HAPPILY EVER AFTER
By dot 
 
For Holmes, who first uttered the magic word "Skinnerella", 
graciously allowed me to make off with it, and offered 
enthusiastic advice and encouragement. Thanks, Holmes! 
Warning: Thoroughly PG-13 and contains lots of "drivelly 
schoolgirl mush" as I discovered my totally unsuspected sappy 
side while writing this. I'm still deciding whether to let it live <g>. 
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
"Now, tonight I've got a story for you, and I neglected three 
overdue reports in order to come up with it, so you'd better 
listen." 
Satisfied that no argument would be forthcoming, the storyteller 
poured himself a glass of water and settled comfortably into the 
chair beside the bed. He paused for a moment, as if to collect 
his thoughts, and began. 
"Once upon a time," he said, "in the tiny but prosperous 
kingdom of the FBI, there lived a poor, overworked AD called 
Walter Skinner..." 
*** 
AD Skinner had worked in the FBI for as long as he could 
remember. He had a very important and responsible job to do, 
involving reading lots of reports, signing off on outrageous travel 
clearances and reaming out agents who had been misbehaving. 
It was a job that suited him very well, and he would have 
perfectly happy at it, were it not that his life was made continual 
hell by his boss, Director Morley, and his boss' henchmen, AD 
Spender and AD Krycek. 
Director Morley was an evil man. He walked the corridors of the 
Hoover building wreathed in foul-smelling cigarette smoke and 
occasionally tortured small animals for pleasure. Skinner's boss 
had originally been a kind and gentle man, Director X, but he 
had died mysteriously in a car accident several years ago and 
had been speedily replaced by Morley. Morley had then 
immediately promoted his two favourites to Assistant Director 
status. All together the three of them made life very hard for 
poor Skinner. 
"Take charge of this investigation for me, Skinner." AD Spender 
would snarl, his weak, ferret-like features screwed up in his best 
interpretation of authority. Then he would dump a bulging case 
folder onto Skinner's desk and leave without another word. 
"You're so good at budgets, I'd like you to do the one for my 
department as well, Skinner." AD Krycek would smile sweetly, 
his eyes glimmering with malicious amusement. Then he would 
toss the accounting cost codes into Skinner's in-tray and blow 
him a kiss as he walked out the door. 
"I've never seen such a pathetic administrator, Skinner." 
Director Morley would declare, blowing smoke into Skinner's 
face, not caring that it made Skinner cough and gesture 
uselessly towards the sign on his desk. "You're nothing like your 
fellow ADs. They achieve twice as much as you ever seem to, 
and in half the time." Then he would stub his cigarette out on 
Skinner's impeccable departmental report and demand it be 
revised and presented in a totally new format within 24 hours, 
ignoring Skinner's hapless protests. 
Skinner hated them all with a passion, but he needed to keep 
his job, as it was all he really knew how to do. So he leaned to 
suffer without complaint, and did the work of three men, finding 
what solace he could in the demands of his position. Whenever 
he could, he worked out in the gym, or swam in the FBI pool, or 
took a run outside to clear his head, and as a result he was far 
more fit and attractive than any of his colleagues. 
"But what good is it ever going to do me?" Skinner often 
despaired. "I'll never escape from them, and no-one's going to 
be the least bit interested in me while I spend my whole life 
working." The constant, unrelenting hostility he could endure, 
but the prospect of spending the rest of his life alone was much 
harder to bear. 
Whenever such thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, he 
would retreat at night to his tiny apartment and ring the only 
friends he had, fellow outcasts from society. They alone truly 
understood his plight, and treated him with unfailing sympathy 
and kindness. Often, the three of them would come over and 
attempt to cheer him up with their company. 
"You think you've got problems, Skinner," Byers would say. "I 
think Suzanne really cared about me, but now she's gone and I 
don't even know where they took her, how she is, whether she 
even remembers me..." and he would drone on and make 
Skinner forget his own troubles for a while. 
