Title: Giving Over (1/?)
Author: mlb
e-mail: mlb@ipass.net
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence
Category: S
Spoilers: don't think so
Keywords: Skinner/Other
Summary: 
Disclaimer: It would be a sad, sad commentary on our society if I could make 
money from this.
Feedback: Please (mlb@ipass.net)
Notes: This story talks about violence, murder, and other bad things.
If it would bother you, stop now.
 
 
The call came at 2:30 a.m., snapping me out of a semi-sound sleep. 
 
I grabbed the phone. "Rafferty."
 
"Report to 321 Pine Terrace. There's been another Dominatrix killing."
Lieutenant Judith Carl's voice sounded tired.
 
"Homicide's letting us have it?" I asked, startled, even as I rolled 
out of bed. In theory, we are on the same side, but there is an unspoken 
turf war between all police divisions. Homicide regarded itself as the 
icing on the cake and Vice as the nasty burned part no one wanted.
 
"It got handed over to the FBI a week ago. One of their agents has 
requested your expertise in Bondage/Domination matters. I was going to 
tell you in the morning, but you might as well hit the crime scene."
 
"Damnit, Judy," I muttered. We had become friends when we went through 
the Academy, more years ago than I want to think about. Judy was slightly 
ahead of me and had fast-tracked her way up the chain of command, although 
not fast enough for her. She was a Lieutenant now, in charge of the 
Vice Division. I wasn't nearly as amibitious and was happy as a Detective, 
out on the street. Although she outranked me, we didn't stand on protocol 
in private conversations. "That was three years ago."
 
"You're a legend, Deb. Move it. Oh, and the FBI will be there, so dress 
like a grownup."
 
Swearing, I hung up the phone and reached for a suit instead of my jeans.
 
-- --
 
I drove fast, jamming my hand through my short curly hair to semi-comb 
it at red lights. Despite my bitching to Judy, I had expected, though
dreaded, the call for several months now, since the killings had started.
 
DC's latest serial killer was a woman and had adopted a Bondage theme 
This was the fifth killing in six months. Her act was always the same: 
she would kidnap a high-powered man or woman and one or more of their 
family members or close friends. She would force her primary target to 
perform humiliating acts by threatening the others and would then torture 
and kill the victim, starting by mutilating the genitalia. 
 
We knew her procedure because she let the secondary victims live. 
 
I had seen the report of the questioning of 12-year-old Julie Simon who 
had watched her naked Daddy, a bank vice-president, drink urine so 
the woman in black leather and zippered hood wouldn't hurt her any more. 
Just to get Daddy's attention, the lady had slashed the upper curves 
of Julie's small breasts before giving him any orders. After she was 
finished, the lady had cut Daddy up while the terrified child looked on. 
"He tried not to scream," Julie sobbed. "But he...he couldn't help it."
 
I pitied the people who had questioned her and whoever was going to have 
to pay her therapy bills. Most of all, I pitied Julie, herself.
 
The other hostages in the killings had also been too traumatized to recall 
anything useful, like where and how they had been taken. She was drugging 
them somehow and then stealing their car with them inside. They woke up 
in her dungeon. After it was over, she drugged the hostages again, put 
everybody back in the car, and parked it in alleys or deserted areas 
of the city.
 
We also didn't have a description, other than approximate height and 
the fact she was Caucasion, because she dressed entirely in black leather, 
from zippered hood to spiked boots. She would unzip the necessary portions 
of her costume but that was all.
 
After the third killing, the FBI took over, but hadn't had any more luck 
than Homicide. They were now "trying innovative approaches" (grasping 
at straws) one of which, I suspected was my involvement. 
 
I had participated in a serial murder case that involved Bondage several 
years ago. A man had taken the role of submissive and then killed several 
Dominatrices for giving him orders. We caught the guy, with me making 
the actual collar, before the FBI got involved. In the process, I met
quite a few people involved in the lifestyle.
 
This was good on several levels: he was off the street, and I had a 
permanent passport into any Bondage "scene" in the country. Everybody 
in the lifestyle communicated (God bless the Internet), and they were 
all happy to help me when needed.
 
Even for matters that did not involve Bondage, they were a great source 
of information. What these people didn't know about vice hadn't been
invented yet. I sincerely hoped one of them hadn't gone too far.
 
-- --
 
I reached Pine Terrace, recognizable by all the blue lights, parked, and 
headed for the crime scene, flashing my badge at the uniformed officer.
 
He let me pass, but then I was confronted by a blond man in a dark suit.
He didn't seem at all impressed with my badge and snapped "Who are you?"
 
"Detective Rafferty. Vice." I said as politely as I could.
 
"Vice?" his lip curled in exaggerated distaste. "What are you doing here?"
 
"I asked for her," said a voice behind me. 
 
Blondie's eyes slid past me and narrowed. "I should have known."
 
A tall, dark haired man ambled up beside me and flashed a smile at my 
interrogator. "Yes, you should have. How have you been, Tom?"
 
He didn't wait for an answer, but spoke to me. "I'm Fox Mulder and this 
is my partner, Dana Scully."
 
"Deborah Rafferty." 
 
I nodded to him and to the petite woman who walked up beside him. Looking
at her, I sighed mentally. I'm 5'10" and big with it. Not fat, but broad 
through the shoulders and hips with D-cup breasts. A peasant type, I 
would have been great on a medieval farm, pulling a plow when the ox 
died. Medieval farms are in short supply, these days, and most men seem 
to want little waif-like girls. I'm told construction workers and Hell's 
Angels find me attractive.
 
I work out a good bit, so everything's in shape, and normally I'm 
reasonably comfortable with myself. I just tell myself that celibacy
is the only thing that makes sense these days. However, tiny, feminine 
Dana Scully was exactly the kind of woman who made me feel like some 
big, hulking brute. 
 
"This is Agent Colton," Mulder continued, grinning.
 
Colton looked as if he couldn't decide whether to scowl or sneer. "What 
are you doing here, Mulder?"
 
"We've been assigned to the case as well, Tom," Scully spoke up. "Some 
occult elements have been reported."
 
I was impressed. Scully's voice was firm and decisive, and there was nothing 
flirty in her manner. Apparently, she didn't trade on her looks or her 
size. Or maybe she just didn't like Colton.
 
"Occult aspects?" I asked. "I haven't heard about those." Since I 
wasn't on the case and didn't want to step on toes, I only knew what I'd 
read in the papers.
 
"I've got a file for you to look at. It's got all the pertinent information."
 
I thought the matter was settled, but Colton wasn't finished yet. "You 
haven't explained what *she's* doing here," he said, jerking his head at me.
 
I decided I was tired of him addressing me in the third person. Being 
nice and professional hadn't worked out. Time for plan B. 
 
I stepped in close to him, invading his personal space slightly. He was
about 6 feet, a little taller than me normally, but I was in low heels. 
We were eye-to-eye.
 
"I'm an expert," I said in my deepest voice, "in Bondage and Discipline."
 
Colton's eyes widened. He didn't back up, but he wanted to. 
 
Mulder's grin widened, and even Scully's mouth twitched.
 
I backed off. "Are the techs done?" I said in a normal tone of voice, 
nodding toward the parked car that constituted the crime scene.
 
"Looks that way," Mulder said cheerfully. We headed for the car, Mulder
gesturing Colton to lead the way with an elaborate sweep of his arm.
 
-- --
The corpse was in the front passenger seat of the car. The techs had gone
over the driver's area with special care, but if this crime scene was like the 
others, nothing would be found. Whoever Diva was, she knew how to avoid 
leaving trace evidence.
 
That bothered me. Most people think they could clean an area enough to 
avoid detection, but it's hard in reality. Her ability spoke of 
specialized knowledge.
 
An ambulance was pulling away as we walked up.
 
"The other victims?" Scully asked.
 
Colton still didn't want us to play in his crime scene, but he couldn't
refuse a direct request. "Parents of the main target."
 
Scully winced. It must be bad to see your kid go through that when the
urge to protect even a grown child was strong. Not that I'd know, not
having children.
 
One of the other agents came up brandishing a notebook. "We got something 
a little different from the father."
 
Colton looked irritated that Mulder, Scully, and I were getting to hear 
this, but waved him to continue.
 
