From: "A b" Date: Tue, 12 Mar 2002 21:45:37 -0800 Subject: Unappreciated Source: direct Unappreciated by awriter78@hotmail.com Rating -- PG. Keywords: Sk/Sc friendship, mystery Spoilers--well Scully has her baby, so... Disclaimer -- The characters you recognize are 1013 and such and are not used for profit. Chloe is mine, but unfortunately she is also not used for profit. Archive at Gossamer Feedback -- pretty please awriter78@hotmail.com Monday night "Is anybody sitting here?" He looked up from his scotch. The voice belonged to a young woman, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. She was pretty, light blond hair, pale skin and a shy smile. He remembered the last time he let a woman sit next to him in a bar. How can hedo this without appearing too rude? "I was just leaving," he said getting up. Never mind the half-full glass in front of him. "I need to talk to you," she said. "Please, can I sit down? I won't take more than a minute of your time." He sighed. No harm in talking. Plus he was curious. "What could I do for you, Ms...?" "West. Chloe West. We need to talk." Something in the way she said that...the urgency in her voice relaxed him. Of course. She was a mere messenger. "Okay, Ms. West, who sent you?" "What do you mean?" "You need to talk to me. What do you need to say? Who are you working for?" "No one sent me, Walter." He looked up at that. "Walter, huh? Now I'm really curious. Who am I'm on a first-name basis with?" "It's not like that. It's...well...we're about to become very close." Did she just come on to him or was he hallucinating? "Ms. West, I am flattered but you are young enough to be my daughter." She stared at him for a moment, before she looked down, her cheeks coloring. "No, that's not what I meant. I have a boyfriend." "What do you want to tell me? Why are we going to become close?" She looked up at him. She said plainly, no question in her voice, "Someone will try to kill me on Friday." "Who?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I don't know when, where, who or how. I just know Friday." "What does this have to do with me?" "You're supposed to save me." He downed the rest of his drink. He closed his eyes and opened them again. She was still there fiddling with what looked like a gold locket. "That's not funny." "I know," she said. "And I wish I had more information. I only have two pieces of information. One is that someone will try to kill me and the other is that you will save my life." "Me, huh?" he said playing along. "You're sure it's me." "Oh, definitely. I've known this Friday was coming for awhile and I would get little pieces of information on who would save me. I know a lot about you already." "Do you? Like what?" "Well, you work for the FBI. You're almost fifty, you're divorced and you have a half-sister." "Anyone can read a file." "Okay," she said closing her eyes. "I also know that you're favorite color is dark green, you have a slight allergy to peanuts and the last movie you saw was Gladiator." He didn't know what to say to that. "Did I like Gladiator?" That got a smile from her. "No. You never liked Russell Crowe. He reminds you of your half-sister's ex-husband." "How the hell do you know that?" "I don't know. I just know that I get a piece of information about you a day. I think that it was my job to find you to tell you to find me on Friday." "So you won't be here?" "At a bar? No, I don't know where I'll be. All I know is that it's your job to find me." "Or else....?" She frowned. "Or else I won't live to see Saturday." He woke up in a sweat tangled up in his covers. It took a few moments for him to remember the dream. Of course it was a dream. Some mysterious woman came out of nowhere and told you all this nonsense, he thought to himself, and you think it's real. He realized he had a few hours left and went back to sleep. Tuesday Night "Hungry?" she asked him. Chloe West is back. She is eating. Pasta with vegetables and garlic bread. It's funny, he could almost smell it. "No," he said. "So did you think about what I told you yesterday?" He didn't answer. He watched her eat. "How can you eat knowing what you know?" She was chewing when he asked, so had to wait a minute. "So are you saying you believe me?" "No, I'm just playing along with the dream." "This is a dream, but what I'm saying is real." "Ms. West..." "Please, it's Chloe." "Chloe, this is definitely a dream. And I might have to cut this one short." "Do you think I'm real?" What a question. "I don't know how to answer that, Chloe." "If I give you something and you have it tomorrow morning when you are awake, will you believe I'm real?" "That won't happen." "Let's say it happens." She took off her bracelet. It was silver with dark green beads. "Take it." He reached for it. It felt fragile. "You wake up with the bracelet and you find me before Friday. Deal?" "So it won't be a random meeting? I have to actively search for you?" "Yes." She took a big bite of her pasta. "And to answer your earlier question, I can eat, because I am confident you will save me like you're supposed to." "How do you know