TITLE:  The Threefold Charm - Part II
NAME: frogdoggie
E-MAIL: frogdoggie@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: SRA
RATING: NC-17. M/SK. M/SK/SC eventually. This story 
contains SLASH. VERY GRAPHIC CONSENSUAL SEX 
BETWEEN MEN. SOME M/F SEX TOO. So, if you don't like 
that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. 
Proceed with caution.
SUMMARY: Mulder, Skinner and Scully's relationship deepens 
and takes a new turn - with complications . The action in "The 
Threefold Charm" takes place in April and May of 1999 - 
several months after "Tripartite" This story is the fifth installment 
in a series. Obviously you may want to read my previous 
stories, "Baton Rouge" (winner of the 1998 Spooky Award for 
Outstanding SK/M Romance), "Discordia Concors", 
"Embarrass du Choix" and "Tripartite" to understand this 
narrative. Those stories can be found on my web site at: 
http://www.squidge.org/3wstop.
FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I 
HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy 
debate are always welcome. Flames? I use them to roast 
weenies, hamburgers and Italian sausages on the grill.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING.: This takes place well into 
the new season but we have now departed from the events that 
are occurring in it quite a bit. Mulder and Scully still have the X-
Files and Skinner is still their boss at the moment. I mention 
"Triangle" because that would fit in nicely with the M/SK/SC 
scenario of this story. So, I've kind of reinvented the mytharc 
for my slash AU. Sorry if that bothers you - feel free to go 
elsewhere if it does. I won't mind.
KEYWORDS: story angst slash Skinner Mulder Scully NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, 
Margaret Scully, Jeffrey Spender, the LGM and all other X-
Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen 
Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright 
infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their 
use. Dennis Carr and Phil Meyers are mine. If you want to use 
them fine, but please ask first.
***Author's notes: I've attempted to bring in some of the 
mytharc elements from Season 6 at this juncture. So, Mulder 
and Scully are now without the X-Files and Walter Skinner is no 
longer their boss. But the scenario for why this happened is a bit 
different. You might say it has a frogdoggie twist. This is before 
S.R. 819 - which if I had anything to say about it never 
happened anyway (or had a much different ending!)
The story grew and grew like Topsy. As a result "Charm" is 
divided it into three sections so it will be more easy to post and 
put on my web sites. So the entire story consists of Part I, Part 
II and Part III.
BTW: Author's epilogue at the end. 
One last note: This is dedicated to "The Chatterers". You know 
who you are. You know what you do. Voodoo. The Hoodoo that 
most people don't dare do. You have my deepest thanks.
The Threefold Charm - Part II by frogdoggie
Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
And stick musk-roses in they sleek smooth head, 
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.
*	Titania to Bottom: Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's 
Dream" 
 
Friday, May 21, 1999 Noon. Crossroads, Maine
When Sharon and I were newlyweds we used to come up to 
Crossroads quite often during the summer. Those were halcyon 
days. Sharon and I were good friends. I told myself I was in love 
with her. I know she was in love with me. We rented a little 
cottage on land's end not far from this house, Dennis and Phil's 
house, although they didn't own it then.
The cottage was little more than a bungalow, but it sat 
practically on the beach. Sharon and I took endless walks on 
the sand. We would collect particularly beautiful shells or 
colorful water smoothed rocks to take back to our apartment in 
DC. We'd fish right off the beach and build a bonfire down there 
at dinner time to cook our catch over. We drank beer and lay on 
a blanket staring up at the night sky afterwards. The stars were 
so bright at lands end. Stars are always bright away from city 
lights. We could feel the sea breeze and it blew through 
Sharon's long brown hair.
Our bedroom window faced the ocean. The first time we came 
up to the cottage I remember making love to Sharon while the 
ocean waves crashed into the beach below. There had been a 
storm coming in from the sea. Maybe that long ago storm had 
been a harbinger of things to come for Sharon and me.
But there was something magical about Crossroads. Something 
that made me believe...well in those early days of our marriage 
I still believed I could play it straight. I thought I could continue to 
be a good husband and lover to Sharon. I failed in both 
departments eventually. But in those first days, visiting 
Crossroads, I was convinced I'd found nirvana with the love of a 
good woman. My previous attraction to men was a phase that 
was long past, I thought. I was wrong, and our marriage failed 
because of my delusional thinking. I regret that to this day. 
Because as I said - Sharon was a good woman, and a good 
friend. Do you know how good? She's still a friend and she's 
never mentioned my preferences to anyone, ever.
Later I thought the magic of Crossroads was a fraud or if it had 
been there at all it was long dead. It died the last time Sharon 
and I came to Crossroads. We drove up on our wedding 
anniversary - the anniversary before our separation. By this 
time we were mostly roommates. We tended to go our own 
ways, with our own friends and interests. I was deep into my 
work at the bureau. Sharon had her own career and her arts 
groups. Our lovemaking was sporadic and unsatisfying for us 
both. We knew something was wrong but didn't want or know 
how to discuss it. Ok, not we - *I* didn't want to discuss it. But, 
we thought the tranquillity of Crossroads might help us to 
rekindle our marriage or at least get us talking meaningfully to 
each other. Well we were half right.
We talked at last...and the magic died. It was during this final 
visit that I told Sharon I was gay. She cried when I explained I 
couldn't, in good conscious, expect her to remain my wife. She 
agreed and filed for divorce soon afterwards. Irreconcilable 
differences. Yeah, you could say I was irreconcilably different. I 
prefer fucking men. It's a big difference all right...to your wife. 
But it was my choice, my life and I couldn't lie to Sharon any 
longer.
Of course I still lied to everyone else including whether I wanted 
to admit it or not, myself. I kept lying for years. I lied that finding 
a good man was necessary for me. Sure I'd admitted I liked 
loving men. But Fucking A! I was damned if I was going to let 
myself act on it. It was way to risky. It might make me content, 
fulfilled. Couldn't have that, Walter. I didn't believe, deep down, 
that any kind of happiness was necessary, or that I was 
deserving of happiness. So, I hid my preferences from others. 
Stayed in the closet. Denied myself love or even feelings of 
desire. I'm good at denial...at hiding my feelings. At covert 
activities. Was good at those things. Until Baton Rouge. Until 
Fox Mulder finally got me to admit what I'd been hiding from for 
all these years.
Now I know that Crossroads is truly magical, even in winter. 
The last time I came to Crossroads I came here with Fox 
Mulder, my lover. We were joined by Dana Scully, his lover. A 
good man, a good woman...and my friends. I thank God every 
day for making Mulder a brash son of a bitch too. Oh yeah, his 
brashness ties my guts in knots on the job a lot of the time. But I 
wouldn't have him any other way. Because if he hadn't been a 
cocky bastard, hadn't taken the initiative down in Louisiana, I 
would probably still be alone. I'd still be in the closet. I'd still be 
the tight-assed bureau bastard. Ok. I'm still a tight-assed bureau 
bastard. But at least I'm a happy, tight-assed bureau bastard. 
And Fox likes that nice tight ass. So I was able to admit, to no 
longer deny my desires, to act on my attraction to other men, 
and this man in particular. I could admit I was in love, that I 
deserved some modicum of joy. I realized that a good man in 
my life was what I had really wanted for years.
And Scully! I'm still relieved that she's back with Fox. I'm also 
relieved and amazed and yeah, slightly flattered that she's 
treating me like something approaching a friend now too. We've 
gotten together a few times - without Mulder. You know, to 
shoot the shit. Swap Mulder stories. Discuss lover's strategy. It 
was rather strange at first. Hell, that's a friggin' understatement. 
Talk about extreme possibilities. If you'd told me that Dana 
Scully and I would be sitting down over coffee talking like two 
old friends instead of glowering boss and nervous, verging on 
quaking subordinate I would have told you to pull the other one. 
But it's true and it's...well I like it. It's fine by me.
But it wasn't easy getting to that point. There were issues. I had 
a couple of big ones.
First, I hardly understood how Mulder could keep the 
relationships separate. But Fox Mulder doesn't do anything in a 
typically textbook or run of the mill manner. To say he marches 
to a different drummer isn't even close to the mark. This ability 
to focus on one or the other of us was no exception. Still - how 
he was able to give us his undivided energy and attention when 
he was with one of us floored me. Even when he was half crazy 
with thinking he was going to lose Scully over that business in 
the hotel room - make no mistake. When he was with me the 
world revolved around me. Well maybe a couple of times his 
mind was preoccupied with Scully...and he wasn't able to...well I 
won't go into it. Those couple of times involve private matters 
between us. I respect Fox's privacy. I know he was hurting 
however. But despite all that I didn't feel like he regretted he 
was with me and wanted to be off trying to reconcile with 
Scully. Never.
But Jesus. It's a stretch to understand and accept a polyamory 
situation. I mean I didn't wake up one morning and say *Gee 
Walter - why don't you become enamored of someone involved 
in the practice of carrying on simultaneous relationships with 
more than one partner?* I'm queer but queers can be 
conservatives too you know. This would have been the last kind 
of situation I'd expect to find myself in. Hell - I was a closeted 
queer for how many years? Conservative doesn't even touch 
the surface of how uptight I was and - ok still am, in a lot of 
ways. So, this tripartite treaty idea was not an easy 
arrangement by any means. But I'm very good at...special 
arrangements. So, I'm starting to get with the game plan here.
Second? Ok. I didn't want to share my lover with someone else 
either. I'm as capable of jealousy as the next person after all. 
But, I don't like to admit to jealousy in this situation. Jealousy is 
such a...such an unproductive, energy wasting and ultimately 
dangerous emotion. Giving in to the green eyed monster only 
let's it jump up later and bite you in the ass. Even though the 
situation is hard to understand, I'm trying be fair here. Gain 
balance. Trying to approach tolerance and take into account 
everyone's feelings here. God, I know that sounds like AD 
speak. Maybe it is force of job habit talking. But I love Fox. I 
know he loves me. He's given me so much. And like I said - 
when I'm with him I'm obviously the center of his world. I 
want...I want to return some of the joy he's given me. I want to 
be a good partner for him. And a good partner accommodates 
his lover's wants and needs too. And Mulder needs Dana Scully 
as much as he needs oxygen to breath. So, I'm squashing the 
jealousy as best I can. Keeping the green eyed monster in 
chains. I'm trying to make share and share alike my motto. It's a 
challenge. But I'm very good at challenges too.
Scully's views on both these matters were pretty much the 
same, to be fair. She told me as much during a conversation we 
had right here in the kitchen of this house. She hasn't been 
overly hesitant to express her viewpoint since that Christmas 
night. It has been a help. But still, talking with her about our 
feelings, about Mulder about...the sharing.
I mean what do you say to the woman who's balling your man? 
Shit - that sounds like the opening lyrics to a bad Country and 
Western song. But can you just imagine how difficult 
conversation was between me and Scully at first? Damn! There 
we were trying to keep it serious - adult - business-like, while 
we're exchanging opinions and information on a three way 
relationship. Sexuality issues. Likes and dislikes. Oh shit - I don't 
mean we were discussing what Mulder likes in bed, or what I 
like, or she likes in the sack either. Christ on a crutch. No way. 
But we were talking about the issues. And we were definitely 
discussing the object of our mutual affection.
I'll tell you the honest truth here too. We had a bit of amusement 
at Mulder's expense. A little behind the back Mulder bashing. 
Scully and I started on the road to familiarity by raking Mulder 
over the coals a trifle. Hey, he had it coming. He was being a 
bastard. You know how he can be on occasion? Brat boy 
personified? Obsessive? Compulsive? You know the drill. So 
can you blame us? Sounds bitchy you say? I wouldn't go there. 
Scully wouldn't like it. And you can imagine what I'd say if you 
called me a bitch? Yeah, smart move. But what the hell. If 
complaining about Mulder's *idiotsyncrocies* gave Scully and I 
a common touchpoint, I was willing to swerve a little into 
*girlfriend mode*. Yeah, but not fucking Nelly. And if you tell 
anyone I said that I'll have to kill you? Do I make myself clear? 
Good.
So, Scully and I have been getting to know each other. We're 
becoming comfortable with each other at last it seems. I don't 
think she sees me as the surly, aloof boss so much any longer. 
Oh in the office she respects me as her supervisor of course. 
But outside the bureau - well maybe I'm more of a confidant 
now. We've formed a support group a deux. We're both willing 
to lend a shoulder to lean on when things Mulder get too out of 
hand. At least I hope that's how I'm reading her. I think so. I am, 
after all, a good judge of reading people. A good manager is a 
good judge of character. I have to be. It's going to keep me 
alive in this business.
And you know, getting to know Dana Scully has been a 
pleasure. She's a brave, strong, woman with integrity, a great 
heart, and a hell of an intellect. Good dry sense of humor too. 
You see it once she trusts you a bit. Well, she'd have to have a 
slightly bent funny bone to put up with Mulder. She's also hard 
as nails when it comes to dealing with her partner. Steel fist in a 
velvet glove. And she's better at working Fox then I am. She 
knows how to get over on the brat because she's been doing it 
every day for close to 6 years now. But I'm observant. I'm 
taking notes. I can learn by example with the best of them.
So, I see Crossroads as magical again. It's magical because it 
gave me the most beautiful and memorable Christmas I've had 
in years. It's magical because it brought Mulder and Scully and I 
closer together. I have faith the magic will bring us closer 
together still now, during the week or so we'll be here. But last 
off all, Crossroads is magical because it's a small bubble of light 
and peace surrounded by the darkness that presses in and 
threatens us. I thank God for Crossroads and for this time here 
with friends. I really do. 
It's turned out to be a warm day. I can feel the spring sun 
beating down on the top of my baseball cap. I don't even need a 
jacket. The work shirt and jeans are comfortable enough. Yes, 
the sun feels warm and comforting too. God, I did need to relax. 
Some good honest, physical labor. The sun on my back and 
congenial company. What the hell more could a man want? He 
could want a beer I thought as I hammered in another nail.
Just as I thought about that cold brew Dennis interrupted my 
reverie, "Hey, let's take a lunch break you guys. I seriously 
need to refuel."
Dennis puts down the saw where he's been cutting the boards 
for the deck. He brushes sawdust off his jeans.
"You want a beer, WS?" Phil asks, laying down his hammer. He 
stands up next to me and flexes his back.
"You read my mind," I grin a little, setting my own hammer 
down on the half completed deck.
Dennis Carr and Phil Meyers. The owners of *Dragons' Roost*, 
their name for their house on land's end. When they asked me 
to come up here and help them build this deck off their back 
door I jumped at the chance. They thought it would be great for 
Mulder to come up as well. Of course he'd lend an extra pair of 
hands but they know how deeply we feel for each other. They 
know how we haven't been able to see much of each other 
since the reassignments.
Scully was a more interesting issue. I had told them she was 
Mulder's partner back during the Jana affair at Halloween. After 
Christmas I explained that Fox was bisexual and that Dana was 
also his lover. I had gotten Mulder's permission to reveal our 
arrangement to Dennis and Phil after he had Frohike run a 
more extensive back ground check on them both. I was pissed 
at first. I mean, come on. I do have some connections. I'd run 
them all ready. But Mulder insisted and after I saw just some of 
what Frohike was capable of doing I was impressed enough to 
realize Mulder was right to let him lose.
I don't know what I would have done if Dennis and Phil hadn't 
checked out. These two ex-Marines are my closest friends. 
They...well they're my only real contacts right now in the gay 
community. I still don't get out much. Oh, twice a month or so I 
still go down to Club 219. It's risky but I take the chance. You 
know, sometimes you just get sick of playing it straight. Dennis 
and Phil have been my main connection to the lifestyle, though. 
They're just good guys. They've been very supportive and I 
would have hated to lose their friendship because I found out 
they were dirty. At any rate, they're on the up and up according 
to Frohike's search. I owe the dwarf a beer, or two, or three for 
doing Mulder and I the favor. You think it's impolite for me to 
call him *the dwarf*? Would it salve your conscience if I told 
you Frohike calls me *Dr. Cyclops?* to my face? Ever see that 
old scifi movie? Mulder ran the video for me. Hey, Frohike's got 
balls of steel, I'll give him that. Ah, I like the turtle-assed little 
geek - seriously.
At any rate, when Dennis and Phil found out Scully was 
Mulder's lover they insisted on her being invited as well. It was 
only fair they said. Parity in the bedroom or some such line of 
bullshit. Listen, I know the ropes here. They love a fag hag as 
Fox would say. Boy are they in for a rude surprise. I'm not going 
to tell them that Dana Scully is as far from Liz Taylor as Larry 
Fortensky. Besides, Dennis and Phil are brimming over with 
quite natural curiosity about a woman agent at the bureau. A 
crack agent according to my and Mulder's well laid and truthful 
PR...and an investigator who is a doctor on top of everything 
else. So, they're dying to talk to her. Well hell, she needs the 
time off too. I'm glad they're inviting her, whatever the reason. 
Ok, and I'm glad she's coming as well. It...it will be good to see 
her too. You don't think I'm sincere? Well, listen - just to make 
sure she'd be included in the group - I told Dennis and Phil that 
Scully was an ace with a hammer. Hey, she is, her mother told 
me as much. There was no way she wasn't going to get an 
invitation to the *deck party* after that little revelation.
Deck party!? Christ. By the time I got up here Dennis and Phil 
had all ready poured all the footings, set the upright posts, railing 
posts and nailed on all the joists. The only thing left to do was 
construct the actual deck flooring, railings and stairs leading off 
the structure. Phil laughed when I planted my hands on my hips 
and asked him what the hell was left for us to do?
"You know how Dennis is, WS," Phil replied, "Once he gets 
going on a project it's full steam ahead until it's done."
"Yeah, besides," Dennis said, "I thought we all might appreciate 
a little vacation, right, Walter?"
And he couldn't have been more correct.
All three of us head back inside to the kitchen to make lunch. 
Dennis ends up at the kitchen counter. My route takes me over 
to the fridge but Phil heads me off.
"Sit down. Remember WS - you *are* a guest here...at least 
when you aren't pounding nails."
"Phil, I can get my own beer and sandwich."
"Now, I won't hear it. Dennis. Tell WS to sit down and act like a 
guest will you?"
"WS, sit down and act like a guest will you?" Dennis repeats in a 
deadpan voice. Dennis is the short, dark, muscular one of the 
pair. Kind of a more buff John Byers I guess you could say. 
He's slightly younger than Phil but the more serious of the two. I 
have a feeling Scully is going to enjoy his dry wit though. Mulder 
is going to try to keep up with him in the acerbic humor 
department. It should be an interesting competition. Dennis is 
the photographer who has adorned the walls of the house with 
his many expert and artistic photographs. Right now he busies 
himself getting some bread out of the bread box. 
"Oh shit, I left myself open for that one," Phil shakes his head as 
he moves me towards one of the kitchen chairs. Phil is short too 
- but red-headed and more wiry. It wouldn't be much of a 
stretch to see him as another Scully brother. But his 
resemblance is closer to someone Mulder and Scully and I 
knew once. Agent Pendrell. God, what a tragedy. Another 
needless, senseless death. I'd rather think of Phil as an older 
Scully relative I guess. Beats dredging up another bad memory.
At any rate, Phil was what they called a tunnel rat over in Nam. 
One of the unlucky bastards who was small enough to go down 
into the VC underground bunker complexes on search and 
destroy missions. Phil is very good with his hands. Months of 
crawling around in the dark and meeting VC out to cap you 
made him that way. He can kill a man with nothing but a knife 
or even a thin strand of wire as a garrote. Nowadays he's turned 
his talented hands in a much more benign direction. Phil's the 
potter. His work also decorates *Dragon's Roost* very 
artistically. So, both men are artists now. They exhibit their work 
in galleries across the United States.
I have to laugh as Phil maneuvers me until I'm almost 
successfully seated at the table. It just seems funny that he can 
shove me around. Of course, Phil's size is deceptive. Besides 
being able to kill a man with his bare hands, he's also a black 
belt in karate. Phil is perfectly capable of incapacitating a man 
my size with very little trouble and in many inventive ways.
I chuckle a little. It's difficult being pampered or treated as a 
guest. I'm not used to being in that situation unless I'm in a 
restaurant or at a hotel. It feels odd having friends catering to 
me, waiting on me. Of course I'm used to calling the shots most 
of the time. I'm used to being in control and in charge. I think 
Phil has made it one of his personal missions to get me to forget 
I hold the reins. To forget I wear my BVDs a size too small. Ok, 
figuratively. But you know what I mean.
"All right, I'm a guest, I'm a guest," I insist as Phil gives me one 
last push into the straight-backed kitchen chair. I let him settle 
me down. I take off my cap, tossing it on the table. Phil is 
satisfied at last. He makes a graceful turn towards the fridge, to 
extract my beer and the rest of the sandwich ingredients.
"Ham and Swiss or hard salami and provolone?"
"Ham and Swiss," I reply as he hands me my Becks.
"Den?" he asks his partner.
"Yeah, ham and Swiss sounds good."
"Well I'll dare to be different," Phil adds with a grin as he fishes 
for the salami and provolone."
"I know we have some lettuce in here," he says more or less to 
himself, as he roots around inside the fridges maw.
"Lower left bin, Phil," Dennis advises as he cuts slices of the 
homemade whole wheat bread he made fresh this morning. 
The breadmaker was a surprise. One of these days I'll have to 
buy one.
"Onions anyone?" Phil asks.
"No thank you," Dennis and I reply in unison. Phil laughs and 
nods, agreeing with us.
The shorter man brings out the meats, cheeses and lettuce 
cradled in his arms. He crosses to the kitchen cabinet and 
deposits the arm load on the counter next to his lover. I watch 
him return to the fridge for the mayo and mustard. Those go on 
the counter as well. Last but not least, out come two more beers 
for him and Dennis. He crosses to the counter again and places 
one next to the darker man. 
"You want me to help?" Phil asks rubbing Dennis's back. He 
has a brief smile for the other man.
"Nope. Why don't you go enjoy your beer," Dennis grins as I 
take another swig of my brew. Phil gives him a quick kiss on 
the cheek and Dennis grins wider. I look away and toy with my 
beer.
Dennis and Phil are so easy with each other. The casual display 
of their love doesn't change out in public either. They hold 
hands and touch a lot. I know I'm not much for PDA. Public 
expressions of affection weren't even a habit when I was with 
Sharon. The idea of showing my love for Mulder in public? 
Crap. Even if PDA did come easy for me - we can't do it out on 
the friggin' street. But here in this house, I think maybe I could at 
least make an effort to give the idea a shot.
But watching Dennis and Phil's easy interaction and obvious 
devotion to each other makes me suddenly miss Fox intensely. 
Phil comes over to the table and sits down across from me. I'm 
still lost in my thoughts and he gives my sweating green beer 
bottle a slight tap. The clink brings me back to reality.
"He'll be here soon," Phil advises quietly, divining my musings. 
"That obvious?" I ask in reply, eyebrow cocking a little.
"You could say that, WS. I'm just sorry Mulder couldn't have 
come up with you," he replies with a gentle smile as he opens 
his beer. He places the twisted off cap on the table top next to 
the one I've placed there.
I sigh a little and take another swig of the beer. Phil drinks some 
of his and watches me for my answer. After my swallow I 
oblige him.
"Well we were all coming separately in an attempt to cover our 
tracks, I guess. Better to be safe than sorry."
"Are things really that bad for the three of you?" he asks, 
concerned.
"It's none of our business, Phil," Dennis throws back over his 
shoulder.
I nod a little, "You probably don't want to know. But, yeah...I can 
tell you we have to be very cautious about this situation. And 
uh...not just because of bureau politics or regulations."
Phil nods and drinks some more beer. He's more than familiar 
with the necessity to keep your lip buttoned in certain situations. 
Phil was in special forces as well. Dennis was infantry and even 
he knows there are some things you don't tell anyone because it 
can cost lives.
I add a few comments to soften the moment anyway.
"Besides, Mulder and Scully are into looking like eager beavers 
for the FBI cause lately - on my advice. It sticks in Mulder's 
craw and Scully isn't overly happy about it either. But shit, if it 
will keep them out of Kersh's hot seat for a while and give me 
some time to maneuver it's worth it. If we play our cards right 
we may be able to uh...change some things at the bureau to our 
advantage eventually."
Before it's too late I think with a slight frown creeping across my 
mouth. Dennis comes over to join us with a plate piled high with 
sandwiches. He sets in down between us with a flourish.
"These should do for starters," he says, turning to retrieve his 
beer from the counter. He returns and sits down next to Phil. 
Phil and I stare at the plate for a moment. Christ. It's enough 
food for twice the number of guys.
"Well, don't stand on ceremony - we have to get back to work at 
some point," he laughs at the expression on our faces.
"If we're not bursting or comatose," Phil shakes his head with a 
smile.
"Hey, the way I'm gonna drive you guys this afternoon - you're 
gonna need the calories," Dennis replies taking a sandwich in 
hand. 
My frown is a distant memory as I join in the laughter, and 
taking up a sandwich begin to do my best to fortify myself for 
the afternoon of work that lies ahead.
xXx
Friday, May 21, 1999 2 PM
The Interstate somewhere between DC and Crossroads, Maine
Crossroads. I'm still ambivalent about this trip. I know I told 
Mulder I needed the vacation. I do need the time off. Lord, so 
does he. Both of us are so downtrodden right now. Exhaustion 
has become an even more typical and familiar bodily state for 
both of us. But I don't even want to think about that at the 
moment. If I do, I'm going to feel even worse because Mulder is 
in Holyoke busting his chops to catch that rapist and I'm...well 
I'm not sure what I'm doing.
