Far below me the Mississippi River makes it’s way to New Orleans. From here, the barges and boats can be riverboats from 100 years ago, or the canoes of Native Americans from longer ago than that. It’s easy to imagine that there is no JEH, no Mulder.
The bluffs extend out over the bottom of the river valley below. From here, I won’t be able to see them search for the remains of Larson’s body. I just hope they find it. Larson was no vampire. And this wasn’t Interview with the Vampire. Larson was a psychotic murderer who read far too many Ann Rice novels. Besides, it was broad daylight when Skinner killed him. But everyone went down to the bottom of the bluffs to make sure, even Skinner. The state police have already lead Mrs. Larson away, struggling, screaming at the top of her lungs, a parody of Bette Davis and Joan Crawford in Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte. Oh lord, I’ve been around Mulder too long. All week we’ve been playing the movie game. If he’s not asking, "Scully, that guy is right out of Deliverance or check out those cars, what movie were they in?" he’s asking me, "Quick Scully, who said, "I could dance with you till the cows come home. On second thought, I'd rather dance with the cows when you came home." Fortunately, we’ve been playing this game for years now and I can quote Duck Soup with the best of them. Oh, the genteel south.
Up the gentle rise, Larson Hall looms above the entire scene. No wonder Larson was crazy. The place is right out of a novel set 150 years ago. A vague memory of an old Clint Eastwood movie where he plays a wounded Union soldier who’s been taken in at a Southern girls' school flickers across the back of my mind. What was it? I saw it in Arkansas with Mulder. The ass loved it. We play this game all the time, damn it. He would know. Oh yeah. The Beguiled. I really need a life that involves something besides old movies in old hotels in places like Fentonsville, Mississippi.
Wearily, I make my way back up to the driveway. "Just great." No one thought to leave me a car. Damn them all. I take out my cell phone but put it back. I know that they all want to make sure Larson’s body is really down there. I think this case even spooked the unspookable Skinner. For nearly a week he’s been bullying everyone to find Senator Jackson’s son’s murderer. And, he’s been growling and yelling at everyone, including me. In other words, situation normal. But for some reason, this week seems to have affected me more than the other times Skinner has personally supervised one of our cases.
It’s so damn hot and humid here. I’m exhausted. Well, why not? I fought for my life less than an hour ago. If Skinner hadn’t pulled him away, it might very well have been me on the river rocks below. Somewhere far away I hear the rumbling of thunder. Oh please let them find the body before the storms start.
There’s little for me to do but settle down on the porch on a rocking chair out of the sun and wait for one of them to look at the other and say, "Oops, better go get good old Scully." I just wish I had a bottle of water. Well why not? Mrs. Larson isn’t coming back here tonight, if ever. And her lemonade was good, though I’m sure, had she known why we were waiting for her son, she would have reigned in the southern hospitality.
I go into the house, through the tall back door, its mate thirty feet away down a darkened hallway, the screen door latched, but the heavy wood door open, letting in what little breeze there is this time of day and year. Damn, and I thought DC was unbearable in August. I fill a glass with ice and empty the pitcher of the last of the homemade lemonade. Returning to the back porch I sit in the rocker and wait. The glass is already beading with cold sweat and I run it across my brow and then, because no one is around, press it between the vee of my suit blouse. Leaning back in the rocker I let my mind wander. What would it have been like all those years ago? It was a genteel, vicious way of life. Slaves. White masters. Beautiful women in dresses so tight they couldn’t sit for fear of passing out.
The sun is starting to set. The cicadas are beginning their nightly symphony and I gasp as a slight whisper of a breeze finally reaches me. The western sky is vividly orange and purple. The thunderhead is holding back everything but a hint of the cool air to come. This is probably the closest thing to ecstasy that they feel in the south. Sure is as close as I’ve gotten in a while.
Why is that? How did I reach this point in my life? When did everything become the quest? When did Mulder’s cause become my raison d'être? More importantly, when did the vague unease that this would be all that there was for me set in?
I’m no longer the new kid at the FBI, haven’t been for years. I’m not even the Ice Queen anymore. I move through the halls of the Hoover, almost invisible. I’ve survived abductions, alien and human, I am responsible for my sister’s murder, the alienation of my brothers, and I’ve hurt my mother more deeply than anyone deserves. I’ve chased after Fox Mulder, held his hand, soothed his fears. I’ve lied for him to our boss. Hell, I’ve pulled my gun on Skinner twice now.
Walter Sergei Skinner. When did I stop thinking of him as the enemy? When did he invade my wet dreams? It’s been years since I stopped dreaming about Mulder that way. I wonder how Skinner sees me? Does he see me? Of course he does, doesn’t he? He saved my life today. But how does he see me? Am I just a necessary component in keeping Fox Mulder grounded and on a fairly even track? Skinner kicks ass and I listen and commiserate.
God, it’s so hot and quiet and peaceful. The cicadas lull me to a twilight sleep.
Ghostly images dance before my eyes. Ladies in beautiful gowns, men in gray uniforms holding them, twirling in the twilight. And, a sleek panther of a man, dressed in well-cut black evening dress, cutting through them all, heading my way.
"Miss Dana."
"Why Captain Mulder, don’t you look dashing in that uniform."
"Thank you. May I have a dance?"
"Well now, let me see if I have room on my card."
"Don’t tease."
"Why, Captain Mulder, I do believe I have a spot for you. How about the contra?"
"You honor me, ma’am. You’ll pardon me, but I must speak with Lieutenant Byers." He hurries away and my sister approaches me, a worried look upon her face.
"Dana isn’t it marvelous that all the boys could be here tonight? It may be the last time."
"Fiddle-dee-dee. War, war, war. This war talk's spoiling all the fun at every party this spring. I get so bored I could scream. Besides, there isn't going to be any war...."
"Miss Scully."
"Mr. Skinner, you are no gentleman."
"And you, Miss Scully, are no lady...Don't think that I hold that against you. Ladies have never held any charm for me.