that?" "Just last week, a small kitten found its way to your apartment. You gave it some milk and then walked around the apartment complex until you found the owner. I have faith you'll find me." Wednesday Morning "This," Skinner said to himself as he looked into the mirror. "this is a hallucination. You have either been working too hard, sleeping too little or drinking too often. You did not wake up clutching a silver and green bracelet. Maybe this is part of the dream and any minute you will wakeup." He gave himself a quick, self-deprecating smile and pinched his arm. He felt it. Or did he? He could simply be dreaming that he felt pain from pinching himself. After all, he thought last night that he had smelled Chloe's garlic bread. He drove to work and sat at his desk. He didn't even know where to start. "Nothing," he muttered to himself. "I have nothing, but a bracelet that may or may not exist from a girl who may or may not exist." But the bracelet was real. And the day was real. Therefore Chloe must be real and the promise that he had made to her must be real. Or was it? He did nothing that day except think. He cancelled his meetings, skipped lunch and wondered if he was finally losing his mind. Wednesday Night "Do you feel unappreciated?" Chloe asked him. They were walking together in a park. She was wearing overalls and her hair in braids. She didn't ask him about the bracelet. "What do you mean?" "I mean in general. In life, work, whatever," she picked up a dandelion and blew. "Do people appreciate you?" "That's a strange question." "Do they?" "I don't know," he said. "Sometimes people appreciate me." "Remember how I told you that I receive a piece of information about you a day? Last night, I got information that people took you for granted." "I don't know if I agree with that." "People at work ask...no demand your help and you always try to help and you get nothing in return. No one gives you flowers, a card or even a simple thanks. No one appreciates you." "What does this have to do with anything?" he asked a little uncomfortable. She turned to look at him. "You came back to talk to me tonight. You could have just ignored me and allowed me to die, but you won't. You'll find me on Friday and save me." "How can I find you if you won't tell me where you'll be?" It seemed like a reasonable question. "I can't tell you that." "What can you tell me?" "I guess I can tell you how I know about Friday." "I'm listening." "There's a bench. Shall we sit down?" He nodded and followed her. "Friday, December 21, 2001. I've had my own visions, what were called hallucinations. Since I was eight." "Eight?" "I have journals with information I started receiving since I was eight. At first it was just the day. December 21, 2001. Something horrible was going to happen. I received a gift on my ninth birthday, visions of me dead. Every night it was the same. I couldn't see how I died ony that I was dead. Somedays I saw my funeral, some days my own autopsy. What would a nine-year-old know of autopsies?" "Did you tell your parents?" "I didn't know how to tell them at first. They thought it was just nightmares and would sing lullabies or tell stories. But then I sat my mother one down one day and told her everything. I told her that on this day I was going to die and I couldn't stop anything. They took me a psychologist who tried to give me sleeping pills. I wouldn't take them. I got another gift on my tenth birthday." "What was that?" "A voice. A young man's voice that I would hear in my head, would tell me to prepare for the day. I made the mistake of trying to listen to him in class one day, which got me sent to the principal. Another psychologist, this one thought I was schizophrenic." "So what did you do?" "The night of my eleventh birthday I saw you. You were in a bar, drinking. And I wondered what you had to do with me. And I wondered if the same thing was going to happen to you. If you were dying too that day or even if you were the one to kill me. The second night I saw you, I saw you kissing a woman with brown hair, your ex-wife. And I decided to write everything I remembered about you. What you wore, what you ate...either as a way to find you or to avoid you. On my twelth birthday, I was told that someone was going to attempt to kill me, but you would save me. I relaxed after that and things went back to normal. Even though it still scared me that I would almost die, the thought that I would be saved was a relief. On my thirteenth birthday, I was told not to contact you. Which was too bad, because I had your work address and number and your home address and number." "I don't know what I would have done if you had called me." "Probably hung up on me," she said laughing. "I finally got the instructions several years later, my eighteenth birthday. How to dream within a dream." "Dream within a dream?" "It's hard to put into words. It's how you contact someone through a dream. You find out where they are in their dream and then insert yourself into the dream. I was instructed how to do it using all the information I was given about you and