"Hey, man, don't feel bad - let me tell you this great story." 
Langly would interrupt after Byers had gone on long enough, "I 
was surfing the net today and saw this advertisement where this 
guy was trying to offload a piece of software which he claimed 
could actually crack prime number security, man. Yeah, as if..." 
and he would make Skinner laugh and feel that there was still 
hope in the world. 
"Here Skinner, have some more pizza." Frohike would shrug 
pragmatically when Langly had finished, and hand him another 
slice. Skinner was always hungry. Despite all the work he did, 
his meagre salary never seemed to be quite sufficient to cover 
all his rent and bills and buy enough food as well. 
So life went on, and Skinner despaired of ever finding a way 
out. Sometimes he daydreamed of finding someone who would 
be able to do away with his tormentors, and perhaps even care 
a little for him too, despite the poverty of his life, the demands of 
his work and his strange friends. He envied the agents who 
streamed in and out of his office, even the ones he ended up 
yelling at. They had so many interesting things to do, places to 
go and new people to meet. An entire world out there, and he 
was stuck here, practically chained to his desk by the evil 
Director. 
Then one seemingly routine Wednesday afternoon, Skinner 
looked up from his endless reports as the intercom buzzed to 
announce his weekly meeting with Agents Mulder and Scully. 
As always, Skinner straightened up in his chair, put on his best 
AD glower, and told Kim to send them in. 
Agent Mulder was well known around the Bureau. He was very 
bright, attractive in a quirky sort of way, and seemed not to care 
a bit for what anyone thought of him. Despite his agent's salary 
he had his own money to rely on for necessities, and could 
therefore afford to play outside the rules a little. He was also 
Skinner's biggest headache, and one that unfortunately couldn't 
be blamed on anyone else. In contrast, Skinner found Agent 
Scully sane and competent, but even she often had trouble 
keeping her irrepressible partner in line. 
Today Mulder had come in with a broad grin on his face, which 
often boded trouble. He quickly took a seat and pushed a thick 
folder across Skinner's desk without preamble. 
"I'm sure you haven't failed to notice the significant changes at 
the FBI in the years since Morley became Director, sir. The late 
Director was a personal friend of mine, and since his death, I've 
spent a lot of time looking for evidence of outside involvement. I 
think I can prove that Morley and his two little helpers were 
collectively responsible for that so-called 'car crash'. With 
what's in here, we can put them away for good. That is, if you're 
willing to back us up when the storm breaks." 
Skinner was stunned by Mulder's blunt summary. "Are you sure 
about these... allegations, Agent Mulder?" It was too much to 
hope for. 
"Take a look for yourself." Mulder said cheerfully, and Scully 
nodded in confirmation. "We just need a little more time - a lot of 
people will have to get involved to do this properly. Give me till 
Monday, and we'll have them." 
Skinner picked up the file gingerly, as if it would bite him. He 
began to leaf through it slowly, then sped up a little, appreciating 
the thoroughness of Mulder's work. It certainly looked good. 
When he looked up from his examination, he instinctively 
lowered his voice, although he wasn't sure that it would do the 
slightest bit of good. "I'm not sure we should be discussing 
something this sensitive here, Agents. Perhaps both of you 
could come over to my apartment and go over this tonight, 
where we'll be less likely to be overheard." Skinner laid a 
meaningful emphasis on the last word. 
His eccentric friends had over time installed and tested all sorts 
of high-tech security equipment in his apartment, mainly for 
their own amusement, Skinner had thought, but he admitted it 
might now come in very handy. To his surprise, Mulder blushed 
under his scrutiny and stammered something about being busy, 
not quite meeting his eyes. Scully had interrupted smoothly. 
"It's the first night of the FBI ball tonight, sir, as you're aware, 
and I think Mulder wants to get home on time today to make 
sure he'll be looking his best. He's been talking of nothing else 
for weeks. But I'll cover for him - is that all right, partner?" She 
smiled sweetly at Mulder, who already looked like he was 
planning some slow and painful retribution. "You're not going, 
sir?" 
