Title: Skinner's Descent pt 2
Author: Batela
Rating: NC17 SK/Sh
Summary: CSM discovers Skinner's weakness and uses it to 
reel him in.
E-mail: batela@angelfire.com
URL: http://www.angelfire.com/mb/wsjournal/index.html
Note: I know that it's been a long time coming since part 1, but 
my writer's block is busted! A very big thank you to Holmes for 
her excellent slave-driver -uh I mean beta techniques.
***************
On his way home, Skinner stopped at a Ben and Jerry's. He 
had a craving for butter pecan ice cream. He knew he 
shouldn't, but... When he left the auditorium, Mr. Mulder was still 
taking questions from the audience filled with agents, instructors 
and students from the Academy. He sat on the edge of the 
stage in a very relaxed manner and pointed to people one at a 
time. Skinner had a feeling that Mulder would become the 
number one profiler.
Lying in bed a few hours later, he was still thinking about 
Mulder. Sharon turned over and burrowed into his chest. He 
wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head as 
she snuggled.
"Why are you still awake?" she murmured.
"Did I wake you? Sorry. I was thinking about the lecture at the 
Academy tonight." 
"Mmmm. Good one?"
"Very. An ISU agent. His parents actually had the audacity to 
name him Fox, Fox Mulder. He gave an excellent lecture on 
serial killers. He graduated from Oxford. His IQ is practically off 
the charts." 
Sharon chuckled.
"One mustn't develop a crush on one's subordinates." she 
smiled into his fur. Skinner gave her a playful swat.
"Impertinent woman." he informed her. She looked up at him, 
her brown eyes twinkling.
"And your point would be?" She took a nip at his chest.
"Under the covers." he said innocently.
Sharon could see his own dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
"Oh, really?" she reached under the sheets, her fingers 
deliberately trailing over his erogenous zones.
"So there is a point to all this. My my, Mr. Skinner, such a big 
boy you are."
Sharon tossed the covers off of them and ordered Walter not to 
move. 
"You're still healing. I'll do the work." and she proceeded to 
make her way down one side of his body and up the other until 
he was as taunt as a bow string. When he was completely out 
of it, she climbed over him, being careful of his stomach which 
was still a little tender. He could have given her a good roll 
around their bed, his gunshot wound was pretty much healed, 
but then he wouldn't have been able to lay there and touch her 
as she rode him to her own rhythm. He loved watching her 
orgasm, the way her face lit up, her little whimpers. She wasn't 
a screamer, something he was thankful for when she attacked 
him in her parents' home the last time they visited. Even after 
ten years of marriage, he still couldn't look her parents in the 
face knowing what he had done to their daughter the night 
before. His in-laws thought it was amusing and teased him 
about ravishing their only daughter. 
Sharon leaned down to kiss him as she slowly rocked on him. 
He let his fingertips trail up and down her back and over her 
ass, making her shiver. She buried her face in his neck, her 
fragrant hair covering his face. He could tell by the muscle 
contractions that she was just about ready to come. She 
seemed lost suddenly. Something had changed from the time 
he teased her into making love with him to this moment. Her 
energy had gone from playful to desperate.
"Do you want me to stroke you?" he asked her quietly. She 
nodded, unable to speak. He reached down between them and 
let his fingers find the familiar nub within the hot wetness. 
Sometimes when she was on top, she needed him to stroke her 
into completion. She came hard as he touched her just right and 
sat up, her head thrown back as she milked him dry.
When she caught her breath, she slid off of him and back to his 
side. Her hand trailed over his abdomen and stopped over an 
old scar that cut across his pubes; the visible reminder of why 
there were no children in the house. 
Skinner held her, kissed her forehead as he carded her hair with 
one hand.
"Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?" He needed to 
know if he was going to fix it.
Sharon shook her head.
"I don't know what it was." she whispered. "I was fine and then 
all of a sudden I felt like everything was ending."
Skinner felt a chilled finger brush his spine and tightened his 
arms around her. Unseen on the chair, Maggie opened one eye 
to glare at the light fixture on the ceiling and flicked her tail in 
warning.