Thunder rumbles nearby and I jerk my eyes open. It darker but I can still make out the lights of the towns far in the distance. Lightning is skating across the approaching thunderhead. The breeze is picking up, stirring the humidity like a whirlpool. Why had I dreamed that? Not the time period. Sitting on the porch of this house, it was a given. But, Mulder as who? Brent Tarlonton? Mulder as a Confederate? Not likely, regardless of what Melissa Ephasian said. And Skinner? Hmmm? Skinner as Rhett Butler. Well that might fly. However, me as Scarlet? Now there’s an X-file. "Fiddle-dee-dee. Indeed."
"You see yourself as Scarlet O’Hara, Agent Scully?" His deep chuckle has me out of the rocker so fast it nearly tips forward. His hand reaches out to halt the wild rocking. "I didn’t mean to scare you." He’s standing there in his suit pants and white dress shirt looking a bit worse for wear.
"You didn’t. Scare me I mean. You found the body?"
"Of course, what’s left of it, but it’s him." He looks down at his body and points to smudges of dirt. "It was a bit of a problem getting to him. But they’ll be able to get the remains before the storm hits."
"I should get down and do the autopsy."
He reaches out and touches me softly on the shoulder. "Tomorrow, Scully. It can wait until tomorrow. I’ve already sent Mulder back to the hotel. I came up to fetch you."
"Fetch me?" I arch my eyebrow and affect what I am sure is a very bad southern accent. "Well sir, I do declare, do ya’ll think that would be proper?" I see the look of shock in his eyes and for a moment I think he’s going to say something about my sanity.
I’m even more shocked when he chuckles and holds out his arm. "Now, Miss Dana, you know my intentions are quite honorable. I’m here to see you safely back."
I know I’m being silly, but why not? Why not with this man whom I’ve come to trust? I take his arm and let him lead me back into the house. He locks the back door and leads me through the shabby old house. The floors are well worn and dirty. The wallpaper is peeling and there’s no original furniture left. But still, I can feel the magic. I look up at Skinner and I think he’s a little affected by it too. "Pity," I whisper so softy that he shouldn’t be able to hear. But then, I have always underestimated him.
"What’s a pity?" He stops outside the old parlor. A horsehair couch, moth-eaten and threadbare is the only furniture that didn’t come from a discount store. And, it’s still fifty years newer than this house was during its heyday. He looks down at me with a questioning smile. He looks so much younger when he smiles.
Gently, I tug him back into the moisture-laden evening. I wait while he locks up the place. His ride isn’t a black stallion, a four-in-hand, or even a surrey with fringe on top. It’s a rental Mercury Grand Marquis, the only car left in the small fleet at the regional airport. I look up and a big fat raindrop nails me right between the eyes. He opens my door for me, like the gentleman he has declared himself to be. By the time he opens the driver’s door and climbs in behind the wheel, I’ve come up with a plausible lie. "It’s a pity that that old house has fallen into such disrepair." He seems disappointed by my answer, but I really can’t tell him that what I really find a pity is that he has assured me that his intentions are honorable.
Carefully, he makes his way down the long rutted drive. It’s a fairly straight shot, but I hope we make it to the state highway before the rain starts. I don’t want to get mired. Not here. Drops are splattering the windshield and the interior lights illuminate the concern on Skinner’s face. I know he will get us out of this.
We both breathe a sigh of relief as the tires touch asphalt. As soon as he has the car up to speed, we relax further and watch the lightning streak closer and closer. It’s a twenty-mile drive into town. I’m sure we will make it. And, of course, as soon as I form the thought, the skies open up and I’m afraid again.
"Damn it." Skinner grips the wheel and I know he is fighting the wind and the rain. "I don’t like this. I don’t know this road at all. I’m going to have to pull off." Suddenly, I’m very glad that he has this big old car, geezer mobile that it might be. He finds a widening in the road and pulls off. We don’t sway or sink, so I know it’s a natural pull-off. We sit for a moment and then in a display worthy of the Fourth of July, the lightning clearly shows us the big square dark sign and a picnic table just beyond.
"An historical marker," I advise.
"Well, it’s as good a place as any to wait it out, I suppose. We’re level with the road so we shouldn’t flood." He turns off the engine. "Sorry, but we definitely don’t want it to overheat."
"I know. But it’s going to get awfully muggy in here." Well, there’s nothing for it. I guess I could ask him to turn on the auxiliary and the radio but I sit here quietly mulling over the incredible fact that for once in our lives we are sitting next to each other when the only real threat (or the most immediate threat) is a thunderstorm. I can feel him sitting still, relaxing; savoring the silence and the calm inside this car. I’m inordinately pleased that Mulder isn’t in the back seat. Mulder is incapable of sitting still. I can’t remember a time when Mulder would be content to be silent. He would already be insisting that we start the game. ‘What movie did this line come from?’
But, soon, the silence becomes embarrassing. He shifts in the seat but says nothing. I guess it’s up to me. I should ask about the body and the time frame and, and damn I don’t want to. "So, when we get back, what will you be doing?" I blurt it out and am immediately embarrassed. It is probably the most personal question I’ve ever asked him.
"We’ve been gone two weeks, Scully. What will you do?"
"Well, clean of course."
"Of course."
"You?"
"Me?" I feel more than see his head turn to consider me, or at least my dark form. "Why, clean of course. You think the house elves are going to do it?"
House elves? House elves? What the devil? "Oh my." The giggle comes unbidden. "You’re a fan of Harry Potter, Skinner?" Oh lord, I wish I hadn’t said that out loud. I’ve embarrassed him.
The silence stretches but he finally grumbles. "My sister-in-law is a good, God-fearing, bible-reading, woman. When some idiot suggested that the books be banned, she called me to see what I could do. I blew her off until my nephew called all upset and said she had grounded him for a year because she caught him with one of the books."
"You’re kidding me." Damn straight he’s kidding me. I’ve learned more about Skinner in the past thirty seconds than I have in six years.
"No, so I went and bought the first four books. Well written, nails some truths about growing up, but just generally a fun read. How many have you read?"
"All of them." I blurt it out without thought. "But don’t tell Mulder." I don’t tell him that its because Mulder wants to wait and see the movies.
"Promise." I hear the grin before lightning shows it. He must see me shiver. "You don’t like thunderstorms?"