Now it was Skinner's turn to feel embarrassed. FBI Ball? He 
hadn't heard anything about it at all. Although it was entirely 
possible that the announcement lay buried somewhere in the 
mounds of paper that now not only covered his desk, but a few 
square feet on either side. He cleared his throat hastily, hoping 
his ignorance wasn't too obvious. 
"No. I'm not. But a later night is fine if you wish to attend, Agent 
Scully." Skinner could have sworn her eyes positively sparkled 
as she smiled at him. 
"Oh, I'll be free, sir. I can think of much more entertaining things 
to do than attend an official function. Besides, I wouldn't want to 
ruin Mulder's chances here, after all the effort he's gone to." 
Mulder's expression could have blistered paint. 
"Besides, it won't take very long. We can always join him later, 
if you want," she added reassuringly. Skinner suggested seven-
thirty, she nodded, and they were gone. 
*** 
After they had left, Skinner tried to turn his attention back to the 
work he should have been doing, but found it difficult to 
concentrate. A ball. The word conjured up irresistible images in 
his head. There would be music, and dancing, and lots of 
people dressed up and having a good time. Tables piled high 
with food and drink and waiters with hors d'oeuvres and cocktail 
napkins. Everyone relaxed and happy, no paperwork, no 
interminable meetings, no telephone calls. Maybe he could go. 
Just this once. He was sure Morley couldn't stop him; he was 
an employee of the FBI and entitled to go. If he could just find 
the invitation... 
Skinner looked up as the door opened without warning, 
admitting a foul waft of smoke. Morley took in the figure of 
Skinner, going methodically through one of the piles of paper 
next to his desk, and smiled a cold, supercilious smile. 
"Looking for something, Skinner?" 
"Nothing in particular." 
"This wouldn't have anything to do with the FBI Ball tonight, 
would it? I'm rather looking forward to it, myself. You realise it's 
the biggest function the Bureau has ever held. Three nights, 
each more spectacular than the last." 
Skinner wondered briefly how the smoker had once again 
managed to put him at a disadvantage, but then, he always did. 
It was one of the depressing constants in his life. 
"So you knew. And I suppose ADs Spender and Krycek will be 
there too, all dressed up to the nines. Laughing at the thought of 
me here working back late, as always. I'm entitled to go too." 
"Why, of course you are, Mr Skinner. I delivered your invitation 
personally about two weeks ago, but you were in a meeting, 
elsewhere." Morley took a long drag and blew it out slowly. "We 
would never *dream* of excluding you." 
"So where did you put it, you bastard?" 
"Now, now, that's no way to speak to your Director. As I said, as 
long as you have an invitation, you are *most* welcome to join 
us. I'm afraid I can't stay and chat, I only wanted to drop off this 
case file for you. Then I'm going home. We all must look our 
best, you know. Just *think* of the opportunities." 
Skinner shuddered at the thought of Morley preening before the 
mirror. With a reptilian smile, Morley placed the file folder gently 
on top of the huge pile of work already balanced precariously 
on Skinner's desk. As he left, he shut the door with a resounding 
slam, and before Skinner could react, the vibrations sent the 
entire tower of papers in a slow, elegant cascade to the floor. A 
stunned silence followed, in which Skinner could have sworn he 
heard faint, dry laughter. Skinner gave the mound of rubble a 
single, despairing glance, then dropped to his knees and slowly 
began tidying up the mess. 
*** 
That evening, a thoroughly dispirited Skinner opened his 
apartment door to the welcome sight of Agent Scully, dressed 
casually in jeans and a silk shirt, and clutching a bottle of wine. 
"Agent Scully," he said, somewhat confused, taking it from her. 
"I wasn't expecting you to bring anything like this with you." 