"He says he heard something hit the roof, then hit the ground a few seconds
later. Too long to be a first-floor roof. Her place is at least on the 
second floor of something."
 
This was the first clue we'd had to the location of her dungeon, but it 
didn't help much.
 
I looked in the car window at the main victim and started.
 
"That's Isabelle Crandall," I said in shock, "with the DA's office."
 
"You know her?" Mulder peered in beside me.
 
Isabelle had been a pretty woman with black hair and sharp cat-like 
features. Her personality was sharp too. She was a demon in court and
the terror of the DC police for her requirements before she'd prosecute. 
She annoyed me too, sometimes, but she did keep me on my toes in evidence 
gathering. No one went to Isabelle Crandall without a rock-solid case.
 
Now she was gone and she had not gone easily. I could see dried blood 
from the cuts on her body and face. Her lower legs were dark with blood 
that probably came from her vagina. There had been one other female victim
before Isabelle and she'd died with a knife jammed to the hilt inside her.
 
"We worked together a few times." Mulder glanced sympathetically at me,
but I was only vaguely aware of him as I looked at Isabelle. I'm sorry, I
thought at her. We'll catch her and I'll have the case so tight, she
can't get away.
 
We couldn't see anything else about the body. There were no defensive 
wounds as there hadn't been for the others. The threats to the loved
ones kept them from fighting.
 
"The cutting isn't what killed her," Scully remarked, "Except maybe the 
wound to her lower body."
 
"No." I answered. "That's done sometimes in Bondage. You may see a 
pattern to the cuts when you autopsy."
 
"Nothing's been reported with the other bodies," Scully mused. "I didn't
conduct those autopsies. I'll do this one and get back to you. We'll get
all the photos for comparison."
 
Colton looked nauseated. "They *cut* people?"
 
"It's done consensually," I explained patiently.
 
Colton gestured at the car. "You aren't saying that this was consensual,
are you, Detective Rafferty?" He sounded like he wanted my badge for
daring to know about such perversion.
 
"No, I'm not." I was irritated but didn't have tiime to play his little 
games. "Which makes me think these killings may not be linked to Bondage."
 
"Really?" Mulder looked like he could have stood there in the alley all 
night and discussed it. 
 
Scully nudged him. "The briefing?" 
 
"Oh, yeah. There's a briefing at 10:00, tomorrow," Mulder said "in our AIC's
office." He handed me the file. "You should probably look over this. We'd
really like to hear your opinion."
 
He had an earnest, hanging-on-your-every-word look that a lot of women 
probably found very attractive, although I don't think it was deliberately
seductive. Me, I wanted to pat him on the head rather than screw him.
Boyish didn't do a lot for me desire-wise.
 
Colton muttered something like, "I bet you would." and huffed off.
 
I waved goodbye to the idea of more sleep. "I'll be there." I looked
at the vanishing Colton. "I hope I didn't go too far." 
 
Mulder grinned. "Colton's probably going to go home and hide under
the bed." He leaned slightly toward me. "Me, I'm used to it."
 
I headed for the car, hearing Scully's indignant "Mulder!" behind me.
 
-- --
 
Title: Giving Over (2/?)
Author: mlb
e-mail: mlb@ipass.net
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence
Category: S
Spoilers: don't think so
Keywords: Skinner/Other
Summary: 
Disclaimer: It would be a sad, sad commentary on our society if I could make 
money from this.
Feedback: Please (mlb@ipass.net)
Notes: This story talks about violence, murder, and other bad things along
with the fun Skinnerotica stuff. If it would bother you, stop now.
 
 
I spent the rest of the night reading the investigation file and scribbling 
notes. Transcripts of interviews that had been conducted on some of 
local Dominatrices infuriated me. I was more polite when speaking to 
hookers who had just robbed a john for a crack fix. Their dislike 
and disapproval of B&D had shown through in the questioning, bringing 
out the seventh-grader or repressed Puritan in everyone. 
 
Their attitude didn't upset me in itself: I wasn't interested in Bondage 
either and had never understand the attraction even after all my exposure. 
However, it wasn't my business what people did as long as it remained 
consenusal/legal.
 
All of the transcripts noted the subject's lack of co-operation. Big 
fucking surprise. Looking at the questions, I decided I owed a few 
women lunch for not killing the agents.
 
Neither Mulder nor Scully had conducted any of the interviews. I wasn't 
surprised as they struck me as being too professional to have been involved 
in this fiasco. In fact, they had only been brought in this month, due to 
a witness's report of a pentagram painted on the killer's floor; the
'occult element' which I was fairly sure was a false lead. I knew a 
bit about occult matters too (Vice covers just about everything) and there 
were no other signs of it. She probably painted the pentagrams on the 
floor as an extra scare factor.
 
I was becoming more convinced there wasn't an actual B&D element either. 
I didn't know every player in DC, but I knew a lot of them, and they were 
good about sharing information with me. I had received several tips 
about people, both men and women, who liked to play too rough for one 
reason or another. These had enabled me to head off potential problems 
by paying a friendly visit. 
 
Dragonfly, for example, had been abused as a child, and when she got deep 
into a scenario, she tended to envision her sub as her father. While this 
gave her a chance to work off some issues, it wasn't too good for the sub. 
I managed to persuade her to get counselling and find something else to
do for a living, pointing out that if she committed murder after the 
warning, a jury wouldn't buy an insanity defense.
 
This kept injuries down, which was good for me and for the scene in general.
Death was bad for business. People liked danger, but usually didn't want
to be killed.
 
-- --
 
I shared most of my findings and hunches with Lieutenant Carl that morning 
before heading to the FBI briefing.
 
"So, you don't think you'll be involved for long?" she asked.
 
"Nah. I'll be back investigating massage parlors and adult video stores 
before you know it."
 
She didn't smile. "Stay with this as long as you can. It could bring you
to the attention of the right people. Maybe a recruitment offer."
 
"I don't *wanna* be a Fed," I whined exaggeratedly, but Judy still didn't 
smile. She worried a lot more about my career than I did.
 
"Don't screw around here, Rafferty," she snapped. "I'm looking out for 
you the best I can, but you have to help yourself too."
 
I stared at her. Judy's tension had been rising for almost a year, 
as she struggled with brass, citizenry, and other officers but she'd 
never lashed out at me before. We had always joked with each other. 
"I wasn't aware I was screwing around, Lieutenant," I said angrily 
"and I don't remember *asking* you to look out for me."
 
"Oh, God, Deb. I'm sorry." She closed her eyes. "You weren't. I know 
you don't need my help."
 
She opened her eyes again and I could swear there were tears in them. "I
just don't want you to get stuck in a dead end like me. You can do better. 
Nobody's...nobody's against you."
 
"Who's against you?" I asked cautiously. I hadn't heard of trouble lately.
 
"Who isn't?" she said bleakly.
 
"Judy, I like being a detective. I'm where I want to be." I paused, 
trying to figure out what to say. I knew she resented her current position, 
wanting a higher rank or more prestigious division and didn't understand 
why I didn't want the same things. 
 
"If you're this unhappy, maybe you should think about making a change," I
offered lamely.
 
"I will. I'm trying to already, actually." Suddenly she seemed like 
her old self. "You need to get to that briefing. Watch out for Fox 
Mulder though." She shook her head. "I wish somebody else had requested 
you. He has a bad reputation."
 
"He seemed all right to me. His partner too."
 
Judy grimaced. "The poor woman's basically his baby-sitter. He chases 
UFO's for some reason."
 
"I guess somebody has to," I shrugged.
 
At the door, I glanced back at Judy. She was already looking down at the 
reports on her desk, although I don't tbink she saw them. "If you want
to talk about anything...." I started.
 
She smiled. "I'm ok, just extra bitchy this morning. I'll rip off a 
lot of wallpaper this weekend and work some tension off." Last year, 
she had purchased a large dilapidated farmhouse which she was renovating.
 
"Sounds like fun."
 
-- --
 
I tried to put Judy out of my mind as I approached the Hoover building 
although her talk about people being against her worried me. I didn't 
know of any enemies, but she was capable of manufacturing some. 
 