"Not in a car along the side of the road. Now, high up, where I can watch them…" My voice trails off. I know he lives on the seventeenth story of a Crystal City high rise. Suddenly, I’m afraid that he will think…think what?
"You better try and get some sleep." Damn, he does think I’m making some comment about his apartment. What? Does he think I’m jealous of his address? Or worse does he think I’m coming on to him, angling for an invitation. Whoa. Hold the phone. Why would he think that? Why do I think he would invite me? Do I want that? Damn it’s the heat. That’s what it is. I lean back the seat a bit and look at the water sheeting on the windshield. House elves in a tall high-rise tower of a building.
"Dana! What do you think of the new master for Defense against the Dark Arts?" I turn to find Fox Mulder and Danny Pendrell standing just behind me. Danny was so pleased when he was name prefect. Fox just looks good in his robes and round glasses. He brushes his unruly hair away and I can make out the odd scar in the shape of an "X." Even eighteen years haven’t dulled it at all.
"I think that he will be quite excellent," Danny insists.
"Well, Professor Skinner certainly showed you, Dana." Fox is smiling at the memory of my discomfort.
Danny looks around us. "I don’t think he was supposed to use any of us as test subjects."
Fox laughs. "Well it’s not like he turned her into a ferret like Mad-Eye did when we were fourths." Both boys laugh at a remembrance that has gone down in school lore. I, of course, had better things to do with my time then. Like now, suddenly I have to go.
"Well, ta."
"The library, right!" Both of them laugh at me but I turn and huff. Actually, I have an important meeting. Why hadn’t I remembered it before now? I hurry up the winding stairs. I will miss Hogwarts, but I’m looking forward to whatever life holds for me. Up and up I climb the unfamiliar tower. Few windows mar the continuing gallery of moving portraits and tapestries. But I can tell that it’s raining hard outside. Thunder booms and lightning streaks across the sky. And higher still I climb. This must be the highest tower in the castle, higher even that the one from where we rescued Silas five years ago. Poor Fox, so many losses in his life.
Finally I come to the door. How I know it’s the right one is beyond me. How I got here is beyond me.
"Enter." I feel the command more than I hear it. The door swings open and I see him standing there at the window. He doesn’t even turn around. His dark robes hang perfectly from his shoulders. He certainly is the neatest Defense teacher we’ve ever had. He is, without compare, the most magnetic. "You’re late."
"Sorry, sir. It’s a very long climb."
"Indeed it is, Dana. But, when I summon you, you will come immediately." His voice weaves its way through my body, touching places that I have tried to ignore. And suddenly I remember. I had no appointment with Professor Skinner. "What have you done to me?"
"Done?" Now he does turn and I can clearly see the hunger in his eyes and I know the spell he cast on me in class wasn’t dispelled with the flick of his wand. "Why, I’ve given you what you want, haven’t I?" His finger beckons me and I try to resist, but the pull is too great. I walk towards him. I feel my insides begin to boil. I should feel fear; terror even. But, all I feel is an incredible need. I’m standing next to him and his fingers caress – no – hover over my cheek. "So beautiful." I see the answering need in his eyes and I arch towards his hand.
"Scully." I open my eyes and find the green dashboard lights illuminating the car once again. I see his hand retreating to the steering wheel. Had he touched me? Were the words from my dream? How does he see me?
"Wah?" I manage. "How long?"
"No more than thirty minutes, but the rain is letting up and I thought I would try it again. I would’ve let you sleep, but you were moaning and I thought you might be having a nightmare."
He’s lying. It’s an embarrassed lie but I can remember my dream vividly. I wasn’t moaning. Not yet, anyway. Damn the man. It might have been interesting. I snort at him and my assessment. Yeah, that’s what I want, mind-controlled sex. Unable to resist. A man calling the shots. I look away from him. The rain, at least, has let up some. Oh, it’s still coming down. But I can see the fields and the farms and the line of red lights up ahead. "Now what?"
Skinner doesn’t answer. Glancing over I can see his jaw working and I know he knows he’s busted. What? Had my eyes flickered as he touched my jaw? What would he have done? Rape? Skinner? Never. What if he made an advance? Would I pull away?
"What’s the damn hold up?" His growl sends chills down my spine. His deep voice has always affected me. I think his voice is one of his most attractive features. Well okay, besides the fine shoulders and incredible ass. Oh yeah, me and Skinner, in a tower fucking like bunnies, as spells and fairies fly around us. Evidently, my reading material could use an overhaul too. Well, what else is there to do when on a case with Fox Mulder. Now if I were partnered with Skinner? Stop it!
We’re stopped dead in traffic, probably more traffic than this road has seen since the last Civil War re-enactment. Only we aren’t creeping along. We aren’t moving at all.
He stretches around behind us. "I’m going to go and see what the hold up is." He pulls back a huge golf umbrella and nearly takes my head off with it. "Stay in the car." He’s out in the rain, his progress lit by each successive pair of headlights. Damn the man.
He’s afraid to stay in the car with me. "Hey! Who touched who?" I ask the rain. I touch my cheek and I imagine I can feel his touch. ‘So beautiful.’ Was that real Skinner? Or was it the dream Skinner? Skinner as a character in a kid’s book. What next? Oooh, Cinderella. Snow White. My Prince Charming. Yeah, right. Never, ever. No, Skinner is no namby-pamby hero. He’s tortured. Oh, I know. Beauty and the Beast. I try for images of dark streets under New York but they morph into garish colors and I can see myself as Belle dressed in a long ball gown and Skinner, his face distorted by fur but his head still bald, as the beast. I look around and see Mulder as the candlestick and mother as the teapot. By the time I see my AD making his way back through the lights and the rain, I’m laughing so hard tears are running down my face. I have to stop. He can’t see me like this. He’ll want an explanation.
By the time he’s eased into the car and shaken as much rain off the umbrella as he can, I am in complete control. He manages to get the umbrella behind us with only a little water splashing about. "Sorry," he growls – sounding just like the beast – and I have to bite my lips to keep from starting again. Fortunately, I don’t have to ask, he’s in a talkative mood. "Damned oil tanker tipped over skidded, across both lanes of traffic and is jammed between two rock outcroppings."
My hand is instantly on my door handle. "Do they need help?"