then told it would only work the Monday before. So that's what I did. I dreamt Monday night and closed everything off until I found you in the bar." "Is it hard to do?" "Yes and no. I have to teach you how to do it for Friday, but it will be different for you. You are dreaming now, but you'll have to dream within a dream to find out where I will be on Friday. And then you have to physically be there." "You know how ridiculous this sounds, Chloe?" "Yes, I do. If I was hearing this for the first time, I would be thinking the same way you were. But this is my life we're talking about. I have been receiving information about you every night and receiving instructions almost every birthday." "Is Friday your birthday?" he asked. She smiled. "Yes. Yours too. I found that out the second day I dreamt of you." "You can't just tell me where you'll be on Friday?" "It doesn't work that way. I could very easily tell you to be at an intersection at seven in the morning and get killed on my way. The only way to do this is to dream within a dream. Now pay attention to find out where you need to be. And I'll see you on Friday." "Okay, what do I have to do?" "Close your eyes and completely relax. Don't make a sound or a movement. Pay attention to noises, smells around you and you will find the place to be." It was crazy, but he closed his eyes. Her voice was soothing and he found himself starting to nod off. He jerked himself awake and everything was black. He felt the cold immediately. He took a breath and smelled wonderful smells...onions, meat, mustard. He smelled horses too, a not so wonderful smell. Wherever he was, it was a busy place. There were people all around him and he could feel and hear them, even though he still couldn't see them. All the voices faded then except one woman. He could hear her ask "Excuse me, can you tell me where the Liberty Bell is?" Another voice, a man's, "Just two blocks to the west. Follow the crowd." "Philadelphia," he said, his voice full of excitement. "Chloe, you're in Philadelphia." But he was all alone. He was in bed and his alarm was going off. It was Thursday morning. Thursday Morning "Is this yours?" he asked shoving the silver and green bracelet in Kimberly's face. She looked up from her paperwork. He looked awful. Exhausted. And he looked like he hadn't shaved in a little while. Even though he was dressed in his usual white shirt, tie and dark pants, he looked sloppy. Distracted. "No, sir, it isn't. Where did you find it? I can ask around. I'll take it,"she offered holding her hand out. "No", he said. He was holding the bracelet in a death-grip. "I was just checking. I will be back up in a second." Philadelphia, he had to be there tomorrow, he thought to himself as he walked to the basement. He just had to make sure. Monica Reyes was at a desk, looking at a computer. "Sir," she said when he entered. "I found this. Is it yours?" he asked gruffly. She looked over the bracelet. "No." "Could it be Scully's?" "I don't think so, sir." "Where is everybody?" he asked. "Doggett and Scully are out on a case. Did you want to see them when they got back?" He shook his head. He hoped he wouldn't be there when they got back. He went back to his office. "What's my schedule look like?" Kimberly opened the calendar and rattled off various meetings and conferences. "Cancel everything. I'll be back on Monday." "Is something wrong? Is it your family?" His family. Code for Mulder, Scully, Reyes or Doggett. He hated to think what he would say if something happened to his real family. "No," he said. "Nothing to do with my family." For once, this was all him. "If your family calls and asks for you, what should I tell them?" "Tell them what I told you. I'll be back at work on Monday." It was a long drive to Philadelphia, made longer because of heavy rain, traffic and him being distracted. He tried to listen to the radio, but that made things worse. "What if I hallucinated everything? What if there is no Chloe West in Philadelphia? What if there is and she has no idea who I am? What if she calls the police on an old man, stalking her every move?" His thoughts won't stop for a minute. He was tired, but forced himself to keep alert. He stopped frequently for bad coffee, making the trip even longer. "Stay awake," he commanded himself. He could sleep once he got to Philadelphia. But he knew he wouldn't. He would prepare himself instead. He would get on the computer, study maps, try to find the exact location. Try to find Chloe. He didn't stop again until he hit Philadelphia. He found a motel in the vicinity of the Liberty Bell. He checked in and let himself nap for an hour before he woke himself up. "Sleeping won't save her life," he muttered to himself. It was getting dark. He picked up his map of Philadelphia. He knew the address of his hotel and soon found where the Liberty Bell is. What did he learn in his vision? The spot was two blocks east of the landmark. He left the hotel to scout his location for tomorrow. He was afraid to be optimistic, but he thought he might have the location. There was a cheesesteak place nearby and