Ostensibly I'm driving up to Crossroads, Maine to help build a 
deck for my hosts and maybe lie on it afterwards or on the 
beach under the early spring sun. In reality I'm driving up to 
Crossroads to spend my time off with three gay men - one of 
whom is Walter Skinner, my ex-boss and Mulder's other lover. 
Mother Mary. But Mulder was so eager, so excited about us all 
getting together. I didn't have the heart to say no. And like I said 
- I really need to get away and relax. I'm just not so sure this is 
going to fill the bill in that area.
All right, yes. Walter (and believe me it's still a little difficult for 
me to call him by his Christian name on occasion), and I are 
getting along a whole lot better now. Ok, we're getting along 
more than better. I think...I'm actually starting to believe that 
Walter is going to be a good friend. A confidant. Someone I can 
confide in about Mulder. He's becoming my support group and 
God knows, with Fox Mulder as my partner and lover, I can use 
some support. But if anyone had told me six months ago that I 
would be sitting down with Walter S. Skinner and discussing our 
mutual lover I would have told them to kiss my Smith and 
Wesson. The suggestion would have been too close to the shit 
we've been shoveling lately to be anything but a load of crap. 
Or an X-File. But for me it's been more of a reality check.
Walter and I have been talking quite a lot lately. We've had 
dinner several times. Met for coffee. At first it wasn't easy to 
carry on a conversation with him at all. I mean, God. He is, or 
rather was *The Boss*. Sitting there and trying to talk to him as 
an equal was like having your teeth filled at first. You know the 
feeling - your mouth is all numb and full of saliva? When I was 
first assigned to AD Skinner I was warned to watch out. Other 
agents painted such a horrendous picture of him by the time 
Mulder and I had our first meeting with him I was expecting 
Grendel. Well, I wasn't far from wrong. He was one tough 
muther as my brother Charles is so found of saying. I tend to 
think, in hindsight, that he was tough but as fair as he could be 
under the circumstances. But regardless, I was scared to death 
of him even though I gave him the respect he was due as our 
supervisor. Besides, he is a good manager and was a crack 
field agent too. I checked. Make no bones about it - he was 
good before he made it to pencil pushing. Still is a consummate 
professional when he has to go into the field. Baton Rouge was 
a prime example of his talent there.
But I was nervous talking with him. Besides his being the AD, I 
also had just a *little* trouble getting over seeing him with my 
partner in that hotel room. God, I still blush when I think about 
that incident. Good Lord! Just entertaining the idea that Skinner 
would be on the receiving end so to speak...Jesus spare me. 
Well ok, I wasn't totally disgusted by seeing them together. 
There was something...sensual and really beautiful about two 
such attractive men expressing their love for each other. But I 
was shocked to see that private act and also I wasn't quite 
prepared to think that Fox and Walter...that they really were 
deeply in love with each other. Seeing the expression on 
Mulder's face when they were having sex that night left no 
doubt he was devoted to Walter. I mean for heaven's sake...I've 
looked into his face enough while we're making love to know 
that look. What am I saying? I've had that look on my own face. 
At any rate, it didn't leave any doubt in my mind.
And the thought frightened me. The idea of abandonment 
reared its ugly head. I do love Mulder. I need him in so many 
ways. It's almost a weakness and sometimes I deplore that 
need. But it's unreasonable of me to feel that way. Why should I 
deny myself love and happiness with this man? I know he loves 
me beyond life itself. I'd have to say the feeling is mutual. So, 
losing him to anyone would hurt. It angered me. The depth of 
my jealousy terrified me.
Also, the fact that they didn't have more restraint and as a result 
I was privy to their lovemaking really corked me. I mean come 
on guys - didn't you realize I might panic if I heard Mulder 
moaning in there? Spender could have given him a concussion 
after all. I was so angry also when Mulder turned my justifiable 
complaints around on me afterwards. I could have shot him 
again. The jealousy fueled my anger as well. I needed to 
distance myself from them both. At the time I didn't even know 
if I could be with Mulder any more at all. I wasn't sure if I could 
handle the implications of everything he wanted with the three 
way relationship. Sharing him was a concept I wasn't sure I was 
capable of handling. So, I told him I needed to stay out of his 
bed for a while to gain some equilibrium. I just needed to catch 
my breath and stop my head from spinning.
Eventually we did reconcile. I agreed to give the share and 
share alike thing with Walter a try. If Mulder hadn't made a 
mature effort in that direction I have to confess I might have just 
let it all go. After I took time to consider the situation I concluded 
as painful as it would have been to lose him...I wanted him to be 
happy. If being happy meant a life with Skinner than fine. He 
could go with the AD. But as it turned out Walter's efforts to 
broker a peace treaty helped me to realize maybe the situation 
could work out. I have to say he surprised me with the depth of 
his desire to see Fox happy as well - regardless of which 
partner he chose. He was willing to walk away and let Fox and I 
have each other. I could see it would practically kill him too, and 
it touched me to hear him make the offer. I never...well I never 
saw Walter Skinner as a real person before I suppose. I 
certainly never saw him as gay, and I never thought about him 
being a loving partner for my partner. But you know...he is, and 
he's good for Mulder. I can see that Mulder is good for him too.
Since Walter has been with Mulder I've noticed a softening 
there. Surly Skinner is being tempered by love I guess. He 
smiles more. Laughs. Oh, not at the office mind you. He does 
have a reputation as a hard nose to maintain there. But outside 
the bureau he's not as concerned with being a bastard any 
longer. No, Walter isn't nearly as closed off and choleric any 
more at all. I think he's found some joy in his life now. I have to 
admit it's a pleasant thing to see. I'm more comfortable around 
him. I sense he's more comfortable around me. Still...
Spending a little over a week with him and his two friends after I 
have to tell him Mulder is not coming up until later - or may not 
be coming at all - is not going to be a marvelous situation. 
Walter is going to be devastated I'm sure. Oh, he'll try not to 
show it, but I know he's going to revert to bastard mode. I 
would. I mean he's really been looking forward to this time with 
Mulder. He orchestrated the whole trip after all. The 
reassignment, separation, Spender and all the other pain in the 
neck bureau business have made a vacation something Walter 
desperately needs as well. And Lord knows we all need a 
moments peace from the dark tide that threatens to close in 
over our heads.
So, being the bearer of bad tidings under these circumstances, 
is not my cup of tea. And picking up pieces of *Shattered Surly 
Skinner* isn't my cup of tea either.
So, right now I'm sitting in a rest stop somewhere near Hadley, 
Maine, the car windows rolled down, my cell phone on the seat, 
and indecision preying on my mind. I'm trying to decide if I 
should let Walter know now, before I arrive, about the Mulder 
situation or wait until I get there to give him the bad news.
One part of my mind says - why ruin his whole day by telling 
him now? I might as well just continue driving and tell him the 
whole unfortunate series of events when I finally see him face 
to face. God. I feel so sorry for him. I miss Mulder so much 
myself it's almost painful. I hate to think what this is going to do 
to Skinner. 
The other part of my mind is cringing...face to face? Are you 
insane, Dana Scully? Telling a lonely, stressed out and probably 
horny Walter S. Skinner that his equally lonely, stressed out, 
and equally as horny, man isn't going to make it to their 
vacation rendezvous is tantamount to suicide. Are you crazy? 
Pick up that cell phone and dial, woman! Dial now!
I sigh. What the heck should I do? I know! I'll get a Diet Coke 
and visit the ladies room. The fresh air and leg stretch will help 
to get my mind more in gear I hope. I nod, grabbing my purse. 
Exiting my car I head towards the McDonalds that makes up 
part of the service area complex.
xXx
Friday, May 21, 1999 2:45 PM Crossroads, Maine.
"Ok, steady it. Great. OK. Hang on."
Phil is helping me to place another long board on the deck. We 
get it spaced with the board next to it and each of us prepares to 
nail it to the joists below. Dennis has finished cutting all the 
boards for the deck flooring at this point. He's started on the 
boards that will be used to construct the stairs now.
Just as I'm about ready to pick up the hammer again, my cell 
phone beeps. I've got it in the pocket of my jeans. Force of 
habit of course. I pull it out and flip up the top hoping as I do so 
that this isn't the God damn bureau calling to ruin my day...or 
my week. Dennis cuts the saw off and Phil stops pounding his 
nails as I place the phone to my mouth and ear.
"Skinner," I bark.
"Sir, it's Scully."
All the blood rushes to my head in one mighty tidal wave. My 
guts spasm. Something must have happened to Fox I think in 
panic. The expression on my face must show my fear before I 
can get it under control because both Dennis and Phil are 
standing by my side in seconds.
"What's wrong!?" I manage to croak into the phone.
"Oh God, I'm sorry, Walter. Mulder's fine. I didn't mean for this 
to frighten you," she lets out in a rush. Well shit on a shingle. It's 
my own fault my blood pressure went off the scale. I jumped to 
a conclusion that was natural though, I suppose. After all, in the 
six years I've known them both a cell phone call from Scully 
usually meant Mulder was in the fucking hospital, or missing, or 
missing and presumed dead. God. I let my breathe out in a hiss.
"It's ok. Force of habit I guess," I hasten to reassure her as I 
master control of my body and mind.
"Still I should have used my head and not made it sound like a 
damn business call. I'm sorry, Walter. Really."
Dennis motions with his head, asking to know what's going on.
"Can you hang on for a second?" I ask Scully.
"Sure."
I turn to them both.
"Is something wrong with Fox or Dana?" Phil asks, his brow 
furrowed in worry.
""No, sounds like something minor. Maybe they're just going to 
be late. I'll find out," I add, going back to the phone.
"I'm sorry, Dennis and Phil were concerned."
"Oh. Well Fox is fine. Really. Uh, but I do have some 
unpleasant news."
Oh crap. She can't make it I think. What a fucking drag.
"What's up?" I ask, the sympathy at her situation coming out in 
my voice.
"Well I don't know any other way to tell you this Walter," she 
begins.
"Oh, well, it's ok..." I begin to interrupt her.
"Fox isn't coming," she breaks in, her voice quiet but deadly 
serious.
"What?"
"Fox is going to be delayed. I...I'm not sure how long. Kersh 
called him into his office early this morning and assigned him to 
a VCS rape case in Holyoke Massachusetts. He's gone up 
there to do the profile."
"VCS profile? Where the hell was Gallago?"
"Agent Gallago is in Clearwater, Florida on the Madsen case. 
Mulder was the only available man for the job. Walter, the rapist 
was escalating. It...it was a legitimate case."
I sigh deeply and run my hand over my brow. I bring it back 
down, then up under my glasses to rub the bridge of my nose. 
Of course Mulder would have been the best man for the job. I 
can't fault Kersh there. In a situation like Holyoke he has to 
allocate his best resources. Shit. I've done the same thing to 
Mulder myself. But Christ all mighty, why now? I feel like flying 
up to Holyoke, finding the perp and wringing his neck myself. 
But instead, my heart and mind heavy, I reply to Dana Scully.
"Yes. Kersh was right. Mulder had to be assigned to Burton. So, 
he's in Holyoke now?"
"Yes. He did call me briefly to let me know he'd arrived safely. 
He didn't have time to make any other calls," she adds gently.
"I understand. Well, this..."
"Stinks. I know Walter. I'm sorry."
"I appreciate that Scully. But look - you're still coming aren't 
you?" I inquire hopefully.
"As a matter of fact I'm sitting at a rest stop near a town called 
Hadley right now," I can hear a little smile in her voice.
I suddenly realize that it really will be good to see her. And with 
Fox not coming up right away I think that idea of a support a 
deux is going to come in handy once she gets here.
"Oh, well, that's...that's great. Uh, you're a little over two hours 
away. Should put you up here right around 5 PM. Dinner time." 
"Ok. I'll see you then."
"Scully?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks for calling ahead. I'm...I'm rather glad you didn't hit me 
with this just before dinner."
She chuckles a little and I think I can hear the relief in the 
sound. Well yeah. I can imagine what must have been going 
through her mind over having to give me this news. Christ on a 
crutch.
"Speaking of dinner. Can I stop on the way and pick up 
anything? Wine?"
"No, no. We have dinner under control, including the wine. Hope 
you like New England clam chowder."
Dinner is going to be chowder, a huge Ceasar salad, more fresh 
homemade bread and wine.
"Adore it."
"Good deal. Ok, so...we'll see you around 5 then."
"All right. Take care. And Walter, really...I am sorry."
"No problem. Safe trip."
"Thanks."
She hangs up and I close the phone with a dejected flip of my 
hand.
xXx
Friday, May 21, 1999, 5 PM, Dragon's Roost.
As I'm driving up the approach road I realize just how different 
the house looks from the way it did in winter. At first I wasn't 
sure I had the right address. But no, it's the same house. I 
recognize that window to the master bedroom now. I should. I 
threw caution and snowballs to the wind when I hit it trying to 
wake Mulder up that winter morning.
Besides the window I also spot the large ceramic dragon that 
forms the mailbox pole and top piece that Walter told me about. 
It's outrageously fantastic - quite ornate and very cleverly done. 
*Dragon's Roost* my hosts call the house overlooking the sea. 
I'll have to ask them why they named it *Dragon's Roost* when 
I have a chance.
I'm still nervous about confronting Walter. Well not confronting. I 
was all ready confrontational enough during my call to him. I 
blew that one on the phone. God, I can't believe how 
thoughtless I was there. But I just fell into FBI mode when I 
made the call. It was my way of coping with giving him the bad 
news. I made it sound like a call from the field. I heard the terror 
in Walter's voice though. I was so sorry.
He sounded more normal by the time the call was over. 
Understanding. But AD Skinner is a master at controlling his 
emotions. He can be dying inside and you'll never know it. I just 
hope that's not what's going on now. I really do. It's going to 
make this hard on us both. I'd rather have him go ballistic then 
cold and uncommunicative. Well, there's no sense in worrying 
about it now. I'm here and I'll just have to wait and see what 
happens. To survey the lay of the land before I know how to 
approach the case here.
I pull my car up into the driveway in back of what must be 
Walter's rental SUV. There are two more cars in the garage. 
Someone left the two and half car garage doors open. Ah, I see 
why - there's a long electrical extension cord running from the 
garage around to the back of the house. Oh yes, the deck 
project. Well, that could be a welcome diversion, not to mention 
rather enjoyable. I used to help Ahab with his carpentry projects 
when I was in high school. For some reason neither Bill or 
Charlie was as interested in his woodworking. But I was 
fascinated by building things. So, he was more than happy to 
show me how to be a good carpenter. The knowledge has 
come in handy a couple of times since he passed away when 
Mom needed help around the house in an emergency.
I brake and cut the ignition. Ok. This is it. Into the line of fire I tell 
myself as I get out of the car. I'll get my luggage after I've gone 
to the door and knocked on it. I walk up onto the porch recalling 
a cold dusk in December when I stood out here and used the 
door knocker to herald my arrival back into Fox Mulder's life, 
and more fully into Walter Skinner's life as well.
Four hard knocks and the door swings open. My breath catches 
in my throat for a moment. In the shadows inside the entry area, 
a man barely taller then me, stands there holding the door open. 
For a split second he looks all the world like Brian Pendrell. The 
hair on the back of my neck stands up as I remember poor 
Agent Pendrell dying on the floor of that bar.
"Dana Scully?" the red-haired man asks with a smile?
"I'm sorry," I blink and smile back, "Yes, you are?"
"Phil. Phil Meyers. Come on in. Welcome to *Dragon's Roost," 
he replies practically vibrating with pleasure. He clasps my 
outstretched hand and pumps it, pulling me inside at the same 
time. 
"Den! Den! Dana's here!" he shouts towards the kitchen area, 
"you don't mind that I call you Dana do you?" he adds, shutting 
the door behind us. He frowns at himself and turns on the front 
porch light. 
"Sorry. I should have turned that on earlier," he apologizes.
"No, no, that's fine. The light and Dana both I mean," I laugh 
getting caught up in his bonhomie. Now that we're under the 
light spilling out from the living room I can see he's a good deal 
older, than Pendrell would have been, with some gray in his 
flame red hair. But nevertheless the resemblance is quite 
strong. He has little laugh crinkles at the corners of his eyes and 
around his mouth. Just like Pendrell often had. For some reason 
I like him almost immediately. Maybe because he reminds me a 
little of Charlie as well. Although he's about two feet shorter than 
my baby brother.
A second, slightly taller and rather swarthy man comes forward 
from the back of the house.
"Ah. Ms. Scully, you're just in time for dinner. Welcome. I'm 
Dennis Carr."
"It's Dana, Dennis," I reply, moving to extend my hand.
I can smell the delicious and tantalizing odor of clam chowder 
wafting out towards us from the kitchen. My stomach takes that 
moment to growl mightily and I know I'm reddening in 
embarrassment.
"Sounds like almost too late," Dennis laughs. He comes close 
and extends a hand as well. I shake it. His handshake is firm, 
warm and his smile is just as warm and genuine.
"Can we help you with your luggage?" he asks glancing around.
"Oh, it's in the car. Sure, I'd appreciate it. Uh...where's Walter?" 
I ask suddenly realizing he's missing from our little greeting 
scene here.
Phil shuffles his feet a little and replies, "Why don't I go get the 
luggage. I'll be right back."
Dennis shakes his head ruefully as Phil opens the door and 
heads out onto the porch.
"He'll be back in a second. He doesn't have your keys does 
he?" Dennis grins a little at me. He's dead on. The other man 
comes back a few seconds later, a sheepish look on his face.
"Forgot to get your keys."
Boy does he remind me of Brian Pendrell. I extend my keys 
towards him quickly and he takes them gratefully.
"Thanks very much, Phil," I call after his retreating back.
"No problem," he calls back.
I turn to Dennis a little worried now. Where the devil is Skinner? 
"Now, where's Walter?"
"Oh, he's ok, Dana. At least I think he'll be ok. We knocked off 
work on the deck about an hour ago. But he was pretty restless 
after your phone call. I suggested he take a walk before we ate 
dinner." 
"And before I arrived?"
He smiles knowingly. I can see Dennis reads Walter Skinner 
rather well. Hmmm. I like this guy too. He's got deep, brown, 
almost black eyes that are both wise and kind. I can tell why 
Walter considers him a good friend.
"Ah, yes. They do say the Irish are perceptive don't they?" he 
smiles at me showing his perfect white teeth.
"We have our moments," I nod in acknowledgment with a small 
answering smile.
"Walter's down on the beach. I think I noticed he'd stopped 
walking a short time ago. I believe you'll find him sitting on the 
first bluff as you hit the beach. Why don't you go down there 
and tell him you're here. Phil and I can get your luggage into the 
guest room. Dinner isn't quite ready yet anyway."
"Ok, thanks Dennis. I appreciate it."
"My pleasure Dana. And Dana..."
"Yes?" I reply as I'm walking towards the kitchen and the back 
door.
"Watch your step, the deck isn't anywhere near completion."
I nod my thanks. Watch your step? Did I sense a double 
meaning in his words? I turn and make my way to find out.
xXx
Sand and sea. Tide. Something is calming about the sound of 
the tide coming in from the sea. A tide on a spring night can slip 
on in and lap gently, making a swooshing, sliding noise against 
the sand. It's a sound that lulls the heart and the mind in a most 
pleasing way.
I walked for close to an hour, trying to let the sounds of the sea 
tide sweep over the sand and enter my body to still my mind. 
After an hour I felt somewhat more settled and I decided to sit 
and watch the darkening waves until Dennis or Phil called me in 
for dinner. It occurred to me that Scully would be arriving soon. 
I thought vaguely that I should go back to the house and greet 
her. But I couldn't bring myself to get up off the dune I was 
sitting on. All I could think about as the minutes ticked by, was 
Fox Mulder, how much I loved him, and how sorry I was that he 
wasn't going to be here with us tonight.
God, Skinner you've got it bad I thought. Well fuck it - so what. 
After 30 odd years of denying myself any semblance of 
satisfaction with someone who obviously cares for me as much 
as I care for him (not to mention sexual ecstasy the likes of 
which my most fevered mind would never have even dreamed 
of much less imagined), I'm entitled to lose my head a little 
aren't I? I want to howl at the moon for Christ sake. *Hey world, 
Walter Sergei Skinner finally got lucky in love. Kiss my tight ass 
you fuckers. I'm happy at last.* So, don't criticize me for aching 
because I miss him. Don't you ever. 
These musings grind through my mind while I feel the sea 
breeze ruffle through what little hair I have left. I sniff the salt 
tang that the wind brings along with it. It's refreshing, and it 
clears my head at last. I almost think I can go back to the house 
and face dinner, Dennis, Phil and ultimately, Dana Scully. Just 
as I contemplate getting off my ass, someone clears their throat 
behind me. If I hadn't recognized the sound of that small noise 
having heard it so many times before I might have pulled out 
my Glock. But I didn't even jump.
"Walter?"
"Scully," I reply rising at last and turning to look at the petite red 
head standing in back of me on the border of where the grass 
meets the sand.
"Dennis said you were out here," she offers quietly. I can see 
her obvious nervousness. She must still think I'm going to roar 
and then bite her head off. Well, to be fair there is precedent. 
Kill the messenger used to be a motto of mine.
"Yeah, I was...I was getting some fresh air."
"It's beautiful out here," she whispers looking out over the waves 
and then up at the stars.
For a brief moment, looking at her, a flush moves through my 
body. She's an exquisite woman I realize gazing at her as she 
looks up. I can see why Mulder is attracted to her plays across 
the back of my mind. As quick as the thought surfaces however 
it submerges again. It's my turn to cough, bringing her focus 
away from the heavens and down to my little plot of earth 
again.
"It's good to see you, Scully," I reply straightening up a little 
further. I don't want her to think I was sitting out here wallowing 
in self pity even though I was soaking in it, "yeah, it is great out 
here, uh...some view," I add. Shit that was lame.
"It's good to see you too, Walter," she replies with a half smile. 
We stand looking everywhere but at each other for several 
heartbeats. Well Christ. This is asinine...
"Look, Scully...I'll be all right. I'm sorry. Walking, and then sitting 
out here has helped me to get used to this unfortunate turn of 
events. I'm a big boy - I'll adjust.
This type of thing used to happen between Sharon and I when 
we were married after all. She was able to cope. I'm sure I will," 
I nod at her with terse matter-of-fact finality.
Oh sure Sharon and I coped. She missed me and was stoic 
about our many separations when I was a field agent. I missed 
her but I was more than a little glad not to be there to confront 
the fact that we were growing farther apart then even the miles 
duty forced upon me. But I never missed her as much as this. 
As much as I'm missing Fox Mulder. God, I feel like a black 
hole has re-opened inside, and it's doing it's best to suck what 
little light may still be left in my soul right over the blue event 
horizon and into the dark collapsing star at it's core.
"Nice speech, sir," Scully breaks into my angst filled musings. 
"What?"
"I said that was a very pretty speech Mr. Skinner. I bet you say 
that to all the agents."
"What the hell was wrong with what I said?" I bristle a bit at her. 
Oh yeah right. I should have taken into account that she'd 
recognize prime AD Speak when she heard it. Balls.
"Nothing, if I was just one of your agents and we were in the 
office. But...I rather thought we were beyond that now, Walter. I 
thought I wasn't just *one of the agents* any more. We...well...I 
guess I'm just trying to say if you consider me a friend you don't 
have to uh...bullshit me like that any longer," she adds the last 
bit with a wrinkling of her face like she thinks maybe she went 
to far and pushed my anger button. In reality, she's switched it 
off. I'm kind of amused and ok, yeah, chastised successfully all 
right. God yeah, we're beyond that crap now. Way beyond, it 
seems. I'm flattered and deep down - very thankful.
"Are you calling me a bullshitter Agent Scully?" I growl.
"No! Uh..." she stutters looking down at her toes.
I laugh and her head snaps up. She starts to smile tentatively. 
"Gottcha," I chuckle and then her whole body relaxes. Mine 
does as well. In fact I sag into myself a bit. It's too much holding 
myself up sometimes. Christ on a crutch I'd just like to let it all 
go one of these days. Jesus. Maybe I should think about 
fucking early retirement.
Scully draws over and takes my hand in hers for a moment. I 
stop thinking to look down at her. You know, she has really 
clear blue eyes.
"I'm serious about being a friend, Walter. I mean you, and I, and 
Mulder. Maybe we're all we have in this thing - in whatever's 
coming. Oh, Lord - that sounds so three Musketeerish...." she 
tries to take her hand from mine but I hold it tight.
I grin a little, "But damn straight up, Scully. I know you're 
sincere. I appreciate it too. I know what you've said comes from 
the heart."
She nods and plunges on.
"Look., Walter. I know you're missing Mulder like hell. I'm going 
to miss him too. So...we're both stuck, and ...and you don't have 
to hold it all in, sir. I may be short, but my shoulders are fairly 
wide."
I bark a quick laugh because standing this close I can't help but 
notice how much taller I am. But yeah, she's got wide 
shoulders. And a backbone of steel too.