He reaches out and grabs my wrist. "No. No, the ambulances are on the town side of the wreck. A couple of the troopers are keeping the traffic back. The reason why we aren’t seeing traffic coming this way is because everyone is out, watching. I guess they’re hoping it will blow up."
"That’s just sick."
He sighs and releases me. "Or just human nature." Once again, he turns around and I think he’s going to get the umbrella. However, this time he pulls up his briefcase and, putting it between us, opens it. When it’s closed and in the backseat again, I see the map. After much muttering, mumbled curses and petulant sighs he folds it again and leans back against his seat.
"What?"
"Well, we aren’t going back to Fentonsville tonight. They won’t move the tanker until sometime tomorrow morning. That may be the other reason why no one’s coming back this way."
"Why? Is there other way around?"
"Sure, but it’s probably a ten hour detour."
"Oh. Any towns behind us?"
"Yeah, but the first one that looks like it might be big enough to have a hotel is about two hours away. We really are in the middle of BFE America."
"Gas?"
He turns and I can make out the smile meant to soothe and calm me. "Three-quarters of a tank."
"Well then. Let’s not just sit here sweltering in the rain. Let’s go find us a Holiday Inn."
He gives me a long look before starting the car and executing a perfect three point turn. It will probably be the longest we’ve been in a car together. Well why not. If I can just keep my dreams at bay we should be fine. No Disney Technicolor dreams, please and thank you. Flashes of Debra Kerr and Yul Brynner dressed up as the King and I try and invade my consciousness but I mutter, "No musicals either."
"Excuse me?"
Damn, the man has bat ears. No, he has incredibly sexy ears. This isn’t helping. I clear my throat. I’ll have to answer. "Just wondering what your favorite movies are – I mean besides the ones for little kids."
"You didn’t see the Harry Potter movies, Scully?" His lips twitch in the green glow.
"Well yes, but I had an excuse. Three nephews." I won’t mention the Mulder connection. My nephews adore Mulder as much as my brothers hate him.
"Ah. Well, my excuse was no choice. I caught them all on cable."
"Well? What would you have preferred to be watching? Aliens? Band of Brothers? Sex in the City?"
"Casablanca." He interrupts me.
"I love that movie. Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman." I bite my lip. "Can I tell you something in strictest confidence," I ask playfully. I think I’ve shocked him.
"I’m the man who keeps most of your expense reports in strictest confidence." But there’s no accusation in his voice. I can here the hidden laughter. "Go ahead. "What dark secret do you want to share?"
"I liked Paul Heinreid more than Bogart."
He laughs and it’s a rich dark chuckle. "Blasphemy. What’s your favorite movie, Scully?"
We’re having a conversation. A real, honest-to-God, albeit inane, conversation. The kind that people have when they’re completely comfortable with each other and don’t feel the need to express deep thoughts and convictions. We’ve already established that in our lives. Deep thoughts and convictions are our lives and it’s nice to just sit here driving in the rain to God knows where together. "Wow. I have so many. I watch so many in dingy little hotel rooms all over the country."
"Funny. Of all the items on your expense reports, I never see any mysterious $9.95 charges on yours." He keeps his voice light and I know the question he’s asking. Skinner has been in Mulder’s apartment enough times to know his propensity for pornography. Does he think that’s what I do on the road? Watch porno in Mulder’s room? Or does he think we make our own porn?
"Hey!" I backhand his arm. "That would be Mulder, not me, and I make him pay for those in cash."
"You’ve got a mean hit there, lady."
"Oh yeah. I’m a tough broad."
"Tough broad, huh? Let me guess, your favorite Bogart movie was To Have and Have Not."
"Pretty good movie. Though, I’m no Lauren Bacall." I sigh and once again my short stature comes to haunt me.
"No. You’re a definite one of a kind, Agent Scully." I don’t know how to answer and fortunately we come upon a small town with a smaller diner. We confirm that we’re both thirsty and a little hungry. A washroom would be nice, too.
"Looks pretty deserted." I point out as he pulls into the graveled parking lot.
"Nope. Waitress and a state trooper. What more could you want?" He pulls in and I climb out of the car. It’s nice to stretch, even though the car is pretty damn comfortable. We go inside and I make for the bathroom. When I return, the trooper has disappeared and the waitress is standing at our booth, flirting outrageously. "Oh suga’, ya’ll will have to go to Louisiana for a hotel. Though, for a fine man, I would be more than willin’ to…"
"Excuse me." I nudge passed her. "Darling, did you order for me yet?"
Skinner raises an eyebrow. "No, sweetheart." I gulp at the way he so easily slips into the role that I’ve cast him. "I didn’t know what you would want this late at night."
The waitress gives me a bright smile that clearly says, ‘Cain’t blame a girl for tryin.’ We give our orders and I lean back to study him across the booth. "I hope I didn’t…"
"You didn’t. Been a long time since that kind of liaison interested me."
"You mean the sup and fuck?" I don’t know why I’m feeling bitchy. I am NOT jealous of a trailer trash waitress in a town that probably has fewer people than my neighborhood block.
"Yeah that." I can see that he’s shocked and a little perturbed by my vehemence.
"Sorry, I guess that came out worse than I meant it." I turn away and stare at my reflection in the mirror. How long as it been? I bet that if I put my mind to it, I could count the number of sexual encounters I have had in my life. How sick is that? I definitely don’t want to contemplate that. My aunt always wanted a nun in the family. "You know, a couple of night ago, right after we settled on Larson for the perpetrator and were just waiting for you and the rest of the team to come up from New Orleans, I was flipping through the channels."
"Oh? What long lost movie classic caught your fancy? Notorious? Robin Hood?" I turn in time to see the rueful quirk of his lips. "Star Wars?"
"A Nun’s Story."
He must catch something in my eyes. "Is that how you see yourself?"
The waitress is back with our burgers and we eat in silence for a while, drinking the coffee that no longer affects our sleep. Finally, toying with my surprisingly excellent fries I answer his question. "Sometimes. When is there time for a relationship? Hell, when is there time for a quick sup and…" I wave my hand, unwilling to shock him again. "But, I couldn’t be a nun. With everything we have going on? More like the high priestess to the cause." Well, I hadn’t meant that to come out. I don’t complain about Mulder. To anyone. Certainly not to Walter Skinner. I look slightly aghast.