Judy was smart and political, but she was also sensitive and took setbacks 
personally. Her swift rise through the ranks seemed to have stalled and 
her increasing irritability showed how much it chafed her. She didn't 
see it as a temporary pause but as an overwhelming obstacle put in place 
by people who were against her, probably because of her sex. I believed 
in feminism too, but there were enough real problems without adding more. 
 
If I messed up with the FBI, it would only add to her stress, I told 
myself. I checked in with the guard and headed for the conference room.
 
I met Mulder and Scully in the hall. Both were in FBI regulation suits:
Mulder's black (although his tie had pink mushrooms on it) and Scully's 
dark blue. Mine was gray, which went ok with my dark auburn hair and 
gray eyes and seemed to fit the FBI funereal code. It was also one of 
the only two suits I owned. If I joined the Feds, I'd need a new wardrobe.
 
It was about 5 minutes before the meeting was scheduled, and the other 
agents on the team were already seated around the conference table. 
Colton was wearing an "I will be polite if it kills me" expression. 
Then, I forgot all about Colton as I saw the man who sat at the head 
of the table. 
 
Black eyes, with a flare undimmed by the wirerimmed glasses as they met 
mine: a thin-lipped mouth that I suddenly wanted to feel on my body: 
huge shoulders that could make even me feel dainty: long fingers that 
made me weak-kneed with associated images: all the parts came together 
into one image that hit me like a wave.
 
I was reminded of lines from romance novels I had devoured as a teenager:
 
"She desired only to surrender herself to the power and strength that 
surrounded him in a palpable aura." 
 
"His dark, brooding eyes bore into her soul, creating a throbbing in the 
core of her womanhood."
 
Throbbing core was a pretty accurate description. I couldn't remember 
ever having been this affected by a man. Somehow, I got to my chair 
without tripping over my feet, feeling his eyes on me as I sat down. 
Thank God, I wasn't sitting next to him, but further down the table next 
to Scully and Mulder. 
 
"Assistant Director Skinner, this is Detective Rafferty from DC Vice,"
Scully said. Unbelievably, she sounded perfectly calm, as if she weren't
addressing the best-looking, most intimidating man I'd seen in over a year. 
 
"Thank you for coming, Detective" Skinner said curtly. 
 
He had a great voice too, deep and growly. I forced myself to meet his 
eyes at least somewhat calmly. I could feel myself blushing, but I
hoped everyone would put it down to being nervous at meeting with FBI 
agents or to the heat in the room.
 
"Sir," I said briefly, determined not to giggle or otherwise sound 
idiotic. Stop it, I told myself. Why would a man like that be interested 
in you when he has Scully to look at? He's probably got a crush on her.
 
His eyes held mine a second longer, then he looked back down at his papers,
his mouth tightening down. "Let's get started."
 
-- --
 
To my relief, my hormones calmed down as the meeting progressed. Talking
about serial killers would (or should) chill anyone's desire. Nothing 
much was added to what had been in the file although some of the local 
Dominatrices' alibis had been established, which was a relief.
 
Scully had autopsied Isabelle, meaning she hadn't had any more sleep 
than I had, and slid the photographs down to me.
 
"The other autopsy photos are in there as well." I studied them, turning 
off my nausea and pity for the subjects. They were beyond my help, but 
maybe I could keep anyone else from joining them.
 
Looking up after a few minutes, I realized everyone else was waiting 
for me. "I don't immediately see a pattern." I said. "I'll need to go
over them some more, but it looks like she's just slashing them up."
I directed my remarks to the table at large, including Skinner. My
brain had been engaged, so I could suppress the attraction and address 
him as a colleague.
 
"Last night, you said you weren't sure this had anything to do with 
Bondage," Mulder said. "Do you still feel that way?"
 
"From the victims' reports, it has *something* to do with it," Skinner
commented dryly.
 
"She's using certain aspects," I said carefully. I felt embarrassed to
talk about this in front of him, but the information was important. 
"Her outfit, her equipment, the initial acts she makes the victims 
perform, are all part of Bondage, but anybody can get the information 
or materials. It doesn't mean she's part of the scene."
 
"What scene?" Colton asked. He was scribbling away on a pad, and I felt a
slight warming to him, since he was obviously interested in what I had 
to say. 
 
"The Bondage community. You can buy all the stuff she's using from stores, 
catalogues, or the 'Net. You can't limit your search to people who are known 
to be into Bondage and Discipline."
 
"There's plenty of candidates there," Colton said with distaste. "God, 
some of the people we talked to...."
 
Scratch warm feelings. 
 
"They adopt a persona for customers," I said, annoyed. "It's what 
they're paid for. If they sensed your disapproval, they probably started 
playing with you. It's called 'Freaking the Mundanes' and shows they 
don't care what you think."
 
"Despite your or my opinion, Agent Colton," Skinner said coolly, "their 
practice is legal and doesn't indicate criminal activity in and of itself.
All of you should remember that in your investigations. Concentrate on
the physical aspects, verifying alibis and so on, and don't let yourself
become distracted." 
 
"You will admit, Detective Rafferty" he continued, suddenly pinning me 
with his gaze. "That it only makes sense to use the "scene" as you call 
it as a starting point? If you have a problem remaining objective due 
to your involvement with these people, I need to know now."
 
Jesus, where did that come from? "I can remain objective, Sir" I said
stiffly. I wanted to add "As long as you can, Asshole" but swallowed it. 
If they kicked me out, I wouldn't be able to ensure no one was accused 
because people didn't like what they did. To be fair, Skinner stressed
that as well, but the public reprimand put my hackles up. 
 
"Then please continue with your presentation."
 
I went through the basic B&D introduction that I gave new Vice members who
would work that area: what to look for, signs that anyone was 'playing too
rough', etc. Normally, I try to infuse the talk with a little humor, because
it's embarrassing if you aren't used to it, but I was too angry. 
 
I kept my voice carefully neutral, and I didn't focus my eyes on any one 
person for long. My eyes are normally gray, but when I'm very angry, 
they turn silver. It's obvious and I'm told it's scary.
 
I was aware I was overreacting, but I couldn't help it. My initial
attraction to Skinner made his reprimand worse, as if he'd rejected me 
on a personal level. Stupid, but there it was. At least, it killed 
the attraction. The only thing I now felt for AD Skinner was a desire to 
deck him.
 
I also felt more sympathy for Judy. I was used to a compatible boss who 
listened to me and didn't pull rank. Even if we didn't agree, we remained 
friendly. If she had to deal with this all the time, no wonder she got 
touchy.
 
I finished up by suggesting a search for sudden orders of dungeon
equipment, racks, etc. If she was recently established, she had to get
the stuff from somewhere.
 
It was quiet for a minute, then Mulder suddenly said, "It's all about power."
 
I thought that was pretty obvious, but he went on. "Not what you said,
Rafferty, but what the killer's doing. She's exercising power over people
that would normally have power over her."
 
We all waited to see where he would go with this. He looked around the table. 
"Whoever she is, she feels powerless in her everyday life."
 
When nothing more was forthcoming, Skinner handed out assignments based 
on the discussion. I was to re-interview the women who had already been
cleared to see if I could get any more information. A work area in the
Hoover Building would be set up for me.
 
Whee. My two suits were going to get a workout.
 
As we were leaving, Skinner called me back. 
 
"Your presentation was very helpful, Rafferty. I think your input will 
be useful in this investigation."
 
He wasn't apologizing, but I had the feeling he was trying to reach past
my anger. He seemed almost nervous, hands in his pockets and his feet 
shifting minutely side to side.
 
It struck a chord deep inside me, but I didn't yield to it. Despite my 
anger, I was too attracted to trust my reactions. "Thank you, Sir," I 
said politely but coldly.
 
Immediately, his spine stiffened. "That'll be all, Detective."
 
I turned and walked out, closing the door behind me.
 
-- --
 
Title: Giving Over (3/?)
Author: mlb
e-mail: mlb@ipass.net
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence
Category: S
Spoilers: don't think so
Keywords: Skinner/Other
Summary: 
Disclaimer: It would be a sad, sad commentary on our society if I could make 
money from this.
Feedback: Please (mlb@ipass.net)
Notes: This story talks about violence, murder, and other bad things along
with the fun Skinnerotica stuff. If it would bother you, stop now.
 