************** 
Skinner spent most of the weekend helping Sharon fix up their 
offices before setting up the library in the living room against 
one of the walls. On Sunday, he opened his homework. He had 
taken a pile of folders home from work to start acquainting 
himself with the current cases. He'd have to dive right in on 
Monday morning; sink or swim, Walter. As he read over the 
updates, he couldn't understand how that Nazi ex-assistant of 
his, Gloria, expected him to take only 30 minutes with each of 
the Section Chiefs. He snorted and picked up his schedule 
book. Sixty minutes per SAC. If he was going to do this job, he 
was going to do it right. He made a note of a team that seemed 
to be lagging behind. He'd have them ship shape in no time at 
all or he'd know why. 
Sharon left him a sandwich and coffee on the desk but he was 
so absorbed that he didn't notice so she just shook her head and 
left him in peace. At least he was home and not out in the field 
getting shot at.
He wrinkled his nose over the next file. X? What kind of 
designation was X? Hmmm, unsolved. So why was it X and not 
U? He'd have to ask in the morning.
**************** 
"Someone has made a mistake." Puff.
"What are you talking about?" 
"Someone left an X-File on Skinner's desk. He wasn't supposed 
to see any of those yet." Inhale. 
"Which file was it?"
"Thankfully nothing to do with us, but that isn't the point. I will 
lead him on my schedule. I don't want any more errors. We 
have nothing to hold him with and until we do, he needs to be 
handled gently." Frown.
"We should bring him in anyway. Give him the patriotic bent." 
The English voice suggested.
"And if he doesn't go for it?" the husky voice said. 
"Kill him." Puff.
*************** 
The Breakfast was, well, interesting for the lack of a better 
word, in Skinner's opinion. His shoulder ached from all the 
friendly backslaps, he smiled and laughed at all the overused 
'youth' jokes while inside he amused himself by coming up with 
characterizations for the other ADs, DDs and SACs. Kersch 
was a rottweiller, Blevins a cow, Hollings a penguin; Hollings 
really didn't need another of those donuts, Skinner thought as 
he watched the man waddle around in his black suit with 
powdered sugar on his tie. 
Gloria was right about this, though, he thought. These people 
spent the entire breakfast discussing agents and anyone else 
who wasn't there. Skinner promised himself never to joke about 
women being gossips again. Advise was exchanged about what 
agents to assign to what cases, how best to reprimand an agent 
and who needed a dose of the silent treatment. A bit childish in 
Skinner's opinion, but he could see that he wouldn't last long if 
he didn't play the game. He refused to surrender the flag of 
inexperience to the old bats, he'd prove to them that he could do 
the job.
When he had been there for almost an hour, he felt safe in 
excusing himself. He got to his office and he discovered 
something he had forgotten in all the upheaval; he still had no 
assistant so he called down to the Pool.
He looked at the pink slips that littered his desk. Someone had 
left phone messages for him. He shuffled through them, most 
were from agents and SACs requesting time with him. A 302 
was under the pile and Skinner opened it. To his surprise, it was 
from Mulder requesting permission for himself and his partner 
Agent Fowley to research those questionable X-Files. Another 
folder contained a medical report. Regarding Mulder. This one 
was a recommendation that Mulder be transferred from ISU.
Not being a doctor, Skinner didn't understand most of the 
language, but the summary was that if Mulder didn't get out of 
ISU, the man would break. Skinner couldn't allow that brilliant 
mind to slide. He signed the 302 and filled out the paperwork 
reassigning Mulder and Fowley to Blevins. Patterson was going 
to birth a cow over it, but Skinner had a duty to the welfare of 
his agents.
By the end of the day, Skinner knew he was going to get bored 
really fast with a desk job and it's endless routine of paper-
pushing. Was this all there was to being an Assistant Director? 
He needed some excitement in his life.
**************** 
He stowed his briefcase in the trunk of the car and was about to 
get in the driver's seat when a voice stopped him.
"Mr. Skinner."
It was Mr. Smith with the usual cigarette hanging from his 
mouth. The man seriously creeped Skinner and he suppressed 
a shudder.
"Let's walk, Mr. Skinner." Smith didn't wait for a response, he 
just turned, expecting Skinner to follow him. Annoyed, Skinner 
did so, his dress shoes echoing on the concrete. 