"I understand, Scully." He pats my hand in a kindly fashion. But his eyes darken and I see the bitterness behind them. "If you’re the high priestess at the alter of the X-files and Mulder is the noble warrior, what does that make me? The Eunuch?" I gasp at his intensity. "If Mulder is Robin Hood, you would be Maid Marion. What would I be, Scully? Evil Prince John? Or worse, Friar Tuck?"
How can he know where my mind has been wandering all night? Can he see into my dreams? "We better go. It’ll be dawn before we reach a hotel and we’ll just have to turn around and come back. But I don’t want to sleep in the car while you and Mary Sue over there…" I’m out of my seat and out the door before he can say anything. We hadn’t bothered to lock the doors of the car and I’m strapped in, ready to go by the time he pays the waitress and exits the diner.
He’s on the highway and nothing but the pattering of the occasional raindrop off a tree or a bug splattering the windshield intrudes on the hum of the air conditioning. The rain had lowered the humidity and heat for all of about two hours and ten seconds.
"Scully, look I’m sorry." He tries for a gruff apology.
"Is that the way you think we, I, see you?"
"How do you see me, Scully?" Oh God. There is the sixty-four thousand dollar question. How do I see Walter Skinner? I turn away, unable to even face his profile. My shame is almost complete. Because he’s right. Someone looking at the strange troika of Mulder/Scully/Skinner would probably cast him in the role of some bit player, good or evil. Is that really any different than me though? I’m just the girl sidekick, acolyte – not priestess even. Watson to Mulder’s Holmes. No, that won’t work because Skinner is no comical Inspector Gregson or evil Moriarity, and Skinner has to be there. I don’t think I could stand it if Skinner wasn’t there.
The night speeds by and I feel my head droop.
I stand there in the day. Only there’s no sun. I don’t understand it but Father Imperious, who looks remarkably like a very fat Frohike, has promised us that this would work. That this will break the curse.
But, I have to get to him. Imperious said I have to get to Walter before he takes his revenge. "He’s heard the bells! He thinks that I’ve killed you because the bells signal his death. But I saw Mulder run back into the castle with the sword. You have to get to him before he kills Spender."
Only I’m not looking at Spender. I’m looking at a Cardinal of the Church. The man who cursed me to a half-life of nights spent as a woman accompanied by a wolf and days as a hawk on the arm of my true love. Only during that moment when day truly become night and the sun nudges the moon away are we aware of the other at the same instant. Only now, during a total eclipse of the sun can we stand together to face our enemy. If Walter doesn’t kill him first. If Spender dies before he looks upon us together, then the curse will go on until we die.
I see Mulder, dressed in the rags of a church urchin tossing Walter his sword. I see my love stalk up, killing swordsman after swordsman until he stands before Spender and raises his sword.
"No!" My scream echoes through the stone room rising to the ceiling finally, stilling the bells. Walter turns and sees me. I’ve never seen such love and wonder on any man’s face before. We touch, man and woman for the first time in three years. Together we face the damned cleric. Walter lets me drop the signs of my bonds at Spender’s feet. He saves my life, flinging his heavy broadsword like it was a spear, pinning Spender to his throne.
Together we greet our Mulder and Frohike. The silent sentries of the church are unable or unwilling to move. "My truest friend." I touch Mulder’s face and see his smile of approval. Then Walter hoists me into the air, spinning me around until my tears of joy become too much and he lowers me to the stone floor so we can kiss.
"Scully? Dana? Wake up. I found us rooms." Funny, his voice isn’t behind me. In fact, the rich earthy smell of dew and grass assails my senses. Warm hands are on my shoulders and I finally open my eyes to find him pulling me from the passenger seat. I’m so groggy that shaking my head does nothing.
"Whe’r?"
"I saw this sign. They had rooms." Looking around me I gasp at the vision before me. If Larson Hall was a throwback to Tobacco Road then this place really is pure Tara and Gone with the Wind.
"What is this place?"
"Gentry Plantation. They’ve evidently remodeled, and operate it as a bed and breakfast." He leads me up to the front hall where a woman wearing a long robe is standing. "I’m afraid that I woke Mrs. Lee." I look at my watch and arch an eyebrow. It’s only 10:00.
"Now Director Skinner." The woman’s purr dripped of honey and molasses.
"Assistant Director." He softly corrects her.
"Now, that’s just a mouthful isn’t." She’s looking at me like my mother does when I’ve had just too much of Mulder and seek her house as refuge. "Lands child. Ya’ll look plumb tuckered out. Come this way please." She leads us down a long hall. Once again I see the matching door at the other end of the long hall. However, this house is nothing like the house where we ran a psychotic murderer to ground. The floors gleam. Hand painted wallpaper covers the walls. She leads us to an archway where the stairs twist up to the floors above. "I must apologize. I don’t usually go to bed this early, but the time of year and all, we don’t get that many guests."
"That kind of surprises me. It’s the height of the tourist season," I say. I’m still a little groggy and I’m glad Skinner has taken hold of my arm. Normally, I wouldn’t allow such a kindness. Not out of any misplaced southern sensibilities, but because I make my own way. I stand on my own two feet. Why can’t I wake up? Damn it’s hot and muggy in this staircase.
"Well, you see, we restored this place to its original condition. Ya’ll will find furniture from the original house. The floors and the walls are all original, as are the wall coverings in your rooms. The only concession made was that we left the electricity. The family had it upgraded in 1938 when they put in the plumbing. We left it alone. There’s a ceiling fan in each room. Like I said, we have a booming business around the holidays. In the spring? Well, I might have a small room available for you still."
"Oh my." I stare at the room and the memory comes bubbling to my lips. "There was a land of Cavaliers and Cotton Fields called the Old South. Here in this pretty world, Gallantry took its last bow. Here was the last ever to be seen of Knights and their Ladies Fair, of Master and of Slave. Look for it only in books, for it is no more than a dream remembered, a Civilization gone with the wind..."