"Scully, it's Walter. We've all ready agreed that friends don't call 
each other sir and agent, right?" I reply in a soft voice.
She smiles up at me. Her face is much more serene and she 
drops my hand.
Suddenly her stomach growls loudly and she blushes in 
embarrassment.
"God, where are my manners?" I ask with chagrin, "You must 
be starving."
"Gee, how could you tell?" she giggles.
It took Scully a long time to giggle in front of me. It took me a 
while to get used to her doing it. But now I have to admit it's kind 
of...sort of fun to see her do it.
Just as she replies and I have my idle thought, we hear Phil 
yelling from the half finished deck.
"COME AND GET IT YOU TWO! SOUPS ON!"
I stretch out my arm.
"Madame?" I ask raising an eyebrow down at Scully.
"Monsieur," she smiles taking my arm in hers.
We climb back off the dunes and towards very welcome bowls 
of hot New England clam chowder.
xXx
I have a confession to make - I'm not overly worldly wise. Wait. 
That didn't quite come out right. Sounds facile too in view of 
what Mulder and I do for a living doesn't it? Surprising in my line 
of work you might say. But it's not far off really. There are just 
some arcane, some isolated areas in life I'm not totally in the 
know on. Fashions (ok, maybe petite sizes). Dating - even pre-
Mulder. Where to go on my next vacation. All kinds of mundane 
life stuff. Gee I wonder why?
But being an FBI agent and a forensic pathologist have taught 
me a lot of useful lessons. Some good ones. And some not very 
good ones at all. The job exposes you to the worst lessons in life 
I suppose. The really bad lessons like the ones on death in it's 
many violent, horrible forms - and decay as well. No, as an 
agent and pathologist you certainly don't run into some of the 
finer things - or finer people for that matter. Fine people like 
Dennis and Phil, and Walter too. Fine gay men in particular I 
should say.
Look, I haven't had that much experience with the gay lifestyle. 
Certainly I'd had some before I became an adult. But not much. 
Ahab's career left little possibility for us to be exposed to 
diversity of any kind really. In the Navy life we didn't even see 
many African Americans, Asians or Hispanics when I was 
young. Good grief, we didn't see very many women in the 
regular Navy - oh there were the WAVES of course - but it 
wasn't like it is now. Gay men although I'm sure they were 
there, certainly didn't proclaim their preferences to the military 
world. Far from it. Gays went to great lengths to hide their love. 
It must have been hell for them. Still is I guess, even with *don't 
ask, don't tell*.
After I became Mulder's lover and he confessed his bisexuality 
to me, we started to go out to the gay clubs. Of course we went 
to the straight clubs too. I don't know though - I kind of enjoy the 
gay dance clubs more. Maybe it has something to do with the 
fact that ok, I'm a fool for dancing. The music and dancing is 
always good in the gay clubs. The ambiance. I love to dance. 
I'm a dancing fool my grandfather Scully would have said. 
Mulder kids me about it but something just gets in my blood 
when that beat starts to thump. Losing myself on the dance 
floor is one of my outlets to relieve stress. Some people do 
aerobics. I run too of course, and so does Mulder. But 
sometimes, a night out on the dance floor with Mulder at a gay 
club is worth more in the way of burning off tension and calories 
than any marathon would be.
The other reason I like the gay clubs I suppose is because I 
don't feel like a piece of meat in there. Oh once in a while a 
lesbian will hit on me - but so what? It's flattering I have to 
admit, and the women seem to be courteous enough to take no 
for an answer. Men in straight clubs aren't always willing to 
back off. I remember one altercation Mulder and I had with 
some bozo at Club Nitro once...well never mind. It's just less 
pressure for me at the gay clubs. Mulder doesn't seem to care. 
He gets groped wherever we go. I have to laugh. I know he 
likes it! But to his credit, when he's with me - he's with me. 
Totally focused on yours truly.
So, sitting here in the kitchen of Dragon's Roost, I'm starting to 
watch all three of these men with growing interest. It's probably 
partly the scientist in me wanting to watch and observe. I want 
to learn more, to understand something I don't, despite my trips 
to the gay clubs, have that much understanding about. Also, it's 
great because I don't feel pressured to...ok, perform. You know 
- be on - look good because there's a room full of eligible men 
here. Yes, I know that doesn't sound like me. But sometimes - 
in a weak moment - I'll find myself trying to stand up taller or 
smooth my hair down when a bunch of male agents are 
standing around the elevator with me. I'm just like anyone else 
sometimes. I want to look attractive and desirable. So sue me.
But the main reason I'm watching them all is they're just great 
people. All of them. I'm amazed at them all. Regardless of 
sexual preference anyone who is this...this comfortable with 
strangers interests me. I...I still have some trouble in that area. I 
know I do so I can appreciate the ability of others to be at ease 
in this type of situation.
They're all so...so alive. Dennis and Phil so hospitable. I mean 
they don't know me from Adam, but Dennis and Phil are going 
out of their way to make me feel welcome. They're just so 
sweet. And God, Phil's hilarious. He's regaling us all with 
accounts of buyers at their last gallery showing and I'm in 
stitches with laughter.
Dennis's home cooked meal is fantastic. I'm getting the recipe 
for this clam chowder. If Mulder never does make it up here, 
we are going to have to try making this soup on a rainy 
afternoon. It's stupendous.
Amidst all the convivial conversation and good food I can't help 
but notice how much Walter Skinner is trying to come out of 
himself. It's a struggle though. I've caught him staring off into 
space more than once while Dennis, Phil and I were getting 
acquainted through conversation. But he really is making the 
effort to be open, warm and more upbeat.
Well, in truth, so am I. I guess I owe myself a pat on the back as 
well. I miss Mulder right now so much. There is a heavy ache in 
my chest. A heartache I'm finding it difficult to ignore too. 
Mulder would love this easy going banter and the scrumptious 
food. God. But I suppose Walter and I have just discovered 
something else we both have in common. Stoicism in the face 
of adversity. He's the master and I'm the mistress in that area if 
we're going to get gender specific here.
So, it's rather incredible to see him laughing and smiling. Joining 
in with the camaraderie. It's very nice really. It *is* helping me to 
relax and feel better as well. Walter is just no where near as 
tight outside the office as he used to be. He even told a couple 
of really ribald stories about Jana Cassidy. Well, a couple that 
weren't too ribald anyway. He's not *Mr. Walter Lettermen* or 
completely unwound - but the spring is uncoiling a bit here. It's 
good to see.
I have to laugh as well because Phil is flirting with him a little. It's 
obvious he likes Walter a lot and is trying to cheer him up by 
playing up to his *Mr. Macho AD* persona. Well, Walter does 
exude masculinity. You can't help but notice it. I remember the 
first time I ever saw him in casual clothes. At first it seemed 
strange not to see him in his usual bureau attire. He looks very 
handsome in a suit. But, Skinner in casual clothing does grows 
on you. Like tonight. He looks splendid in jeans. Just a hint of 
chest hair peaks up out of his soft LL Bean beige work shirt. 
Work boots. When we got back in the house and I saw him in 
those jeans under the lights...I looked at his butt. So? Wouldn't 
you? I'm just making an observation here. But I can understand 
what Mulder sees in Walter on a purely physical level. I'm also 
beginning to see what he sees in Walter on the inside as well.
So, Phil is fluttering around Mr. Skinner a little. Making Walter 
feel special this evening. What's even more funny is, I don't 
think Walter has a clue that Phil is complimenting him. He just 
keeps looking at him out of the corner of his eye with a puzzled 
look on his face. I never imagined in a million years that Walter 
Skinner would be so clueless as to how attractive he is to other 
people - of either gender. But Mulder and I have talked about 
the idea. Oh yeah, more times then I want to think about right at 
the moment. So now that I'm seeing evidence of that theory 
displayed before me I guess I can't deny it. Walter doesn't know 
he's worthy of admiration. He doesn't even know when 
someone is trying to massage his ego in these conditions. Either 
that or he does realize and doesn't think he's worth the trouble. 
God that's a sad thought. But it's still a bit amusing to watch 
Phil's attempts at ego boosting and Walter's befuddlement 
nonetheless.
During one particularly blatant attempt at flattery on Phil's part, 
Dennis catches my eye and we both roll ours in unison. He 
knows what his partner is doing and doesn't mind it. They are 
both trying to cheer Walter up in point of fact. It makes them go 
up another notch on my self-esteem meter. They know he's 
hurting. Missing Mulder. Dennis' method was to fix this 
magnificent meal. Phil's method is to make Walter feel like the 
center of attention. Like the most desirable person in the room.
Good heaven's - they're going out of their way to make me 
welcome and less sad as well! It's really so kind.
It's obvious though by the way Phil acts towards Dennis that 
none of his flirting with Walter is serious. When he and Dennis 
look at each other there is no doubt the devotion they have for 
each other. I know the look. I've seen it when Mulder looks at 
Walter. I've seen it when Mulder looks at me.
"So, Dana did Walter tell you we're putting you to work 
tomorrow on Dragon's Roosts new deck?" Phil asks as he 
pours me another cup of coffee.
"Yes he did. I'm looking forward to it actually."
"Yeah, Walter said you're a good carpenter," Dennis adds from 
his spot at the sink.
We're done with dinner and he's starting to wash some of the 
pots and pans. The other dishes are already loaded into the dish 
washer. Walter asked to help wash the pans but Dennis 
wouldn't hear any of it. We're guests he said - until tomorrow. 
Then we're deck slaves. 
"I said she was a first rate carpenter," Walter nods, taking a sip 
of his coffee.
He's become more brooding again as the table was cleared and 
coffee made. During the lull in the conversation I caught him 
fingering something under his shirt and staring off into space 
again. This is the first real comment he's made beside nods or 
grunts for about 20 minutes. After he sends out this clipped 
comment he's quiet again and stares into his coffee cup.
"Well good, because we really can use a fourth pair of hands. 
Especially a good pair. Who taught you the trade?" Dennis asks.
Phil returns the coffee pot to the counter top coffee maker, and 
returns to sit down next to me at the table. I can feel the warmth 
radiating off him. He's a live wire. Energetic. Smiling. Once 
again I'm eerily reminded of Brian Pendrell as he looks at me.
"I would bet on fatherly instruction. But then again - you have 
great hands, Dana. Did you ever think of taking up sculpting or 
pottery, or maybe weaving?" Phil asks, taking one of my hands 
and turning it over in his.
Evidently Walter does recognize when Phil is *flirting* with me. 
"Yeah, she's all ready taken up weaving. The "Y" stitch," he 
comments under his breath. I scowl at him a little and he sighs, 
not looking at me.
Luckily Phil didn't hear him. Phil releases my hand and is asking 
Dennis if we should have brandy in the living room. Walter is 
only half listening to us now. He has that far away look on his 
face again. There must be something floating in his coffee cup 
he's looking at it so closely. Lord. I decide to answer Phil. To 
say something to break the air of tension.
"My father loved woodworking. Whenever he wasn't at sea he'd 
usually have a small project going. Once we built a playhouse 
for all of us. I just sort of fell into helping him. My brothers never 
seemed interested in dad's hobby. So, I got undivided 
instruction - and viola - extra help!" I finish with a smile.
"Good deal," Dennis replies, drying a pot and placing it in the 
drainer by the sink. Phil is staring intently at Walter. He still looks 
morose although he does attempt some desultory words.
"This is great coffee," he offers, taking another hearty sip of the 
brew.
"We laid in some Sumatran, WS," Phil replies with a grin, "I can't 
do without it in the morning and I remembered you're in the 
same boat."
Walter brightens a little at Phil's words.
"Yeah. We did kind of discover our mutual addiction the last 
time I was up here didn't we? Thanks for remembering, Phil," 
he finishes smiling just a little.
"Don't mention it."
Ok. Despite all the good times here I have to take into account 
that he's probably not in the best mood after all. But I have to 
give him credit he's been doing a good job of trying to stay 
cheerful. He looks away but when he looks back I can see the 
look of apology on his face and in his bearing. He knows he's 
not in a good mood. It looks as though he regrets inflicting 
himself on us. I nod a little to signify I understand. I try to project 
compassion and understanding. I know how he feels, believe 
me. Like I said, I wish Mulder could have been here for this 
meal too. A lot. He must pick up on it because his eyes soften a 
little. Then he goes back to studying his coffee cup.
"Walter, how about some brandy?" Phil is asking.
"What? Oh, I'm sorry..."
"Brandy?" Dennis asks coming over with the towel in his hands. 
He wipes them off and then places one dry hand on Walter's 
shoulder. 
"How about some brandy in front of the fire. It's a cool enough 
out tonight to start one. Phil can go build it."
Walter's jaw muscles untighten and he smiles a little up at 
Dennis.
"Yeah, that sounds good? Scully?"
"An after dinner liqueur would be very nice," I reply in a soft 
voice.
"Ok why don't the three of you head on in and I'll be there in a 
few minutes. I just want to add the detergent and start the 
dishwasher.
All three of us nod and get up, making our way into the living 
room and the brandy snifters on the small bar cart.
Later...
Phil builds a good fire. The room is dark except for the fire light. 
I'm sitting on the chair on the right hand side of the hearth 
nearest the window, brandy snifter in hand. Walter is opposite 
me on the other side of the hearth. He's smiling and sniffing at 
his brandy. It really does smell eloquent. Mellow.
Dennis and Phil are seated, but not too close, on the couch. I 
can tell what's going through their minds. They want to cuddle 
up together on the couch but they feel awkward about doing it. I 
doubt it's because of my presence. I suppose it could be 
though. After all they do know Mulder is my lover as well. I've 
been able to tell all night that they've been concerned about 
both Walter and my feelings. They're perceptive men and 
realize also that I'm upset that Mulder isn't here too. And after 
all, it's not quite the same thing for me to see two men snuggle 
together under the circumstances. It's not as disturbing. I guess 
if one of them was a woman I might make more of an 
association between me and Mulder.
But Walter more or less arranged this whole trip so that he and 
Mulder could have some time together. In the back of my mind 
I know Walter was very generous to invite me. I mean he does 
like me and doesn't really object to Mulder and my part of the 
bargain at all anymore. But I would imagine he rather wishes he 
were just here alone with Mulder. Hell, I wish I was alone with 
him here right now too. 
Walter is without the one he most wants to be with tonight. 
Holding and touching. Dennis and Phil obviously feel like it's 
unfair to show their affection in front of him. Whether they are 
also reluctant to show PDA in front of me is a moot point.
Walter picks up on it though. He's always been a good field 
agent. When it comes to other people he's good at reading 
them. Well except when they're trying to pay him a compliment. 
But otherwise you can't get over on him very easily at all. Ask 
Mulder. He still tries all the time. In a teasing sort of way.
"You know, you guys can move closer. I'm not going to go all 
Nelly on you here if you show a little affection for each other," 
he growls, taking a small sip of his brandy.
He runs it around inside his mouth and then swallows. In the 
firelight there's something very sensual about that action. It 
makes me feel suddenly warmer then just the warmth of the 
fire. It's just not my brandy. Well sure, he's attractive, sensuous 
sometimes. I'll be the first to admit that Walter's a hunk. Like I 
said - he's ok to look at. I mean I am a woman. And I'm not 
blind. I almost giggle a little, but luckily Walter is speaking again 
so I pick my mind up out of the gutter of unlikely possibilities 
and listen.
"Fine brandy," he nods at them to temper his earlier words.
"Sorry Walter. We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I 
mean this is kind of...well..."
"Look, it's awkward I know. I'm missing him, all right. I'm 
missing him so bad I feel sick. There I said it. It's out in the 
open, all right?" he blurts out. Then he looks down.
Oh wonderful. I hope we aren't going to have a scene now. I 
was just starting to relax. To think we'd gotten past the danger 
point. 
"I'm...I'm sorry," Walter whispers, "That was very rude. You 
guys are being great hosts and this is the way I repay you? With 
rudeness? Christ." he shakes his head.
Then he looks up at me.
"I'm sorry, Scully. You shouldn't have had to hear that either." 
I look on in silence. I don't know what to say now. I'm not very 
good in emotionally charged scenes with Walter Skinner. 
Especially emotionally charged scenes regarding Mulder. I'm 
not very good with those with Mulder for heaven's sake. I sit 
and wait, hoping Phil or Dennis will jump into the fray here and 
save the day.
"WS - it's all right. Look, let's make a deal here, ok? Den and 
I...we'll just go ahead with business as usual if it makes you feel 
better. We'll just assume you want us to act normally and treat 
you normally too, ok? If anything makes you uncomfortable or 
upset just holler and we'll take that into account. I should say the 
same to you also, Dana. If you find anything...uncomfortable 
here - speak up. We don't want to offend. And you can't offend 
us. We've got pretty thick skins. How does that sound?"
I smile and nod over my brandy.
"Sounds fine." I murmur. I can feel my face redden a little. I'm 
glad it's rather shadowy in here.
Walter nods and lets out his breathe.
"I think it sounds more than fair, Phil. I...you're being pretty 
patient with me after this behavior."
Walter straightens then and I can almost see him bodily work to 
shake off the funk he's in. I had heard through the grapevine 
that Walter has seen Karen Kosseff for counseling on occasion. 
I can recognize some of Karen's breathing techniques right 
now. Walter is marshaling his resources to rein himself in. It's 
rather fascinating to observe. It's also a relief because...well 
mostly because he still makes me nervous when he's ready to 
fly off the handle. In a very short time he's more calm and 
outwardly - more convivial. He takes another sip of brandy and 
savors it. Of course the alcohol may be helping to mellow him 
as well. Good. I take another sip myself to steady my nerves.
"Oh, don't give it another thought, Walter. After all we know 
what a surly asshole you really are anyway," Dennis replies 
laconically. 
Walter chuckles.
"Yeah, I guess you guys do. Scully does too, right, *Agent* 
Scully?"
I see a touch of mischief in his eyes. Ok. No sir and agent hey!? 
Ha. All bets are off now Mr. Skinner, sir.
I grin at him.
"Well, I have a confession to make. I rather miss your tight ass 
on the job, sir, I..."
Before I realize what I said Phil is shaking with laughter. I look 
square at Walter, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. Oh 
oh. Who was saying the brandy was making who mellow? God! 
Walter's laughing too, but silently. He's shaking with it.
"Oh God! I meant to say I missed your hard-assed...Oh no! 
Forget it. Forget you heard that. I'm just digging myself in 
deeper."
All three of the men are laughing hard now and I take another 
sip of the brandy. I may be adding insult to injury but I really 
need it to steady my nerves now. Then I laugh as well. Ok, fine. 
Dana *Rosie O'Donnell* Scully to the rescue. If being the brunt 
of the joke smoothes things over I'll be more than happy to 
recite the best of Johnny Carson's monologues later to clear the 
air further.
Finally everyone starts to calm down. Walter manages a reply 
at last.
"Thank you, Scully. I get your point. I miss grilling you and 
Mulder on a spit too."
That renews the laughter for a moment. Then we all stop to 
regain our breath. When mine is sufficiently returned I speak, 
changing the subject adroitly.
"Dennis there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
"Yes?" Dennis replies raising a quizzical eyebrow. He and Phil 
have moved closer now, and Dennis has his arm around Phil's 
shoulder. 
"Was the house named *Dragon's Roost* before you bought it, 
or did you give it that name?"
"Den christened it *Dragon's Roost*," Phil replies, suppressing a 
yawn, "sorry, big meal," he grins looking over at his lover.
"Big eater," Dennis strokes Phil's arm, "But he's right I named 
the place."
"You still reading the Ann MaCaffrey books?" Walter asks from 
the other chair.
"Yes, and Anne Rice., Stephen King. Clive Barker."
"God, you are such a gore hound," Phil rolls his eyes.
"Hey, do I complain about your Barbara Cartland?"
"Oh oh, busted," Phil giggles, taking a drink of his brandy. 
Dennis drinks his as well. Phil's giggle makes him sound very 
much like Mulder. I can see Walter watching them. But he 
seems less tense. He's watching them with genuine, amused 
fondness. Maybe the brandy *is* really helping a lot after all.
"So you named the house after..."
"Anne MaCaffrey's Pern books. *The Dragonriders of Pern* 
idea." 
"Oh, I've seen those in the store. They look quite good."
"I'm into fantasy. SciFi. Horror."
/Just like Mulder. Oh Lord. Yes, Walter I miss him a lot too./ 
"My mother adores Stephen King's work. But if we're getting 
busted here for our guilty pleasures - I melt for Anne Rice."
"Really?" Dennis asks with excitement, "She's my favorite too. 
"Interview with a Vampire..."
"Oh yes..."
"Yeah, but the movie reeked." Walter chimes in.
"You saw the movie?" Phil asks with amused incredulity.
"Don't forget who I'm involved with gentleman. Monster boy 
Mulder got his nick for more than one reason. Yeah, he dragged 
me to that stinker. Blade was a hell of a lot better vampire flick 
than that bomb."
"Bomb?" I retort. "Brad Pitt was..."
"was ok. But Cruise was such a hopeless faggot in that film," 
Walter baits. Ok, how he's getting into it here. He's playing 
devils advocate.
"Den, Den, he used the *F* word..." Phil starts to laugh.
"Yeah well I can't stand Tom Cruise either. He was totally the 
wrong choice for Lestat."
"Oh, I can agree with that idea, yes," I nod, "But Brad Pitt was 
so good as Louis..."
"Neither one of them can hold a candle to Wesley Snipes," 
Walter growls. He's smiling, starting to enjoy himself again. 
Good. I'll say a few Hail Marys later.
"Oh yeah. Wesley Snipes. Now there is a magnificent hunk of 
masculinity," Phil trills.
"If you like taciturn, action heroes."
"Well of course I do. I adore WS," Phil giggles, making moony 
eyes in Walter's direction. Even Walter can't miss that bullet's 
trajectory.
"My ass..." he grates out, almost choking on his brandy.
"My point..." Phil retorts in a flash. Both Dennis and I are 
laughing.
"Well of course "Interview" is full of all that latent homeroticism," 
Dennis states, waving his glass airily.
"Ooh, let's hear it for Anne Rice," Phil teases.
"I'll agree there I guess..." Walter adds.
"You read Anne Rice!?" We all exclaim in unison.
"Well yeah. Sure. After I saw that awful movie I had to read the 
book to have some idea if she's a total hack or any kind of 
author." 
"Oh come on! Screen plays are never as good as the book," 
Dennis throws back.
"My God yes, look what they've done with Stephen King...." I 
add. 
And the debate goes on...
Later...
"Well I guess we'll agree to disagree, Dennis yawns. It's going 
on 11 PM now and all of us are fading fast. The work, and 
tension of the day coupled with the hearty meal making us all 
drowsy. Phil is asleep, his head resting on Dennis's shoulder. 
Dennis absentmindedly strokes his hair. Walter has slumped a 
little in his chair and has his long legs stretched way out in front 
of him. He took his work boots off earlier.
I've pulled my legs up under me on the chair and toed off my 
shoes as well. One good thing about being on the petite side. I 
can curl up almost anywhere and be comfortable.
All of us have finished our second brandies. It's about time for 
this agent to turn herself into a pumpkin here.
"Ok. I'll concede. Brad Pitt is a gay man's wet dream. But 
Wesley Snipes kicks ass and Tom Cruise sucks in the wrong 
way all together. Next debate?"
Dennis chuckles and I laugh as well.
"No more debates. I can never top this one," Dennis yawns. 
Then I yawn wide as well.
"Hey, we'd better hit the sack here," Walter observes, "we do 
have a work day tomorrow."
"I think we all ready lost, Phil," I observe with tenderness. In the 
short time I've been here I really like Phil. He reminds me a lot 
of Charles and Pendrell. Maybe I'll adopt him as an honorary 
Scully. Mom would love it and Bill would be livid. Ooh, now 
there is an idea. 
"Yeah. He never had a head for alcohol," Dennis replies quietly, 
kissing the top of his lover's head. Phil sighs and shifts against 
his chest.
"Den, did you turn out the light?"
We all laugh and then he wakes up.
"Oh! Sorry. God, how embarrassing," he grins sheepishly.
"It's ok, come on "Howdy Doody, we need to crash."
Walter guffaws at the allusion to Phil's red hair and freckles. 
"God, I hate that nick," Phil groans with no conviction at all. 
"Well that's what happens when your 40ish and freckled," Den 
smiles.
"Yeah...and it gets old," Phil grumbles, but not seriously.
"Oh sure, right. Come on sweetheart, we're out of here."
"Yes, your *Satanic Majesty*," Phil grins with mischief in his 
eyes.
They get up and make their way towards the stairs.
"Night all, sweet dreams," Phil calls after them.
"Night," Walter and I both reply in unison. Dennis and Phil climb 
up the stairs, Phil's arm around Dennis's waist.
Walter and I both watch them go. I remember that master 
bedroom up there. The bed is really big and very comfortable. A 
thought crosses my mind suddenly. I know Dennis and Phil put 
my luggage in the guest bedroom. Where is Walter going to....
"Well I...I'd better turn in too, Walter adds, getting up. Uh...if 
you'll excuse me, I need to pull out the couch."
"What?" I ask thickly. Couch? Oh...question answered I guess.
"Yeah, the couch is a bed. I'm going to sleep out here."