"Just something to loosen you up a little, sir. Have you taken a 
shower yet? You'd better have one before we get you dressed 
up." 
"For what? Aren't we going to discuss Mulder's report?" He shut 
the door. 
"Oh, you already heard all the important parts. No sense in 
going over it again. He actually knows what he's doing this time, 
incredible as that may sound. I thought you might be able to use 
a little help getting ready for the ball." She smiled up at him 
again with that ethereal smile. 
Skinner slumped onto the couch and put his head in his hands. 
"I'm told you, Scully, I'm not going." 
"Of course you are. How else are you ever going to meet the 
person of your dreams? I even brought a few things over with 
me, just in case you didn't have anything suitable in your 
wardrobe. You'll have to organise a nice mask for yourself, 
everyone needs one, but that shouldn't be too hard..." 
"You don't understand..." he mumbled without looking up. 
"...And some transport, too, since I understand you can't afford 
a car, and you know how hard it is getting a taxi to this part of 
town. Do you have some friends who could help you out? I 
would, but I've got other things to do... " 
"Scully, I couldn't go even if I wanted to. Morley's determined to 
keep me out. I couldn't find my invitation." 
From his defeated posture he felt the edge of a piece of heavy 
cardboard poking against the back of his hand and reached for 
it reflexively. What he held made him sit up straight and stare at 
the gilt lettering in disbelief. "They're generic, you know," Scully 
added helpfully. "And I meant what I said about not wanting to 
go. Now, go take that shower." 
***
Mulder sighed. It was a great party as far as these things went. 
The grandest function room of one of the city's top hotels had 
been set aside for the three-night event. Decorated in a theme 
of gilt and cream, the huge space was filled with flowers and lit 
by three magnificent chandeliers suspended high above the 
crowd. A band played soft jazz on the stage constructed at the 
far end of the room, while couples danced on the polished wood 
semi-circle of the dance floor, catching fleeting glimpses of their 
reflections in the mirrors spaced at intervals along the walls. A 
long table covered in starched white cloth and overflowing with 
food and drink stretched down one entire side of the room. 
From all around him came the sounds of laughter, the murmur 
of conversation and the clink of glasses. The room was a riot of 
colour; tonight the dress code was casual and people had made 
the most of it, grateful for the opportunity to break out of their 
conservative workwear. In keeping with the request on the 
invitation, everyone had obediently donned masks of varying 
shape and description, which were to be worn until midnight of 
the third night. It lent the proceedings a vibrant yet slightly 
surreal air as jeans and short skirts clashed with lavish 
sequinned and feathered creations. 
Yet in the midst of all the glamour, Mulder was still alone, and 
still unhappy. Perhaps he had expected too much from the 
promise of this evening. Despite having almost everything in his 
life he had thought it possible to want, Mulder had long admitted 
to himself that he was lonely. Scully was the best friend he'd 
ever had, but that was all, and sometimes friendship just wasn't 
enough. Mulder had seen this event as his biggest chance to 
finally meet someone special, someone who could understand 
and share fully in his life and his work. Someone he could love. 
He'd never had much time for socialising, and much as Scully 
had teased him about the ball, she knew how important it was to 
him. 
Now here he was, mixing with the full complement of the FBI, 
and there was no-one he had found even vaguely interesting. It 
was not through lack of effort on his part. Mulder had taken 
special care with his appearance tonight and thought he looked 
thoroughly presentable in his nicely pressed white T-shirt, and 
well-fitted blue jeans. He had arrived early, and spoken to as 
many people as he could find. In addition, his attentions had 
been continually sought by quite a few people, men and 
women, but after a few awkward words he found he could not 
bring himself to smile and laugh and make polite conversation 
with them. They had nothing he wanted. Three men had been 
particularly persistent; one thin and whiny, one arrogant and 
green-eyed, one whose voice was raspy and who smelled of 
tobacco. He had probably been ruder to them than he should 
have been. 
