was a customer. That I'd bought
her or something. She didn't understand. She didn't trust
Sharon, and Sharon tried but she couldn't trust Lee either.
Lee thought I was rejecting her...she killed herself a
month later. Cut her own throat. We found her right away,
but...she died on the way to the hospital."

"Jesus." Scully's whisper was hoarse.

Neither moved for a few minutes. Then, Scully's shoulders
began to shake. Skinner reached for her hand--it was cold,
and he heard her teeth chattering. He gathered her to him,
and she whispered, "So cold. The outside, the
alcohol--can't get warm."

It wasn't cold in the apartment, but the chill wouldn't
leave her once it had caught up. He clutched her tightly;
still she shivered. "Need...your...heat," she managed to
get out through bluish lips. Skinner quickly undid his
cuffs and pulled his shirt over his head, not bothering to
unbutton it. Gently, he opened Scully's blouse and pulled
her torso against his much warmer one, wrapping his arms
around her back under the blouse. Sensing it still wasn't
enough, he changed his hold and lifted her in his arms.
Scully clung to Skinner's chest, holding herself to his
warmth. 

He paused for a few seconds in front of the bed,
considering, but instead carried her into the bathroom and
carefully set her on the edge of the tub. He turned the hot
water on full-blast to warm the room; the mirrors fogged
almost immediately. He carelessly stripped off the rest of
his own clothes before attending to hers, which he removed
quickly but reverently. Adding just enough cool water to
make the temperature tolerable on bare skin, Skinner lifted
the lever for the shower and propped Scully in front of him
in the flow. Steam swirled around them. She folded her
hands in front of her and let the water run down her arms
to her bony chest, rivulets snaking down her body. 

As though she had just come to, Scully was suddenly
standing firmly on her own rewarmed feet. Skinner felt her
shoulders tighten, felt her back clench to move
imperceptibly away from his erection pressing against it.

"I'm fine, I'm okay. Sorry for the alarm." She seemed more
upset by the fact that Skinner had been holding her up than
that she was standing naked in his shower.

Skinner was careful to keep his voice from sounding too
soothing. "No trouble, Dana. Though I had thought if we
were going to end up in the shower together tonight, it
might be under slightly different circumstances." He gave
her shoulders a gentle squeeze, more affectionate than
seductive. "What do you say we slow things down a bit? Let
me make you something to eat--I'll bet you haven't had
anything since lunch."

"Breakfast," she said quietly, and paused for a moment.
"Thank you."

"Omelettes okay?" Skinner asked as he reached over her to
turn off the shower.

Scully nodded, then turned to face Skinner, stopping him as
he was about to step out of the tub. She slid her arms
around his neck and pulled him down to her level, placing a
soft, soft kiss on his lips, and then another. 

Skinner's arms wrapped around her as he kissed her back.

END


Challenge elements:
A torn tendon
One lone Percocet
Naked Skinner, sunny side up
Brie cheese
A bottle of expensive wine 
A much needed getaway


**********************