"No way, Walter, you couldn't possibly be comfortable out 
here." 
"I'll be fine. You...Dennis and Phil and I agreed you should have 
your privacy, Scully. All right? My clothes are in the hall closet. 
I'll manage. I mean let us be gentlemen here please?" he 
chuckles a little in self depreciation. Lord. Well it is kind of 
sweet. I suppose they don't want to be up running around with 
their morning hard-ons in their unmentionables and bed hair (ok, 
two of them there anyway), while I'm lying out here in the living 
room. It is considerate of them. I can't argue that.
"Well I feel kind of guilty about it, Walter but I'll bow to chivalry."
"Good. Now get to bed, Scully. When Dennis and Phil said they 
were going to work us tomorrow they weren't exaggerating," he 
gives me a flash of a grin.
I nod.
"It's going to be fun though," I smile shyly at him.
He smiles back showing a little teeth.
"Yeah, actually it will be." I notice him fingering whatever it is he 
has on that chain around his neck again. He's been doing it off 
and on all evening, almost unconsciously. Curiosity finally gets 
the better of me.
"Walter, can I ask you something before I turn in?"
He looks at me quizzically, "If it's first dibs on the bathroom in 
the morning - yes - you can have it first. That's part of my 
chivalrous nature this week as well."
I smile.
"No, not that. But I do appreciate the gesture as well. No, I...I'm 
just curious about what you keep touching under your shirt. Are 
you wearing a...a holy medal or something. I'm sorry, you don't 
have to tell me. I just noticed you kept touching it all evening." 
"Oh," he replies looking down at his chest. There's a look of soft 
sadness on his face for a second. The he shuts it off. 
Oh...maybe I've overstepped here...
"Yes. I...I do that with my cross a lot. It's unconscious behavior 
sometimes. It's ok. Just...you can forget I mentioned it. Good 
night Walter."
"No, it's ok, uh, here I'll show you," he replies quietly. He 
reaches around and pulls the chain up and out of his shirt. A 
medallion on the end of it falls onto his shirt front with a tiny 
sound of metal hitting cloth.
"Here, take a look," he says gazing into my face. His face is 
unreadable. I walk forward and cautiously pick the medallion up 
off his chest, pulling the chain tight. This close I can feel the 
heat radiating from him. Smell his cologne. Old Spice. I swallow 
hard and examine the medallion. It's an exquisite cross 
engraved in gold.
"Turn it over," he whispers.
There's Gaelic engraved on the back . I furrow my brow. Ok, 
the Gaelic comes to me slowly. I'm a bit rusty there. But it 
comes. When it hits me I breathe in sharply.
"Mulder gave this to you didn't he?"
"Yes, good guess. How did you know?"
I feel my mind move into agent mode. My emotions are very 
close to the surface. Jealousy roars into my heart. Mulder never 
gave me anything like this necklace! Oh God! So what!? The 
man traveled to the ends of the Earth to save my life for Christ 
sake. Almost died for me. We've almost died for each other 
more time than I can count. We watch each others back every 
other day on the job and never begrudge the duty. Every time I 
lie in his arms and we make love he comes, screaming my 
name. Material goods aren't everything. Besides he knows 
instinctually that I get embarrassed at obvious tokens of his 
affection. Those two little sets of earrings he gave me at 
Christmas made me blush so much! The orchid ones are so 
pretty, delicate. I won't tell you what we did after I wore those 
the last time. But I will tell you how much he said he loved me 
afterwards. And I know he means it. My God, do I ever!
I think of all these ideas and I work to banish my jealousy 
swiftly. It's rapidly replaced by real sadness at missing the 
object of my affection as well. Agent Scully mode mitigates the 
feelings of utter despair that I suddenly feel. Despair that neither 
of us will see Mulder this week at all. It hurts me. I know it hurts 
Walter too. No question I think, fingering the medallion. Running 
my finger over the words.
"Well , I can read Gaelic...a rusty interpretation at any rate...but 
the translation is pretty unmistakable in sentiment. This was 
given to you by someone who loves you deeply. I've never 
seen you wearing this before - toying with anything around your 
neck for that matter. Therefore...I'd guess it was Mulder, your 
most recent lover, who gave it to you."
"Very good, *Agent* Scully," Walter replies in a very quiet voice. 
I'm still holding the medallion. I can see his chest rise and fall 
with emotion. I won't look up into his face. I'm afraid what I may 
see.
"Walter, I...I'm glad you both found each other in Louisiana. I 
really am.
I feel him nod.
"Thank you Scully. It...Baton Rouge meant more to me then I 
can probably ever express."
"This is a beautiful gift," I add, releasing the medallion. It falls 
gently against his chest again. I finally look up at him.
"I gave him a friggin' watch," he shakes his head slightly and 
looking away, places the chain and medallion carefully under 
his shirt. I step back from him to give him his space. He 
smooths his shirt down and then moves towards the couch.
Watch? Walter gave Mulder that Rolex? Mother Mary. He's 
busying himself now, working to open the couch. I don't know 
what else to say. This is terribly awkward. Touching. I decide on 
the best course of action and follow it.
"Well, I'll let you get some sleep, Walter. Uh, good night."
"Sleep well, Scully. I'll see you in the morning."
He doesn't give me a second look as I leave his side, and head 
out of the living room, towards the guest bedroom, and my 
lonely bed. 
xXx
Saturday, May 22, 1999 5:45 AM. A bed and breakfast near 
Mount Holyoke College, Massachusetts.
I woke up screaming. Shit I hate this shit. I...I hate a VCS case 
with a passion. Nothing brings on the Samantha nightmares like 
profiling a stone cold maniac. This one will be no exception. My 
only hope is to get this sick monkey collared and in detention 
before he rapes and cuts or kills another young woman. And 
before I go stark, raving mad. I sigh, roll over and grab my 
watch off the night stand. Well shut my mouth, Mulder. At least I 
got one good thing out of the screaming meemies. I beat the 
alarm. I deactivate the alarm mode and when I do I stroke the 
watch once, very gently.
God. I miss Walter like hell. I miss Scully too. But every time I 
touch this watch I think of Walter and the night he gave it to me. 
My big sweet hunk. My love. To think he had the back 
engraved with this date I muse, turning over the Rolex again to 
look at the numerals on the underside. I feel my eyes grow 
moist. Baton Rouge. Our first time together and it meant so 
much to him he marked it in metal for us both. I still can't 
believe that idea. That it meant so much to him. That I mean so 
much to him. Jesus. I love him so much. I have to tell him how 
much this watch means to me too when we get back. I should 
show the back to Scully. God, I need to get something like that 
necklace for Scully too. I've given it a lot of thought. I mean she 
doesn't need another cross really. I'm thinking...maybe a ring. 
Oh hell that's....that's a challenging thought isn't it? I laugh a 
little. Ok, three rings. His and His and Hers. Imagine that scene 
at the jewelers. Oh Mulder, Mulder. Dream on. But I need to 
give a gift for Scully some thought in the future. After this...after 
Maine too. 
God Mulder get with the damn program here! I'd better get 
down to business. Agent Manconen will be here at 7 to get 
things underway. We're supposed to start victim interviews and 
visit the crime scenes on campus. I set my jaw and switch my 
mind back over to profiling mode. I become grim, determined, 
ready to rock and roll some perp's ass. I get up off the bed and 
hit the shower.
Later...
At five minutes to 7 , as I'm adjusting my tie in the mirror, 
there's a knock on my B&B rooms door.
"Just as sec," I call out. I just happened to notice I left the old 
barn door open. I reach down, zip up my fly and walk across to 
the door. I open it and give Agent Manconen of DC-VCS a terse 
nod. One of Burton's Brigade.
"Morning, Rita.
"Morning Mulder. You have breakfast yet?" she asks with a 
small smile.
Rita Manconen. One of the few African American women 
agents in VCS. She's slightly taller than Scully and a little larger 
boned. She's tough though, just like Scully. Has what it takes. 
When Burton introduced her I liked her almost immediately. I 
know we're going to work well with the locals here to solve this 
case.
"No, not yet," I return her smile.
"Ok, we just have time before our appointment with Conners of 
the Rape Task Force for a drive through breakfast. My treat. 
Mickie D's or do you have a preference?"
"If you're treating, surprise me," I chuckle.
"If I wanted to surprise you, I'd be taking you to Mama Sinclair's 
up here. She's got the best soul food in the area."
"A soul food restaurant with a drive through?" I reply, laughing. 
"Mama Sinclair has always been on the cusp of fashion, 
Mulder. She even has Internet access offered on PCs inside - 
and a web site now too."
"I have to see this place," I grin.
"It'll be my pleasure, Agent Mulder. You're one skinny white boy 
anyway. You need some good old fashioned Mama Sinclair 
Southern cooking to add some meat on those bones."
"Lead on, Agent Manconen. I bow to your knowledge of fine 
Southern cuisine."
She tilts her head back and laughs deeply. I know I'm going to 
like her. She can laugh at my jokes. Just kidding. No, I like her 
because she's a crack agent and she also knows this is going to 
be hell. The more we keep things light sometimes the longer 
we'll last. Rita turns, I collect my weapon, cell phone, other 
accouterments including my laptop and trench and we both exit 
the room, stomachs growling in unison.
xXx
Saturday, May 22, 1999 6:00 AM. Dragon's Roost, Crossroads, 
Maine 
Last night. Christ could I have been a bigger prick I think as I 
stare out the kitchen window. Coffee is perking in the Mister 
Coffee on the counter behind me and the smell makes me think 
back to last night and my continuous coffee cup examination. 
Balls. I was a genuine jerk.
I still can't believe how rude I was to my hosts and to Scully. 
Man I have to get a grip here. If I don't pull out of this morose 
state I'm going to ruin the entire vacation for everyone. I'm 
going to try my best. I mean hell...it's the only fair thing to do.
Mulder may not make it up here. I have to face that fact and 
move on. Maybe I can arrange something later for us to do 
together. Mother keeps that apartment in Philadelphia. I'll have 
to give it some thought.
But for now I have to try to enjoy myself here. Yeah, Scully was 
right last night. This deck construction is going to be a trip.
Scully last night. Now there was something interesting to see. I 
haven't spent as much time around her alone before. I mean 
without Mulder around. It was rather...a treat to be honest.
She's got a sense of humor I envy. I just never have had a good 
one, one that comes easy at any rate. But hers shines. And 
Christ she's like a dog with a bone in a debate. I can see where 
her years with Mulder have benefited her there. Hey, my years 
as his boss have honed my debate skills too.
I'm still a little embarrassed over the medallion. I had no idea I'd 
been giving that thing the four finger work out all night. I mean 
touching it. Figures. Mulder on my mind and I lose it. Yeah, well 
screw it. He does that to me. I'm not afraid to admit it any more. 
If it's a crime to be a fool for love, then I'll slap the cuffs on my 
own wrists and be happy to do it.
But I was hesitant to show her the cross. Why? Well...I'm not 
sure Mulder has ever given her anything engraved in this way. 
I...I was a little worried she might be envious? Jealous? 
Disappointed? I should have given her more credit. She was 
wonderful about it. I could tell it did bother her a little. She went 
all investigator on me. Agent mode. But in the end she was just 
Dana Scully again. Dana Scully, compassionate woman. She 
knew I was hurting. Dana Scully, compassionate friend.
If for no other reason this week then Scully's presence, I need 
to get with the vacation program here. I mean after all, she is up 
here on my invitation. The least I can do is show her a good 
time. I nod to myself. Yes. From this point on it'll be Walter 
Skinner, party animal. Oh fuck that - well you know what I 
mean. I'm just gonna make an effort here to be a human being. 
Deal? Good.
As I'm musing, staring out the window at a really gorgeous day 
and a calm sea, I hear someone come up behind me.
"Good morning,"
"Morning, Scully," I turn.
She's standing there in her FBI issue sweats and I have to 
suppress a grin. We're dressed identically - except my get up is 
several sizes larger than hers. But the logo is on both our tits. 
"I see you went to the company store at some point as well..." I 
smile indicating her attire. She grins back.
"I have the t-shirt too, you?"
"Yup. God have we bought into the image or what?" I chuckle.
"Sadly, I'd have to agree," she nods, smiling.
"Are you going for a run?" I query.
She has her sneakers on and her hair tied back in a pony tail. 
No make-up. I figured she hasn't showered yet. Even with the 
severe hair do and no make-up...she's a very beautiful woman 
flashes across my mind. I have to admire Mulder's tastes again 
on that point zaps through as well. I blink quickly. I realize I've 
been staring at her. I look down for a moment.
"As a matter of fact, yes, I am. Would you like to join me?"
"Yeah, I would," I reply, looking back up at her.
"I only do about two miles on the weekend."
"Sounds fine. I go for a lighter workout all the way around when 
I'm on vacation anyway. Varies the routine."
"Right," she nods, "Uh, ok, lets go then."
I nod and without further discussion we both turn and head for 
the back door. I gesture for Scully to proceed ahead of me 
through the door. When she's out on the half finished deck I turn 
and shut the door, locking it.
"Walter?" she asks nodding towards the door handle.
"It's ok, Dennis gave me a key," I reply, patting my sweatpants 
pocket.
She nods and turns to walk to the edge of the deck. There 
aren't any stairs. There's only one way off. A short drop.
"I take it that stairs may be on the work schedule today?" she 
smirks a little back at me.
"As a matter of fact - you and I have stair detail." I chuckle. 
"Ah," she replies, "Well that's something I think I can handle, no 
sweat," she nods turning back to jump down.
"I'd hold that thought about *no sweat* if I were you," I chuckle, 
following her over and then down. I land with a little thump next 
to her.
"Oh, so Dennis and Phil really are taskmasters?"
"We were all Marines, remember? Dennis was a Sergeant."
"God! I'd better make sure I hammer my nails straight in that 
case," she laughs musically.
I join in her laughter and we head off over the bluff and onto the 
beach to do our 2 miles.
A short time later...
I've set an easy pace and Scully is keeping up with me without 
a problem. I assumed she runs with Mulder on occasion. I 
wasn't too worried about her getting lost in my wake.
The sun is up completely now and it's going to be a warm one. 
Good. I hope the whole week is warm and sunny. It will make 
the deck construction go smoothly. It will also make this a hell 
of a lot easier. Keeping on an even keel over missing our man 
Mulder here, I mean. A pissy, rainy day would have made 
matters a lot worse.
I look down and breathe out at Scully.
"It's two miles to that boat dock down there. See it?"
"Yes."
"We walk back?" I add.
"Agreed."
We run on.
At the dock...
Scully stops behind me and we both put our hands on our knees 
and bend over for a moment, huffing just a bit.
"Good run," Scully smiles, straightening up.
"Yeah," I reply, rising up as well and stretching.
"Walter?"
"Hmm?"
"Have you lifted weights all your life?"
"As a matter of fact - most of it," I nod, "I started in high school 
when I was wrestling."
"You wrestled in high school?"
I stretch some more and so does she. Then both of us slow our 
movements and finally stop. She looks at me at last and I 
answer her. 
"Yeah," I smile with a little pride in my voice. I was *All State* in 
my weight division all four years.
"I wish I had started back then. I just started a strength building 
program and..."
"You're lifting?" I ask with just a touch of surprise in my voice. 
She looks down at the sand and scrunches her face up.
"Just started back at it steadily. I've had some...interruptions in 
my weight training."
I wince. Fuckin' A, I'll say. Cancer for one thing. Antarctica for 
another. God.
"I think you'll enjoy it," I reply, neutrally, "the bureau gym 
certainly has all the equipment you need, too. I use the 
company gym myself most of the time."
She straightens up and starts to walk back down the beach at 
that point. I fall into step next to her. Once more I'm reminded 
how small she is. In stature anyway. She certainly isn't small in 
character. Or guts. Looking at her I also notice the bulge in both 
her biceps I hadn't really noticed until she mentioned the 
weights. Yeah, she's making a serious effort. Excellent. It may 
save her life, or Mulder's life at some point.
She shifts her shoulders slightly and looks up at me sideways. 
"I enjoy it a lot. It's...well there's a bit of a rush when you lift isn't 
there?"
"Exactly. It's a very heady feeling. I like the sensation a lot. I 
suppose that's part of it's allure. Why I keep it up. That and the 
fact I don't want to be fat and over 40," I grin a bit.
"No danger there," she chuckles, looking forward again.
"Thank you."
"No problem. But Walter..."
"Yes?"
"I...would you mind if I stopped in while you're working out 
sometime? Mulder...Mulder doesn't get into the weights and..."
"You'd like a spotter?"
"One I can trust, yes. And I'd like the company," she admits.
I look down at the top of her head as we walk. Her back is very 
straight and she looks ahead as we make our way through the 
sand. Man, this is one proud woman, I think. Yeah. It'll be an 
honor to act as her spotter. No question.
"Sure, I could use the company down there too. Just let me 
know when you want to go. I'll be there."
"Thanks, Walter," she replies simply.
"Don't mention it."
We walk on in companionable silence, savoring the sea breeze 
and the warm spring day.
xXx
Saturday, May 22, 1999 12:30 PM. The deck at Dragon's 
Roost, Crossroads, Maine
"Thanks," Walter nods, as I take his hammer and lay it on the 
deck. Break time on the deck project. Lunch to be made. 
Dennis and Phil are nailing on their last board before we eat. It's 
progressing well. I think it's going to be a sturdy well made deck. 
There's always a sense of accomplishment with building 
something this well with your hands. It satisfies a very basic 
creative instinct. And God knows I'd rather see some creation 
instead of destruction for a change. I smile at the thought that 
Dennis and Phil will probably enjoy this deck all summer. It's a 
pleasant thought.
"What?" Walter asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, nothing. I'm...I'm just enjoying myself," I answer, smiling 
back.
"Well you wield a hell of a hammer, Scully," he rumbles a 
chuckle at me.
"Guess I don't have to worry about Sergeant Carr getting on my 
case," I reply loud enough for Dennis to hear.
"What was that soldier?" he laughs, "Did you tell Ms. Scully I 
was a baddass drill Sergeant, boy?" he growls quite 
convincingly.
"You're diggin' your own grave on that one," Walter laughs.
"Dennis was a bastard," Phil teases. "But we were all terrified of 
Walter Skinner. Now talk about baddass..."
"Hey, hey, hey. I was just a big pussycat," Walter objects with 
mock indignation.
"Pussycat my ass...you'd better say tiger by the tail..." Phil 
laughs.
"Ok, Howdy, you asked for it," Walter laughs. And then he 
moves. I've never seen Walter Skinner in action in the field 
really. I mean I knew he was good. Strong and fast in 
apprehending that child killer down in Baton Rouge according to 
Mulder. But I guess I didn't realize how fast. Before any of us 
can move very much at all, he's up onto the deck and has Phil 
pinned to the boards.
"Now what was that about the tiger?" he growls into Phil's 
laughing face.
"Tiger, meet crane," Phil giggles, and then incredibly Walter is 
flipped over and deposited, with an oomph, under the smaller 
man. The AD is totally immobilized.
"Show off," he laughs, breathless. His face is reddening slightly. 
"Uncle?" Phil presses. Walter really can't move. I don't know 
how Phil is doing it exactly. It appears as if he's holding Walter 
by his pressure points and educated use of leverage. It's quite a 
demonstration.
"Ok. Ok. Let me up, Karate Kid. I'm done."
Phil gives a self-satisfied smirk down at Walter and gets off him. 
"Never mess with him, Walter. You should know that by now," 
Dennis is laughing from his spot on the deck.
All of us are laughing now. Walter is getting up and smoothing 
his shirt and jeans down. I just have to ask them...
"Phil, were all of you in the same unit? I mean in Vietnam. I 
know Walter served over there. Did you all know each other 
in..."
There's dead silence suddenly. Oh...damn. I think maybe that 
wasn't the right question to ask. Walter's face has gone mask-
like, closed off and unreadable suddenly. Phil's too. Only 
Dennis seems to still be with us. But he doesn't look very happy 
either. It's Dennis that answers me.
"Uh, no I was in infantry. Phil was in special ops. We weren't in 
Walter's unit."
"Oh," I reply just looking at them all. I'm stuck. I'm sure the war 
was painful for them but I don't know how or why. Their 
reaction was a little bit of a surprise. Maybe I shouldn't have 
mentioned anything. I watch as Walter shakes it off, comes 
back to the here and now.
"I was in special forces as well, but Phil and I were in different 
units and different fields of operation."
Phil springs back quickly too and is almost his old vibrant self 
again.
"Yes we only knew Walter by reputation," he replies. There's a 
hint again of teasing in his voice. Walter's face changes back to 
a more tranquil expression. Then some good-natured laugh 
lines appear on his face as well. Phil picks up on it and smiles 
wide. Before either of them can continue the exchange, Dennis 
speaks.
"Yeah. *On leave* reputation."
I think I can actually see Walter's ear tips turning red. Oh ho. 
So, Mr. Skinner was a bit of a hell raiser back then as well.
"Gentlemen. I am an armed Federal Agent. You will not go 
there," he growls, barely containing his chuckling as well.
"No, come on. I'd like to hear this," I tease getting into the game.
"Well, Scully - Walter had a reputation for hard drinking, 
brawling and dope smoking that was notorious in every bar in 
Saigon," Dennis begins.
"Oh shit," Walter snorts, "I'll never have any credibility on the job 
with her now, you asshole."
I'm laughing.
Phil continues, "Yeah, we were scared shitless we'd run into him 
in a bar fight. Guys were saying he was 7 feet tall, could out 
drink and out toke any guy in country, and knock you out with 
one punch." 
"What a load of crap..." Walter interjects.
"Well that might have been a crock, WS, but you can't deny 
what the ladies said about you..."
"Phil. I'm getting my Glock..."
"Yeah, tell Scully the nickname," Dennis chimes in.
"What nickname?" I ask innocently.
"That's it, I'm going for my gun," Walter mock snarls, and he 
disappears inside the house.
"What nickname?" I ask again.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I should be saying this is 
none of my business and act accordingly by telling them to 
forget this line of inquiry. I should be bothered that this is a trifle 
misogynist. I mean, the words ladies and Saigon whores have 
hooked up in my head. But for some perverse reason I still want 
to know what nickname Skinner was saddled with. It can't be 
any worse than *Spooky* or *The Ice Queen*. Maybe I want a 
level nickname playing field here. Or maybe it's because of all 
the years Skinner grilled me in his office. Or maybe it's because 
for some odd reason I think this nickname is something Mulder 
doesn't know. In any event, and for whatever reason, I'm about 
to find out.
"Well, I am probably going to pay for this later, but let's just say 
WS had a reputation as quite the ladies man in Saigon."
"Phil..." Dennis warns.
"Oh come on Den, you know the girls really liked him and 
respected him."
"Phil - he is going to kill you," Dennis is laughing now. Almost 
helpless with it.
Phil is smirking. Somehow I think he's *quite* capable of 
handling himself. And also he's a shameless tease. But this is 
fun and I feel...ok I feel like one of the guys here right now...and 
it's a nice feeling.
"Oh, he's not going to kill me. After all the ladies thought he was 
handsome and very sweet. He was always a gentleman, but 
tough as well. He would protect them against guys who were 
less respectful sometimes. So he got his nick. Le Bouledogue." 
Phil finishes.
"Most of those women spoke French and English along with 
various Vietnamese dialects..." Dennis starts to explain.
"My French is a little rusty..." I begin.
"It means bull dog," Walter's voice comes out of no where, and 
suddenly all of us are being hosed down with ice cold water 
from the garden hose that had been curled up on the opposite 
side of the deck. Most of the water is directed at Phil but Dennis 
and I are getting our fair share. I'm yelling. I can't help it. It's 
cold.
"SONOFABITCH!" Phil yells.
Dennis is laughing even more hard and so is Walter. He's 
laughing like an idiot and it's a sight to behold. Head back, 
bellowing with mirth Walter Skinner isn't a bad thing to see.
"How did you get that hose without us..." I start to sputter.
"Hey, an old special ops soldier never forgets his training. I just 
went in through the back door, came out the front and around 
the side of the house. You three were easy pickings," he 
explains, shutting off the hose handle at last.
Phil is soaked to the skin, but chortling heartily. Dennis is pretty 
wet as well. I'm the least damp of all. I saw Walter deliberately 
and quickly aim away from me as a matter of fact. I guess that 
gentlemanly reputation might have been a little more than 
Saigon whorehouse rumor.
Phil finally gets himself under control and speaks.
"What was I saying about probably paying for this later?"
"Paybacks a bitch, ain't it?" Walter drawls, "Oh, no offense, 
Scully," He adds as an afterthought grinning sheepishly at me.
"None taken."
"Folks...I guess we'd better go in and have lunch as well as dry 
off and change now," Dennis snorts out the last of his laughter.
We all agree and make our retreat back into Dragon's roost for 
dry clothes, good food, and the conversation of friends.
xXx
Saturday, May 22, 1999 10 PM. Dragon's Roost. Crossroads, 
Maine 
I find it rather refreshing that Dennis and Phil don't think they 
have to entertain Scully and I every minute of every hour we're 
up here. It says a lot for their talents as hosts. Every guest 
needs some unorganized free time. It's what makes tours such 
a friggin' drag. All that planned shit. Sticking to a schedule. If 
this is Tuesday it must be bloody Belgium. You know what I 
mean?