people came out with their fragrant purchases. A man was selling soft pretzels with mustard from a cart. There were people, crowds of them, even in the rain. Another man was offering tours in a horse-drawn carriage, but in the bad weather, received no takers. "This is it," he mumbled. He felt it. "This is it," he exclaimed louder. A woman walking near him looked up in surprise. He shook his head in apology. It was still Thursday night and he could do very little until tomorrow. He went back to the hotel and slept a few hours. His alarm rang at eleven-thirty. He would be on surveillance at midnight. Friday morning Philadelphia was freezing and rainy and dark at midnight he observed. Big surprise. He wore a heavy dark green shirt and a leather jacket, but was still cold. Water had begun to seep through his shoes and numbed his toes. "First thing," he said, "when I leave, I am taking a shower, no screw the shower I am going to take a hot, girly bath. I will then sleep, eat, shave and make an immediate appointment for a psych screening." There was no one he had to apologize to for speaking aloud. He was by himself. "So Chloe," he said to himself. "Are you even real? Did I make you up? What happens if I am a second too slow, a second too late? Will you die? Or will fate work out so even if I screw up I still manage to save you?" Good questions. Questions he should have asked her. It began to get light. People started walking around. He didn't see her anywhere. It wasn't raining anymore, but he was still cold. He watched people, starting their ordinary days. He used to have ordinary days, years ago. He was tired and his head was beginning to throb. "Please," he whispered, "if this is real and I am not hallucinating let me be able to save her." It was almost a prayer. The day stretched on. He did not eat, worried that the second he took his eyes off the intersection he was at, she would appear. People began to look at him and he could only imagine how he looks. A man shivering, watching, pacing. He wished he had thought to bring binoculars, but his eyes would have to do. It was close to one-thirty, when he, exhausted, starving and cold, felt himself nodding off. He was standing against a wall and leaned back into it. His eyes closed. For a minute, he heard everybody's voices, a surprising yet soothing lullaby. Wait, he couldn't be sleeping, and he jerked himself awake angrily. He saw only black and all the voices faded. Except a young woman's. Her voice was young and slightly breathy. "I'll call you later, Chloe." His eyes snapped open. And then he saw her. She was on the other side of the street, looking just like she looked in his visions. She was wearing a white sweater and jeans. The girl she was talking to waved and walked away. "Chloe," he called. His voice was weak and it would have ordinarily been impossible for her to hear her. She looked up though and scanned the group of people on the other street. He didn't know if she saw him or not. She crossed along with other pedestrians. She seemed to lag behind. "You need to walk faster," he mumbled, but after watching her, he realized that she had a slight limp and walked slowly. She had just stepped onto the other side and was standing near a pole when it happened. A car trying to make a left turn crashed violently into another car, sending it spinning toward the pole. He didn't know where everybody else was, what they were doing, right now it was only him and Chloe. He grabbed her arm, hard and she stumbled into him, sending them both to the ground, seconds before the car hit the pole. He had hit his head and became dizzy. Very dizzy. She seemed to be okay, but remained next to him, stunned. The police and ambulance were called. He overheard them talking. The cars were both totaled. But both people were amazingly okay. The driver who hit the pole had a bloody nose and a possible concussion. The other driver may have sprained his wrist. They were both headed for the hospital, but were both talking, able to move. "A miracle," one policeman muttered to the other. Skinner was dazed and only remembered all this information after the fact. The policeman finally noticed them lying on the ground. "Can you hear me? Are you two okay? What happened?" A woman told the policeman everything. "This here girl was standing by the pole and this man grabbed her a second before the car came. Saved her life definitely. These two have been on the ground since then." Chloe took that as her cue to get up. "I'm okay," she said. She leaned over him and stroked his face, his stubble. "You saved me," she whispered so only the two of them could hear. "I knew you would." He sat up. His hand went to the back of his head. Felt the bump. "Happy birthday." "You too," she said. Her eyes began to tear up. He reached into his pocket and gave her her bracelet. "Thank you," she said. "Don't cry," he said. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" "I hurt my head. I'll be okay." "Good. I can't thank you enough." "Don't worry. I'm glad I could do it." "Sir," a policeman said holding out his hand. Skinner took it. "Let's take you to the hospital for a check up. For your head." "Are you okay, miss," the other officer asked Chloe. She nodded. As Skinner was led away by the officer, he heard the other officer tell Chloe. "Someone up there likes you, young lady. You were very lucky today." And even though he was too far away and he shouldn't have been able to hear anything, he was able to hear her voice. "I know," she said. "I was lucky today. Someone saved my life and I will always be grateful to him." He doesn't hear the officer's response, only smiled and when asked, blamed his watery eyes on his head injury. He didn't have a concussion and was allowed to drive home. The rain had started again, but traffic was much lighter. He was tired, down to his bones. He both wanted and didn't want to go home. What he wanted was to talk to someone--to hear someone tell him he wasn't crazy. He drove to Scully's. It wasn't too late when he gets to her apartment. She should be awake. He knocked on the door. "Who is it?" she asked. "It's me. It's Skinner," he said. "Hold on," she said. When she opened the door, she had a sleepy-looking William in her arms. She looked Skinner over. He looked exhausted, his face pale with horrible circles under his eyes. The stubble, while not terrible, made him looked unkempt. He was bundled up with a heavy sweater and a coat and was still shivering. She shooed him into her apartment. "Where were you? We were so worried about you," she said after putting William to bed. "Philadelphia." "What were you doing in Philadelphia? Kimberly didn't know anything." He didn't say anything yet. That would wait. She let him take a shower and made him some soup and sandwiches. He was on his second bowl of soup and third sandwich when she brought up the conversation again. "They don't have any food in Philadelphia anymore?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow. Now that he was warm and full, his eyelids were beginning to droop. He could fall asleep right now, right there on the couch. But she wouldn't let him. Not without answers. "You can sleep here tonight. You can go to sleep as soon as you tell me why you had to go to Philadelphia. And you came back looking like hell." He gave her a half-smile and unconsciously rubbed his hand against the new, rough stubble on his chin. "You don't like my new look." "I think I would like it better if I knew why you had it." He sighed. "Can I ask you something first?" "Sure." He stood up and turned around. "Is there anything on the back of my head?" He got the answer with her sharp intake of breath. "Does it hurt?" "A little. The doctor at the ER told me it wasn't a concussion." "Do you want to take something?" "No, let me get through this story first. Monday night I had a strange dream about this young woman named Chloe." And so the story went. He told her everything he remembered which was a lot. He recited their conversations word-for-word, told her his vision of Philadelphia and finally earlier today. When he finished the story, she was looking at him, a strange expression on her face. "So what do you think?" She didn't know what to say. What do you say to something like that? Finally, "Sounds like you had an interesting week." "Am I crazy?" he blurted out. "No," she said. "And you shouldn't think like that. You were given the opportunity to save this Chloe's life and you did it. You figured out everything you needed to figure out and saved her. I don't think you are lying to me...I mean you have a huge bump on the back of your head from when you two fell... and Agent Reyes told me about the bracelet." "I keep thinking if she hadn't contacted me...if I decided she was lying to me...or if I was a second too late..." "But you weren't. That's what's important." He still didn't say anything and she sighed. "Wait here for a second, okay." Where would he go? He nodded. She was back with a small wrapped present. "Happy birthday." He looked from her to the gift in shock. She smiled. "You can open it." "I wasn't...you didn't...I mean..." he sputtered. "You didn't have to." "But I did. Will you open it? I'll tell you this much, it isn't a razor." He grinned. His eyes were so heavy, but he managed the paper and ribbons. It was a book, a thick journal, with a masculine dark red cover. There was a matching pen too. "What do you get the AD who has everything?" she asked. "Thank you," he said. "It seems especially appropriate now. I mean if you have any more dreams or visions about Chloe or anyone else...you can write them down." "It's beautiful." "Let me get you some blankets. Are you comfortable?" "Mmm," he said. Right now she could offer him her kitchen floor to sleep on, and he would be able to. She went to her closet and picked out some thick blankets. She thought of his story, of this Chloe and what she had told him. Scully felt awful. She walked back to her couch, and said somewhat apologetically, "I don't want you to feel unappreciated anymore." But he was asleep, snoring softly. She put the quilts over him and walked upstairs, wondering what he might like for breakfast. The end