It was growing late, and he was almost prepared to call it a night 
and hope for better luck tomorrow when a newcomer caught 
his eye. The man stood just inside the huge double doors to the 
entrance, looking around himself with interest. Mulder took one 
look and thought he had never seen anyone as impressive. In 
contrast to the motley assembly, the stranger was dressed 
totally in black; a close-fitting T-shirt clinging to broad shoulders 
and chest, and tight black jeans defining his long legs, leading 
down to leather boots. He wore a black silk bandanna covering 
his head, tied in a tight knot at the back, combined with a plain 
black velvet mask. The effect was simple, yet breathtaking. 
In a heartbeat Mulder was at his side, and when they spoke, it 
seemed as though they had known one another forever. There 
was an instant, electric attraction, so strong that Mulder almost 
wondered if the glow were visible to those around them. Neither 
of them had eyes for anyone else the rest of the evening, and 
the hours flew by like minutes. Finally Mulder plucked up the 
courage to ask him to dance, and was accepted. When the 
song had finished, Mulder went off to find another drink. The 
old-fashioned gilt clock above the main stage had just begun to 
chime midnight when Mulder returned to discover the stranger 
had slipped away without a word. It was only then that Mulder 
realised that he hadn't even asked his name. 
*** 
"How did it go, sir? Did you have a good time? Did you 
'mingle'?" 
Skinner had been surprised to find himself agreeing to have 
lunch with Scully the following day at a little Italian restaurant a 
few blocks from the Hoover building. More surprisingly, he was 
discovering he was enjoying it. 
"No, not really. There was this one man..." 
As he told her about the previous night, she began giggling 
unexpectedly. 
"That was definitely Mulder, sir. He's just spent the entire 
morning going on about the man dressed all in black. I *knew* it 
was you the moment he started." 
"Really?" Skinner was surprised, and pleased. Remembering 
the sight of Mulder squirming in his seat the previous day, he 
wondered if he'd ever stopped to think of Mulder in that way 
before. He decided that even if he hadn't, the thought was 
definitely appealing. Impossible, but appealing. 
"Scully - did you tell him...?" Skinner suspected that a surly, 
overworked authority figure was probably the last person 
Mulder would ever be seriously interested in, if he knew. The 
fantasy was pleasant enough, and he'd really prefer it remain 
intact. A frown creased his face, and Scully read his concern 
perfectly. 
"Of course not, sir. Your secret's safe with me. Are you going 
again tonight?" 
He considered only a moment before nodding. Morley and the 
rest would never know. He'd passed them in the hallway this 
morning, looking pale and hung-over, complaining about some 
arrogant young man who had given them all the brush-off only 
to spend the rest of the evening besotted with some late arrival. 
Meekly, Skinner had asked them whether they'd had a pleasant 
time at the Ball. They'd laughed at him derisively and gone off 
to nurse their headaches. As usual, he had their work to do as 
well as his own, but somehow, with the evening to look forward 
to, he would manage. 
"Will you need any help?" Scully continued. 
"No... I thought I'd just go straight from the office." Tonight's 
dress code was semi-formal. 
"Over my dead body." She glared at him. "How do you expect 
Mulder to fall in love with you if you go looking like his boss?" 
"Who said anything about...?" Skinner looked up, startled, from 
his plate. He took one glance into her steely blue eyes, and 
conceded defeat. 
*** 
The second night passed in much the same way as the first. 
Again, Mulder arrived early, his thoughts in a turmoil of hope 
and anticipation, and hung around the entrance studying the 
guests as they arrived. This time he didn't even attempt to be 
polite to those who attempted to interrupt his vigil with their trite 
observances about the party. Finally, at just after ten 'o clock, 
Mulder spotted the mask and black bandanna again and 
immediately homed in, drink in hand. 