So, tonight we're relaxing with our own pursuits. More about that 
in a moment.
We all worked hard today. The deck is really beginning to take 
shape. Scully's fourth pair of hands was more than a help. They 
were invaluable really. I don't think we'd be nearly as far ahead 
with construction if it hadn't been for her aid. Man, she can 
really swing a hammer. The stairs are almost done. Bill Scully, 
Sr. must be looking down on his daughter with pride right now.
Christ I would if I were him. She's...Scully is more than I ever 
expected she would be. Ah, hell. I always knew she was a 
crack agent. I mean her reputation for being an ace in the field 
and the autopsy bay goes all the way back to Quantico. No one 
disagrees about her prowess on the job. Least of all Mulder. 
Least of all me too. But, job prowess is one thing. One type of 
reputation at the bureau. Scully has a couple of reps some 
ignorant individuals have saddled her with there. The first is the 
*Mrs. Spooky* appellation. Ok, well if they knew how close they 
were on that one they'd shit. But Mrs. Spooky isn't so bad. 
Mulder rather likes that designation now anyway, I think. Scully 
sees it for the joke it's become. It's humorous under the 
circumstances. But, it's the other rep she has which now, I see, 
is, as I suspected, far from the truth. Dana Scully is as far from 
an Ice Queen as you can get.
There is no way she doesn't feel. Care. Care very deeply. 
About all the things that really matter in life. No way in hell is she 
an Ice Queen. I should have guarded her more carefully against 
the morons spreading that crap at the bureau when I was still 
her supervisor. Now it's too late. One more thing I sat on the 
fence over all those years. Fuck me. Really. Or better yet 
*kick* me in the ass. 
Well there isn't much I can do about that situation. But at least 
outside the job - in situations like this one I can try to be a friend 
to her now. A confidant for sure. Maybe it'll help make up for 
my being remiss earlier. I hope so. She deserves a lot more.
I really enjoyed running with her today. It was very 
companionable. Maybe we can do that again while we're up 
here. If the weather holds up it would be...it would be a real 
good deal.
Anyway. Tonight, Scully and I made dinner for Dennis and Phil. 
It was my suggestion. We threw together a salad and spaghetti. 
Phil drove into Crossroads and picked up some Italian bread 
and a nice bottle of red wine. It was a meal worthy of a bunch 
of hard working carpenters I guess. At any rate, it stuck to the 
ribs.
We all went our separate ways after dinner. Phil went out to the 
studio that's attached to the back of their garage. He and 
Dennis have a combination pottery studio and photographic 
dark room out there. Phil has a small gas kiln as well as his 
pottery wheel. So, he's out there working with clay. It must be 
incredibly relaxing. I went out there and helped him slap and 
knead some clay around once. You do that to get the air 
bubbles out of it before you work with it. It was rather calming. 
Almost a zen experience. Phil is into the Asian philosophies of 
course.
Dennis is upstairs in their home office. He's doing his 
correspondence on the PC. Taking care of his art business as 
well. The more mundane marketing part of it I guess.
Scully and I are down here in the living room. The CD player is 
on. Chopin. She's reading *Bare Bones* by Stephen King. She 
switched off with her mother. Margaret is reading Anne Rice 
now as well. I feel content tonight. Content despite that bit with 
the Nam memories during the afternoon.
Sometimes when someone mentions the war I just freeze up. 
My mind locks. It doesn't happen often and I've learned to 
shake it off quickly - but...well sometimes a disturbing image 
just grabs hold of me...jumps up in back of my eyes and...well 
never mind. I know Phil had a bad tour just like I did in the end. 
He was wounded as well and he won't even talk about it. Dennis 
explained briefly that Phil was stuck underground for a while 
with the VC guy he'd killed after the guy had shot him. I can't 
imagine what that was like. It had been the end of Phil's war. He 
was shipped back to the states after that incident.
So, this afternoon, when Scully asked her perfectly innocent 
question about us serving together, Phil and I both had a PTSD 
reaction I think. It's good to know though that we could get over 
it at least.
Shit, the hose. Ok. Well it was fun. I...hey I felt like a kid again 
for a minute. I just needed to let off some steam. Cool 'em off. 
Phil enjoyed it too. He's a nutcase but I like him a lot. Admire 
him for being a whole person after what the war did to him. 
Crap, I guess it's lucky all of us have our heads screwed on 
reasonably tight. You could say the same thing for Dana Scully. 
If anyone would be a candidate for PTSD it'd be her. She does 
have some of the signs. So does Mulder too. Neither of them 
are going to give into it though. They're both bullheaded enough 
not to do it. God, I have got my hands full haven't I? I shake my 
head in bemusement at Mulder and Scully's *true grit*. It's the 
mark of a rare person who can persevere even over their 
personal foibles. They really are unique, strong individuals. It's 
lucky. They're going to need that strength in the battle to come. 
We're all going to need it.
I've been reading the evening paper. Well I should say, looking 
at it. Mostly I've been thinking. My eyelids are growing heavy. 
Well it was a busy day. My head nods forward and I jerk it back 
up.
"Walter?" Scully asks quietly, "Would you like to go to bed?"
I grin at her a little sheepishly.
"Sorry. Yeah, I probably should turn in. I guess I'm pretty boring, 
aren't I?"
She looks at me quizzically for a second, and a bemused look 
crosses her face.
"Uh...no. You're not boring. But I think you've put in a long day. 
You...you did twice as much work as I did."
I shrug. Well there were a couple of times where we had to lift 
boards she couldn't quite handle alone. Shit. After a little more 
weight lifting she's going to be surprised how that will change.
"Well, I'm going to be 47 in a couple of weeks too Scully. I 
guess I'm feeling it tonight."
"Walter..."
"Yeah?"
"I'd never believe you were 47. Not in a million years," she 
smiles at me tentatively. I stare at her for a second and then 
smile back equally as tentatively. If I didn't know better I'd 
think...I'd suspect she was flirting with me? Fuck. No way. 
She's just making a sweet compliment. Trying to make me feel 
less like an old fart. Before I can think about it further or reply, 
Dennis comes thumping down the stairs.
"Hey, I bet you two want to go to bed don't you?" he chuckles. "I 
should go get Gumby out there and drag his butt up to bed too 
so you can pull the couch out, Walter."
"Oh, well sure...Scully and I were just discussing the idea of 
shut eye as a matter of fact," I smile and stand up.
"Yes. I think I've had about enough of Stephen King tonight," 
she wrinkles her nose.
We all laugh briefly. Then Dennis stops and smiles again.
"Say, listen. I was just up there e-mailing out the reminders. 
Uh...Wednesday evening I have an opening at Chatterers, a 
local gallery. It'll be a one man show but Phil's coming for moral 
support. You're both invited to attend too if you'd like. I was kind 
of saving the news as a surprise. But I thought I'd better let you 
know in case you had other plans..."
"Hell, man, that's fantastic!" I reply with genuine respect and 
admiration for him, "Count me in. I'd be honored to attend."
"Oh, me too. That sounds marvelous. But I didn't bring anything 
to wear to an art opening..." Scully replies looking a little 
perplexed. 
"Jeans will be fine, Dana. This isn't New York. Chatterers is an 
informal, eclectic kind of place. Sort of an alternative gallery 
scene for Crossroads. But it seems to be up and coming. I was 
glad they were enthusiastic over my slides. These photos aren't 
my usual type of work," he adds with a somewhat wicked grin.
"Oh, that's good then. I'd love to attend, certainly," Scully 
replies, smiling sunnily
I look around the room at the numerous landscapes and the few 
portraits of the rugged inhabitants of Maine that grace the walls. 
Excellent examples of Dennis's talents as a photographer. I 
notice Scully glancing around as well. What does he mean? No 
landscapes? 
"What kind of photographs are they?" Scully asks with interest. 
"Male nudes."
I bark a quick laugh at Scully's sudden expression. It's a cross 
between *oh oh what did I get myself into now* and *wow, I can 
hardly wait*.
"Think you two can handle a little gay eroticism? Oh, the 
images are very tastefully done - don't worry," he hastens to 
reassure us, "no willies waving in the wind or anything."
"I wouldn't miss this show for the world," I laugh.
Scully raises her eyebrows at me and then she cracks up.
"Ok, I'll admit it. Neither would I," she replies, laughing 
musically.
"Excellent!" Ok. We can all go down to the gallery together 
Wednesday night. Man, that will be a riot. I know you'll enjoy it. 
There should be a pretty good crowd."
"I hope so. You'll sell some," I throw in as a comment.
"I hear you Walter. We have to pay for that deck somehow," he 
laughs. "I'll go roust Phil," he finishes at last. Scully and I nod as 
he leaves the room.
"Sounds like it will be a great time," she says, yawning a little. 
"I think it will be a time all right," I rumble, "Yeah. So, you don't 
mind being my date?" I blurt out suddenly without thinking. What 
in the hell made me ask her that?
She looks at me for a second, her eyes and mouth crinkling a 
little with a suppressed smile.
"I was just going to ask you the same thing. And to answer you - 
no. I won't
mind at all."
I nod.
"Good. We'll watch each others backs then. Deal, *Agent* 
Scully?" 
She smiles at my teasing use of the work title again.
"Deal, *sir*."
I nod again.
She puts her book under her arm, and starts to leave the living 
room.
"Good night, Walter. Sweet dreams."
"Good night, Scully. Thanks. You too," I reply, watching her 
walk away. I turn away at last, and bending, work to fold out the 
couch. 
xXx
3 AM. Dragon's Roost
I hear....someone screaming. I'm awake in an instant. Years of 
training make me grab for my weapon, and then I'm out of bed, 
through the bedroom door at a dead run, and down the hall in a 
matter of moments. I almost bump smack into Walter, dressed 
only in his sweat bottoms, as he rushes into the foyer at the foot 
of the stairs to the second floor. He has his Glock in hand as 
well, raised and ready. 
"I heard..." he breathes out hard. Another piercing shriek rends 
the air. It's coming from upstairs. Dear God! It sounds like a 
man's dying up there.
I'm about to dash up the stairs when Walter grabs my left arm. 
"Hold up, Scully," he sighs. I look at him in confusion as he 
flicks the safety on his Glock, and lowers it wearily to his side. 
"It's Phil," he adds looking down into my questioning face. His 
eyes are almost unreadable, but I can still see the world 
weariness there.
"Phil?" I ask studying his face.
"Yeah. He...he's having a nightmare, Scully. Nam. Uh, it's 
happened before when I was up here," he answers. "I was just 
disorientated for a minute," he shakes his head in disgust, "The 
job," he adds with a shrug.
I nod in understanding and flip the safety back on my Smith and 
Wesson.
"Should...should we go up and check on him?" I ask with 
concern. 
Walter looks down for a moment and then he touches my arm 
very gently.
"Scully, this...maybe this is an instance when I'd better go in 
alone. It's something between old soldiers. Can you understand 
what I'm saying?"
I can more than understand it I think. I'd seen that look in my 
father's eyes several times. There are some things that just 
can't be shared with non-coms or civilians. Even fellow FBI 
agents and friends. Especially women friends I suppose.
"Walter, I understand. Just come tell me later if he's ok, all 
right? I...I won't be able to sleep otherwise," I admit, looking 
down myself now. I have trouble sleeping after Mulder has one 
of his nightmares. Until I know he's well and goodly asleep 
again I tend to lie there watching over him. It's a mark for my 
feelings of increasing friendship for Phil Meyers that I would do 
the same for him.
"Sure, Scully. I'll come down and knock on your door," he nods. 
Then without further comment he leaves my side and ascends 
the stairs towards the master bedroom.
Later...
There's a quiet knocking...
"Scully?"
"Come on in, Walter."
I haven't even tried to go to sleep. The night stand lamp is on, 
and I've been sitting here listening to the muted voices coming 
from above. Dennis and Walter trying to settle Phil down.
Walter opens the door quietly and comes into the guest 
bedroom. He looks haggard. God! He stands there in the 
doorway, and then shuts it carefully behind him.
"Is Phil all right?" I ask and then, before I can stop myself, "Are 
you all right?"
His shoulders sag almost imperceptibly and he looks at me 
oddly for a moment. Then he smiles tiredly and walks over to 
the bed.
"May I..." he indicates, asking to sit.
"Please."
I shift over a bit and he sits down heavily. He runs his hand over 
his face and up under his glasses for a moment. The bridge of 
his nose gets some attention from a large finger and thumb. 
After he lowers his hand he answers me without looking at me.
"Yeah. Shit. I'll be all right. So...so will Phil. Dennis is taking care 
of him. It's...it's an old story. We...we all get these nightmares. 
He'll probably be fine in the morning."
"God, Walter, I'm so sorry," I murmur, touching his arm gently. I 
realize with sudden embarrassment that I've been touching him 
a lot lately. Maybe...maybe that's not very appropriate. I'm 
discovering I...rather like touching him. Down Dana, I think with 
chagrin. He's...he's not...this might offend him...I tell myself. He 
glances down at my hand, and I pull it back slowly, placing both 
my hands in my lap. I look down at them.
"Nothing to be sorry for, Scully. I can't blame you for anything. 
Nam's to blame. It's just a fact of life for us. You...you learn to 
cope. I would expect you've had...similar experiences. I mean, 
Christ you've...you would have had to wouldn't you?" he adds 
with a far away tone in his voice.
"Walter, what happened to you over there?" I ask gently. Right 
now in this moment I...I really want to understand. I think...I 
think it's important that I know.
For a heartbeat or two I don't think he heard me, or if he did, he 
isn't going to answer. Then he starts to talk very quietly.
"I guess I can tell you. I...I've told Mulder most of it too. 
You...you have a right to know as well now. Uh...I was on point 
one day with my best friend over there. John. John Rand. We 
used to call him Cracker Rand because he was from Georgia."
He stops a moment to gather his thoughts further. I nod. It's as if 
he picks up on it without seeing because he continues.
"We...we were over the border - inside Cambodia I mean. Of 
course that was illegal at the time - but this was a very special 
op. Top secret. At any rate, John and I were on point. We...we 
were supposed to be alert...frosty. Well fuck - we were only 19 
years old and despite all the special training 
sometimes...sometimes we were just kids. John and I were 
talking, very quietly but talking. It was a...stupid oversight. 
Christ, though...I mean we hardly exchanged 10 words...I...oh 
fuck it. I've had guilt over this for years, Scully. I really have to 
learn to get over it," he sighs.
"I understand..." I murmur. And I do understand. We're all 
human. And we're all young once. Walter goes on - that same 
dreamy, faraway cadence to his voice.
"But he started teasing me about some damn Saigon whore I'd 
been pumping the night before we left for the field. John was 
such a kidder. He was a good kid. They were all good kids," he 
nods as if agreeing with his own softly uttered words.
In profile, I can see his face soften at the mention of John 
Rand's name. I have to think Walter must have had special 
feelings for John. It makes his next words even more tragic.
"At any rate, we walked right into a gook ambush. John got it 
first. He got his head blown off right in front of my eyes. His 
brains splattered all over my flack jacket. After that it was every 
man for himself. I...my buddies were dropping like flies. I got hit 
twice before I even realized I'd caught a round. All I did was 
stand there and fire, scream, and fire. I didn't even take cover. 
I...I'm not sure I wanted to avoid getting hit."
I'm just sitting there staring at him now. I...this is horrible. I mean 
what Mulder and I've been through, what we go through on the 
job is one thing. We're adults, trained professionals. We're not 
19 year old young men in brutal combat. We're not 19 year old 
young men who blame themselves for the deaths of their 
friends. It seems to me Walter Skinner gave a lot for his 
country. My God.
"Finally I took a round in the guts. I went down too. The whole 
unit was wiped out. All dead. I bought it too, actually...at least I 
thought so. I...I woke up when they were zipping me into the 
body bag. If I hadn't gasped the corpsman wouldn't have given 
me a second look I guess..." his voice trails off.
I have no earthly idea what to say. I...I have a fleeting thought of 
sliding over further, lifting the covers and....and what? Offering 
him a comfort fuck? Lord. How...how disgusting. 
That...that's...not a good idea at all. It's...so crass. But... I...I 
know Mulder would...would want...oh, forget it. Just...get a grip 
here Dana. This is a friend. A friend who is clearly hurting. Stop 
thinking with your /and Mulder's?/ libido and help him. But 
before I can say anything at all, he turns and gives my knee a 
small pat.
"Listen, Scully. Uh...you don't have to hear all this...it's ancient 
history. You...we're supposed to be on vacation here, right? But 
I appreciate your asking, and your concern."
Ok. I can tell he's closing himself off again. Becoming the AD 
for me. Fine. I suppose I should be thankful he got this far. This 
is terribly personal, and if he's not quite ready to share any of it I 
can more than understand. Maybe some day he'll be 
comfortable enough to talk about it again. In the meantime I'll 
allow him his privacy. There is no issue over that consideration 
at all.
"No problem. That's what friends are for. A trite saying in some 
people's book. But in mine - I think it has a lot of merit," I answer 
pushing my hair back behind my ears.
He smiles a little at my reply and gets up from the edge of the 
bed. There is a great deal of relief on his face. He looks much 
better than when he came in here. Good. Maybe he'll be able to 
get some sleep now. Then so will I.
"Thanks Scully. I...thank you for listening," he repeats himself. 
"Good night Walter. Try to get some rest."
"I think I can...now," he mumbles as he turns away. He walks 
back over to the door and just before he opens it, he turns and 
speaks again.
As he stands there I can't help it. My eyes run over his torso. I 
track up and down his body, settling on his muscular stomach. I 
gaze, not in lust, but in compassionate understanding. I've never 
really paid attention to his scars until tonight. But now I do and 
my eyes mist over when I consider how he got them. God! He 
got one for them for me really. And for Missy. My attention is 
drawn away from his body by his voice. I look up into his 
glasses. The light from the night stand lamp makes them 
suddenly opaque. I can't see his eyes. 
"Scully I told Phil that...that you didn't hear him screaming. He 
was very embarrassed about that point. I...I think if you could 
find it possible not to mention this...this incident in the morning 
he'd probably appreciate it."
I smile gently at him.
"My lips are sealed."
He nods. I can only hope he realizes I mean where his privacy 
is concerned as well. I hope...I hope he knows I care. I think he 
does because he smiles again as he turns and opens the door.
"Night Scully," he rumbles one more time and then he's gone.
xXx
Wednesday, May 26, 1999 11 AM. Outside the Rape Task 
Force war room, Local Police Headquarters, Downtown 
Holyoke, MA
"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder..." Rita Manconen is shaking her head 
in bemused amazement at me.
We've just left the Rape Task Force war room after I gave my 
presentation on the suspects profile. I laid it all out. Put it all on 
the line and told them what I thought we should do. Ok, it's a 
pretty audacious plan. Out there maybe. But I have a gut feeling 
it will work. And work fast. And speed is of the essence now. He 
hit again last night. I know this guy likes tall women with long 
brown hair. Last nights victim fit my profile to a *T*. All the 
victims have been at least 5 feet 9 inches tall. Last nights target 
was 6 foot 1 and on the basketball team here. Yeah, this sick 
fuck's got something for...and against tall, statuesque brunettes 
all right. Something wicked and perverse. Something we need 
to take away from him right now.
I'm half giddy with the anticipation of catching this asshole, and 
sick to my stomach with seeing another young woman 
assaulted and then disfigured with knife cuts. When Rita speaks 
I stop walking dead in my tracks. I turn and take her arm.
"Rita, come on. Don't you think I know my stuff? Don't you 
know this will work?"
She looks down and the smile leaves her face. I release her 
arm. When she looks back up her face is serious.
"If it would help I'd volunteer for it, Mulder. But obviously I can't 
volunteer. I don't fit his victim profile. I just thought it was...was 
...ah skip it. Yeah, I think you're right and you're the only man 
for the job. I certainly can't do it and no one in there fits the..."
"No officer in there fits the victim profile. Not even Officer 
Reed. She's too short and she's a blonde."
Rita shakes her head again.
"Ok, I can buy that - but Mulder - you're gonna need some help 
here. I mean, have you ever dressed in drag before?" she asks, 
eyebrows raised quizzically
I look at her for a second. I think oh oh - has she read me here? 
I mean my bisexuality? No, she's just concerned and probably 
rightly so. My preferences, although they do take in that walk on 
the wild side - they don't involve walking it in heels. I break into 
laughter. 
"What do you think?"
"Honey...You are no Ru Paul. I think you're gonna need a lot of 
help Mulder. Otherwise you're gonna look like a damn 
scarecrow. You've been about as close to looking good in drag 
as I've been to looking like Jada Pinkett."
I grin and look down.
"Yeah, well...I was kind of hoping you'd help me out there. You 
and Officer Reed."
"Oh sure baby. I know you need our help. And I know you want 
it too, you nasty white boy. Two gorgeous women like us 
making over your tall, skinny body and going *oh, sweetie you 
look so good in that skirt and wig.*"
I'm trying really hard not to lose it completely here. But it's hard. 
I'm just that close to the edge of hysteria, that the urge to laugh 
like a maniac myself is very strong. Luckily for me, Rita stops 
the joking and gets serious again.
"Yeah, Mulder. I'll be happy to help. And I'm sure Sheila will be 
too. If getting you dressed up like a first class drag queen will 
catch this perp, I'll put the panty hose on you myself."
"You're on, Agent Manconen," I smirk, "Come on honey chile, I 
thought we passed a Gap outlet on the way downtown this 
morning..." 
xXx
Wednesday, May 26, 1999 6 PM Dragon's Roost Crossroads, 
Maine. 
The hot shower water feels good after today. We really humped 
it on that deck. We didn't even stop for lunch and then fell on 
dinner like wolves without taking time to clean up. But I believe 
that tomorrow may be the day we finish the project. All of us 
can be proud at the effort. It's a job well done...I just wish 
Mulder...well, you know. I don't want to get into an angst attack 
over my lover here. I need to finish up the shower and get my 
ass in gear if we want to make Dennis's gallery opening in time.
After dinner, I let Scully have the downstairs bathroom first 
while Phil and Dennis got ready upstairs. I was prepared to cool 
my heals for a while in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, but 
Scully surprised me. Ok, I guess I'd bought into the stereotype 
of women taking a long time in the bathroom. The only 
benchmark I had to compare with was Sharon. She took 
forever to get ready. Shit - Scully isn't Sharon. For one thing 
she's an agent. You learn to get ready for anything fast. At any 
rate, she came out to the kitchen in her bathrobe, toweling her 
hair after what seemed like a very short time, and told me the 
can was all mine.
So here I am, soap all over me, and hot water washing away 
some small muscle aches along with the accumulated dirt and 
sweat. I felt my chin and decided to shave as well so that was 
done first off. Now I'm finishing the rest. I remember the last 
time I took a shower in this house. With Mulder. God. I have to 
stop...thinking...my mind wanders back to that winter memory 
and I can't help it. I let my soapy hand wander down to stroke 
my cock. Then I cup my balls and massage them a little too. I 
close my eyes and let the warm water run over my head as I 
feel the heat start to build in my groin. God I really miss Fox. 
I...I...Christ. I can't take the time to beat off here. This is 
ridiculous.
I shake my head and change my teasing pulls to a more 
impersonal, businesslike touch. Ok. I haven't done my self 
exam this month. Why not now? Yeah. That's the ticket. Think 
about something like testicular cancer for a second Walter. It's 
bound to squash the heat of arousal flooding your cock. But 
even as I examine my testicles for lumps, I'm thinking of 
Mulder. I keep reminding him this is something he should be 
doing for himself too. But hey, I guess I could do it for him, 
couldn't I? Yeah...that would be...Oh piss on it. There's a 
thought that's not going to help matters here. When I realize I'm 
still getting hot - I decide I'd better go for a sure fire cure at last. I 
reach forward, twist and then gasp loudly. The freezing water 
slams into my nuts, and my dick goes as limp as a garden hose.
Later...
Scully has kindly vacated the guest bedroom quickly as well so 
that I can dress in here. I put my clothes out on the bed earlier 
before I hit the shower. I had to laugh. Scully watched me while 
I was laying them out. I suppose she wanted to see if I was 
going to opt for AD fashion or really take Dennis' words as 
gospel and go for the casual look. I know she didn't bring any 
really dressy clothes up here. There was such a comical look of 
relief on her face when I put the jeans and black t-shirt on the 
bed. She left the room with a smile.
Ok. I am going to wear the tweed sports jacket I brought but 
hey...I look good in it, all right? Mulder says it has a nice brown 
underpattern that matches my eyes. Crap. I sound like fucking 
Calvin Klein or Mister Blackwell. Well, it does make me look like 
I at least half way know how to dress. And I want to look my 
best for Dennis's shindig here. Wouldn't do for one of his friends 
to look like a bum. In the back of my mind the words, *Scully's 
date* flash like a neon sign. But I pull the plug on the thought 
and the sign winks out.
I smooth a hand over what's left of my hair and exit the 
bedroom to go join the rest of the gallery entourage.
Scully is waiting in the hallway. She's put on her black dress suit 
coat over a white t-shirt and jeans. Instead of sneakers she's 
wearing the sensible shoes she wears to work as well. So, I 
guess she still had her bureau attire in the garment bag? Sounds 
like me. I grin a bit. Can't drag the bureau out of the agent or the 
AD it seems. She looks casual...she looks...well she looks really 
nice. 