 
I spent the rest of that week and the next re-interviewing the women in 
the local Bondage scene and checking with some of the male Doms. Mulder 
was deep in profiling and there were no fresh corpses to autopsy, so 
Skinner paired Scully with me on the interviews, probably to keep me 
'objective'.
 
Any anger I might have felt at this treatment was neutralized by my
growing liking for Scully. I was still uncomfortably aware of how her 
delicate prettiness compared to my own height and build, but I had to 
admit she didn't take advantage of her size or looks and remained 
completely calm and professional even during the interviews.
 
The Doms and Dominatrices didn't do anything too outrageous out of respect 
for our former association, but it would have been out of character for
them to behave entirely. Scully met their mild teasing with a deadpan 
expression and a refusal to be outraged which caused them to drop the 
behaviour when they realized they weren't going to have any fun with her. 
 
Jolene, a honey-blond Southern belle who liked to wear hoopskirts and 
open-nippled corsets in her sessions, saw us to the door with "Ah'm glad 
the FBI sent someone with manners this time instead of that cock-suckah 
that was here before."
 
Since Scully and I both knew that Colton had originally interviewed Jolene,
we carefully didn't look at each other until we reached the car. Then, we
spent about 10 minutes in the parking lot laughing ourselves silly and
repairing the resultant makeup damage.
 
Despite the increased co-operation, we didn't get anything new out of the 
interviews. No one knew of anybody new in town. No one was acting any 
weirder than usual. Other agents reported in with confirmation of 
additional alibis, which sent us on still more interviews with equal lack 
of success. Whoever the killer was, she was well-hidden or she wasn't 
talking to anybody else in the scene.
 
This seemed to confirm my initial suspicion that the killings were not 
really related to Bondage. I was glad we could be reasonably sure the 
killer wasn't somebody I knew, but the lack of progress was frustrating. 
No one else had been killed, but there was a strong feeling that it was 
only a matter of time. 
 
The interviews took slightly more than a week, and after Scully and I 
wrote up the reports, I expected to be sent back to Vice. Skinner, 
however, had other ideas. 
 
-- --
 
I hadn't seen him except in passing since the initial briefing. Sitting
across his desk from him, I watched him leaf through my report and mentally 
dared him to say anything about my objectivity. Scully had already been
dismissed, but Skinner requested/ordered me to remain.
 
Aside from the tension of waiting for whatever he wanted to say, I was 
also distracted by a re-appearance of the attraction that had gripped
me at our original meeting. Skinner's suit coat was neatly hung on
a coat tree in the corner of the office, and his white shirt didn't do
anything to conceal the width or hardness of his shoulders. He probably
had to order his clothes custom made.
 
I felt frumpy, hot, and miserable in my other suit (beige), especially
since Scully in a cream-colored suit had looked cool and delectable as
an ice-cream cone. I imagined every straight man (God, I hoped Skinner 
was straight!) in the Hoover building had a crush on her.
 
I didn't belong here. I wanted to hang out on street corners, bug pimps 
and investigate illegal strip clubs. I wanted Judy, who commented on 
reports as she read them and didn't leave you sitting there braced for 
disaster.
 
Skinner closed my report, folded his hands, and looked coolly at me. 
"As I said, everything appears to be in order. Your Lieutenant has 
agreed to my request that you remain here for some time longer to continue 
assisting with the investigation."
 
I groaned inwardly. Judy was trying to help my career, but I wanted to 
go home to the precinct. I was going to have to buy a new suit: I was
pairing suit blazers with slacks and suit pants with other tops.
 
I was also surprised at the request. Given Skinner's expressions when 
he saw me, I would have thought he couldn't wait to send me away.
 
"Sir?" I frowned. "I thought Agent Scully's and my report indicated that
there was no real Bondage connection."
 
"That may be so. However, I believe you could still provide additional
insight." His eyes suddenly hardened. "Do you have a problem with that, 
Detective?"
 
Oh, shit. "No, Sir."
 
"If you don't feel you can handle working the investigation," he 
continued icily, "I can withdraw my request."
 
I'd had enough. I came to my feet, leaning forward over his desk, 
invading his space as I had Colton's. "Instead of serving as your 
Goddamned punching bag whenever you're pissed off? Oh, no, Sir, 
this is way too much fun to stop now."
 
I scowled down at him. "You've been riding my ass since Day One."
 
Skinner drew a quick breath and his eyes darkened as he opened his mouth
to speak. However, I was in no mood to let him interrupt. "There's 
nothing wrong with my objectivity and asking a question does *not* mean 
I can't handle the investigation. As for withdrawing your request, do 
whatever the hell you want!"
 
I headed for the door, boiling with fury, too angry to care about the 
consequences. If I got in trouble, so be it. Judy would have tossed
him out the window by now.
 
"I apologize."
 
I would have sworn nothing would have stopped me, but that did it.
 
Breathing hard, I turned and stared at him. Skinner came around the 
desk towards me, stopping a few feet away. "I agree. I've been unfair 
to you since you since you joined the investigation. I apologize for it.
It won't happen again."
 
I was too stunned to come up with anything more intelligent than, "Uhhhhh, 
OK," but that seemed enough.
 
"I feel that you have something to offer, Rafferty. Will you stay?"
 
He stood quietly, waiting for my response. God, how could anyone refuse 
anything he asked in that soft voice? His eyes, fixed on mine, weren't 
black and cold anymore, but a soft melting brown. The combination of 
eyes and voice slid over my nerves like a silk sheet, turning my knees 
to water.
 
"I'll stay," I said in a voice that I didn't recognize.
 
"Good." He actually smiled slightly, softening his eyes still further. 
 
I smiled back at him, cautiously, relieved that whatever the problem was, 
it seemed to be over, and found I couldn't look away. We stood and 
stared at each other as seconds ticked by. I felt my smile fade and 
my face turn hot. If I didn't get out of here, I was going to orgasm
while standing in the middle of the man's office. 
 
Skinner's eyes bored into mine as if asking a question. He raised his 
hand slightly and for a moment, I thought he was going to touch me but 
he dropped his hand back to his side. 
 
As if embarrassed, he turned quickly back to sit at his desk, pulling some 
papers toward him.
 
"That will be all, Rafferty. We'll talk later."
 
-- --
 
The confrontation with Skinner stayed in the back of my mind the rest 
of that week. With anybody else, I would have thought my attraction
was returned, but I couldn't believe that a man like that could be
attracted to me. 
 
I had always been a big awkward girl, although eating correctly and 
working out had dealt with the weight and co-ordination problems. 
I was used to thinking of myself as unattractive, so the few times a man 
had reacted to me sexually, I hadn't known how to respond. 
 
With most men I was 'one of the guys'. We went out, each paying our own 
way, saw movies, and ate pizza. I heard a lot about their problems with 
other women, but none of them seemed to regard me as a woman myself. That
was actually fine with me, as it saved me from extra heartbreak.
 
My last "boy/girl" relationship hadn't ended well and the closing fight
had been fierce. The only reason he hadn't hit me is because he knew I'd 
beat the shit out of him before arresting him. He had compensated by 
commenting on my looks, how he thought I would have been more grateful
to him for bothering with someone like me and so on. I knew I should 
have chalked up his remarks to anger, but on a certain level, I'd 
believed him. After that, I'd retired from dating to nurse my ego.
 
Now, Skinner seemed to be interested in me, although I found it hard to 
believe, and I had no idea what to do about it. I knew what I *wanted*
to do about it, but there was no way I'd have the courage.
 
I was a firm believer in the ostrich approach to life, so I decided to 
ignore the whole thing and focus all my attention on my assignment. I 
*was* confident in my ability at police work.
 
Mulder and I went over everything I knew about Bondage and how it might 
tie into the killings. He was *very* interested, even beyond what was 
required for the case, and I was glad Scully had gone with me on the 
interviews. Even Jolene would have had Mulder for lunch and she was 
among the gentlest of the B&D'ers.
 
I read over all the reports, crime scenes, and victim profiles again. 
Beyond Simons and Isabelle, they were Marian Cannon, a reporter (known 
as 'Loose Cannon'); Sam Wilkerson, a retired judge; and William Talbot, 
a college professor.
 