Tonight, the man was dressed in an open-necked garnet silk 
shirt and sleek black pants, looking even more gorgeous than 
the night before. The rich silk rippled and clung alluringly to his 
upper body, and several people turned to stare as he strode into 
the room. Mulder looked down at his own tastefully expensive 
olive shirt and dark tie and felt somewhat drab in comparison. 
Nevertheless, before anyone else could move in, Mulder 
reached out to clasp his hand, and was relieved to be greeted 
with a warm smile of recognition. This time they talked a little, 
and danced a lot, and Mulder thought he could lose himself in 
those deep, dark eyes forever. Again, time flew past, and again, 
barely past midnight, Mulder found himself suddenly 
abandoned, knowing no more about the stranger's identity than 
he had before. 
*** 
"Why the hell does it have to be midnight?" Skinner complained. 
Langly pulled away from the kerb with a squealing of tyres. 
"Because, big man, we've got better things to do than wait 
around all night for you. It's not like we haven't got places to go 
in the morning as well. Besides, that redhead who waved us off 
yesterday insisted we had to pick you up early every night. 
Something about 'enhancing the mystery'. Why don't you take it 
up with her?" 
Skinner knew any such argument would be pointless, and 
dropped the subject. 
"Yeah, all right. Thanks for fixing this mask up for me at such 
short notice." Skinner untied the ribbons securing the scrap of 
velvet, with its thin built-in lenses, and swapped it for his 
customary wire-rims. 
"Hey, no problem." Langly grinned at him. "All in a good cause, 
you know. So, did you find him again?" 
*** 
Another day passed uneventfully for Skinner, or relatively so. 
Morley and the two ADs bragged about the conquests they 
claimed to have made, but Skinner paid little attention to them. 
His patent lack of envy put them in a foul mood, and caused 
them to inflict all sorts of petty torments on him throughout the 
day, but he was used to that by now. 
After lunch Mulder stopped him in the hall with the news that 
things were proceeding nicely, and confirmed that on Monday 
the net would close around Morley and his friends. Mulder had 
sounded slightly preoccupied, and barely answered when 
Skinner asked how he'd enjoyed the last two nights of the party. 
Skinner watched him walk away, and smiled at the memories. 
They were all he would ever have, but still something that he 
would be able to hold onto and cherish, even if things went 
wrong and Morley remained his boss until the day he died. 
Finally, that evening Scully dropped into his office, and asked 
him what the hell he thought he was still doing at work. Skinner 
protested mildly that obviously he couldn't go that night, having 
neither the time nor money to hire suitable formal wear, but she 
rolled her eyes at him, and then as if from nowhere produced a 
suitbag and hat box, thrusting them into his hands. 
"Don't bother asking where or how," she ordered. "Just put it 
on." 
*** 
The third and final night of the ball, and the function room was 
packed. Everyone looked tired, but determined to enjoy 
themselves one last time. The band was in full swing, and the 
room a shifting sea of black and white on gold, with the 
occasional splash of colour in the way of bow-ties and evening 
dresses. 
Here was all the life and excitement that anyone could want, but 
Mulder paid no attention to any of it. He drank a little, picked at 
the lavish buffet, and waited. As ten 'o clock struck, Mulder held 
his breath, and sure enough, the man appeared again. Tonight 
he looked... stunning. There was no other word to describe it. 
The tuxedo he wore fit him perfectly, draped elegantly over his 
broad frame, the snowy white shirt setting off the black jacket 
and bow tie. The dress pants held perfect creases, the shoes 
reflected a deep sheen, and a deep crimson cummerbund lent 
warmth to the ensemble. Instead of the bandanna, this time a 
top hat surmounted the velvet mask. Immediately the man's 
eyes sought Mulder's, and Mulder moved to take him in his 
arms, and they held each other and danced as if no one else at 
all were in the room. 
Together, they made a extraordinarily attractive couple, and 
were the subject of many whispers and covert glances that 
night, but they were far too wrapped up in each other to notice. 