"Dennis is bringing the car around," she says when she sees 
me. I nod and adjust my Glock under my coat where it rests in 
the holster in the small of my back. I see Scully hide a smile.
"What? Aren't you armed tonight?" I ask her, raising an 
eyebrow, "What would Kersh say?" I tease her a little. Oh blow 
me. That was a shitty thing to say. Christ!
"The same thing you would have said, *Where's your weapon 
agent*?" she replies with a mixture of humor and annoyance in 
her voice. She pats the small of her back for emphasis and then 
she finishes her reply.
"So, I'm packing heat, as they say."
"Scully, I really am sorry about Kersh..." I begin. But before I 
can finish the thought, Phil comes in the front door.
"Transport awaits, my good people," he bows and waves with a 
flourish. It's good to see he's feeling better since that Godawful 
nightmare the other night. As Scully and I move to follow him 
out the front door, she leans towards me and whispers.
"Walter, I know. It...it's ok about Kersh. Really," she nods for 
emphasis and then she adjusts the purse on her shoulder and 
walks on after Phil Meyers to the waiting car.
xXx
Wednesday, May 26, 1999 9:15 PM The Chatterers Gallery. 
Crossroads, Maine
The gallery isn't overly large, but it's big enough to hold a good 
sized crowd and still be fairly intimate. The building has a clean, 
no frills, modern decor and most importantly - fantastic lighting. 
Thankfully, the galleries capacity is being tested this evening. 
It's very crowded and I'm tremendously excited for Dennis. This 
is a marvelous reception. It's due to end at 10 PM and even in 
this short time Dennis has sold several photographs.
Crossroads isn't a big town but the population seems to be both 
friendly and liberal as well. There is a very eclectic mix here. 
Out of towners as well as locals. New Englanders can 
sometimes be standoffish with strangers especially artsy or 
alternative types from New York. There are a number of those 
here tonight. There are also a number of flamboyantly gay men 
as well. So, the liberal boundaries are being tested and seem to 
be holding just fine. Everyone seems to be getting along, 
perhaps helped by the wine and finger food, as well as a mutual 
love of fine photography. It's pleasant to see.
Dennis, and Phil especially, are in their element. They 
introduced us to the Gallery owners, Tony and Angela Keyes 
when we arrived at the gallery. A charming couple trying to 
bring a progressive ambiance to the local cultural climate. I 
think they may succeed. After the introduction the guys left 
Walter and I on our own to view the photographs...and mingle. 
Well, Walter doesn't really mingle well. Hmmm...that's 
something of an understatement. More about that in a moment. 
But to be fair, I don't *do* mingle well either for that matter. So, 
we found ourselves eventually gravitating towards each other 
after visiting the wine and hors d'oeuvre table, and talking 
separately to some of the guests.
It's been an interesting experience so far, our tour of the exhibit. 
A real...*time* as Walter said the other night.
"Christ," Walter mumbles under his breath. He takes a long 
drink from his wine glass and then shakes his head.
We're standing in front of a black and white photo at the 
moment. It's obviously a profile shot of two men making love. 
It's in close-up however. You can't see faces. You can't even 
really see all of their arms or legs or any part of their genitals. 
The photo zeros in on just their tightly spooned together torsos, 
one man in back of the other. The partner behind has a leg 
draped up and over the thigh of the other. The man behind is 
either a very light skinned African American or very tanned 
Caucasian man. The other man is light skinned with a tattoo of 
a seated Buddha on his thigh, just visible in the picture. The 
photo makes the men look for all the world like a piece of living 
sculpture. Almost like fluid metal or molten rock. It's terribly 
erotic and very touchingly beautiful.
"What's wrong?" I ask Walter. I can see the tell tale redness at 
the tips of his ears that tells me he's getting embarrassed, 
"It...it's a lovely photo."
"Oh I won't argue that, Scully. It's masterfully done."
"Well than what's the matter?" I ask with a hint of annoyance in 
my voice.
I struggle to keep it out, but it's difficult. Walter has been rather 
uncomfortable almost all night. Shortly after we got here he 
reverted to surly AD mode. I think I know why, but I'm not 
positive. I was watching him. At first he was talking to an elderly 
couple. They all seemed to recognize each other and he was 
smiling and talking easily with them. When they moved away he 
stood alone for a few moments, sipping his wine. Then another 
man approached him and began talking animatedly with him. 
The man was one of the most flamboyant gay men at the 
opening. I watched Walter staring at this very attractive, tall, 
Hispanic Man like he'd grown two heads. There was even a hint 
of disgust mixed with panic on his face for just a second. It only 
took him a heartbeat to put on the AD Walter S. *Don't Fuck 
with Me* Skinner persona. I watched his face shut down like a 
steel door. Walter was polite. I don't mean to say he looked like 
he was being rude. He was just...stiff, formal and finally, mostly 
silent while the man carried on his side of the conversation. As 
soon as it was politely possible, Walter excused himself and 
went to the men's room. The attentive stranger was left 
shrugging his shoulders with a perplexed expression on his 
face.
Walter looks down at me and his face is still unreadable. His jaw 
tense.
"That's Dennis and Phil in the photograph," he hisses at me.
"Really?" I ask moving to look a little closer. His hand is on my 
arm and I pull back. When I glance down at his arm and raise 
an eyebrow he releases me quickly and then whispers down 
towards my ear. 
"Yeah, really. Dennis has that seated Buddha tattooed on his 
thigh, "I saw it when were went swimming off Dragon's Roost 
last year," he hastens to add. God, I never thought Walter could 
have a prissy school marm voice in his repertoire. This is almost 
too...strange.
"So?" I ask furrowing my brow.
I really don't see any harm in the photo. Their faces aren't in it. I 
don't think it can be that widely known that Phil has the tattoo, 
can it? What the devil is wrong with Walter here?
"So...I just think there are some things that should be kept 
private that's all," Walter replies huffily.
/Excuse me!?/ He takes a final swig out of his wine glass, 
emptying it. He sets the glass down on a nearby small table. I'm 
gaping at him when he turns back around. I can feel the heat 
rising in my face. Private? Oh come on. This from the man who 
was...doing the wild thing with Mulder in that hotel room loud 
enough to wake me up so I walked in on them? Right. What's 
wrong with this picture? I'm irate and before I think better of it I 
speak my mind.
"I would hope you'll hold that thought the next time you, and I, 
and Mulder are in a hotel suite together."
Oh damn it Dana that was not the right reply at all. Walter's face 
proves my words accurate. He clouds up like a fast 
approaching storm front.
"Excuse me," he growls, "I think I need some air," he adds, 
turning to walk past me towards the gallery entrance. Oh for 
Gods sake. Wonderful. I certainly did put my foot in it. Well 
damn it, he had it coming. It was, if you'll pardon the expression, 
the bald truth. Oh shit. Now I guess I have to make nice. I let out 
an exasperated sigh as I hasten to follow him.
I find him standing outside on the sidewalk. He's leaning against 
the gallery wall with his arms crossed in front of him. His face is 
partly in shadow, only half lit from the street light nearby. For a 
moment he looks like he's been carved in stone himself. Like 
he's part of the wall coming to life. I take a deep breath and 
walk over to him. His head is tilted back against the wall, his 
eyes shut. When he hears me walk up he moves his head off 
the wall, stands up straight, and looks at me. His face is still 
partly in shadow.
"Come to stick it in again, Agent Scully?" he growls at me.
OK. That's it.
"I'm not the one who should be talking about sticking anything in 
anywhere, damn it," I growl right back.
"What?" he asks, staring at me open-mouthed.
"Cut the crap, Walter. Just climb off my back. How in the hell 
could you have said something like that in there? Do you know 
what a self-righteous piece of hypocritical bullshit that sounded 
like?" I reply intensely.
I'm keeping myself in tight control - talking quietly and carefully. 
If I don't I may really start yelling and I don't want to cause a 
scene out here. As it is after I utter the words I'm starting to 
shake with a mixture of anger and fear. "This is AD Skinner!" 
flashes into my mind. Oh God! Get a life Dana. We're way 
beyond that right now. He needs to hear this.
"Scully, you don't know anything about it," he rumbles at me, 
"Can't you give that night in the hotel a rest"
"I can try if you'll illuminate me, Walter? Tell me so I can 
understand the difference between your views on privacy and 
mine, all right?" I cross my arms in front of me and we stand 
glaring at each other.
"We didn't take pictures of it..." he blurts out.
"What does that have to do with the price of tea in..."
He holds up a hand and his shoulders sag slightly.
"All right, all right, call off the dogs, Agent. Christ you are one 
ornery woman sometimes, you know that?"
I let out a quick laugh. I can't help it. He gives me a terse nod, 
and then a small smile just creases his mouth.
"I guess I had all that coming," he sighs again. Both of us relax a 
little. He starts to walk over towards Dennis and Phil's car where 
it's parked out front at the curb.
"Care to join me in my office, Scully?" he gestures towards the 
bumper.
I follow him and we both lean back against the car's fender. We 
stand looking straight ahead, facing the building. It's almost 10 
PM. People are starting to drift out of the gallery as the 
reception winds down. I watch them and wait for Walter to say 
his piece.
"I'm sorry, Scully, it's just that...ok...it's just that I'm still 
uncomfortable with my sexuality at times," he admits quietly. 
"Jesus...this is still new to me...but you'd think I'd be able 
to...well, it just isn't easy after years of hiding and denial I 
guess," he muses aloud. He runs a hand over the back of his 
neck, shifts his head suddenly, and his neck cracks. He does 
seem to calm further after the sound.
"The exhibit made you uncomfortable?"
"Yes, to a degree it did. Most of it was ok - I didn't care about 
the nudity and eroticism as such. I guess it was just seeing that 
picture of Dennis and Phil. Even though it was, for all intents 
and purposes, anonymous, it just...Oh hell. It just made me 
wonder how they can be so easy about it. Publicly celebrate 
loving each other that way. I guess I'm still a little overwhelmed 
by overt expressions of homosexuality. Uh, overt expressions 
of any kind of emotion hasn't exactly been my forte," he adds 
with a gruff chuckle.
I nod in understanding.
"And I guess I was a little jealous as well," he adds even more 
quietly.
I sigh. Yes. I can understand that idea for sure. How many 
times have I wished Mulder and I could kiss or hug each other 
hello and good bye in public. Or even hold hands? I more than 
know that feeling. You do get envious sometimes.
"I guess I understand that one," I add, ruefully. Expressing my 
thoughts.
Walter looks at me again with a quizzical look on his face, then 
understanding dawns.
"Shit, I must be tired," he grumbles, "Yeah, you would know that 
wouldn't you.''
"Walter was the discomfort with the gay lifestyle why you 
were...why you didn't enjoy talking with that Hispanic man 
earlier?" 
He clears his throat.
"That obvious was it?" he frowns a little.
"Well, I just happened to notice you talking to that elderly 
couple..." I begin.
"The Ryersons? Great people. They remember when Sharon 
and I used to come up here," he replies, distantly, recalling that 
time long ago.
"Well I was still watching when he started talking to you."
"Oh. Yeah, he made me uncomfortable. He was...he was 
fishing around trying to find out who I was, and more 
importantly, who I was with when I told him I was a friend of 
Dennis and Phil's."
"He thought you were gay?"
"Scully, he was sure I was gay. I...Mulder and I have to be 
careful. You of all people should understand that concept."
"Of course."
"Right. So, he...he made me very uncomfortable. Finally I told 
him I was with you. Then I excused myself and went to the 
bathroom," he finishes.
His voice is as carefully neutral as possible. Ok. I guess I should 
be flattered in some back handed compliment kind of way. 
Deep down I am flattered, though. Deep down in a spot where 
I'll hardly admit it. I feel...it feels nice to be considered date 
material by Walter Skinner. Very nice. I shake myself a little to 
send that thought into the back of my mind so I can refocus on 
the matter at hand.
"Oh. Well, ttthat's ok. We did a...agree that was ok earlier." God, 
stop stuttering here Dana. Try to sound at least half way 
intelligent.
"Yes we did," he nods, "At any rate, guys like that...the more 
flamboyant gay men...make me nervous. I know it's wrong to 
feel that nervousness and embarrassment. God. I mean, how 
can I feel distaste for a man like that and still...and feel attracted 
to him at the same time? How hypocritical is that Scully? But I 
do. I...I don't enjoy feeling like a bigot - not to mention sexually 
confused. No kidding - Crap," he mumbles the last.
I look down at my feet and crush the nervous grin that suddenly 
threatens to jump to my lips.
"It...it makes me disgusted with myself," he grates out dismally. 
Any feelings of humor on my part fall by the wayside at the tone 
of despair in his voice. I look up at him and touch his arm 
gently. 
"Walter...I know you'll reconcile it all in your mind eventually. 
You're too intelligent and compassionate to do otherwise. If...if 
you ever need to talk about it...I just want you to know you can 
talk to me. Really. Like I said - friends are there for friends."
"I appreciate that Scully. My prejudicial attitudes are something 
I'm working to overcome. I mean that, really. And I am sorry I 
snapped at you in there. It was uncalled for," he replies.
His hand comes up and rests over mine where I'm touching his 
arm. He looks down at me and catches me looking up at him. 
For a moment we gaze into each others eyes. I'm struck with 
how brown his eyes really are behind those wirerims. They're 
soft, almost like soft, brown velvet - without a hint of hazel like 
Mulder's eyes. And he has long eyelashes. I never noticed that 
before either. I blink. My body is suddenly very warm all over.
Walter clears his throat, "Thanks Scully. Thanks for being so 
patient. Thanks for watching my back," he replies quietly. A 
shiver goes up my spine. Jesus he sounds like...he purrs just 
like a leopard...
"Apology accepted," I nod, struggling to regain my composure. I 
extricate my hand from under his, and remove it from his arm. 
My hand is shaking a little.
Walter levers up off the car's bumper and straightens his coat 
on his shoulders.
"We'd...we'd better get back inside so the guys don't think we 
ran out on them..." he grins at me a little.
"Good idea," I nod, swallowing as I calm myself down.
He gestures for me to proceed him and we walk back towards 
the gallery entrance.
xXx
Thursday, May 27, 1999 9:30 PM The Dean's Office. Mount 
Holyoke, College. Holyoke, Massachusetts.
Nice of Dean Randall to have a full length mirror in his office I 
think as I stand in front of it admiring the view. I turn around, 
staring over my shoulder at my reflection and come back full 
circle to study myself further. Jesus. Who'd a thunk it? God, this 
is so...strange. But it feels kind of...ok...I'll admit it I feel kind 
of...pretty! Yeah I look mighty fine.
Shit.
"Mulder, I have to admit - you don't look half bad," Sheila Reed 
giggles as I pull down on my skirt.
"Really? You don't think this is too short?" I ask squinting down 
at the hem of the Gap Jean skirt where it clings to my thighs. I 
almost stumble in the sensible heels the two women chose for 
me. That was some trick - the shoes. We had to go to a tall 
woman's shoe store that Sheila's best girlfriend shops at in 
Springfield to get them. 
Rita Manconen laughs, "Uh, Mulder you want it short. 
Remember?. We're looking to hook a pervert tonight."
"Uh, can we avoid using my name and the word *hook* in the 
same sentence please," I wince slightly. Jesus I do look like a 
20 buck blow job whore. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...
"Honey, you look fine," Rita advises, getting serious again, "Just 
adjust that wig a little and for God's sake, remember to keep 
that jock strap tight. That short skirt is going to show our perp 
your surprise package if you're not careful."
"Shit, I hope I've still got the gift by the time we've collared him," 
I grumble. The fucking strap and the pantyhose they bought to 
hold in Mr. Johnson are almost making me a castrato.
"Look at it his way - it's making your voice higher," Sheila wise 
cracks as if she read my mind.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I reply, smiling despite my discomfort. I 
give myself one last once over in the mirror. Oh baby these lips 
were made for lipstick weren't they? Whoa! I'm just a little 
worried I could get to like this look. God damn! Let's put that 
nasty little thought right out of my nasty white boy mind as Rita 
would say. I adjust the wig and walk over to the conference 
table the Dean has in his office. I'm rather proud of myself. I 
can walk in the shoes without wobbling. I've been practicing on 
and off all afternoon, with Rita and Sheila's instruction.
I pick up my Smith and Wesson and put it in the holster that's 
attached to the top of my skirt at this point. I have it slung 
cowboy style so I can fast draw. I'm wearing a jeans jacket over 
my white t-shirt to hide my weapon. I would have opted for a 
shoulder rig but it got in the way of the bra and false tits I am 
NOT at all used to wearing. None of us wanted my draw to be 
impaired in any way tonight. 
"So, I guess we're ready to rock and roll," I let out a long breath 
and turn to my fellow peace officers.
"Almost, Mulder. Let me check that wire one more time," Rita 
suggests.
While she runs her fingers over the devices attachment points in 
a business like manner, Sheila Reed makes a quiet exit from 
the office and into the outer reception area. The rest of the local 
Rape Task Force members are waiting out there. I have to 
thank the guys for being so polite. The locals have been kind 
enough to give me some privacy. The time I've needed to turn 
myself into *Foxy* Mulder - maniac bait.
Rita finishes patting me down and straightens up. She gestures 
for me to proceed her towards the door.
"Ladies first," she smirks a little.
"Let's hope *Luck Be A Lady* tonight," I reply tersely, setting my 
shoulders.
"Amen, baby," Rita replies with a quick nod of her head.
xXx
Thursday, May 27, 1999 9:30 PM Dragon's Roost, Crossroads 
Maine. 
"Ok, smack that thing," Phil laughs as Scully holds the bottle of 
champagne up high. She lifts it back, and up, and then she 
brings it forward with a mighty double armed swing. The bottle 
smashes quite spectacularly against the deck's railing. 
Champagne flies all over and she jumps back slightly laughing 
brightly.
"Whoa, good arm! Good arm, Dana!" Dennis congratulates her 
as he hands her a towel. She drop pitches the bottle up and into 
the trash bin Dennis and Phil have been using on the desk 
project. Phil goes for the uncorked bottle we're going to use in 
our celebration tonight where it sits on the deck in an ice bucket.
It's a fantastic, clear, mild ,balmy night and the deck is 
complete. We stood back for a few minutes to admire it's lines. 
Then we went for the booze. We've given it a true Naval 
christening and appropriately the champagne shower was 
delivered by the only Navy brat here. I smile at that thought. 
Yeah, after her lecture last night she qualifies for that brat 
moniker. Just like Mulder. But fuck it - I needed to hear her little 
speech. It...it gave me a reality check I think I needed right 
about then. Short and sweet describes Dana Scully in more 
than one way flashes errant, through my mind. I smile more 
widely as Phil comes over and hands me the other champagne 
bottle.
"What's this?" I ask slightly bewildered. It doesn't occur to me at 
first that he wants me to do the honors of uncorking it. I'm 
flattered and touched when I realize it.
"High class hootch, what do you think, WS?" he answers 
slapping the bottle into my outstretched hand.
I grin at him, "Oh, ok..." I reply. Then I mime pulling the bottle 
back over my head.
"You asshole," Phil laughs, "No, no no. Don't smash it. Uncork 
it, you big lug."
"Oh. Well, why didn't you say that then?" I mug for him. They're 
all laughing at me. I join in as Scully hands me the towel. I wrap 
the towel around the neck, and point the bottle away from them 
all. I pull the cork. It comes out with a resounding pop and quite 
a bit of champagne.
"Glasses! Now!" I laugh.
They all line up in front of me. Scully is holding two glasses so 
she's thought about me. I smile at her as I fill all the *cups*. She 
hands me my glass at the end. After we're all plied with liquid 
refreshment we start to walk down towards the beach almost in 
silent agreement. I carry the bottle along with us and we stop 
and sit down where the grass just borders the sand.
I set the bottle down next to me and we all sit there for a few 
minutes in companionable silence, sipping the champagne. It 
feels cool and tart on my tongue.
"Well, that's a job well done," Dennis says at last.
"Amen," Phil nods sagely.
"Indeed," I agree.
"Yes, sir," Scully grins.
We all look at each other then with bemused expressions at our 
self contained formality. Then Phil giggles and gets up.
"Yeeeeeeeee HAAAAAAAAW!" he hollers, grabbing Scully by 
the hands. He pulls her up and dances her around and then 
down onto the sand. Scully is laughing helplessly.
"You lead, you lead," Phil trills his laughter, and Scully takes 
over. They're dancing to no music at all and it's so 
fine...so...sweet. They look like brother and sister dancing on 
the sand. Like...like fraternal twins almost, except Phil is older.
I glance over at Dennis and his eyes are filled with love as he 
watches Scully dip Phil deep and then pull him back up. My 
heart flips with a mixture of pain and sheer joy. Pain from 
missing Fox, and joy that Dennis and Phil are so in love. And 
maybe, I realize, down deep, joy that Dana Scully is so 
obviously enjoying herself. Phil and Scully collapse in each 
other's arms, laughing and talking to each other. Dennis notices 
me looking at him.
"She's a hell of a woman, Walter. Fox is very lucky," he says 
quietly taking a sip of his champagne.
"So am I," I muse turning my attention away from him and back 
at the laughing twosome walking arm and arm back towards us.
When I look back at Dennis he has an eyebrow raised. Oh shit, 
yeah. I guess that didn't come out quite right, I think hastily. It 
sounded like I...like Scully and I...uh. No. Better clarify that 
point.
"I mean Fox and me. I'm lucky she understands about Fox and 
me." 
"Shit. No kidding," he nods in understanding.
"Yeah, Scully is a very understanding woman," I agree taking 
another swig of my champagne. I empty the glass and reach 
for the bottle as Phil and Scully return to our side.
"Listen, Scully and I have an idea," Phil says, breathlessly.
I'm filling my glass again as Dennis asks the obvious question. 
"Idea?"
"Yes. Phil was just telling me about that dance club you two go 
to in Derry sometimes...the Lighthouse?"
"Oh yeah..." Dennis starts to reply. I spill a little of the 
champagne over the edge of my glass at hearing the words 
*dance club* 
"Wouldn't it be great if we all went there and really let loose?" 
Phil is grinning like an idiot and squeezing Scully's waist, "I can 
just tell Scully's a great dancer. It'd be a blast."
"Oh, hang on..." I interrupt.
"Yeah, we should go to the Lighthouse. I could really go for 
bustin' a move myself," Dennis enthuses.
"I haven't been dancing in months," Scully continues. "I think it 
would be stupendous, don't you Walter?" she asks looking down 
at me. 
"Oh come on you guys, I'm whacked..." I blurt out.
God I can just see me at some loud gay dance club tonight. 
Piss on that idea. We're too old for this. All of us. Well.. Dennis 
and Phil are a couple of years younger than me but still...I'm 
tired and a little sore from hammering all afternoon. Now I just 
want to get hammered and crawl into the sack. And anyway, 
I'm still smarting from the last time I took a road trip to a gay 
dance club with Scully and Mulder. Christ!
"Oh not tonight, I didn't mean tonight," Phil assures me. "But 
come on, WS. You can rest up and we can go tomorrow 
evening. It would just be so much fun. I know you like to trip the 
light fantastic on occasion. Whadda ya say, big guy?"
I look up into his smiling, excited and enthusiastically flushed 
face, and what can I say?
"Sure, Phil. I should be able to drag my sorry, tired ass into *The 
Lighthouse* tomorrow night," I growl. When he pulls a dejected 
look, I reach forward and cuff his knee, grinning wide to let him 
know I'm only pulling his leg. He lets go of Scully and plops 
down on the sand next to me. He reaches over and gives me a 
swift peck on the cheek. I sputter. I can't help myself.
"Thanks WS. I...I...it'll be a lot of fun," he whispers. I look into his 
eyes. I can see it there. The nightmare is still heavy on his mind. 
He needs the diversion. He needs to get out and forget it as 
much as he can right now. Shit. Been there done that. Well if 
dancing like Mulder's proverbial dervish is what banishes this 
man's monsters as well, I'm there with him...for him. No 
question.
I clear my throat, "Yeah, it'll be great. I'll save the first dance for 
ya," I smile and lift up the champagne bottle as everyone looks 
on in awkward silence for a moment. "Anyone want some more 
before I suck it all down?" I ask raising an eyebrow.
Scully laughs and then so do Dennis and Phil. They all grab for 
their glasses and I fill up another round for all three of them.
Scully sits back down next to all of us and takes a sip from her 
glass. Then her brow furrows deeply.
"Oh damn," she exclaims taking the glass away. Her face 
changes to a look of bemused chagrin.
"What?" Dennis asks, his brow furrowing as well.
"I don't have a thing to wear to the club!" she blurts out. "I can't 
wear...I mean I don't want to dance in jeans. Damn!" she adds. 
"Oh...no problem," Phil giggles, "We'll just go...shopping!" he 
enthuses again.
"Oh could we do that?" Scully replies sounding for a moment 
like a school girl. She realizes what she sounds like though, and 
I smile as she reassumes her more tough Agent Dana Scully 
face, "I mean...that would be great. I noticed a couple of nice 
shops in Crossroads."
