Don't Close Your Eyes Tonight II By Keleka Email: keleka@keleka.net Distribution: Gossamer, Spookys, Xemplary, etc. Rating: R Spoiler Warning: If you don't know Mulder was missing, don't read this. Content Statement: Sk/Sc romance, Skinner angst, Scully angst, even MSR to some degree. Classification: VA Summary: A continuation of "Don't Close Your Eyes Tonight." You really need to have read it first, and assume TINH *never* happens. Scully tries to save what she has with Skinner from the specter of Mulder's ghost. Archive: Sure! Please tell me where so I can visit. Disclaimer: If I owned this cash cow, do you really think I'd be living in Mississippi? Feedback: It's welcome in my house! Author's Note: Huge steaming piles of thanks to Shoshana and Fabulous Monster for their usual All-Star beta job, and to Paige Caldwell and Frogdoggie for their moral support. All my fanfic (X-Files, Hawaii Five-0, and Star Trek) can be found at http://www.keleka.net/keleka/ Don't Close Your Eyes Tonight II by Keleka Gradually the sound of the alarm clock seeps into Skinner's consciousness. He rolls to his side and reaches for her, but his hand lands on the mattress unobstructed, jolting him awake. She's gone. "Dana?" He sits up and looks about the room. The morning sun streams in through the half-open curtains, casting a sanguine beam of light onto the bed. He listens in vain for the Dana-sounds he's grown accustomed to hearing in the morning. Gently, he knocks on the bathroom door, tugging his bathrobe on over his shoulders. "Dana?" he says again as he cracks the bathroom door open. Empty. He checks the guest room and then downstairs, but there's no sign of her. Back upstairs, he opens the door to his daughter's room and peeks in, hoping to see a mop of brown curls sharing a pillow with his wife's unruly red tangles. His heart sinks when he sees his daughter alone, sprawled out across her bed with her tawny legs sticking out from under the cover. The ache in his heart floods him with a mind-numbing pain. She's gone. She left him. Oh God, why did he have to tell her-- "Daddy?" She surprises him; lost in his mental panic, he hadn't seen the intelligent brown eyes peering at him. He tries to smile but he knows that nothing goes unnoticed by this Mulder either. "Hi, sweetie," he says, trying not to sound panicked. "Where's Mommy?" "She...uh...she had to go in early this morning." She lets a moment pass in silence, processing his words. Just like her mother. "Is it time to get up, Daddy?" "Yeah, baby. You get up and get ready for school. I'll make your breakfast this morning." "Okay, Daddy," she says cheerfully, throwing him one of her dazzling, toothy grins. He watches her stretch her long, gangly limbs, wondering how much more like her birth father she could possibly be. "Daddy?" He stops and turns back to see curious brown eyes watching him carefully. "Is something wrong, Daddy?" He shakes his head, but the lump in his throat won't let him answer. * When he arrives at the Hoover Building, he takes the elevator down to the basement, not up to the fourth floor to his office. Five years ago, after he became Deputy Director, he had the basement remodeled to provide more room for the growing X-Files staff. Dana, however, still elects to use the old X-Files office in the back. From there, she supervises her staff and quietly continues the search for Mulder--even though she has led him to believe otherwise. "She's not in there, sir," the secretary calls out to him from across the room just as he's about to push open the door to his wife's office. "We haven't seen her today," she adds before turning her attention back to her filing. He stops, his hand resting against the door, his head bowing in resignation for just an instant before pushing open the door. He doesn't come here very often anymore--supervising the X-Files is the new Assistant Director's headache now. Besides, without Mulder around, it can't be as difficult a job as it had been for him. He looks around nostalgically. Doggett's desk is gone, of course. Mulder's name plate rests in memoriam on the bookshelf, its place on the battered old desk taken by one that reads: "Dana Scully, M.D." The same tattered 'I Want to Believe' poster is on the wall, surrounded by photos and news articles of unexplained phenomenon. Except for a few feminine touches here and there, the office hasn't changed much in ten years. He wanders aimlessly around the office for a moment before sitting wearily in the chair behind Dana's desk. He looks up and sees the holes in the ceiling Mulder made by throwing pencils whenever he was bored. The pencil holes have always made him smile in fond remembrance of Fox Mulder, but not this morning. This morning they bring him pain and he looks away quickly. He sits quietly for several long moments, hoping she'll come through the door. The picture on the corner of the desk catches his eye. It's a family portrait of him, Dana, and Jocelyn taken five years ago, about a year after they'd married. Jocelyn's inquisitive brown eyes peer back at him, reminding him again of Mulder. His own eyes sparkle in the picture, his pride in his little family evident. He wonders why he's never noticed before how sad Dana looks in that picture. "Don't do this to me, Dana," he whispers before standing to leave. * "Is the A.D. in?" Skinner asks the secretary in his old office as he moves purposefully toward the inner office door. A timid little thing, she nods, not about to tell the Deputy