They walked in silence for a block, past people hurrying to get 
home. It felt strange to Skinner to be going home so early in the 
day. 
"It was a mistake to allow Mulder to the X-Files, but it's too late 
now. Give him a few months and then reassign him again."
"What? Why?" Skinner turned to look at him.
"Because those files are a dead end; he's wasting his time and 
the Bureau's time, not to mention taxpayer's money." Smith 
took a deep inhale and released it. Skinner realized what it was 
that bothered him most about the old man -his face hardly 
showed expression.
"Don't we have a duty to those taxpayers to clear up those 
cases, give the families of those victims some peace?" Skinner 
frowned; he knew that if it was him, he'd want that peace of 
mind.
Smith just walked and puffed, people walked around him, 
somehow realizing that this was someone who deserved elbow 
room.
"It's in the past, Mr. Skinner, the families will only experience 
more pain and upheaval. You should be concerning yourself 
with the future."
Smith didn't elaborate and Skinner didn't quite know what to 
say. It never occurred to him that someone wouldn't want a 
question answered.
"Do you believe in sacrifice, Mr. Skinner?"
Skinner stopped and looked at him. More ambiguous questions.
"Yes, I do. We sacrifice everyday; our place in line, a seat on 
the bus, one person eats and another does not." Skinner said, 
gesturing with his hands, weighing one example next to another.
Smith snorted, smoke coming out of his nostrils like a dragon. 
"That's a little simplistic and idealistic. I'm talking about true 
sacrifice. Let's go for a ride."
Smith stopped and gestured toward a car that had pulled up 
next to them. The driver, a young man in his late 20's in black 
leather with dark brown shaggy hair and green eyes, looked 
bored. An earring glinted in the light of the setting sun. The last 
time Skinner saw a man that pretty, it was on a street corner in 
L.A.... He really didn't think Smith was the type to go for... that 
sort... but he supposed anything was possible.
Skinner got into the back seat along with Smith and the driver 
moved into traffic.
"Sacrifice, Mr. Skinner. When you went to Viet Nam, you were 
making a sacrifice for your country, were you not? You were 
willing to make the ultimate sacrifice just to keep your country 
free. Are you still willing?"
Skinner's brain began racing with half formed questions, 
suggestions and warnings. Red lights were flashing behind his 
eyes.
"I have a wife I'd like to get home to, Sir." he responded instead, 
trying to hide his nervousness. 
"And would you be willing to sacrifice for her? Would you go to 
war to keep her free and safe?" Puff.
"Yes, of course I would. What is this all about? Where are you 
taking me? People have been asking me weird questions for 
the past couple of months and yet no one has answered any of 
mine." Skinner's temper was starting to wear down with these 
ambiguous questions.
The driver muttered something in Russian; Smith frowned and 
snapped back at him. It was the first time Skinner had seen any 
type of emotion at all from Smith. It suddenly occurred to 
Skinner what the scent was that he had been smelling; Mr. 
Smith reeked of DOD, the Department of Defence. Skinner 
had a feeling that his country was about to recruit him. 
"Patience, Mr. Skinner, you will have answers." 
 
*************** 
The car left the city and flew past the open countryside, the 
odor de jour was bovine. Skinner didn't mind the smell, it 
reminded him of the farm his parents had when he was a kid. It 
was the smell of a healthy and fresh earth. He had a sudden 
memory of milk fights with his older brother while milking the 
cows so early in the morning that the sun wasn't even up; of 
haylofts and kittens pouncing on mice scurrying through the 
hay. There was frost on the grass and their breath showed in 
white clouds as they ran and laughed in the green Oregon 
meadows and forests. The cows looked on with boredom; 
humans spawned such strange calves. His brother had died in a 
car accident just a few years after that, along with their mother, 
leaving an eight year old Walter alone with his father. His father 
was a good man who taught his only remaining child respect for 
his fellow man, God and country along with a good strong dose 
of self-reliance. Viet Nam took away all vestiges of deity but 
Skinner still believed in defending the honor of his country and 
helping his fellow man. Fellow people, he could hear his wife 
reprimanding him with a shake of a slim finger. 