"Oh yes! We can go to *Gale Simon's Boutique". They have 
some marvelous dresses there. I bet you'd look smashing in this 
little green number I saw in their window about a week ago."
"Green? Oh yes, I could definitely go for green. What a 
marvelous idea," Scully smiles and takes another sip of her 
champagne.
"Oh. But I hope you brought your charge card, girlfriend. That 
boutique ain't cheap." Phil adds.
"Oh, I'm never without my Visa card, believe me," Scully replies 
laughing.
"Oh good. Hey, maybe we can look for shoes too," Phil 
bubbles, really getting into it now.
Phil and Scully are ignoring Dennis and I completely now. 
They've moved off into some kind of fashion zone discussion 
group all their own. I'm just staring at them, my mouth open at 
the image and content of this conversation. Dennis senses my 
befuddlement and chuckles, poking me in the arm. I turn to look 
at him. He gestures with his head at Phil and Scully.
"I told him he should branch out into fashion design," he grins at 
me.
I guffaw. Yeah I could see it. Phil really does have a flare for 
color and patterns. It shows in his pottery and ceramics. He's be 
a whiz at designing clothes too. Shit, the guy's so talented 
anyway. 
"Maybe they should go into business together," I chuckle.
"Should I mention the suggestion?" Dennis kids me.
"Fuck no. Mulder'd kill me if I lost his partner to some pansy 
dressmaker," I chortle loudly so Phil can hear the good-natured 
ribbing.
"Dennis he used the *P* word! I heard that you tight-assed old 
faggot. Just wait until tomorrow. I'm gonna rock and roll your 
fucked up fashion clueless butt big boy! You better have your 
charge card too."
I bury my head in my hands, shaking with laughter as Dennis 
slaps me on the back.
"Oh come on Walter it won't hurt. He'll be gentle," Dennis laughs 
at me.
"God! Shopping and then clubbing. You three are gonna owe 
me big time," I look up and groan with fake dismay.
Scully has her head down on her knees she's laughing so hard.
What the hell. It could be a lot fun. We deserve more 
celebrating over the deck anyway. And if it isn't fun...well I'm 
not going to let on I'm not having a good time at all. No - this is 
the new Walter Skinner. Mr. Congeniality. So, bring on the 
party. I'm your man, I think, as we all gather up our glasses, and 
the bottle. We get up, and once more, with silent assent, turn 
and head back towards the house.
xXx
Friday, May 28, 1999 9 PM. Outside The Lighthouse Dance 
Club. Derry, Maine.
We've arrived at the club a little early. Well so much the better. 
We found a parking place fairly easily as a result. I drove my 
Taurus rental to Derry. One of us should act as designated 
driver, but for some reason I don't think that's going to happen. 
I'll feel a lot less worried about taking a cab back to the house 
and leaving the rental on the street here then one of Dennis or 
Phil's cars. And Walter's rental SUV has "boost me" as Mulder 
would say, written all over it. Besides, Walter needs a bourbon - 
badly. So getting here early was optimum. I shake my head. 
God, I hope this isn't going to be a repeat of our night together at 
*The Boiler Room*. If it is, Walter's date is going to hail herself a 
cab earlier than anyone expects.
But to be fair he's doing his best to get it together. And I have to 
admit we all really did have a lot of fun this afternoon. Shopping. 
It's taken on a whole new meaning after going through a dress 
shop with Phil Meyers.
I love this dress. I did buy the green satiny sheath with the 
straps. Somehow we found shoes to match. God, I dropped a 
bundle on the charge card but...well I am on vacation. And this 
dress! It's...well let's just say Mulder's going to drop his teeth, 
ok?
I think Walter liked it too. If his expression when I came out of 
the fitting room was any indication the dress was a big hit, even 
with him. Dennis gave me a wolf whistle and Phil slapped him 
on the ass.
After I finished with my purchases we went in search of a men's 
store. The one we found was...a bit different....
Earlier...
"No!" Walter barks emphatically. "Not in a million years."
"Oh come on WS, try it on. It's going to look fabulous! Really. 
Don't you think so Dana? I mean it's understated enough for AD 
Skinner isn't it?"
I grin and nod. It really is a stunning suit and I have a feeling it 
will look exquisite on Walter. But...he's really balking, and I don't 
trust myself to reply without laughing.
"Sir, I think it will look magnificent on you. You have the height, 
physique and bearing to carry it off with aplomb."
"Yeah, right," Walter glares a the salesman who interrupts. The 
man holds out the expensively made, deep blue Italian suit 
towards Walter. It's a deep blue but the blue is iridescent under 
the lighting. The material looks like the deep blue of a tropical 
bird's head and it's not something Walter Skinner would ever 
think of wearing - as he said - in a million years.
"Dennis, help me out here, man," he looks forlornly at Dennis 
where he's leaning up against one of the stores pillars.
"Well, Walter to be honest - it's a great suit. Try it on. You never 
know. You might like the look," he shrugs, smiling sunnily at 
him.
Walter gives us all one last surly look and enters the fitting 
room, suit held out in front of him like it's a piece of forensics 
evidence.
When he comes out he's a sight to behold. To say he looks 
magnificent is a total understatement. He looks...royal. Walter 
saunters over and checks himself out carefully in the full length 
mirrored alcove next to the fitting rooms. He studies his 
reflection intently. He moves the suit coat around on his large 
muscular shoulders experimentally. Phil is staring at him like 
he's been hit with a hammer between the eyes.
"WS. If you don't buy that suit...you should arrest yourself for 
fashion crime. It's a knock-out."
Walter turns, and his face breaks into a slow, lazy grin.
"Yeah, I think this one's a keeper. Wrap it up, please. Oh, and 
can I see some shirts to go with it?"
The Present...
I'm glad he left the specs back at Dragon's Roost - and his 
Glock too for that matter. The contacts go so much better with 
his suit, and it fits way better without the bulge from his uh...gun. 
God! I have to stop that kind of thing right now.
It's just that...even though he looks a little nervous Walter 
Skinner looks...well he's going to turn heads in here. I'd better 
stick close in case some guy pinches his ass. Somehow I don't 
think Walter would respond to that kind of attention in the 
same...magnanimous fashion as Mulder.
Dennis and Phil are walking towards the club entrance, ahead 
of us. I fall into step beside Walter and wind my arm through his. 
He looks down at me startled for a split second and then he 
takes my arm.
"You look great, Walter. I'm not kidding," I smile up at him in 
reassurance. "Don't worry, this will be fun evening," I add.
"Yeah?" he asks a bit doubtfully, looking back at me carefully. 
"Yeah," he repeats with a smile and more confident nod of his 
head. I can practically feel him puffing up in the suit.
We walk on towards the door and his step is back to that 
confident AD saunter he does so well.
"You think Mulder will like this too?" he asks, glancing down at 
this lapels. Then he looks a me for a second, smiles and looks 
away. "He's gonna think he's died and gone to heaven when he 
sees you in that dress. Uh...I'm glad you didn't bring your 
weapon tonight," he adds quietly, "It...it would have spoiled the 
effect." He isn't looking at me. He's scanning the doorway 
ahead as Dennis and Phil approach it.
"I think Mulder's going to adore the suit. And thank you for the 
compliment, kind sir," I pat his arm.
"My pleasure, Madame. Shall we go *once more into the 
breach*?" he asks indicating the now open door Dennis is 
holding for us. I can hear the thump, thump, thump of the base 
beat coming out of the depths inside the old factory building. My 
blood starts to race.
"I'm ready for battle if you are, sir," I reply, smiling up at him.
"Yeah, I think I am. Let's do it," he chuckles and Dennis ushers 
us through the door into the thudding sound assault of the 
Lighthouse.
The club is crowded but not to capacity yet. It is early as I said. 
But the place is cavernous inside. It's just an old converted 
warehouse - one floor with three huge bars to one side of the 
space. There are some tables and even booth space along the 
walls. But the middle is a gigantic dance floor mostly. I can just 
imagine what this will be like later. The music is loud all ready 
and the strobe lights in play, but Walter seems to be handling it a 
lot better then he handled the scene at *The Boiler Room*. Well, 
of course that night was a lot different. I think he was pretty well 
close to the edge that evening. He's much more relaxed now. 
And I think he's making a big effort to handle it. We all decide to 
make our way to the bar first for drinks.
"I'm buying" Walter announces as soon as we reach the rail. I'm 
on his right side, Phil's on his left. Dennis is next to Phil and 
we've all got our hands on the bar in anticipation of ordering.
"Ok, the next round's on me," Dennis volunteers.
I order tequila and Phil and Dennis beer. Walter places his order 
for top shelf bourbon with the bartender.
"Yes, sir!" the bartender answers Walter, openly ogling him. 
See. I knew that suit would really attract attention. Well that and 
the fact he fills it out like a statue. God, does he ever look 
spectacular. Handsome. Oh brother. Down Dana, down, I think 
quickly, reaching for the shot of Cuervo Gold the bartender has 
placed in front of me. I'm going to need this to fortify myself 
tonight.
"I take it we're calling a cab to go home?" Phil queries with 
amusement.
"Yeah, they run late here, don't they?" Walter asks smiling as he 
drinks some of his bourbon.
"Yes, they do," Dennis replies taking a really healthy swig of his 
beer.
"Good," Walter smiles and nods. Then he clinks his glass 
against mine.
"Cheers, Scully."
"Skoal, Walter," I reply with relief, putting the shot to my lips. 
He upends the glass and I do the same with my shot. The 
tequila burns like liquid fire down my throat. Whew. Ok! Much 
better. We're just about ready to hit the dance floor.
The DJ changes gears. When we came in she had been playing 
some kind of German heavy metal group. Phil said it was 
*Rammstein*. I couldn't understand the lyrics but it wasn't very 
danceable. Now she's opting for The Puff Daddies. This is more 
like it
"Oh, I love these guys. They've really helped swing to regain 
some popularity!" Phil enthuses. Walter puts his glass down on 
the bar and puts his hand on Phil's shoulder.
"OK, Howdy. It's time for that dance I promised you, then," he 
grins. The look on Phil's face is so sweet I could just...well it's 
touching in a way. I think quite possibly Phil has a great deal of 
hero worship for Walter. At any rate, he's almost beside himself 
with pleasure that Walter remembered about the dance. That 
he'd want to dance with him at all. After all, this is swing 
dancing. Walter is going to have to touch him.
Under the circumstances of my earlier conversation with Walter 
this is a big step for him too. PDA - or close to it - with another 
man. My admiration for him goes up another notch. Of course, I 
could tell myself that he doesn't look like Walter Skinner at all 
this evening. Anyone would have some trouble recognizing him 
in that suit, without his glasses on a dance floor under banks of 
strobe lights. But that's a bitter and petty idea, and I can tell by 
the way he's taking Phil's hand in his that it's not on Walter's 
mind at all.
As Walter and Phil make their way out on to the dance floor 
Dennis turns to me.
"So, Dana, wanna dance. I'll warn you, I've kind of got two left 
feet."
"No problem. I can lead," I laugh, teasing him.
"Hey, why not," he laughs back, "I might learn some better 
moves," he nods stretching out his hand. I take it and lead him 
out onto the dance floor to join Walter and Phil
xXx
Friday, May 28, 1999 10 PM. Near the Student Center. Mount 
Holyoke College. Holyoke Massachusetts.
I'm standing under one of the campus streetlights holding a 
compact from my shoulder purse and looking at my reflection 
in the tiny mirror. Shit, I cannot believe I need to reapply this 
lipstick again. What the hell is it with my lips? They absorb the 
stuff or something.
This is my second night out. We've been at this since 8 PM now 
and no pervert. My feet are killing me and I don't even want to 
talk about how crushed my nuts feel. Christ. I gotta take a leak 
so bad my eyes are turning yellow. Just as I'm thinking about 
finding a...Oh sure...a ladies room...Rita's electronic voice 
hisses in my ear.
"Anything yet, Mulder?"
I whisper into the air. I know the mike will pick it up.
"Nothing. Listen I gotta take a piss, Rita. Where's the closest..." I 
can't say it. I just can't say it.
"Ladies room?" she volunteers helpfully. I can hear the male 
Task Force Officer with her in the surveillance van laughing like 
hell. 
"Is that Officer Murphy?" I ask with malice in my voice.
"Yeah, it's Murphy," Rita answers, peeved as well. I hear her 
asking him to can it. I smile.
"Tell him his grandmother's still peeling potatoes in Ireland" I 
offer with a wince. My bladder really does have to be emptied 
here. And soon.
Murphy is laughing harder, "Tell him his mother's as crazy as a 
whorehouse guard dog."
Well the guy isn't far off regarding Teena I think grimly.
"Hey, the nearest can please? I'm going to explode here in a 
second."
"Ok, Faber Hall right over on your left. The housemother will let 
you use her apartment bathroom."
"Thank-you!" I hiss into the mike. Man when we catch this perp 
I'm gonna shoot the fucker and ask questions later I think, 
putting the compact back in my purse. I readjust my now very 
tight pantyhose a little and head off towards Faber Hall in as 
lady-like a dash as I can manage.
xXx
Friday, May 28, 1999 10 PM. The Lighthouse. Derry, Maine
Scully comes back from the rest room looking a lot more fresh 
than when she went in. She danced with Dennis, and then Phil, 
and then Dennis again. I can't believe her stamina. I ended up 
doing back to back Puff Daddy numbers with Phil and I had to 
come back over here for some tonic water and a bourbon 
chaser. But hell it *was* a blast. 
That guy can dance. I knew Phil was graceful what with all the 
karate. But man, he can swing. He's out there with Dennis right 
now dancing to some number by a group I've never even heard 
of before. By this time the dance floor is packed with gyrating 
male bodies. This is a predominantly gay men's club. There are 
very few women besides the DJ and a few lesbians we saw 
earlier. No, for the most part the floor is crowded with men and 
Dennis and Phil are moving off into the thick of it, grinding 
against each other in passionate abandon.
I...I had to stop dancing with Phil earlier actually for pretty much 
that reason. The passion I mean. It was a little uncomfortable 
for me. Yeah, I got turned on. What can I say? So did Phil. I 
know he could feel my hard on. I could feel his too. I don't think 
he was worried or embarrassed about it though. He's a 
shameless asshole anyway. But I mean that in the best way. 
He's got guts and he makes no excuses for his life choice. I 
gotta admire his moxy. He's...ah shit...he's just a helluva guy. 
He was smirking at me when he knew I felt his cock bumping 
my thigh, though. But it was just teasing. He's so in love with 
Dennis he'd never take it here. And he knows I'm not looking for 
that kind of action with anyone but Mulder.
But still...I was a little embarrassed about that scene. It didn't 
feel right or proper with Dennis and Scully standing over at the 
bar watching us grind our bodies together. So, after the second 
number I guess maybe Phil had the same idea at about the 
same time. As I was bending to tell him I needed to go take a 
leak, he reached up, kissed me on the cheek and said, "I need 
some water, sugar pie," and laughing, sauntered off back to the 
bar. I was chortling laughter at the new nickname. I left the 
dance floor. I was hoping he wasn't going to mention that nick to 
anyone else anytime soon as I made my way to one of the 
men's rooms that were out in the lobby.
Now Scully comes back over to the where I'm braced back on 
the bar and watching the crowd. She orders another tequila shot 
from the bartender. Christ she can hold her booze pretty well 
too. But of course she's been dancing like crazy. She's probably 
burned the first two shots off by now.
"So, having a good time, Walter?" she asks, turning and leaning 
her back on the bar. The shot goes down without even a blink.
"Fuckin' A," I burp before I can help myself. Then I laugh.
"Sorry. I don't usually curse in front of a woman if possible." 
"Thank you for noticing," Scully smiles.
"For noticing?" I ask frowning a little.
"That I'm a woman," she laughs musically, setting the empty 
shot glass back behind her on the bar.
Oh yeah, I noticed. I've noticed that little fact since she came 
out of that fitting room in the boutique this afternoon. Jesus if I 
wasn't gay...I'd think...I...man I just think she looks gorgeous. 
A thumping techno beat starts up in the building as the DJ 
switches seamlessly to another CD again. Scully listens for a 
moment and then her face lights up.
"Oh God, I love this one," she enthuses looking around to see if 
Dennis or Phil are coming off the dance floor. Neither of us can 
spot them now. They must be deep in the crowd. I bend over 
and shout into her ear.
"What are they playing?"
"Voodoo People, by Prodigy," she answers starting to move to 
the beat. I look down and get a complete unobstructed view 
right down her dress. Oh muther...maybe it's time for another 
bourbon...
"Walter would you like to dance?" she looks up at me, her blue 
eyes flashing.
"Uh..."
"After all you are my date for the evening," she teases.
"Oh yes, that's right," I nod then, smiling wide, "Ok, sure. But 
this is a little different for me, so, be patient. And watch your 
feet," I laugh.
Scully smiles back and I place my hand in the small of her back 
in order to guide her out towards the dance floor through the 
crowd. 
Shit yeah. This song sounds like a sure route to a broken ankle 
for one of us. Well, what the fuck? I'll give it a try. I'm liquored 
up just enough to be loose, so maybe I'll avoid trodding on her 
feet. Lucky I am well booze fortified too. I think this is going to 
be some dance I tell myself as I watch Scully's ass moving 
ahead of me out onto the floor. I know I'm going to have all I 
can do to keep up with her. I've seen what this woman can do 
to Fox Mulder on the dance floor. I'm suddenly glad I'm in 
shape. That I don't have to worry about my heart I think with a 
wry chuckle.
We approach the first line of heaving bodies at the edge of the 
dancing mass of humanity. Does it seem the music is suddenly 
cranked up a notch? The din is almost deafening. I can see the 
sweating faces and forms of the first men in front of us and I 
start to think...maybe this isn't such a good idea...when Scully 
turns, takes my hand and yanks me into the fray. Oh Christ on 
a fucking crutch.... 
As we hit the dance floor some guy on the CD bawls out *Magic 
People, Voodoo* people and the crowd roars, surging hard all 
around us. Oh fuck here we go again. Jesus! There's not 
enough time to prepare...no time to...to...I... we start to dance. 
We have to move. It's move or be crushed. I shove myself a 
little closer to her as Scully starts to spin. My mind is telling me 
I'm doing it in case some bozo careens into her. But my body? 
Hell...I don't know what my body is telling me to do anymore. 
My bourbon soaked brain obviously isn't going to help tell me. It 
doesn't give much of a shit at this point. Scully is twisting 
sinuously in front of me and I feel compelled to reach for her 
body....to...I...I can't take my eyes off her. God, she's fucking 
unbelievable.
I...I don't think....I don't want....I don't think I want...to know what 
I think or want. The lights shine into my eyes and the 
stroboscopic effect disorientates me, making Scully's body 
twitch crazily before me. My hands reach out and they're 
caught in the same effect. I can't...take ...it looks like they've 
got a life of their own as I tentatively grip her waist. She's warm 
under my hands. Like liquid emerald as she moves, dipping and 
twisting, rubbing against me like a...like...she's...this is too much 
. Someone shoves me from behind...hard, and my hands 
convulse down further, onto her hips...and Scully grinds back 
against me as I'm thrown forward into her. I pull back, push her 
away, and she shifts under my hands as the music shrieks it's 
electronic atonality. The sound of the screaming music, and the 
sight of Scully's sensuous movements rock me to the bone. I 
gasp with the intensity of the sensations buffeting my senses.
Scully turns around in my arms and I see her face at last. Her 
eyes are closed and her mouth open and gasping, as she 
writhes in total abandon. Then she opens her eyes and I see....I 
know....I know....someone in the crowd slams into my back 
again and throws me against her. I groan loud with the contact. I 
grab Scully's hips tight.
All I can hear are the words. The songs words...and they're 
strangely, weirdly right on the mark...
The Voodoo 
Hoodoo 
What you don't 
dare do people
Dare to what? Dare to...dare to...dare to get the hell out of here. 
I have to get off this dance floor. I have to get off it right now!
Just as I feel like I'm going to totally lose it a hand taps me hard 
in the back. I turn my head to glance over my shoulder 
and...Thank GOD! Phil.
"Mind if I cut in, big man?" he yells into my sweating face. He 
smiles wide at me.
Mind!? Mind!? I've barely got one left, I groan inwardly.
"No, man, I'm gonna die out here," I yell back into his ear. 
"Please...be my guest..." I gesture towards the smiling Scully. 
She spotted Phil right away and I'm grateful she's glad to see 
him. This...it's just too intense now for me. I...I'm going to make 
another really embarrassing social error here - a really bad faux 
pas. I...I need another drink, I think, as Phil moves over and 
takes Scully by the waist. I take one look at him as he pulls her 
close and they start to bump and grind together. Man, that's all 
folks...I'm fucking out of here...I spot Dennis at the bar and 
head off over towards him. Christ I need a drink. I want to stoke 
up my courage, and beat back my conscience - and the 
memory of the last few minutes. Yes, sir. No question.
Later...
"Phil, that was great," I'm telling the red-headed ceramist as we 
leave the dance floor and head over to the bar. I want another 
shot. Yes I do! I need it right now, I think as images of Walter's 
sweating, muscular body moving against me play across my 
mind. Oh Lord. Maybe two more shots. I need something here 
or I'm going to embarrass myself to death. I should learn. I 
always get horny when I dance. For heaven's sake, even Phil's 
starting to look good right now and he looks enough like 
Pendrell to make that a very....disturbing thought. I nod. Yes, I 
should make sure Mulder is around to dance with from now on. 
It's more safe. No more dancing with men I can't jump in the 
sack with afterwards I tell myself woozily. There you go, I 
agree, rationalizing my feelings completely. Problem solved, 
Dana. 
"You can really bust a move Dana. I think you wore me out," 
Phil replies fanning his neck theatrically and mugging for me, 
"Come on I'll buy you another drink."
"You read my mind," I smile and we make our way back to the 
bar. 
I glance at my watch. It's almost 11 PM. I have a fleeting 
thought that maybe we should be going. But I'm having so 
much fun I shove it far back in my mind. When we reach the 
bar Walter and Dennis are seated there. They're talking and 
laughing. Walter looks more fresh. I think he must have gone to 
the bathroom and washed his face. He doesn't look as hot and 
sweaty at all. A bathroom break seems like a good idea. We 
come up in back of them and Phil sits down, grabbing a bar 
napkin to wipe his face. I decide to excuse myself for few 
minutes at that point.
"Phil would you order me another shot of Cuervo? I'm going to 
the restroom."
"My pleasure. Hurry back though. You don't want to miss 11 
PM tonight."
"Oh? All right," I reply agreeing to I'm not sure what, and I don't 
really care. As I hurry away I can hear Walter asking...
"Why am I afraid to ask what happens at 11 PM?"
When I return Walter is arguing with Phil. He looks half angry 
and half ready to burst out laughing at the same time. Laughter 
is rapidly winning out.
"No. I told you I wouldn't do it. So, you're gonna win the bet by 
default."
Walter is slurring his words just a trifle. He's had a lot of 
bourbon. Maybe my earlier idea about leaving wasn't such a 
bad idea. 
"Hey. Walter, I'm betting you will do it. Come on. Phil has to 
learn he can't bet against us and win for once. Whaddya say?" 
Dennis chimes in, egging Walter on to do whatever it is they're 
betting on. 
I come back over and sit down next to Walter at the bar.
"What are you betting on?" I ask picking up the shot that's 
waiting for me.
"We're betting that Walter won't get up and sing in the Karaoke 
contest at 11," Dennis answers, "Phil has bet he won't. I've bet 
he will. Walter is not cooperating."
"What's the bet?" I ask, tossing back the shot with a quick tilt of 
my head.
"50 bucks, cash money," Phil smiles blearily at Walter's 
frowning face. The AD is trying to keep up the serious front but 
he isn't succeeding very well at all. Laugh crinkles keep 
appearing around his eyes and mouth.
"I didn't even know you could sing," I lie. Mulder has mentioned 
it but I'm not supposed to know Walter likes to warble to 60s 
rock and roll.
"Oh I can sing all right. Damn straight," he growls taking another 
swig of his bourbon. He plunks the glass back down on the bar, 
"I just don't sing in public. At least not anymore," he adds 
cryptically.
I furrow my brow but before I can ask him what he means, 
Dennis interrupts.
"Oh man..." Dennis laughs, "I'm gonna lose for sure."
"Yeah. I told you he was too chicken." Phil laughs taking a sip of 
the beer in front of him.
I slap the shot glass down on the bar and all three of my 
companions focus instantly upon me. I reach down my bra and 
pull out my emergency 20 bucks. Ok, I figure these guys are 
good to borrow it back if I need it. I slap the 20 down on the bar 
and stare right at Phil.
"Here's 20 bucks more that says Walter Skinner is no coward. I 
think he's got the balls to do it. What do you say Walter? I ask 
looking over into his baby browns.
A slow grin spreads over his face. His head swivels over to pin 
Phil's eyes. He smiles even more wolfishly.
"You lose, Howdy. Show me the fucking mike."
xXx
Friday, May 28, 1999 11PM. Outside the Campus Library. 
Mount Holyoke College. Holyoke, Massachusetts.
"Checking in. See anything, Mulder?"
"For what seems like the hundredth time tonight I sigh and 
whisper into thin air in front of me.
"That's a negative Rita. Nothing. No one. No how."