About 10 years ago, Cannon had done a series on police corruption that 
had put her in the running for a Pulitizer, but I had never even heard
of the others. There didn't seem to be a connection between them; at
least not a current one that would have made them targets of the killer.
 
By late Friday night, I was out of ideas and sitting in my Official FBI 
Work Area, about half the size of my cube at the precinct, monitoring the 
main B&D chat room. I had been there for several hours and felt tired and 
cramped although I had my feet on the desk, my blazer over the chair back, 
and the sleeves of my rose-colored shirt rolled up. I normally didn't
wear this shirt, which my Mom had bought, as I thought it a bit fussy, but
I was getting down to the dregs of my clothes.
 
I carefully tilted my chair and stretched hard, arms over my head and
back arched. I leaned my head back, rolling my neck to loosen the 
muscles there. When, I straightened my neck and opened my eyes, Skinner 
was standing next to my cube, staring at me.
 
Although he jerked his eyes up to mine almost as soon as I saw him, he 
hadn't been looking at my face originally, but at something a little 
lower down.
 
I couldn't consider that as it deserved because he scared me so badly 
I jumped and grabbed at the desk to try keep from flipping over backwards.
 
Skinner caught my chair in a move so fast I didn't see it and pulled 
me upright. He remained standing next to me, one hand on the chair back, 
the other on my desk.
 
"Are you all right, Rafferty?"
 
"Except for my pride," I joked feebly. I wanted to die of embarrassment.
His leaning over me didn't help.
 
Skinner backed away slightly. "It's my fault. I startled you."
 
"You're working late," he continued, then squinted at the computer screen.
"What *is* that?"
 
I laughed. "The primary B&D chatroom. It's a slow night. Right now, 
they're discussing the merits of different kinds of dog collars."
 
Skinner watched the discussion for a moment then said, "Are you expecting
to get anything out of this?"
 
"Unless somebody confesses on-line, I doubt I'll get any insight from the
discussion. I'm no profiler."
 
"You've never done that sort of work?"
 
"Only in a minor sense. Like, if I wanted to hide illegal porn tapes 
in my apartment, where would I put them?"
 
"Maybe Agent Mulder could help with that."
 
It took a minute, but I realized that Skinner had made a by-God joke.
I stared up at him disbelivingly. He gave one of those tiny, I'm-not-
sure-I'm-allowed-to-do-this smiles, and I grinned back. Suddenly, I
realized that along with the desire he caused in me, I actually liked him.
 
This revelation was shattered by a loud growl from my stomach. Oh *good*,
Deborah, I thought. Maybe you can continue to impress him by picking your
teeth with a knife or something.
 
Skinner said, "I was just leaving for the night." There was a very long 
pause. "You said you didn't think monitoring the chat room was going 
anywhere. I was going to get something to eat. Would you like to come?"
 
There was a longer pause while I felt even my ears turn red. This doesn't
mean anything, I told myself. He's being polite. I didn't believe it 
though. Even I couldn't doubt the signals. Skinner was attracted. The
only question was what was I going to do about it.
 
Actually, it wasn't a real question. "Sure."
 
-- --
 
Title: Giving Over (5/?)
Author: mlb
e-mail: mlb@ipass.net
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence
Category: S
Spoilers: don't think so
Keywords: Skinner/Other
Summary: 
Disclaimer: It would be a sad, sad commentary on our society if I could make 
money from this.
Feedback: Please (mlb@ipass.net)
Notes: This story talks about violence, murder, and other bad things along
with the fun Skinnerotica stuff. If it would bother you, stop now.
WARNING! This is where we get into the violent stuff. It's not as dark
as some stuff out there, but it's dark for me, so be warned.
 
Late the next week, Walter sent me back to the precinct. I agreed with
the decision: I had given all the help I could on the serial killer case,
and it was sort of a strain seeing Walter at work. I kept wanting to 
crawl in his lap during briefings or give him an affectionate pinch on 
the ass when I passed him in the hall. 
 
For our second date, Walter had invited me over to his apartment while 
he cooked supper for me. However, after I described my work-related
fantasy, his eyes got a little wild, one thing led to another, and we 
almost broke his kitchen table and had to order out for pizza.
 
Monday morning, I was happy to be back at the precinct, as the rough-
and-tumble of the Vice Squad suited me better than the quiet formality
of the Bureau. I noticed that the piggy bank that I kept on my desk for 
vending machine quarters had been replaced by a much larger one, since, 
other members of the squad kindly informed me, I was used to bigger pigs now.
 
The only problem was that Judy was tenser than ever. She gave me a
strained smile as she put me back on rotation, and that was the only
smile I saw for two weeks. The door to her office was closed, not open
as it had been before. There were sharp meetings between her and most 
members of the squad. People were requesting transfers. The rumor mill 
reported that a firestorm of a meeting had occurred in the chief's office.
 
I tried to get her to go out with me and talk, but she insisted she had
to work. "I have to keep on top of it, Deb," she muttered. "They're just
waiting for me to fail."
 
"Judy, no. That's not true," I insisted. "Come to supper with me. A 
gallon of chocolate ice cream and two spoons. We'll have a major bitch 
session."
 
She shook her head stubbornly. "I can't now." She caught my eye. "Soon.
Everything will be all right soon. Then we'll go out."
 
Two weeks after I'd been back, on a Wednesday, she called me into her 
office.
 
"I talked with AD Skinner about the paperwork from your transfer," she 
said, twisting her pen in her fingers. "Arrogant bastard. I never 
asked, but was he ok to you? He didn't expect you to get coffee or 
anything, did he?"
 
"There wasn't a problem once we got used to each other," I said, carefully. 
Skinner's a little uptight, but he's like that with everybody."
 
"I'd expect you to say something like that," she snapped. "You find 
something good to say about anyone."
 
"Not everyone. There's Agent Colton." I tried to lighten the mood, but
Judy, scowling, wasn't having any. "People don't bother me that much," 
I shrugged. "I try to let most things roll off me."
 
"Meaning I don't." Her eyes glittered. "I thought you were on my side
at least, but I guess I was wrong, Detective."
 
"What side are you talking about?" My anger at the accusation was swallowed 
by my increasing worry. I felt as if I were watching Judy fall from a 
cliff and was powerless to catch her.
 
"You're dismissed, Rafferty."
 
I left her office and dropped into my seat. Steve, a tall, scrawny cop,
who could rival Scully for hair redness, looked over my cube wall.
 
"She eat your ass too?"
 
"You could say that."
 
"Man, I don't know." He scratched his mop of hair. I counted at least 
four earrings in one ear. "She's been on a three-week PMS kick or
something. Lieutenant's gonna get busted, if she's not careful."
 
Judy and I had always been there for each other, from the Academy on. 
I'd helped her study: she'd shown me exercises that increased my 
agility as well as my strength. She'd helped me with self-confidence: 
I'd kept her from shooting off her mouth to the instructors.
 
Now, Judy was in some dark place where I couldn't reach her. I felt guilty
about not seeing it before, but it had increased so gradually, it was 
almost un-noticeable until now when it was full-blown. Ever since she 
was denied the promotion to Homicide, her anger and resentment had grown.
 
"I know," I said softly. "I know."
 
-- --
Late Friday afternoon, just as I was getting ready to leave for the day, 
Judy called me into her office again and nervously waved me to a seat.
 
"I wanted to apologize, Deb. I know, I owe the whole squad one, but
I thought I'd start with you."
 
She looked better than she had for awhile. There was color in her face,
and she was actually smiling.
 
"I'm glad you're feeling better," I said cautiously.
 
"Oh, yes." She folded her hands on her papers and beamed at me. "I
guess talking to AD Skinner set me off. I tried to join the FBI once,
and was told I was "unsuitable" whatever that means." She rolled her
eyes at me, and we laughed. For a moment, it was like old times.
 
"For what it's worth, I'm probably unsuitable too," I offered.
 
"Then I'm in good company. Besides, who'd want to work for AD Skinner?"
She smiled knowingly at me, then looked more closely. "Deb? You're 
blushing."
 
"Skinner's ok when you get used to him," I changed the subject firmly.
"You'd like how dedicated he is to his agents."
 
"I imagine Mulder and Scully keep him hopping. Working with those two
would make anyone tense."
 
"They're his problem children, all right," I agreed.
 