Man is a part of wo-man, he argued, and it's just a word for the 
general populace.
Wrong, she insisted, man is a diminished part of wo-man 
therefore man is lesser and woman is more. And women are a 
part of the general populace, too. That burst of female logic hurt 
Skinner's head so he tossed his hands up and let her have that 
round. Even Maggie had the nerve to grin smuggly at him. 
Traitorous cat. 
The car turned into a private driveway that seemed to appear 
from nowhere and continued for another couple of miles.
"We have a problem that has been deliberately kept from the 
general populace, Mr. Skinner. To make it public would only 
cause mass panic." Smith lit another cigarette and Skinner 
cracked open the window. Smith didn't seem to notice.
"I've seen the damage that a panic attack can do." Skinner felt 
the need to say something. Smith nodded and looked at him 
through a haze of smoke.
"I know you have, several times during your career. A bomber 
killed a busload of children because of one wrong word being 
said." Skinner wondered just how many of his old reports the old 
man had read. He hadn't even made SAC when that incident 
happened. One of his fellow team mates let a few wrong words 
slip to a reporter and the next thing they all knew was that it was 
being broadcast on the radio. The bomber heard it and killed 
himself along with twenty elementary school kids. Skinner had 
nightmares for weeks before he finally took Sharon's advice 
and went to talk with a counselor. Sharon said that if he couldn't 
talk to her about it, he needed to at least talk to someone who 
was getting paid to hear it. The shrink was on 24 hour call with 
the taxpayers money so he may as well put the money to some 
use.
"There are several countries around the world that are 
developing biological weapons, NATO's rules of warfare 
notwithstanding. Our only problem is that there is no evidence. 
Inspectors go in, but only after several months of negotiations, 
during which time said country removes the evidence. The only 
thing that we can do is to develop vaccines and cures. You 
know what kind of response the public would have to this type 
of information."
A large building came into view. It looked like a factory, white 
surrounded by a chain-linked fence. The car stopped at the 
gate. An armed guard in a Marine's uniform stepped out of the 
guard house and looked into the driver's window. The guard's 
mouth snapped shut, his face whitening as he motioned for the 
gate to be opened, all without a word being said. Skinner made 
a quick decision not to under-estimate pretty-boy behind the 
wheel. Marines don't scare easily. Pretty-boy grinned and 
snapped his gum.
"Alex! That guard must be in place with full confidence. Stop 
playing with him!" Smith reprimanded the driver with a frown. 
Alex waved a hand, unimpressed.
"I'm not playing with him. Dudley Do-Right there should have 
checked ID anyway, we could be anyone in camouflage."
Skinner found himself listening carefully, the young man had a 
soft voice with a slightly furry edge to it. He mentally snapped 
his fingers; that's what was bugging him. The driver -Alex- 
reminded him of a cat, the shape and color of his eyes, the 
turned up thin nose and now the voice.. Skinner had a feeling 
that this was a feral cat.
Smith continued to frown.
"Mmmm, you're right. Make a note of it and inform his 
superior." Smith seemed to see something that Skinner was 
missing. "No, Alex." he warned the young man, of what Skinner 
didn't know. 
"Alright, I can see your point about public response, but why am 
I being told?" Skinner said, regaining Smith's attention from the 
unrepentant driver. 
"You are in a unique position, Mr. Skinner. As Assistant Director 
in charge of Violent Crimes, you will have access to terrorist 
activities. We need you to keep watch on the various known 
groups and a lookout for new threats forming. Your desk is on 
the front line for information. The CIA and the DOD will stop 
most of the problems from entering the country, but once in a 
while, a slip occurs. That guard was a perfect example. Alex is 
right, we could have been anyone in disguise and yet that 
Marine let us through into a highly top-secret government 
facility with only one look from a driver that needs another 
lesson in civility." Alex shrugged, unconcerned. 
"I brought you here so that you can see what we are up against, 
Mr. Skinner, and why we need your help. I'll be honest, Mr. 