"Well, it's a little early yet. This guy's been snatching them 
between Midnight and 3 AM pretty consistently. We may have 
had you out here a little too soon," Rita Manconen 
commiserates.
Oh yeah well so what? Number one I still needed practice in this 
get-up and number two I was anxious to try to catch this 
asshole. Number three...rapists are usually consistent in their 
MO, but this guy showed some leeway here. I think if he sees a 
likely victim an hour either way isn't going to affect him. But that 
isn't really very charitable. Rita wants to get our man as badly 
as I do. She was just trying to sound sympathetic.
"I could make a remark about eager beavers but I'll restrain 
myself," I hiss into the mike. Oh crap. That...what a really, and 
truly tasteless remark! Get a life Mulder. What an asshole. But, I 
can hear Rita and Sheila Reed as well as Murphy laughing in 
the background. Ok, I guess they took it for what it was - a rude 
joke made by an angry and tired peace officer. I hear them all 
chuckling for a few moments. So, the gangs all here I nod 
grimly. Now where's the damn perp? Something keeps telling 
me he should be here. This is it. This is the night.
I've deliberately placed myself on the more secluded side of the 
library. The one that's much less well lit. The side the Rape 
Task Force has all ready advised the college should have street 
lights added all along it. My entire presence is yelling *Come 
and get it dickwad. I'm a victim waiting here, buddy*. So where 
is the fucking idiot? Doesn't he know a beautiful woman is 
waiting to slap the leg irons on him?
Just as I utter my invective, I spot a man walking in the 
quadrangle directly across from where I'm standing. He hurries 
all the way past me, going out of his way to keep his face 
hidden. He practically jogs back around behind the corner of the 
arts building which lies right next door to the library. I watch his 
body language and I know. All the hairs on my body stand on 
end. It's him. I know it for sure
"Rita. I think the fish is eyeing the bait," I whisper.
"Where?" Rita's voice comes back over my ear piece, tight and 
intense.
"He just left my line of sight. He's gone behind the arts building. I 
expect he's working himself around behind me on the walk way 
here. I'm...I'm going to start walking away from the side of the 
building."
"That guy in the old Navy pea coat?"
"Yeah, he's overdressed for the weather. I think that's my Mr. 
Right."
"Ok, nasty man. Stay frosty," Rita hisses.
"Roger, honey chile."
My pulse is starting to race hard. I remove my gun from the 
holster at my side and hold it down in front of me out of sight. 
The safety goes off. I have to hope this asshole doesn't see it. 
From his profile I don't think he will. He comes up behind his 
victims, in the dark, and just before he presses the knife to their 
throats he says...
"Hey, baby, hold on a second I have somethin' to show you," 
the ski masked bandit chimes in right on cue. His hot breath is 
on the back of my neck. My stomach lurches. My lipstick 
glossy mouth quirks into a grim little smile.
I turn, gun up and my smile grows suddenly much, much more 
wide as I stare into the perps startled blue eyes.
"I'm not *your* baby, asshole. And I really got something I 
wanna show you..." I snarl, training my gun on his nose.
xXx
Friday, May 28, 1999 11PM. The Karaoke Contest. The 
Lighthouse. Derry, Maine.
The small portable stage is wheeled out onto the dance floor 
close to the bar. The microphone is in place and it's 11:05 PM. 
I'm drunk off my ass, and probably getting ready to make the 
biggest fool out of myself that I've ever made in my entire 
Godforsaken life.
I'm heading up with five other guys. All of us are drunk, and all 
of us are equally as...
Stupid. This is stupid...this is just completely and utterly idiotic. I 
mean I'm a 47 year old Federal Agent, an AD. A damn pencil 
pushing middle aged bureaucrat....not a 21 year old rock star 
wanna be. So I used to play the guitar and sing a little 
back...back during the war. So what? I haven't picked up the 
guitar in years. Oh sure I can sing. Not badly either. But not in 
public nowadays, and certainly not like this in front of...in front 
of everyone. Walter, what the hell is the matter with you? Come 
on...turn back around....I glance in back of me and see Dennis 
and Scully waving brightly at me. Phil's grinning like the village 
idiot and he lost the stinking bet.
Ah shit. I guess I'll have to go through with it. Ok. I'm going to do 
it. I know I'll never live it down. Never hear the end of it. What 
did I say to Phil? Payback's a bitch? Yeah, I should have seen 
this one coming. Getting old and slow. Old and...I put one foot in 
front of the other. I reach the stage. The DJ looks at me and the 
other guys standing there in front of her. Everyone is staring at 
her like dumb oxen waiting for the bang stick. I decide to be the 
first to speak.
"You have any ZZTop?" I ask hoping she won't.
"Yeah, I think we do," she smiles at me.
Doomed. I'm doomed.
Meanwhile...back at the bar...
"Didn't Walter ever tell you he used to sing and play guitar?" Phil 
is asking me as I watch Walter make his way towards the 
portable stage the club management has set up for the contest.
"Mulder mentioned he likes to sing. He thinks he sings well. 
But..." I laugh a little.
"But what?" Dennis asks.
"But Mulder's practically tone deaf," I finish with a wry grin. 
"Oh, no. Walter can really sing well. He used to belt it out with 
the best of them. In country, uh, in Nam, I mean. I was told 
about his singing. Then I found out the rumors were true. I heard 
him once when I was on leave. He got up and sang some Jimi 
Hendrix with this bar band. He...he was really good," Dennis 
adds quietly.
I look at him as he takes another swig of his beer. Phil hasn't 
been listening, he's been watching Walter make his way over to 
the stage as well. The look on Dennis's face tells me I'd better 
not ask him why Walter doesn't sing and play the guitar 
anymore. I think I may know the answer anyway.
"Look, they aren't going to put him on first," Phil interrupts my 
train of thought.
"Oh great, we're gonna have to sit through five drunken slobs 
belting out God knows what until we get to the good stuff," 
Dennis laughs ruefully.
I join him and we sit back and steel ourselves for the worst. And 
it is pretty poor. Each guy is worse than the next. Well one of 
them isn't too bad. He does a pretty passable imitation of Tori 
Amos. So far that was the best of the bunch. If Walter is going 
to have any competition at all, he's the man.
Finally, Walter takes the stage. He's removed his jacket and 
one of the other contestants is holding it for him. The white 
muscle shirt he opted to wear with the suit is clinging to his 
biceps as he takes the microphone from the DJs hands. I 
thought that shirt wouldn't look good, but now I realize it's 
stylishly simple and practical given the dancing we've been 
doing. Oh yeah, right Dana. Admit what's really rolling around in 
your head. You like the shirt because it just looks good stuck to 
his wide, wet, muscular chest. God.
He nods at the DJ and she signals for her assistant to crank up 
the sound. Now in Karaoke, it's music only of course. No vocals 
so the contestant is forced to sink or swim on the lyrics. The 
audience is forced to sink mostly tonight since the guys voices 
have been so off key. I hold my breath as the music cues up. 
And then I smile. It's ZZTop. Well, at least I know Walter can 
dance to them. Let's hope he can dance as well vocally as he 
can on his feet. The strains of *My Head's in Mississippi* reverb 
off the walls. Dennis and Phil start to hoot, and clap. Walter 
shuts his eyes, brings the microphone up close to his mouth and 
starts to sing.
I'm shufflin' thru the Texas sand,
but my head's in Mississippi.
I'm shufflin' thru the Texas sand,
but my head's in Mississippi.
The blues has got a hold of me.
I believe I'm gettin' dizzy.
Help me now.
The growl in unmistakable. He sounds just like oh, I can never 
keep those guys straight, I mean they all have beards and wear 
sunglasses. But it's ZZTop all right. Walter just 
sounds...he...sounds fantastic. I stare transfixed as he continues 
on. He's holding the microphone tight in two hands, pressed 
close to his lips. He doesn't so much work the stage as take it 
over by sheer power of presence. His face is transformed with 
emotion. The lyrics, despite their very real strangeness makes 
me shiver slightly and not for that oddness at all. I know from 
the expression on his face and the way he's holding his body, 
and even with his eyes shut, that it's not Mississippi Walter's 
thinking about as he sings. It's Louisiana. It's Baton Rouge. It's 
Baton Rouge even though the next verse says Memphis.
I keep thinkin' 'bout that night in Memphis,
Lord, I thought I was in Heaven.
I keep thinkin' 'bout that night in Memphis,
I thought I was in Heaven.
But I was stumblin' thru the parking lot
of an invisible seven eleven.
What was I doin' out there?
I doubt Dennis and Phil have caught the double meaning . 
They're yelling and clapping, shouting their encouragement. 
Lots of other patrons are joining in as well. Dennis and Phil 
probably aren't making the connection with Mulder, and Walter, 
and that trip to Louisiana. But I am. It's almost breaking my 
heart to see him pouring this out on stage now. And he *is* 
pouring it out. His eyes tightly shut. Voice raw and rough with 
the bourbon and his heartache. I can barely watch but I do and 
he takes it on home to the end...
Where's my head baby?
Somewhere in Mississippi.
Last night I saw a cowboy.
He was floatin' across the ceiling.
And last night I saw a naked cowboy.
He was floatin' across the ceiling.
He was mumblin' to some howlin' wolf
about some voodoo healin'.
Mmm Baby.
The crowd goes wild when he substitutes the word cowboy for 
cowgirl. I'm laughing too despite the fact I know who he's talking 
about and I also know it's half killing the man on stage that the 
cowboy isn't out in the audience tonight.
Dennis leans over and yells in my ear, "What did I tell you? Is he 
good or what?"
"He's good," I nod, looking out at Walter as he finishes up the 
song.
"He's won this hands down," Phil claps hard as the music fades 
out.
The crowd is on their feet, whistling, shouting and clamoring for 
more. The DJ comes up on stage next to Walter, taking the 
microphone from his sweating hands.
"Encore?" she asks Walter, pointing the microphone back at his 
face.
"Hell no," he growls. The audience cracks up and claps again 
even harder. The DJ nods in benign understanding, and then 
pulls the microphone away from Walter's half stunned face.
"Well gentlemen, I think we have our winner," she shouts, taking 
Walter's right hand and pulling his arm up into the air. The crowd 
goes wild.
As Walter gives a half smile, partly in pleasure, but mostly with 
relief the ordeal is over, we lock eyes across the crowd. His 
smile broadens just a bit more, and I nod my approval. I bring 
my hands up to clap with the rest of the teeming masses 
between us.
It's time to make an exit, Walter, I think. Time to go home while 
the getting's good.
xXx
Saturday, May 29, 1999 Midnight. Outside The Lighthouse. 
Derry, Maine
All I can say is I'm glad it's still an unseasonably warm night. 
Dennis, Phil, Scully and I are all damp with sweat, still drunk, 
and now we're cooling our heels outside The Lighthouse, on the 
sidewalk, while we wait for the cab I called about 15 minutes 
ago.
If it was any cooler out we'd be suffering from hypothermia by 
now. But as it is, we're all fine. Drunk as skunks, but fine. 
Hence the cab. No one can drive and we wouldn't even want to 
try. Scully's rental will be fine on the street. One of us can come 
back and get it in the morning.
I'm not thinking too straight - but I'm thinking clearly enough to 
know we had to call the cab and then wait out front for it. 
Beyond that I don't know and don't really care. I just want that 
quick half hour ride home so I can plunk my body into the pull 
out couch bed. I just wanna pass out and snore myself into 
blissful oblivion.
Tonight was intense. Wild. I'm not sure if I liked any part of it. 
Oh shit am I hallucinatory? A liar? Fuck...who am I kidding? I 
loved it. I loved every minute of it. Jesus, Scully...she....God. 
She was a lotta fun. Damn straight she's no Ice Queen. No 
fffuckin' way. Yeah, I really liked it all. Even the public display 
of my only half disguised ode to lust for Fox Mulder. Piss Up a 
Rope. Naked cowboy?! Good night. And of course Phil zeroed 
in on that one. Even though he might not have made the 
connection between Memphis standing in for Baton Rouge, he 
certainly knows why I changed the word cowgirl to cowboy and 
who my buckaroo is. God damn I wish Fox was here tonight. I 
hope he's doing ok. I hope he's safe. I...where is the fucking 
cab. I gotta ca...ca...cra...get some sleep.
xXx
Saturday, May 29, 1999 12:35 AM. Near Dragon's Roost. 
Crossroads, Maine.
I'm glad this is only a short cab ride. Mostly for the cabbies 
sake. He's a short, thin, wiry, 60ish African American man, and 
Walter is sitting in the seat next to him, his arm draped over the 
back of the seat, dwarfing the poor man as he grips the steering 
wheel tightly. Walter looks scary when he's sober but right now, 
with his eyes hooded from the bourbon and the shiny, dark blue 
suit he looks like a Mafia hit man. It didn't help our driver when 
he said he used to live in Pennsylvania and Walter flashed his 
teeth in a smile that said "Oh, the better to eat you with Lester 
from Pittsburgh. 
And poor Lester thinks he's got three crazy people in the back 
seat too. Phil and Dennis are seated on either side of me and 
I'm giggling like crazy because they're playing footsy with each 
other, and all over my feet as well. It tickles like hell and Phil is 
making it worse by whispering really ribald comments he wants 
me to pass on to Dennis. My mind is so unfocused I can't get 
half of them right, and I'm sure they're twice as raw by the time 
I've delivered them to Dennis's ear. Of course that sets him off 
and he's having a case of the giggling fits as well.
Lester is looking back in the rear view mirror like he's ready to 
call for the men with the white coats. I think I see him actually 
shut his eyes for a minute when Walter starts singing "Jesus 
done left Chicago..." from some other ZZTop song. I'm still 
laughing and I know I should stop and I...can't...and I don't really 
care.
Finally and gratefully for Lester, I'm sure, we're deposited at 
Dragon's Roost. Lester gets one more shock as Walter hauls 
out the wad of 20s - the 500 dollars he won in the Karaoke 
contest plus the bet money. He peels off a twenty and gives 
Phil a wicked smartass smile. Phil sticks his tongue out at him. 
Phil's clutching Dennis by the arm for support. Dennis is the 
most sober of us. I think he wisely slacked back on the beer 
towards the end of the evening. Walter adds an extra ten to 
Lester's hand and the cabby does smile at last. Well that should 
help him to forget this party of four I hope. Lester practically 
jumps back into his car and peels rubber as he accelerates 
away from us where we stand.
"Oh, I'm so hot," Phil croons, fanning himself again.
"Yeah you should be ya friggin' Howdy Doody," Walter barks a 
laugh, "You've been dancing half the damn night."
"Yes, I was dancing wasn't I? With you, and with Dana, and with 
Dennis," he smiles beatifically, and I laugh at him as he makes 
a little bow.
"Yeah, we should change your nickname to "Tinkie Winkie," 
Walter rumbles.
"That's Twinkle Toes," Dennis laughs.
"Whatever..." Walter shrugs in bemusement, and heads off 
towards the front porch.
"Hey, I don't like either one of those so...sobriquets," Phil 
stumbles over the words.
Dennis and I have started to follow Walter up to the house. I turn 
back to Phil.
"How *should* we address you, kind sir?" I ask him, smiling 
dizzily.
"You can call me Speed Racer," he hollers, giving an Indian war 
hoop. Then he turns and as drunk as he is, he starts to run full 
tilt towards the beach, and the dark ocean waiting beyond.
"What the hell? Phil?" Dennis yells after his retreating back. 
"Where the fuck are you going?" Walter asks as Dennis dashes 
between the house and the garage.
"Swimming!" comes his distant answer.
"Oh shit!" Walter exclaims.
"God, Walter, come on, he's going to drown his fool self."
"Christ on a crutch!" Walter swears.
He shakes his head, and then he starts off at a lumbering trot. 
At first he's moving rather like a large grizzly bear. But very 
quickly he's rolling fast, and Dennis is laboring to keep up. After 
a split second my brain starts to reengage, and I call after them.
"Wait, I can't run in these heels."
Oh right. Jesus. Like they're going to wait? I toe off the heels, 
bend down, pick them up, and then I'm running as fast as I can 
after their rapidly disappearing bodies.
As I'm running, I'm passing what I recognize as the clothes Phil 
was wearing. It's like a crazy Hansel and Gretel trail leading me. 
I pass the edge of the grass boundary between the lawn and the 
sand. On the first small dune I just spot what must be Phil's 
boxer briefs. I never did see his socks and shoes. Oh 
wonderful. I can just spy him now, up ahead, buck naked and 
sloshing through the surf. I almost slam right into Walter and 
Dennis where they've stopped dead in the dunes to watch the 
show.
"The idiot!" Dennis is half fuming, and half laughing.
"I don't think he's gonna drown," Walter advises. I stop to stand 
next to him and he glances down at my hand holding my shoes 
and smiles. I acknowledge the non-verbal compliment by 
brandishing the shoes and then dropping them onto the sand. 
Phil lets out another war cry.
"God, he must have the luck of the Irish, or the fortitude. That 
water has to be freezing," I laugh.
"Think so?" Dennis asks.
"Well, yes...ambient water temperature at this time of year..." I 
begin.
"Think I'll find out for myself," Dennis gurgles his laughter. 
Before either Walter or I can stop him he's practically torn off 
his outer clothing, thrown it all on the sand, and dashed into the 
surf after his lover. I'm thankful he's still wearing his boxers, it 
makes it easier to spot him, as he grabs Phil in a passionate 
embrace.
"Oh balls!" Walter laughs hard. "They are absolutely insane!"
"Well..." I look at him, my eyebrow raised.
"No fucking way," he shakes his head in amusement.
"Suit yourself," I smirk, and then I reach down for the hem of 
my dress.
"Uh, hey..." Walter gulps hard as I pull the dress up over my 
head. Yes, I am wearing underwear otherwise I wouldn't have 
done it. But I'm not wearing any pantyhose. I can almost feel 
Walter's eyes blazing over my skin as I give my own war hoop 
and run as fast as I can off over the sand. I can hear his 
muffled expletive as I run. 
"God damn, woman!"
I hit the surf and...OH MOTHER MARY IT IS COLD! The 
shock makes my nipples spring instantly to attention. It also 
serves as a slap to my drunk better than anything ever could. I 
can almost feel myself sober up more as I splash over to where 
Phil and Dennis are yelling and splashing each other.
"Dana! Dana!" Phil shouts at me. I'm trying my best not to look 
below his waist so I'm looking right in his face. It's because of 
that that I notice his eyes grow large.
"Dana!" Dennis is laughing like hell, "Watch out!"
Just as he utters the words something, no someone grabs me 
around the waist and hips and picks me up with one swing. It's 
Walter, stripped down to his briefs and roaring with laughter.
"Water's fine Scully! The waters damn fine!" he's laughing hard 
as he pulls me back against his chest. I'm clinging to him so he 
won't drop me, but I soon realize he won't do that at all. 
He's...God, he's strong. He carries me out a little ways into the 
water and then he slows. I'm stroking his chest, half 
unconsciously. I can feel his hands tighten on my back and 
thigh.
"Walter?" I ask him. I look up into his face and he's looking at 
me...and..."
His face shuts down on me so fast I barely catch it between 
blinks. He sets me carefully on my feet where I'm not in over 
my head.
"Watch for rocks," he murmurs quietly, just stroking my waist as 
his hands move away. He looks up over me and shouts at Phil.
"Hey, cover your assets, you moron, there's a lady out here," he 
yells. He looks down at me very briefly, "Sorry about that, 
Scully," he smiles a little again and just when I'm trying to 
decide just what he was sorry about, he runs off through the 
water towards Dennis and Phil.
Of course he practically drowns me in his wake. I laugh hard 
too then as the cold water slaps over my legs.
"Oh, you're going to get it now!" I yell after him.
Then I'm running, I'm running hard right after Walter. I can see 
his muscular ass and legs carrying him down the beach. The 
hard column of his torso and his broad shoulders and hard 
arms, sending him hurtling forward to reach Phil where he's 
egging him on up ahead. I think distantly that the cold water 
must have sobered him up as well. He's really barreling forward 
like a rushing wave himself now. It's quite the sight to see.
"Come on and make me cover up, you old fart. Bet you can't 
make me," Phil's taunting him, laughing merrily. Dennis is 
laughing too, and Walter is still running on.
I'm surprised I'm gaining any distance on him at all but I am, 
and I'm laughing too. He's....he's....we're 
almost...almost....there..... 
I don't think he even saw the rock. It was big but he never saw it 
jutting up out of the sand until he hit it head on and flew through 
the air to slam into Phil Meyers. Both men go down into the surf. 
Dennis is caught between a laugh and a yelp of concerned 
surprise. I scream before I realize it because both their heads 
have gone under water for a moment.
"Walter!" I scream.
"Phil!" Dennis echoes my cry of alarm
Phil pops up first a short distance away. He's sputtering and 
laughing, looking around for Walter.
"Christ! Talk about body surfing," he laughs. When he doesn't 
see Walter right away his face takes on a look of panic.
"WS!?" he shouts in alarm, "Oh Fuck! WS!?"
Walter surfaces practically right next to him. He rises up out of 
the water like Poseidon, water streaming off his head and torso. 
He gives a shout. It's not a shout of pleasure, however. I can tell 
from the look on his face that something is seriously wrong. Phil 
looks down in the water.
"Christ...he yells, totally serious, and sober in a flash. "Dana, 
there's blood!"
Oh Jesus. I push through the water, my mind falling instantly 
into doctor mode, Thank God. I'm not nearly as drunk as I was 
when I hit this water that's for sure and damn glad I'm not, I 
think, as I reach Walter's side. There is quite a lot of blood in the 
water.
"Walter, where are you cut?" I ask quickly. It's hard to tell in the 
dark if the blood is red or darker. Black would mean an artery. If 
it's an artery we're in deep shit here.
"My left leg. The calf," he replies tersely, huffing with the pain.
"What did you fall over?" Dennis asks, coming over, deep 
concern written all over his face.
"A rock, I think," he winces.
"Come on, help me get him out of the water," I hiss, using the 
command voice.
Phil and Dennis each shift to take a side, moving under Walter's 
arms. Phil is still naked but it doesn't even register with any of 
us. I run ahead as they walk, supporting Walter as he half 
stumbles out onto the beach. They half drag, half walk him up 
onto the dry area as quickly as possible and then set him 
carefully down.
I sit down next to his left calf and bend to look. I sigh with relief. 
It's not an artery. But it's bad enough. His calf is sliced almost 
from his knee all the way down to his ankle. The middle portion 
of the gash is very deep. At least 30 stitches I'd say. God. I 
know I don't have that much suture in my medical bag. If I'm 
lucky I have enough for 10 stitches.
Phil, get me Walter's t-shirt over there...and his jacket..." I 
gesture off to the left. I need something to apply pressure here 
fast, and something to cover him with. He's starting to shake 
from the cold water and shock. Phil scrabbles over the sand to 
grab the white t-shirt and suit coat. He scrabbles back handing 
both to me. I drape the coat around his shoulders and then fold 
the t-shirt and press it hard over the deepest part of the wound. 
Walter hisses slightly.
"Well there goes 39.95 down the crapper," he smiles grimly at 
the t-shirt.
Dennis tries to laugh but it comes out as a nervous squeak.
"With that wad of 20s in your pocket, I think you can buy 
another one," he shakes his head.
"Fuckin' A," Walter nods trying to avoid the pain with the tightly 
uttered curse.
"Dennis, go up to the house and call 911 right now. We have to 
get Walter to an ER. I don't have enough suture to stitch this up 
and he's going to need at least 30 stitches to close this wound."
"Christ," Phil breathes out a long sigh. He's been staring at the 
bloody t-shirt and breathing hard. I look up into his eyes and 
they're haunted. He's as white as a sheet. I would imagine blood 
doesn't bring many good memories back to him either.
Walter puts his large hand around the back of the red headed 
man's neck and pulls him closer.
"Stay hard, Phil. Come on, hold it together man. I've had a lot 
worse. So have you, soldier," Walter speaks to him soothingly 
as he holds their foreheads together for a moment. Phil's voice 
changes when he answers. When he speaks its with the 
strength born of survival in brutal combat.
"I'm with you, WS. What's the op?"
"Get your skivvies back on, soldier," Walter smiles at him and 
then Phil smiles back, touches his cheek, and leaves our side 
for a few minutes to retrieve his underwear.
Dennis dashes off the beach and toward the house.
"Dennis, bring my glasses, will you man! And my contact case!" 
Walter yells after him.
I look at him, eyebrows raised and his smile turns into a pained 
grimace as he answers me.
"If some ER intern is gonna sew me up, I wanna see what kind 
of job he's doing."
I laugh a little and he does his best to smile more widely back. 
By the time the ambulance arrives, Dennis and Phil and I are 
dressed again. I guess it's lucky Walter was in his boxer briefs. 
At least they won't have to cut off the leg of that expensive blue 
Italian suit. I fold the remainder of his clothes carefully and 
place them in the back of the ambulance. Then I swing in and 
the driver shuts the door behind me. It's a tight fit in the back 
with all of us crammed in. No one wants us to drive drunk. 
Especially the EMTs. I hold Walter's hand as the siren begins to 
scream and we pull away from Dragon's Roost on the way 
back to Derry, to Derry General Hospital.
CONTINUED IN PART 3...