We chatted for a few minutes, then Judy swept her files into a stack and 
stood up, balancing them in her arms. "I mustn't keep you any longer. I 
just didn't want to go through the weekend without apologizing. I'm 
probably going up to the house this weekend and unwind."
 
"We still have a date with some chocolate," I reminded her.
 
As we left her office, a file slipped from the stack in Judy's arms, 
scattering papers across the floor. I picked them up and stuck them 
back in the folder randomly. It was the file containing all the 
information about her farmhouse, I noticed absently. She must have been 
making calls about the repairs.
 
She watched me with an odd look on her face as I handed it back to her. 
"How's the house coming along?" I asked to fill the suddenly tense silence
between us.
 
"Ok," she said jerkily. "It's almost finished."
 
"Really? I'll have to come see it." 
 
"It's not ready for you yet," Judy said softly. "Maybe soon."
 
I watched her leave and shook my head. Whatever was wrong seemed to be
better at least for now.
 
-- --
 
As I drove home, something skittered around in the back of my mind, 
pestering me. It was about Judy, but I couldn't decide what it was. It 
bothered me all evening and stopped me from settling to TV or reading
until I finally gave up and went to bed.
 
In the middle of the night, I sat up, staring into the darkness. I was 
wide awake, sweat trickling down my spine. One of the papers I had put 
back in the house file had been part of Judy's bank loan paperwork. The 
bank had been DC Loans, where Richard Simon, the first victim, had been 
Vice President.
 
I remembered Judy's fury when the bank hadn't wanted to lend her the 
money for the house. Instead of trying another bank, she had ranted 
and raged and called in favors and lawyers, finally wearing them down. 
Her words when she finally won were icy clear in my mind.
 
"The fucking Vice President said I was a bad risk, but I got the money."
 
Judy had known Richard Simon.
 
"It's a coincidence," I said out loud, and it was. By itself, the fact 
that Judy had known Simon and hadn't mentioned it didn't mean anything,
but other pieces of information began to force their way into my brain.
 
Marian Cannon's series on police corruption had caused Susan Peters in
Homicide, among others, to be arrested. Susan had been a mentor of
Judy's, and had opened doors for her in the department, and could have 
opened more. She was proven innocent and she offered reinstatement, 
but had refused.
 
Judy had said once that she hadn't been able to graduate within the 
four-year time frame she had allowed herself because she had failed a 
criminology class. She insisted the failure was unfair, and had occurred 
because she had turned down a pass by the teacher. I didn't know the 
truth of it, but I did know that William Talbot had taught criminology.
 
Isabelle Clark had irritated the entire DC police department at one time
or another. She and Judy had gone head-to-head several times, and Isabelle
had always won.
 
Sam Wilkerson had retired 15 years ago and had never judged criminal law,
but Judy's mom had lost everything in a nasty divorce when the judge sided
with the husband against all reason. They had almost been homeless for 
a while. Judy had been 10 at the time, old enough to understand what
was happening and to assign blame.
 
All people who had hurt Judy, I thought, who made her feel powerless,
as Mulder had said.
 
What was I thinking? That Judy, my best friend, was a serial killer? 
That she tortured innocents, including children and old people, and 
killed people that she thought had hurt her even in the distant past?
 
Stunned, I realized that I was thinking that. I was thinking as a cop, 
not as a friend, and my cop's mind told me that, coupled with Judy's
increasingly odd behavior, my theory fit.
 
Of course, it would all have to be checked. I only had definite links 
between Judy and Richard, Isabelle, and Marian. I would have to check 
her transcripts to see if she'd been taught by William Talbot, and I 
would have to look at court records to see who had handled her mother's 
divorce. Someone would have to look into Judy's alibis and search her 
apartment and house. 
 
I shook my head. I couldn't be right. I couldn't think about Judy this 
way. I was filled with nervous energy and an overwhelming need to have 
someone tell me I was being ridiculous. Without thinking, I grabbed 
my bedside phone and punched in Walter's number. As it started ringing, 
I glanced at the clock: 1:00 a.m. Oh, well, it was Saturday, he could 
sleep in. I'd buy breakfast or something.
 
"Walter Skinner. Leave a message."
 
I stared at the phone in disbelief. Walter wasn't home at 1 a.m. Saturday 
morning? I hadn't seen him in a while, as we had both been busy, and we 
didn't have an exclusive relationship, but I couldn't see him out partying.
 
I tried his office number and was routed to his voice mail.
 
Frowning, I went to my desk to dig out my rolodex and dialed Mulder. From
what I heard, he never slept anyhow.
 
No answer. An icy finger slid down my spine. There was no answer from 
Scully's number, either, or from the X-Files office phones. All three cel 
phones had been turned off. 
 
Judy's voice rang in my mind: 
 
"I tried to join the FBI once. They turned me down."
"I've spoken to A.D. Skinner. Typical arrogant bastard."
 
And my own:
 
"He's very dedicated to his agents."
"Mulder and Scully are his problem children."
 
Oh, shit. My mental denials flew out the window, and I was gripped by 
awful certainty that allowed no questioning. She had them. Somehow, 
some way, she had them. No time now for careful research, discussion, 
and evidence gathering. Skinner, at least, would be dead soon.
 
This must be how Mulder felt in profiling. I could almost feel Judy's 
thoughts moving through my brain. Who better to satisfy her grudge
against the FBI than the Assistant Director? He didn't have immediate
family to use for the secondary targets, but she knew that he took the
responsibility for his agents very seriously. I had told her. She could
also use Walter to punish me for my perceived betrayal of her. The only
reason I wasn't one of the hostages was that Judy didn't know how far
Walter's and my relationship had gone.
 
Besides, I had a feeling that she wanted me for a primary target:
"It's not ready for you yet. Maybe soon."
 
I started to yank clothes on while making one final call.
 
"Colton."
 
He, at least, was home and asleep. I didn't want to call him, but he was
in charge of the investigation. He needed to know my theory, if only to
follow up later, if I...didn't make it back.
 
"It's Rafferty. Listen...."
 
"What the hell, Rafferty? It's 1 in the morning!"
 
"Listen to me! The Dominatrix has Skinner, Scully, and Mulder."
 
That shut him up. I yanked on my black sneakers and grabbed my holster 
while explaining my theory. I checked my gun, making sure it was loaded 
with one in the chamber, flicked the safety on, and stuffed it back in the 
holster.
 
"Let me get this straight. You think Judith Carl, your boss, is the Dominatrix
and she's taken the AD, Mulder and Scully?"
 
"Right." I winced, knowing what he was going to say. I buckled the 
holster around my waist and threw on a light jacket, loading my pockets
with extra ammo clips.
 
"You've got *nothing*, Rafferty! She directly knows one victim and your 
three buddies are missing, and you think you've got the killer? You're
not even on the case anymore. You've been hanging around Mulder too long."
 
I snarled into the phone, "Mulder doesn't like you either, but if you 
were in danger, he'd try to help! Can't you do the same for him?"
 
He was quieter when he answered. "I would if I were sure. You don't 
have enough. You know that. My ass would be on the line. I can't risk
it."
 
Colton heard my door close as I ran out of my apartment. "Where are you
going, Rafferty?"
 
"To put my ass on the line." 
-- --
 
I sped through the night, cherry light swirling on top of my car, although 
I kept the siren off. I could only think of one place where she would 
have taken them: the farmhouse. It was about an hour away. I had been 
there once, a year ago, but in my need, I remembered the route as if I 
had traveled it yesterday.
 
I carefully didn't think about anything in particular on the way. If I
put names to the victims, thought of Mulder's silly, gentle grin; Scully's
calm voice; Walter's mouth and touch; and what was being done to them,
I'd curl into a ball and wail my sorrow instead of being able to function.
 
I cut all the lights about half a mile from her house. It was mostly 
deserted here, and I'd see another car before it became an issue. I
parked a few hundred feet from her driveway and crept toward the house
on foot.
 
Walter's car was in the driveway.
 
Until that point, I'd prayed I was wrong. Let me be stupid and paranoid, 
please, and Judy just be in a bad mood and Walter, Scully, and Mulder
have gone out for pizza or something, amen.
 
I hadn't been wrong apparently.
 
I crouched behind the car and pulled out my cel again. Colton was awake, 
waiting for me.
 