"Well child, I never would have believed it. Ya’ll are a Yankee sure ‘nough, but you did that right well." Mrs. Lee congratulates me on knowing the introduction to the movie.
"I didn’t know you were that big of a movie buff, Scully," Skinner says from near my elbow. I ignore him for a moment and walk into the room. It’s frilly and lacy and the only air moving is hot moist air. Oh, I’ll never get any sleep. I barely hear Skinner whispering to Mrs. Lee.
"Yes. We do that. You would be surprised how many of our customers want to completely submerge themselves." I turn to see what he talking about. "I have just the things."
"I do appreciate it." Skinner rumbles.
"I’ll go fetch them now. Oh, your room is through that door. Ya’ll will share the bath. I do hope that is satisfactory." She gives me a bright smile and scurries away. Skinner looks embarrassed and doesn’t know whether or not to come in and go to his room through my bedroom or go out and down the hall.
"Oh, come in." I manage with a smile that would have done Mrs. Lee proud. Besides, I want to know what’s going on.
He sees the question in my eyes. "Well, it never occurred to either of us that we would be stuck overnight anywhere, let alone on a film set from Gone with the Wind or…" He mutters something and his ears turn pink.
"Excuse me?"
He gulps. "This place reminds me of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof."
"Oh yeah." As I have done all night, I draw up images from a movie. I don’t know if I could pull off the slip that Elizabeth Taylor wore in much of the film, but damn, I could picture Skinner in slacks and a sleeveless tee shirt. Hell, forget the slacks. I blush and try to see if he notices, but the look he gives me drives away any thoughts of movies.
I walk over to the French doors that form the outer wall of my room. The lawns below are manicured with a lit pond down a small hill. I step out onto the wrap around porch. I’m rather glad that we seem to be the only customers tonight. There’s nothing to keep someone from walking down and entering the room. There is no way I’m closing these doors tonight. "What is Mrs. Lee fetching?" I finally ask.
"Period costumes."
I can feel my eyebrow reach my hairline. "You are kidding me."
He shrugs. "The closest Wal-Mart is twenty miles further on. There are a couple of shops in town but they aren’t open. I figured we could wash out our…our…"
The man who has faced down bomb threats, Cancerman and Fox Mulder can’t seem to say, "Underwear?" I smirk.
He coughs and laughs harshly. "But it’s hot enough that I figure you’ll want to sleep with the windows open." He’s completely flustered but I’m not letting him off the hook. I wait patiently. Finally he throws up his hands. "Look. I thought it was a good idea. If you want, we can go back to the car."
"No." I am enjoying this so much. What a strange case this has been. But the night, my night, with Skinner pretty much ranks right up there with Clyde Bruckman for sheer weirdness.
Mrs. Lee returns. "We were just going through these this week, gearing up for the Battle of Port Gibson. Not that it took place anywhere near here, but lands, the people do seem to fill up this part of the state. We’re booked up." She places a pile of white linen on the bed. "I don’t suppose ya’ll will be wanting to dress for breakfast?" She seems rather eager and I’m itching to say yes. I would pay a month’s salary to actually see Skinner dressed up like Rhett Butler.
"Ah, no. We will have to leave bright and early. We need to get back to Fentonsville first thing." Skinner is so good at spoiling my fun.
"Wasn’t that a terrible accident? I have a small television. I saw the footage. They said that when it blew up, the first two cars were destroyed. The troopers had tried to move the people back, but they just wanted to stay and watch."
"They died?" I whisper, shocked at how close we had been, guilty that we hadn’t stayed.
"Oh, lands, no. They just stood around gawking until it was too late." Well, thank heavens for that. "Is the bathroom satisfactory? Enough towels?"
Skinner leads her out the door. "Thank you, Mrs. Lee. You’ve done the FBI a huge service."
"Well, always ready to help. It’s no problem. We have a regular bunch who come for Miss Jeanne’s breakfast, even during the summer months, so anytime between 6:30 and 10:00, ya’ll come down for a meal you won’t soon forget. I do hope everything fits. You are a fine specimen of a man, Mr. Skinner. And you dear, are a tiny little thing." Terrific.
I walk back out on the balcony. It’s so quiet out here. Night creatures join the song of the insects. Trees rustle and I see a bat track across the sky. Lord, I’m glad that Mulder isn’t here. He would do something to spoil the moment.
"Uhm…you want to come in and pick out what you want?" Skinner calls me back into the room.
"Why? You want to fight me for the chemise?"
"I don’t think it would fit me." He holds it up and I gulp and meet his eye. That look is back. The look that clearly says he would pay anything to see me in it. Well Skinner, it might be your lucky night.
"I don’t think it would fit you either. What did she bring you?" He holds up a one-piece number that no way will fit his slender hips and wide shoulders. Now, how do I know this? He holds up a pair of underwear that will hang down to his knees, but since there’s no top, it might do. And then I almost choke. "They had those back in the olden days?" I manage, as he holds up the tee shirt I had envisioned him in upon hearing how this room reminded him more of the 1950 plays of Tennessee Williams than genteel novels by Margaret Mitchell; not that Gone with the Wind, the book, was all that genteel. The Hayes office made them clean up quite a bit, if I remember correctly.
"Scully?" Damn did I veg out there again?
"Huh?"
"Do you want first dibs on the shower?"
"Thank you, sir." I need to retreat to formality for a bit.
"Well, I’ll just grab these and go on into my room. Uhm…when you’re done, just knock on the door." He goes through the bathroom and closes the door behind him. What little air that was moving through the room stills a bit more, and I realize that’s why all the doors to all the rooms are open. The air has got to circulate. I strip down. I shake out the slacks. They’ll have to do again tomorrow. Though perhaps I can convince Skinner to stop at that store. I soak my panties and bra in shampoo and then plunge my blouse in afterwards. I pray they dry in this humidity. I may have to borrow something from Mrs. Lee to shop in.