Director he can't go in. He pushes open the door, relieved to find the A.D. alone and at his desk. "John," he says, closing the door, "I need your help." John Doggett is unperturbed by the Deputy Director's unscheduled visit. He gestures toward the chairs in front of his desk. "If it's mine to give, Walter. You know that." Skinner sits, realizing ironically that the chair is the one Mulder always sat in. He looks at Doggett for a moment, his face betraying his unease. Finally, he asks, "Have you seen Dana today?" Doggett's eyes show his surprise at the question but he quickly recovers. "No, sir," he says cautiously. "But there was a message on my voice mail from her when I got here this morning. Said she needed to take a personal day." He watches Skinner for a reaction. Skinner's jaw tightens, telling him what he needs to know. "What's wrong, Walter?" Skinner stares out the window behind Doggett, unwilling to say anymore than necessary. John Doggett has been his and Dana's friend for over a decade now; he knows that Doggett would never reveal a confidence, and yet he still can't bring himself to talk to him about this. "John, I need a favor," he says finally. "Would you mind if I drop Jocelyn off at your house after school to spend the weekend? I need...Dana and I need...some time alone to sort something out." "Of course," Doggett says after a barely noticeable moment of hesitation. He wants to ask what's wrong, but he knows Skinner well enough not to bother. Skinner will talk when he's ready, and not a moment sooner. He isn't the type of man who talks freely about his troubles. "The twins adore Jo; they can have a slumber party. I'll call Heather and let her know you're coming." Skinner nods, thankful that Doggett hasn't pressed him, that he hasn't asked any embarassing questions; but then, he knew Doggett wouldn't pry. That's the kind of friend John Doggett has always been. The day passes slowly as he's unable to push aside the cold, clammy worry that engulfs him. He spends most of the day making discreet phone calls trying to find his wife. By 3:30 he gives up. When he picks up Jocelyn at school, he listens absently to her prattle on about her day. Arriving at Doggett's, he gives her a gentle kiss and watches as she gambols off to meet the twins. When she turns and waves goodbye, he smiles and waves back. But even the warmth he feels at his daughter's excitement is short lived; he's too consumed with his fears to take any real comfort. Once home, he tries to drown his feelings with beer but stops after three. He can't afford to lose his mental acuity tonight. He can't risk losing his temper. He's been on the edge of anger all day. Now his anger turns inward and consumes him. A physical man, he wants to hit something, to take his anger out on something...or someone. Where's Krycek when he needs him, he wonders venomously. Why? he asks himself over and over. Why did he say anything? Why did he let her hear him cry? Why can't he just be happy with what he's got? As he sinks deeper and deeper into despair, his senses desert him. He doesn't hear the front door snick open, or the sound of soft steps across the plush carpeting. He doesn't hear her say his name. He jumps when her hand touches his shoulder, instinctively reaching for his weapon and falling into a crouch, his senses now painfully alert. She takes a startled step backwards, her eyes drawn first to his hand on his weapon then to his eyes. When their eyes meet, he realizes what he's doing and lets his hand fall away from his holster. "Oh God, Dana," he says, rising quickly to his feet. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in." He can feel his heart pounding as he reaches tentatively for her, unsure of what he should say or do. She reaches for his outstretched hand. When their fingers entangle he pulls her to him, wrapping his long arms around her tightly. "I've been so worried about you," he mumbles into her hair. "About us." She lets him hold her until she senses his distress lessen. Finally she pulls back. "We need to talk, Walter," she says softly, nudging him back toward the sofa. She remains standing while he slides back into the sofa. His eyes are wide with anxiety--every man knows that 'we need to talk' means bad news. He watches as she moves deliberately about the house, removing her jacket and hanging it in the coat closet, then toward the stairs. "Let me check on Jo first," she says. "She's not here," he says quickly. She stops, turns, looks at him, then her watch. Her facial expresssion changes quickly from eerie calm to mild concern. "It's nearly 7 p.m. Where is she?" Her tone borders on accusatory. "She's with John and Heather for the weekend. I...I dropped her off after school." He searches her face for some clue to her thoughts. "Good thinking," she says softly. She returns to the living room and takes a seat beside him, reaching for his hand and cradling it in her lap. He waits, watching her. Her head is lowered, her eyes closed, as though she is garnering up her courage, trying to decide how to begin. "Where have you been?" he says, finally, unable to bear the silence any longer. She nods as though deciding something at last and raises her eyes to look at him. Her eyes are remarkably calm and clear. "I needed to think through some things," she begins. "I went...I went someplace you don't know about...a baseball diamond at George Mason University." She laughs softly at his puzzled look. "I know it sounds silly, Walter, but