Skinner, the other members of the upper echelon at the FBI are 
all too set in their ways; they can't see the larger picture and 
they've forgotten what field duty is like. They're too political, a 
bunch of gossiping old fogies. They think in black and white, 
refusing to see the shades of gray. You're young, that can work 
for you, if you allow it to. You understand what it's like to watch 
the guilty go free on a technicality after you've worked hard to 
bring them to justice."
The car pulled up to the entrance and another Marine stepped 
up. He opened Smith's door and saluted. Smith ignored him. 
Skinner opened his own door and followed Smith into the 
building. Alex sauntered in behind them, taking his time. Skinner 
noticed that the guards kept out of Alex's way. Strange. He 
wondered in what way this young man was dangerous enough 
to scare Marines. Alex had broad shoulders, true, but he wasn't 
muscular, not even toned, which told Skinner that he didn't work 
out and probably didn't practice any of the fighting disciplines. 
Alex walked over to a water cooler and Skinner noted that he 
even moved like a cat, his shoulders remaining in place while 
the blades moved gracefully under the black leather. Alex made 
Skinner almost believe in reincarnation; the young man was 
almost certainly a feline of some sort in a previous life. He could 
barely make out the shadow of a black panther surrounding the 
young man.
Skinner also made note of this strange relationship Alex had 
with Smith. He was sure now that there was nothing improper, 
but still... why would someone like Smith trust in someone like 
Alex to drive him? Skinner had a feeling that Alex was more 
than a driver and probably even more than a bodyguard; he had 
that killer feeling about him. 
Alex turned and caught Skinner studying him. 
"Like what you see?" Alex asked him, returning the appraisal 
with genuine interest. Skinner flushed and turned away, rushing 
to catch up with Smith.
"Alexei!" Smith bellowed in exasperation and snapped in 
Russian. Alex just laughed, his white teeth gleaming, strong and 
sharp. 
"Forgive his bad manners, Mr. Skinner, he's excellent at his job 
despite his uncivilized nature." Smith apologized in an even 
voice. 
"It was my fault, I was staring at him. I was curious about him." 
"Hmmm. Curiosity killed the cat, Mr. Skinner and this one is 
wild. I wouldn't get too close, if I were you. I don't think he's had 
his rabies shots." Smith deadpanned. Skinner didn't think the 
man even knew what a joke was. Alex heard and snorted. 
"But I do like to be pet and stroked." he whispered to Skinner as 
he passed them by. Skinner knew that there was no way he 
was getting anywhere near those teeth and claws even if he 
was attracted to men, which he was most definitely not. 
They got into an elevator and Skinner nervously edged away 
from Alex and closer to Smith. Only a glare from Smith kept the 
young man in the back corner. Alex snapped his gum, his green 
eyes gleaming in amusement from beneath thick black lashes. 
Skinner knew his wife would kill for lashes like that.
The elevator traveled down in a smooth motion, Skinner could 
hardly feel the movement. They stopped and the doors opened 
into a wide expanse filled with overhead lights and state of the 
art technology. The room was blocked off from them directly by 
a plexi-glass wall. The people beyond the wall apparently didn't 
see their visitors so Skinner assumed that it was a mirror. The 
technicians moved carefully, some of them carrying obviously 
sensitive materials. Skinner could see several electron 
microscopes among the diagnostic equipment. He admittedly 
didn't know what the equipment was but he knew that there 
were quite a few zeros behind the dollars in this room.
"This is the main laboratory. The technicians are attempting to 
isolate several different types of bio-weapons. They've 
developed vaccines and cures for 6 so far; our soldiers 
overseas are already taking the vaccines. This way." Smith 
turned and led Skinner down another hall. Something buzzed by 
Skinner's ear and he brushed it away. He heard a loud smack 
against the wall and spun around to see Alex wiping his hand on 
a thigh. Alex shrugged.
"Just a bee, must have gotten in by accident."
Skinner missed the look Smith gave Alex.
"Excuse me, need to wash my hand off." Alex opened a door 
and took a set of stairs up.
Another few hundred yards down the hall, they came upon 
another plexi-glassed room. Skinner looked back from the way 
they came and took in the curvature of the hall. They were 
walking in a circular chamber. 