"Skinner's car's in the driveway of Lieutenant Carl's house." I hissed
into the phone. "Is that enough, or do I need to check whether they're
in the sack or something?"
 
"Shit." Colton breathed. "Rafferty, I'm...I'm already at the Bureau and
I've started calling the team. We'll be there soon."
 
"You've started calling? I thought I didn't have enough."
 
"You didn't. But you're a good cop. You wouldn't be that sure without
a reason."
 
I was astonished, but there wasn't time for thanks. "I've got to go."
 
"Wait for backup, Rafferty! Don't go in there by yourself!"
 
I ignored him, flipping the phone closed and shutting it off. I couldn't
wait, and I didn't need the phone to ring in the middle of everything.
 
I moved to the house in a fast half-crouch and swiftly circled around it. 
All of the windows for the two main floors of the house were dark. 
Looking up, I could see that the attic windows were shuttered, unlike 
the rest. I knew from Isabelle Clarke's father that the dungeon was 
on an upper floor. 
 
The front door was locked, of course, but I remembered something Judy had
told me about her childhood and felt under the porch rail. To my amazement, 
the key was there. Judy was a serial killer, but she kept her spare house 
key in the same location her mother had used.
 
I drew my gun, flicking the safety off, unlocked the front door, and 
slipped inside. It was pitch dark, and I pulled out my flashlight. It 
was nothing like the monsters Scully and Mulder carried, but it would do.
 
I picked my way over to the stairs. Every nerve ending screamed at me to 
hurry, but I knew I had to move quietly until I found them. The hostages
would be restrained. She could easily kill them before I reached her. 
 
The upper hallway was dark as well, but the dimmest of lights shown around 
a door at the end of the hall. 
 
The old Victorian farmhouse doors had the original locks with big keyholes.
When I knelt and peered through, I could see a stairway leading up and 
light from the top. I could hear the murmur of voices, but I couldn't 
make out words.
 
I eased the door open, praying it wouldn't squeak, and slid up the stairs 
on two knees and one hand, the other firmly holding my gun, until I was 
just able to see over the edge of the floor.
 
As I peeped over the top, words came to me clearly:
 
"Ask to eat my pussy, AD Skinner, or I'll cut off Scully's right tit."
 
The voice was hoarse, obviously disguised, and Walter had only talked to
her on the phone a couple of times, but I recognized Judy, and my heart
gave a final sad wail before I walled it away firmly to do what must be
done. 
 
I knew from the descriptions of the other hostages what I was about to
see, but the reality was infinitely worse.
 
All three hostages were naked. Mulder and Scully were shackled, hand 
and foot, to two large, X-shaped supports, about five feet apart. Mulder
had been gagged, a ball-gag stuffed deeply in his mouth. He had also 
been wounded: I could see a bleeding slash drawn from hip-bone to hip-bone
directly above his genitals. Probably the initial wound to prove to her 
primary victim that she was serious.
 
Mulder was snarling and yelling from behind the gag, and if anything on 
earth could have made me smile, it would have been that. Leave it to
Mulder to try and talk around a ball gag. Mulder would probably talk 
for 10 minutes after his head was cut off.
 
Scully hadn't been seriously wounded, but Judy, dressed and hooded in 
black leather, stood by her, holding a straight razor just under Scully's 
right breast. A single line of bright blood trailed from it down Scully's
body, startling against the white skin.
 
She had not been gagged and made no sound now, but her eyes rested on Judy
with icy hatred. This would be one hostage that, in normal circumstances, 
the Dominatrix would be smart to kill. If she lived, Scully would make
hunting her down her life's work. 
 
I made myself look at Walter, so I would have the whole picture. He was 
naked too, and chained in a kneeling position. The chain ran from a 
collar at his neck to a pair of wrist-cuffs, then down to ankle cuffs. 
His back was to me, facing Mulder, Scully, and Judy. Every muscle in 
his back stood out, strained and knotted with the tension of rage. 
Several cuts marred his large shoulders, shallow but painful.
 
Mulder had been staring at Judy with helpless fury when his gold eyes
suddenly slid past her to lock with mine. He was good enough not to
react, but I saw the flair of relief. He looked at me for a second, 
then deliberately turned his eyes back to Judy.
 
We both desperately wanted to stop this now, but she had to move away
from Scully first. There was no way I could move fast enough to keep
Judy from killing her. There was about 10 feet between Mulder and Scully
and Walter. He was going to have to say the words.
 
Walter did. They came out in a growl through clenched teeth, but he said
them. "Please, let me eat your pussy."
 
"Very good." She stepped away from Scully, allowing the flat of the razor
to trail along the underside of the FBI agent's breast. "You know the rules. 
If you obey, nothing *too* awful will happen to them."
Scully's mouth curled in a silent snarl, and I could see her tiny hands 
draw down steadily against the cuffs. In a moment, the bones would break
in her small wrists, but that would be a small price to her to pay for her
freedom. 
 
When Judy was about halfway between Scully and Skinner, Mulder suddenly 
started choking on his ball-gag. His face turned furiously red as he
retched and started to convulse.
 
"Agent Mulder, am I going to have more trouble with you?" Judy said 
coolly. She turned to face Mulder, still standing between the two
sets of victims.
 
I wasn't going to get a better opportunity. I stood up on the step, 
training my gun on the center of Judy's body. "Police! Freeze!"
 
Judy stiffened and froze in position. Slowly, she lifted a hand toward
her hood and peeled it off, then turned to face me. Her hands were held
out from her body, but she still gripped the razor.
 
"Drop it," I said coldly.
 
"Deborah? I wondered if you would figure it out." Unbelievably, she
smiled at me. "Aren't you going to ask how I came to do such awful 
things? You gave me the idea after all. All those B&D reports. Such
fun to do those things to people you actually hated."
 
"I don't care why you did it." It was true. I was just tired. I would 
grieve later. "Drop the fucking razor, Judy. Backup's on the way. 
It's over."
 
In my peripheral vision, I saw Scully blink in surprise, realizing I 
knew the woman. Walter had managed to move around a little, so he could
watch both of us. He was very still now, however, dark eyes tracking us
both as best he could without his glasses. Neither said anything. Even
Mulder was quiet.
 
"Backup?" Judy inquired. "You mean you didn't come out here alone to 
arrest your old friend and claim all the credit? Haven't I taught you
anything?"
 
She actually sounded disappointed.
 
"The FBI's on the way. Drop. The. Razor."
 
Her eyes were on mine. I thought I saw regret somewhere behind the 
madness. Her mouth quirked in her old half-smile, and for a moment, I
saw Judy again as she had been once: edgy, and funny, and brilliant.
 
"No."
 
She leaped at Walter, razor straight out. 
 
She had a little distance to cover. There was time to make it a wounding
shot. I could arrest her, take her to trial. She would go to prison or
to a mental hospital, maybe even get out one day. But for most of the rest 
of her life, she would be at the bidding of another.
 
I did the last favor I could for my old, and best, friend. 
 
I aimed carefully and put the bullet through her head.
 
-- --
 
Title: Giving Over (6/6)
Author: mlb
e-mail: mlb@ipass.net
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence
Category: S
Spoilers: don't think so
Keywords: Skinner/Other
Summary: 
Disclaimer: It would be a sad, sad commentary on our society if I could make 
money from this.
Feedback: Please (mlb@ipass.net)
Notes: This story talks about violence, murder, and other bad things along
with the fun Skinnerotica stuff. If it would bother you, stop now.
 
The ending was anti-climactic. Judy slumped instantly to the floor, the
razor falling from her hand.
 
For a moment, I stood frozen, breathing in short gasps, then crossed to 
Judy's body. As if from a great distance, I watched my hand unhook the 
ring of keys at her belt.
 
Walter was closest, so I let him go first, unfastening the collar at his 
neck, then his hand and ankle bindings.
 
"Are you hurt?" I said automatically.
 
"No. Rafferty...Deborah...."
 
I shook my head. I couldn't stand being spoken to right now. The only 
way I could keep going was to submerge myself entirely in cop mode. 
 
Their clothes were piled on the floor nearby. I grabbed them, tossed 
Walter an armful that looked like his, then went to Scully.
 