it has special meaning to me. To me and Mulder. I go there sometimes when I need to be alone." A surge of jealousy courses through him. He struggles to suppress it and filter it from his voice. "A baseball diamond?" "It's where Mulder and I had our first 'date,' if it can even be called that." "He took you to a baseball game?" He can't believe that Mulder couldn't come up with something more romantic than a college baseball game for a first date with this woman. She laughs again. "Not exactly, but that's not important." She looks at him, asking him with her eyes to let it go. She's not ready to tell him about the night Mulder taught her to hit fly balls. He nods, encouraging her to continue. "I thought about what we talked about last night. About who I am and who *we* are. I made a few decisions." "You made decisions that affect both of us without including me?" he asks, anger creeping back into his consciousness, tinging his voice and stiffening his posture. She's not surprised by his anger, but she is surprised that he's letting her see it. He's always been the even-tempered one in their personal relationship. Suddenly she understands why. His fear of losing her to a memory has made him treat her with kid-gloves all these years. "You didn't spend the whole damned day at a baseball field," he says harshly, mistaking her silence for an admission. "No," she whispers. She looks at him and sees the pain reflected in his eyes. "I went to see a lawyer." Of all the things she could have said, this is the one he feared the most. Divorce. She's leaving him. The pain is so swift and sharp that he can't respond. He bolts out of his seat and crosses angrily to the window. Standing with his back to her, he crosses his arms tightly in front of him, as though trying to hold himself together. "I'm sorry, Walter," she continues gently. "It's something I should have done much sooner. I--" "NO!" he practically shouts, giving in to the tension that has been building all day. He turns abruptly, his face a portrait of agony. He pulls off his glasses and squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying vainly to control his emotions. "I know I'm not what you wanted out of life. Not *who* you wanted." His eyes lock with hers. How can he make her see? How can he make her understand? He silently curses his inability to express his feelings. A small voice inside his head reminds him that Mulder probably would have the words. He shakes his head to dispel the image. Slowly, he moves towards her and gently takes her hands between his. In a brief flash of insight, he thinks he sees how she must see him--large and awkward and tongue-tied. No wonder she doesn't want him. Off-balance, he can only stammer, "Dana, please don't...not divorce...I can't go through that again...there must be another answer...." He hears his voice and flashes back to the day his first wife told him she wanted a divorce. He was a failure then, too. Some things never change. The voice in his head screams at him: 'tell her you love her, that your life has no meaning without her and Jo.' But instead, he is frozen, arrested by the expression on her face. She stares at him, startled by his outburst and confused by what he's saying. Then the words sink in and she realizes the cause of his distress. She slips her arms around his waist and rests her head against his chest. "God, Walter. Are we so far apart that you think I want a divorce?" She lifts her head to look up at him. Without her shoes on, she feels dwarfed. How can such a large, powerful man have such a tender heart, she wonders, then feels a stab of guilt as she realizes she is the cause of his vulnerability. "I love you. I could never leave you." "Then why...?" "Sit down," she says, nodding toward the sofa. "I'll show you." He moves back to the sofa and watches as she retrieves some papers from her jacket. When she returns to sit beside him, she hands him one of the papers. "This is why," she says. "Open it." He opens it quickly, relieved to know that it's not a petition for divorce. They're both quiet while he reads. He doesn't have to read much. "Dana," he says, his voice trembling. "You don't have to do this. Not for me." "I have to do it...for us. For our family. It's long overdue." He stares at the document, disbelieving: a petition to admit Mulder's will to probate and have him declared legally dead. He never thought she'd do it. Ever. He knows she has Mulder's power of attorney and has managed his financial affairs since the day he disappeared. She had Jo's paternity established as soon as she was born, and eventually put Mulder's assets in a revocable trust for Jo's benefit. There has never been a reason to have Mulder declared legally dead. Until now. His emotions leave him breathless. She watches him carefully and can see the healing her actions have brought. Finally he says, "I don't know what to say. I know how difficult this is for you." She reaches for him and they embrace. "Not nearly as difficult as knowing how much I've hurt you over the years by clinging to Mulder's memory. You're my husband...." She stops, embarrassed by what she needs to say. "You're my husband and I won't let Mulder's ghost destroy our marriage." For a moment, he holds her greedily, never wanting to let go. Finally, she pulls away, brushing some tears from her cheek. "How long?" he asks, still dazed by what she has done. "The lawyer said a minimum of five months, if everything goes like clockwork. It's more likely to