The water is cool against my skin. For the first time today I feel good. Skinner has no worries that I will use up the hot water. I step out of the shower and grab up a towel. I don’t want to dry off. I want the coolness to stay with me as long as possible. "All yours," I call as I quickly tap on the door. I walk to my room and push the door halfway shut, just enough to block off a direct view. I switch off the lamp and wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The sky is still overcast, so there’s no moonlight. I breathe in the humid air and the scent of flowers that can only grow south of the Mason-Dixon Line. I shouldn’t but I’m so hot, and it’s so dark, and surely Skinner will be in the bathroom soon. I drop the towel and walk out into the night. I shouldn’t be here, but the slight breeze against my skin feels so good.
"Oh my God." His voice is full of wonder, not shock. But I can’t move. I’m frozen in place. "I always knew you would be beautiful." What have I done? What must he think of me? Slowly I turn around, but by the time I do, he’s retreated to the supposed safety of his room. He didn’t close the doors.
Is it an invitation? It’s damned hot out. The rumbling of thunder does little to relieve me. I quietly berate myself and hurry back inside. I switch on the lamp to try and make some sense out of the underwear on my bed. It might be designed after the period but the labels inside attest to their true age. Good. I don’t have an 18 inch waist and I’ll be damned if I’m going to wear a corset. I don the pretty white embroidered chemise and the long cotton bloomers. They’re soft cotton, Egyptian? Whatever they are, they kiss my skin instead of cling. There’s a gossamer robe. Not sheer, but light as air. I should have worn this out there. I stretch out on the bed, and suck up what passes for cool air in the room. One part of me wants to cry, the other part of me is thrilled that he saw me. I hear the water beat against his skin. I want him to come into my room. I want to face him before tomorrow morning. Oh God, I want him to come in and take me. Like Stanley Kowalski took Blanche Dubois. Like Rhett Butler finally took Scarlet. Yeah, I know. Not a very modern outlook, but I know what I do every day and I know that in our daily lives, our real lives, Walter Skinner treats me with the same, if not more, respect as any other woman or man under his command.
"Dana?" His voice is disembodied and I know he hasn’t opened the door. I pull the robe around me.
"Come in."
The door pushes open but he stands there, a towel wrapped around his waist. "I’m sorry."
"For what? I was the one with no modesty. I stepped out there, naked."
"But I should have said something."
"You did. Hey, how long were you out there?"
"I was there when you stepped outside."
I almost ruin it by saying something stupid, like ‘Oh I didn’t see you.’ I didn’t, but I don’t need to rub his nose in it. "My eyes were still adjusting. I don’t know if I even had them open." I pause. But I have to know. "You really liked what you saw?"
A groan is my only answer and I’m alone again. Damn the man. I flop back down. I lie very still listening to the sounds of the house. We are alone up here. We’re probably alone in the house, save for Mrs. Lee. I should sleep. But in sleep, what dreams will haunt me? I already know. There will be no graceful dreams of dancing while war rages around us, even though the setting and my clothes are geared to that dream. There will be no dreams of magical castles in the air or 11-century cathedrals. If anything, I will dream of an office in the Hoover. Dream of sitting there watching him. How long I have watched him. How long I have waited for his call. Someday, I’ll stalk him to his office. Someday, we’ll have sex on his desk. Oh yes. But, that’s someday. Tonight? Tonight, we’re here in this ghost of a house with furniture too old to really use. Ghostly shadows play in the corners. What sins occurred here? I don’t care. What I do tonight is only a sin in the minds of bible-thumping hypocrites.
Thunder rumbles again and I can hope that more rain will come and cool us off – after. I stand up. The garments I wear are reminiscent of a genteel time. I pull them off because tonight I’m no Melanie Wilkes, or even Scarlet O’Hara; I’m Maggie the Cat and I know what I want. And Walter Skinner will give into me.
I don’t even bother with the robe. Why? He’s seen me naked and he liked what he saw. Now? Do I walk through the bathroom or the balcony? Balcony, I think. I walk outside and the wind has definitely picked up. It is heaven against my fevered skin. There’s a pale light coming from Skinner’s corner room. I step inside, expecting to see him on the bed. But he’s not. He’s standing at the window overlooking the front of the house, watching something – or is he waiting?
Should I say anything? What is there to say? Come and fuck me? I think he’ll get the hint. His bed is bigger than mine. Hell, his room is huge. This would have been the master’s bedroom. Is that why Mrs. Lee gave it to him? Can we trust her? Old tensions try to intrude. I hadn’t been awake when he found this. Did he set it up? To fuck me? After all these years? Yeah, right. Reality check. This will probably be a one-night stand brought on by circumstances.
"Are you sure, Dana?" His growl has me wetter than I’ve been all day. His form is barely silhouetted in the night, but I’m not surprised that he’s naked too. "Answer me." He turns to face me and suddenly, I don’t care if, or how, he set this up. As he turns I catch the movement at his groin and I groan at the thought of that monster pleasuring me. That he’s big isn’t a surprise. That I know he will be gentle, is.
"I’m sure. I’ve wanted you all week." I haven’t used my husky come hither voice in ages. It’s a wonder I remember how.
He knows that I want him, but he suspects that this will be a one-night stand to me. Perhaps he thinks this is just SOP for Mulder and me. That he’s a stand-in for the great Mulder. He strolls over to where I stand next to the bed. He reaches up and caresses my jaw line, just like he did during my first dream. "You’ve wanted what all week?" His demand cuts through me. He isn’t going to make this easy. I can make out the passion on his face. The need. The incredible patience. How long has he waited for this moment? How could I have been so damned blind? "Tell me, Dana, how do you like it? What do you want me to do?"
Oh God, just keep talking like that and I won’t need much. But, he does. He needs to see that he’s the star of this night. The master of this part of my life. I have to make him understand. "I don’t know." I pull away from him. "It’s been so long, I don’t even know if someone can…"
He’s behind me, his fingers digging into my shoulders. Jerking me around, his face is inches from mine. "What the hell does that mean?" But I don’t answer, and he knows. He finally understands, and now, it’s his turn to walk away. He rubs his hand over his head. "Idiot!" He doesn’t have to shout. It feels like a shout through my body. "Complete fucking idiot." And I know to whom he’s referring.
"You thought that? You thought that about Mulder and me?" Of course he did. Everyone in the Hoover suspects it. It’s not even that unusual, I suspect. But I want it out of his system. When he climbs into bed with me, I want there to be only the two of us there. I love Mulder and will probably someday die for him, but I am in love with this man. And, to me at least, it’s almost more important that this man is in love with me. I can accept that now. Can he?