She watched me closely with her great blue eyes but said nothing as I 
unbuckled her and helped her down. I handed her the key so she could 
release Mulder and check his injury.
 
"I need to let the backup know what's happening," I muttered and activated
my cel phone. Scully touched my wrist. "Thank you," she said simply and
began to pull on her own clothes, ignoring Mulder's indignant squawk around
the gag.
 
"You're not that badly hurt," I heard her say, as I reached Colton.
 
By the time I told him what happened, the FBI was pulling in the driveway.
I flipped my phone closed and looked up to see Walter standing by my side. 
He was wearing his pants and was fastening the cuffs of his dress shirt. 
I could see blood beginning to stain across his shoulders.
 
He looked as if he wanted to speak, but couldn't think of the words. I 
wanted to throw myself in his arms and cry, but I felt like a wind-up 
toy that had to perform a particular set of actions before I could stop.
 
"I have to let them in," I said vaguely. "I have to secure the scene."
 
"I'll do it."
 
"I'm first on the scene. I have to do it," I insisted.
 
I knew I was babbling, but I couldn't seem to stop. Reaction was 
setting in. I was suddenly furious with Walter for usurping my authority
on the scene. I scowled at him and turned to stalk down the stairs. He 
grabbed my shoulders and held me still while Mulder and Scully walked
up to us.
 
Mulder was dressed too, although he was holding his pants together rather 
than fastening them.
 
"You're the hero," Mulder said gently. "Take it easy and let somebody
else do the grunt work." He looked deeply into my eyes, and I suddenly
saw beyond the idiotic stunts and posturing to the very kind man underneath.
"Say goodbye to your friend."
 
I clamped my eyes shut against tears and felt Walter's hands tighten on 
my shoulders. Scully squeezed my hand.
 
As if embarrassed by all the emotion, Mulder said "This group hug is nice,
but I'd better go let the rest of them in."
 
He and Scully clattered down the stairs.
 
"Wby did you insist on getting dressed, Mulder?" she asked. "You're 
going to have to go to the hospital and get that wound taken care of."
 
"I didn't want Colton to fantasize about me any more than he already
does. Hey, Scully you don't think I'm going to need stitches *there*
do you?"
 
As their voices faded, I heard Walter sigh.
 
"Sometimes, I remember why I let him stay in the FBI," he said.
 
He moved around me and looked down at my face. Again, he looked like 
he wanted to say something, but didn't know what. "I'll be downstairs,"
he muttered finally and left.
 
I walked back across the room, ignoring all the evidence I was destroying,
and looked down at Judy. I didn't feel anything, had no sense of her 
presence, and realized that Judy's soul, spirit, whatever, had actually 
left a long time ago. Something else had walked around in her body, and 
it was that thing that my bullet had sent away. 
 
"I hope you're ok, now," I whispered and turned away.
 
-- --
 
 
Dawn was breaking when the initial debriefings, first FBI, then Police, 
were finally done. I exited the Captain's office, more tired than I 
had ever been in my life, to find Walter sitting on a bench in the hallway.
 
"Shouldn't you be in the hospital?" I asked wearily.
 
"I was. They released me."
 
Walter looked tired and haggard and his mouth was grim, but his touch 
was gentle as he took my arm steered me to a rental car. I shivered as I 
remembered that my own car was still at the farmhouse and his would have
been impounded for evidence. 
 
We pulled out of the precinct lot and headed to the Beltway. After a few
minutes, I realized that we were heading for Crystal City rather than my
place. I didn't care and had no strength to argue.
 
"Are Mulder and Scully still in the hospital?" I asked.
 
"Yes. Mulder has to have that wound stitched."
 
I snorted as I thought of Mulder's reaction to that, and felt the snort 
turn into a sob. I covered my face with my hands as I began to cry, 
the fear and misery and loss of the past few hours flooding out of me.
 
Walter kept driving and didn't say anything, but one of his hands 
came to rest on my bowed shoulders.
 
I was still crying when he reached his apartment and after he parked,
Walter released my seatbelt and drew me awkwardly against his chest. 
I leaned my head against his shoulder, trying to bring myself under 
control. Due to the bucket seat, the position was not comfortable, and
after a moment, I drew away.
 
We entered his apartment and went straight to the bedroom, both of us
too tired to speak. Walter turned down the bed, then came over to me
and before I realized what he was doing, began to undress me. His face
was expressionless, but his hands were the most soothing thing I'd ever
felt. There was nothing remotely sexual in his actions: I might have 
been his six-year-old daughter, overtired after a long day at the beach.
 
I fell on to the bed naked and watched him strip and crawl in beside me.
His shoulders were covered with butterfly bandages, white against his
dark skin. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back against his 
chest. After a moment, I shifted around to face him and slipped one 
arm under his neck. We fell asleep wrapped around each other.
 
-- --
 
When I woke up, light was piercing the edges of the blinds on the west
windows: sunset, not sunrise. Walter was still asleep, his head near
mine on the pillow. For a moment, I didn't remember why I was there, then
it all came back.
 
I was sad, but it was at a distance. The sleep had put up at least a 
temporary barrier between Judy's death and my emotions. Now, I was more
concerned with being alive. 
 
Walter stirred, his face creasing into a frown as he slept. "No," he
muttered. "Leave them alone." He pawed at his neck with one hand.
 
"Walter," I said in my calmest voice. "Wake up. You're dreaming."
 
He started to thrash around on the bed. I kept very still, but called
to him in a steady voice. His eyes snapped open, and he glared at me.
After a moment, he recognized me and relaxed back onto the pillows.
 
"Sorry," he said, embarrassed. He rolled away from me onto his side.
 
I shifted up behind him so my breasts pressed into his back, and slid my 
arm around his ribs.
 
"There's nothing to be sorry for," I said. "She hurt you too." I was
ashamed. In my own state, I hadn't thought about what had been done
to Walter, Mulder, and Scully. The two agents could tend to themselves
and each other, but Walter was alone except for me.
 
"I'm fine," he said impatiently. "The bandages can come off in a few 
days."
 
"I'm not talking about your shoulders," I answered. I respected his need
for privacy, but I felt guilty for not being there for Judy in time to do
her any good. I didn't want to make the same mistsake with Walter. 
 
His back stiffened. "Nothing happened." He looked over his shoulder
at me, face softening. "I never thanked you...."
 
I waved it away. "Something happened. She took your control from you.
She stripped you and would have done a lot worse before she killed you. 
You know what happened to the others."
 
"I focused on keeping my agents alive. That's my responsibility. The
rest doesn't matter."
 
"You have a responsibility to yourself, too. On some level, you were 
sexually assaulted. You need to talk to someone."
 
"I'm fine." His muscles were rigid, face clamped shut, a wall I couldn't
breach.
 
"Walter," I pleaded. "I let you comfort me."
 
"That's different."
 
I couldn't think of any more to say. I couldn't reach him any more than
I could reach Judy. I started to get up, but Walter suddenly gripped my 
hand where it lay against his stomach. I relaxed back against him, resting 
my face against the back of his neck.
 
Slowly, he turned on his back to face me. His dark eyes were so full
of pain that I felt my heart break. I leaned over him and kissed him, 
gently stroking his lips with my own.
 
Walter returned the kiss, holding me against him fiercely. He started to 
roll me to my back, but I held my position.
 
"Let me," I whispered. "Let me make love to you."
 
I could tell it was hard for him, but he stilled, giving control over to
me; giving it freely, instead of it being taken.
 
I showed my appreciation for the gift, running my hands and lips over his
body. His breathing quickened as I reached his nipples and when I ran my 
hand to his groin, I found he had begun to harden.
 
I moved down his body, nuzzling into his groin, covering balls and cock
with soft kisses. He bucked and twisted against me, especially when I 
took him in my mouth as deeply as I could. 
 
I slid over top of him, straddling his hips, and easing his cock inside 
of me. We began to move together, our movements increasing with each
thrust.
 
Walter reached up and cupped my breasts, lightly pinching the nipples,
and I jerked, climaxing hard around him. He braced his feet and slammed
up hard into me one last time as he reached his own orgasm.
 
I rolled off of him and we lay beside each other quietly, catching our
breath. Neither of us said anything, but we both knew healing had begun.
 
The End
 
Yay, whee, toot, toot!