Too soon, it grew late, and Mulder was determined that this time 
he would learn the man's identity, and stop him from leaving. It 
was nearing midnight, and as the song ended, Mulder pulled the 
stranger close, and kissed him deeply, a claiming, with the 
promise of more to come. The noise of the gathering seemed to 
fade and time to stand still as they embraced. Then the first 
chime of midnight sounded from the gilded clock, and the man 
broke away abruptly. 
"Mulder, I have to go..." 
"Wait a minute! Please! At least tell me your name!" Mulder ran 
after him, and tackled him to the floor. All around them curious 
faces turned towards the commotion. The man managed to 
shrug Mulder off and escape, but not before Mulder had 
managed to tear off the velvet mask, its ribbons trailing. Mulder 
struggled to catch a glimpse of his face, but the man was gone. 
Further pursuit was blocked as people began surging towards 
the front of the room to hear the MC announce that the 
unmasking should begin. Mulder was borne backwards by the 
pressure of the crowd, numbly clutching at his prize, as the air 
around him filled with flying scraps of fabric and paper. The 
third night of the ball was over, and he still had no idea who had 
stolen his heart. 
*** 
By the time Skinner arrived on Monday the office was already 
buzzing with gossip about Director Morley and the two ADs. 
Their arrests had taken place that morning, before they had 
even set foot in the building, and the entire FBI was in an 
uproar. Mulder's doing, of course. A small group of people were 
waiting for him in his office, Mulder and Scully among them. 
"Assistant Director Skinner, can you confirm the evidence 
Agent Mulder has presented?" 
"Skinner, is it true that Director X had threatened to get Morley 
removed from the Bureau?" 
"Is it true about AD Spender and AD Krycek and the goat?" 
In the confusion that followed Skinner answered questions and 
gave evidence, and eventually they left him alone. When the 
last police officer and attorney and acting Director had been 
ushered from the room, only Mulder was left facing him across 
the desk. Scully had been the last to go, mumbling something 
about 'coffee' and retreating down the hall. Mulder was smiling 
at him pleasantly. 
"Is there something you still need to ask me, Mulder?" Skinner 
said wearily. 
"Yes sir, I just need you to sign this off for me, if you wouldn't 
mind." Skinner rubbed his red-rimmed eyes and grabbed his 
glasses to examine the document Mulder had handed him. 
"... unexplained sighting... possible giant rodent infestation... 
Anaheim, California?" he muttered. "Mulder, while I appreciate 
your efforts in getting rid of Morley and Co, you must have 
gone completely insane if you expect me to sign off on this... I 
can't believe what I'm reading here." 
"Would it help if I gave you your own glasses back, sir?" Mulder 
said smugly, holding up a pair of disturbingly familiar wire-rims. 
Skinner pulled off the pair he was wearing and examined them 
more closely. They weren't his, after all - the design was very 
similar, but the metal just a little thicker, the angle across the 
bridge a slightly different shape. 
"Taken from the prescription in the mask. Also, well... I 
suspected Scully was holding out on me. I just thought it'd be 
more fun this way." 
Skinner attempted to fix him with his best glare, but Mulder 
wasn't having any of it. He walked around the back of Skinner's 
chair and wrapped his arms around his boss, kissing the top of 
his head affectionately. 
"What would you say to dinner tonight... Walter?" The question 
hung in the air between them. 
Then Skinner tilted his head back to meet Mulder's lips softly 
with his own, and in doing so gave Mulder the answer he had 
hoped for. 
For the first time in years, Skinner left the office early. That 
evening they went out to dinner, then spent the night in each 
other's arms, and whispered words of love as the sun rose. The 
next day they returned happily to work at the FBI, a place finally 
free of the atmosphere of misery and unhappiness Morley had 
created. By unspoken agreement they were together again that 
night, and then the next night, and then every night from then 
on... 
*** 
"...And they lived happily ever after..." The storyteller 
concluded, his voice soft, and wistful. 