He cups my face in his hand. God, his hands are so big. "Never?"
"A kiss at the millennium."
"But after Bermuda?"
"What? He loves me. I love him. You will never come between us. But, I promise you this, Skinner, Fox Mulder will never come between you and I, not in the bedroom, and not here." I take his hand and place it over my heart. Why did we take so long to come to this?
"But in the office?" I hear the chuckle. I know it will be okay. But I’ll have to answer him. He expects it. He expects the truth.
"He’s my partner." I search his eyes. "Deal?"
Our lips seal the bargain and claim each other’s souls. I rub myself against him and he grins out of the kiss. "You’ve wanted this all day haven’t you?"
"I dreamed about this all day, if that’s what you mean."
"You’ve dreamed about being in a room like this? You want me to take you? Force you, or just drive you insane?"
"Yes." His lips claim mine again, but now, his hands are roaming over my body, caressing the sides of my breasts, squeezing my ass checks until I squirm, lifting me up. I start to embrace him with my arms and legs, but he tosses me like a rag doll upon his bed. He pulls the netting down until we’re encased in a dream world of our own.
Looming over me, he’s determined to show me that he’s no bit player in Mulder’s life, that he will be the lead in this part. "I’m going to eat you alive." A jolt goes through me and I arch up to meet him. His lips are hot against mine; they suck the very air from my lungs. When he turns to my neck, I can barely take in enough oxygen. He isn’t gentle in his branding, and as his teeth scrape across my neck, one last image invades my senses for the barest moment. But he is no Lestat. He’s all human, and I mean to make him mine and keep him. I groan my approval as his tongue soothes the nips and bites on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around his neck; I could never hope to encompass his shoulders. He moves down, smothering my body, our sweat lubricating his passage. It’s so hot and humid that my nipples don’t harden until he sucks each into his mouth. Then I wonder if they’ll ever be the same again. He worries and bites, tugs and torments until a first, tentative orgasm ripples through me.
"Please Walter." I groan his name. I know I have to make him understand, to hear. "Walter!" I cry out as his tongue tracks a line from my sternum to mound. Parting my legs, he begins to keep his promise. His tongue is like a sword, teasing, then plunging, then soothing. His lips kiss my thighs and he sucks sweat and cum from them. I’m so wet, I’m embarrassed. "Please, darling. Walter. Damn you Skinner, I need you inside me."
He stops and our eyes meet. He rests his chin in my matted pubic hair. "We are nowhere near to me being inside you, Dana. There’s too much left to be done." His grin is positively evil. However, I have plans of my own. Gripping him by the ears, I pull myself up. He rises with me; he has no real choice, my grip could be painful. But, the smile never goes away. We end up kneeling together in the middle of the bed.
"I’m hungry." And, with one finger at his chest I push him until he’s reclining against the pillows.
His skin is so surprisingly soft. His taste is heavenly. His smell is pure male. Even after using the girly soap in the shower, he’s my fantasy male. He has a self-satisfied smirk on his face, further emphasized when he folds his hands behind his head. "You think you have what it takes?"
Well, I’d already decided that I would be Maggie the Cat tonight, so I begin to rub myself against him. I caress his swollen cock with my breasts, I feint with featherlike kisses over his torso, I nip at the tender skin around his belly button. And then I begin the real torture. I blow lightly across his cock and check his reaction to that. Oh, yeah. The famous Skinner control is coming undone. His hands now stretch out, just starting to fist the sheets. I lick the bead of precum from his slit and am rewarded with a hiss of approval. I take him in my mouth, or at least his head. Damn, he’s huge. My hand pumps his shaft and my eyes meet his. Yes. He’s close. Even in the dim light I can see his eyes are glazed over. His hips can’t help but buck, but I hold him still. It’s so noisy in this room. His ragged breathing, my groans and slurping enjoyment join the thunder that moves ever closer. As I increase my torture, lightning joins the effects and now I can see him clearly, in a strobe light fashion that’s about as erotic as anything in Mulder’s collection.
"Scully. Dana. Baby, not like this. Please. I need to be inside you." Now he’s begging. Do I give in? Do I get what I want? My free hand tickles his balls, then go lower. Too late, I realize just how sensitive that area is to him. I haven’t even reached his anus, but he’s rearing up, grabbing me by the arms, pushing me back until my head is toward the footboard. The lightning and thunder are almost constant now, and as he plunges deep inside me I’m stretched to the point of pain. But it’s blessed pain. God, I’ve missed this. I don’t think I’ve ever been this full. He owns my soul. "Walter!" I cry out as a powerful orgasm begins to overtake me. My body is now in sync with the storm. Each crash of thunder seems to coincide with a deep thrust from Skinner. I try to maintain eye contact but it’s too much. I find the strength to wrap my legs around his hips, my arms around his neck.
"Oh, Dana. Oh, God." One last thrust and I feel him pulsing deep inside me.
And the rain falls.
Dawn brightens the room again. Sometime in the night, the temperature dropped and stayed there, maybe in the seventies, more likely in the eighties. Regardless, Skinner’s body holds my back against his chest. Note to self: I love Walter Skinner, however, we will never again make love in a room that has no air conditioning. Damn, the man puts out a furnace of heat. I’ll save on the gas bills when he spends the night in the winter. This will continue. Whatever it takes, it will continue. For a moment, I wonder where Mulder is and if he’s frantic. But, he has my cell number and Skinner’s, and he hasn’t called. That’s not like him, but then I remember seeing a strange look on his face several times this week. He would look at me then at Skinner and then look thoroughly confused. Little bastard probably figured it out before we did.
"Morning."
"Morning." I grind my ass against him.
"Hmmmmm. Nice." He pinches my nipple.
"I’ve got an idea."
"Me too." He grumbles as I sit up. I really want to make love to him. But we’re both hot, sweaty and probably a bit smelly. "Come back here." He reaches for me, but I stand up.
"Come on. Shower sex." His look is extremely pleased and I know that he’ll keep me on my toes – or knees. God, he’s going to bring out the pervert in me. I like it.