He looked into the new room and gasped. Hundreds of people, 
from elderly to small children, each with their own cot to sleep 
in. They were all black haired and olive skinned. Every one of 
them had some type of disfigurement from mild ticks to 
grotesque pustules. Some sat watching TV, reading, others had 
headphones on, bopping to the beat of whatever drummer they 
were listening to. An arts and crafts table was busy. Small 
groups played board games or card games, children laughed 
and ran through a playground in the far rear, a group of children 
of all different ages sat in front of a blackboard obviously being 
tutored in school work. To Skinner, it looked like a strange 
version of Little House on the Prairie. 
"They are all volunteers, Mr. Skinner. They've exchanged their 
captivity for their families safety while we try to find a cure for 
what their own countries did to them. They stay in here, 
quarantined. We don't know what the long term effects are, if 
any of the diseases are communicable. A couple of children 
that have been born in here, their bodies.. well, let's just say that 
some of the diseases are now spread genetically. The parents 
have been sterilized; willingly, of course."
Skinner could only stare in horror at the Dali scenery before 
him. 
"What country did this?" he finally managed to whisper. Smith 
waved his cigarette.
"Several different ones, mostly from the Middle East. Do you 
understand why this is kept quiet from the public?" Smith blew 
out a puff of smoke.
"Yes, Sir, I do." Skinner nodded his head. "Those people that 
don't run screaming in terror from these innocent victims, will 
buy up guns and anything else they can find, taking aim at 
these people or starting a militia and declaring war on the Middle 
East and whom ever else is even rumored to be doing these 
atrocities." He watched a mother bottle feeding her baby; her 
features misshapen, the baby perfect. The mother's milk would 
be poison to this tiny innocent.
Smith knew he could send back a positive report to the 
Consortium. Alex was right, Skinner's weakness was children.
 
**************** 
Skinner was dropped off at his car. Smith was astounded by the 
man's naiveté. All these years in the FBI, chasing down some of 
the filthiest criminals in the world, and Skinner was still viewing 
the world through rose colored glasses. He wondered how long 
he could keep Skinner dangling until the man started putting the 
pieces together. Hopefully, it would be too late for Skinner by 
then.
Alex glanced at Smith through the rearview mirror.
"Do you have a problem with something, Alex?" Smith asked, 
irritated. He didn't think that Alex's plan to 'shine Skinner on', as 
Alex put it, would work so well. Smith found it amusing that the 
man practically held his hand in terror while Alex openly flirted 
with him. The one habit that Alex had that Smith could honestly 
say that he disapproved of, had worked for them.
"No, Daddy-dearest, none at all." Alex responded snidely. Smith 
thought it was really too bad that the boy was too big to put over 
his knee. Of all his children that he had scattered around the 
world, -planting cuckoos, he called it- he had to get stuck with 
this half wild heathen. He knew that Alex could play the polished 
social butterfly when he wanted to but for some reason, Alex 
had been in a Hell's Angel mood lately. At least Alex was good 
at his job, which was the only reason Smith allowed him to 
continue to live. Now if only his eldest son would get with the 
Program... son number 2 here could learn a lot from his older 
brother. It was too bad that Number One son was raised by that 
self-righteous Bill Mulder... hmmm, how to cage a fox...
"Get your hair cut and get rid of that earring, you look like a 
tart." Smith ordered him, knowing that Alex was deliberately 
baiting him. Alex's white teeth gleamed in the setting sun. Smith 
wasn't sure if Alex was amused or if he was being sneered at. 
Sometimes even he was spooked by the young man.
**************** 
Skinner took the mail out of his mail box and absently sorted 
through it as he walked into the livingroom. Strange. One large 
manila envelope had no stamp on it nor a return address. He 
opened it. Newspaper clippings of AD Ward -running in the 
Boston marathon, participating in the Special Olympics, an 
AIDS walk for life, walk marathons for breast cancer, MS... at 
the bottom was a copy of Ward's latest physical proclaiming 
him as healthy as a horse just one month before the death 
certificate with the cause of death circled in red with a big 
question mark -heart attack?
Skinner stopped in his tracks.
On top of the bookshelf, Maggie growled and flicked her tail. 
Why did Dad smell like one of those bad men that invaded her 
home? 
END Part 2