*** 
After a short, reverent pause, Mulder shifted a little, the spell of 
his own words broken. 
"Nothing like wishful thinking, huh? OK, the whole thing's pretty 
silly, you've got to admit. I mean, for a start I'd have to be really 
stupid not to recognise you instantly, wouldn't I, sir?" 
No response. Skinner continued to lie there as he had for the 
past three days, pale and unmoving, the slow, regular rise and 
fall of his chest the only signs of life. A head-on collision with a 
drunk driver, of all the stupid things in the world. The doctors 
had said there was nothing more that could be done now but to 
watch, and wait. Broken bones would heal in time, but the inner 
workings of the mind were as mysterious as ever. 
Mulder sighed and stood up, stretched out his back. He turned 
to lean over the bed, gently laying his own hand over Skinner's. 
The enduring warmth of Skinner's body was somehow 
reassuring. 
"Well, it's been great. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Get Scully to 
tell you one this time. Something like 'The Little AD that Could'. 
You'll love it. Really." 
Unconsciously, he began to fiddle needlessly with the top sheet, 
smoothing the cloth through his fingers, fighting down the rush 
of feeling that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. From all 
accounts, it *had* been a genuine accident, although Mulder 
would never be sure of that. Ironic that something so ordinary 
should put Skinner here, after all they had been through. 
Especially now, when the back of the conspiracy had been 
broken, the governments of the world finally scrambling to 
protect themselves against the threat of colonisation. When both 
the FBI and Mulder's life had finally returned to something 
approximating normal. When Mulder had finally made up his 
mind to take the gamble he had been working up to all these 
years. His timing never had been very good. 
Impulsively he bent down to plant a single, soft kiss on Skinner's 
unresisting lips, then straightened up quickly, suddenly ashamed 
of himself for taking advantage of the situation to do what he 
had never dared. 
"I'm really sorry, sir. If... when you wake up, you can yell at me 
as much as you want for that, and I won't utter a word. I 
promise." Mulder looked down into Skinner's relaxed face, felt 
tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. Unconscious, Skinner 
looked somehow so much younger, more at peace than Mulder 
had ever seen him. Mulder gave his hand a last squeeze and 
started to turn away, only to be arrested by the slow flutter of 
Skinner's eyelids, the weak twitch of his fingers. 
"Sir? Walter?" Mulder fumbled quickly for the call button, 
grabbing Skinner's hand again, feeling the slight return press of 
fingers against his own. He watched with a mixture of joy and 
shock as Skinner's eyes opened and slowly focused on his 
face. Skinner was mouthing something, but his throat was dry 
and Mulder had to bend down close to hear him. 
"Sir?" 
"Promise...?" Came the whisper, followed by a kiss that was 
barely more than the closing of dry lips against the skin of 
Mulder's cheek, but unmistakable all the same. Mulder felt his 
face flush and drew back, only to see Skinner's eyes closing 
again and a slight smile curve the corner of his mouth. Before 
he could respond, the nurse arrived and organised chaos 
followed, during which time Mulder was efficiently hustled from 
the room. 
Mulder stood in the corridor, a wave of elation and stark terror 
washing over him at all that had been said, yet not said, 
between them. He frantically tried to recall everything he knew 
about the post-recovery recollection of trauma patients. Some 
remembered everything that had been said to and around them, 
some practically nothing. He wasn't sure what he hoped for 
Skinner, but he didn't regret the things he'd said tonight, or the 
nights before. At least Skinner would actually be around to let 
him know whether he'd gone too far this time. 
As he reached for his cell phone, it suddenly struck Mulder that 
perhaps he had been telling the wrong fairytale altogether. 
Instead of masked balls and evil Directors, he should have been 
describing faerie curses and castles surrounded by 
impenetrable thorns. As Scully's number began to ring, he 
smiled a little nervously, remembering the look in Skinner's 
eyes, then closed his own and made a single, fervent wish for 
another happy ending. 
 
THE END