take a year. You'll have to testify you know...at the hearing. John Doggett too." He nods, imagining how well his testimony of alien abduction will go over in a Virginia probate court. Thank God Doggett is a believer now and will back him up. "There's more," she says, handing him the other paper she's holding. He opens it, his eyes questioning. This document is almost as big a surprise as the first. "I'm petitioning to have my name changed to Skinner," she says. "I know I don't really have to...I could just take your name the way any married woman would, but I want to do it...to prove my commitment to you. To us." He swallows hard. "Why?" he croaks in a barely audible whisper. She looks at him with an amused expression. "Why?" she asks. He looks at her intently and her amusement turns quickly to frustration. She turns away so he won't see her vexation. A wave of guilt washes over him. More than ever, he doesn't want her commitment out of a sense of obligation or duty. Somehow, he has to make her understand. "Dana," he says, looking pointedly at her. "I don't want you to give up who you are...your identity...just because we're having problems right now," he says, choking slightly on the admission. "I can't...I don't want to feel like I've manipulated you into something you're going to regret later." He grips her hands in his. "Your name change...or Mulder's legal status." She returns his gaze with a laser-beam intensity of her own. He feels breathless under her stare. Her voice is quiet, but the timbre is different, laden with emotion. "Walter, in case you haven't noticed, nobody manipulates me." A ghost of a smile plays about her lips. It disappears quickly. "This is my fault, not yours. You didn't do anything wrong." She stands and moves away, unsettled that he feels himself unworthy when it is she who has wronged him. Wearily, he pulls himself to his feet, shaking his head. "I shut you out. We could have dealt with this sooner." "We shouldn't have had to deal with it at all," she blurts, scarcely aware of her own voice. It's time to close the emotional gap she has placed between them all these years. She takes a few steps towards him as if to indicate her intention. The intensity of her gaze returns, making him a prisoner to her eyes. "Walter, you have to understand...if Mulder were to walk in that door right now...I would still choose you. It's important to me...to us...that you believe me." He's quiet, overwhelmed by the meaning of her words and the expression on her face. Her eyes, which have always seemed clouded by her past, are clear now and speak only of the future. Their future. All the doubts and insecurities of the day drain from him, replaced by a pleasurable feeling he had almost forgotten: the feeling of being loved unconditionally. He covers the few steps remaining between them with the nonchalant grace of a man who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to take it. His large hands take her face and hold it gently. She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears. This is the man she fell in love with; the strong, confident man who makes her feel safe; the man she almost lost to an apparition. He brushes an errant tear from her cheek and leans in. As she tenses in anticipation of his kiss, he stops, his lips just grazing hers. "I believe you," he says just before capturing her lips, sending his kiss singing through her veins. * He doesn't turn away this time. Instead, still gasping for breath, he pulls her to him. He basks in her warmth as she lies sprawled across him, her head resting on his chest, her legs entwined with his. This is the way it should be, he thinks. The way it could have been all these years. He can feel her heart pounding, gradually slowing. Her skin is so warm to his touch that it makes his fingers tingle. When she shivers, he reaches for the comforter and pulls it up over them. She snuggles closer, nestling her head against his shoulder. He runs his fingers through her hair, delighting in these quiet moments. He's never felt as close to her as he does tonight. She lifts her head and looks at him with an enigmatic smile. "No tears?" she asks, her eyes searching his. He smiles. "No tears." He gazes down at her, needing to ask the question one more time: "No regrets?" "None," she says without hesitation. And he believes her because he knows she is looking at him the way she once looked at Mulder. Vulnerable. Unguarded. Committed. In love. *End* Additional Author's notes: My usual beta notes don't really pay adequate homage to Fabulous Monster, without whom most of my efforts at writing fanfic would just dissolve away midstory and never see the light of day. I can't even begin to count the number of times she has given me a word, a sentence, hell, even whole bloody paragraphs, just to get me moving again. She really should just give up her day job and dedicate her life to writing and to nurturing other writers. Visit her stories at: http://www.atmosphere.be/media/fran58/authorspgs/fab mon/fabmon.htm Regarding "kid-gloves": This phrase was the subject of some dispute among my beta readers. To settle it, I submitted the question to the humanities faculty at the university where I teach. Should it be "kid gloves" or "kit gloves"? The unanimous opinion of the English, history, French, and philosophy professors who responded was that the correct term is "kid-gloves," and they cite no less an authority than Jane Austin. Far be it from me to dispute Jane Austin.