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iamprchung · 2 months

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Conversation Mints 3: Gimmie Three Steps and Four Musketeers

Skinner and Scully are marooned in a dive bar, a far cry from the usual FBI digs. While they wait – impatiently – for Mulder to arrive, they endure a parade of local eccentrics, culminating in a drunken bozo harassing Scully. Skinner, ever the protector (and secretly jealous?), throws down for a brawl. Enter Mulder and the Lone Gunmen, just in time to break it up. Back at the office on Monday, the remnants of a disastrous (yet strangely romantic?) Valentine's Day weekend lingers. A cryptic exchange between Scully and Skinner hints at more than just case files in their future, leaving the possibility of future adventures wide open.

Notes from 1997

Who is Art Bell and what does “Yo quiero conspiracy” mean?

Art Bell was the patriarch of the late-night radio show still known as ‘Coast to Coast’ and known for conspiracy theories and the paranormal. Link to Art Bell’s 1997 Halloween Coast to Coast show.

Back in 1997, there was a series of popular Taco Bell commercials featuring a Chihuahua dog, which would say the catchphrase “Yo quiero Taco Bell” (I want Taco Bell).

"Gimme' Three Steps and Four Musketeers" by PR Chung

* "Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be sedated. Nothing to do, nowhere to go..." *

Blaring over the rushing sound of wind, the Ramones blasted from the VW van careening down the beltway.

"Roll up that window!" Langly shouted from behind the wheel and over the sound of music and howling wind.

"I can't breathe with it up!" Byers called back from the open window.

Despite the fresh air whipping around the van's interior, Mulder fanned his hand in front of his face. "How much of that did you spill on yourself, Frohike?"

The unsmiling Frohike shot Mulder a glare. "You know it's no wonder none of you get laid."

"What?!" Mulder and Langly said in unison, affronted.

"Women go wild over this cologne..."

"And that's why you're here with us right now?" Langly called back looking at him in the rear-view mirror.

* "Just get me to the airport and put me on a plane..." *

Frohike sat bolt upright. "Listen, I already told you Cookie wasn't feeling well..."

"Likely story," Langly goaded, shaking his head. "Maybe it was your cologne making her sick."

"At least I had a date, which is more than I can say about you-"

"Listen," Mulder broke in before a full-blown battle could start, "I didn't come on this wild goose chase to hear you two fighting over who has the more exciting sex life."

"Wild goose chase?" Langly repeated. "Hey, it's not my fault Francisca didn't have the video." He refuted any blame that could be laid on him.

"I could have told you she wouldn't have it," Frohike declared, "she wouldn't know Art Bell from Taco Bell."

"Yo quiero conspiracy," Byers called back from the window.

* "Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be sedated..."*

Mulder rolled his eyes and threw his head back against the headrest. "It’s over let's just go get Scully and Skinner and end this- this tape! How many times have we heard this song tonight?"

* "Nothing to do, nowhere to go..."

"The question is," Byers called turning back from the window, his neat hair cut disheveled, "how many times have we heard this tape tonight?"*

"Ba ba baa baa, I wanna be sedated.

Bam bam, ba-bam, ba-bam bam ba-bam

I wanna be sedated,

Bam bam, ba-bam, ba-bam bam ba-bam

I wanna be sedated…"

"Hey, it's either this or nothing, because the radio still isn't working, and this is the only tape I've got with me right now." Langly defended himself. "If I had known this was going to turn into a road trip, I would have brought the case."

"Well, turn it down at least," Mulder reached out and turned the volume knob, but nothing happened.

"It's full or nothing." Langly announced.

Mulder fell back in his seat, head against the headrest, defeated.

"So, what is Scully doing out here anyway?" Byers yelled over the music, as if far too used to the volume.

Mulder shook his head looking out the window at the passing nothingness. "She never said."

"Yeah, and with Skinner," Frohike said, "last time I saw those two they were at the Alexandria."

Mulder twisted around to look at him. "The hotel, tonight?"

"Yeah, at that soiree I took Cookie to. Watched their respective dates cut out together, too-- but you didn't hear that from me."

***********************************

* "Well, I heard ole Neil put her down. Well, I hope Neil Young will remember

a southern man don't need him around..." *

The sound of the Lynyrd Skynyrd band whined from the bad speakers precariously attached to the walls of the Two Bucks bar.

"Sweet home Alabama," the drunk from the hallway sang-- and only sang. The rest of the song lyrics were muttered and mumbled beyond recognition as the man staggered around his table of friends, air guitaring with wanton disregard.

"You want that warmed up?" the bartender gestured toward Skinner and Scully's coffee cups. Two looked down at what more closely resembled sludge rather than coffee. "I'm just gonna' throw it out if you don't want any more."

"Thanks, but no." Skinner answered, and Scully agreed with a shake of her head.

“Fine with me," the bartender scoffed and shrugged, walking away with the pot of crude.

"…Where skies are so blue, sweet home Alabama... Lord, I wanna-uh, I'm com-coming hmmm, hmmm..." The drunk continued, and Skinner cringed at the slaughter of lyrics going on.

"I’m starting to regret leaving my service weapon at home," Scully remarked quietly, glancing back at the scene.

"if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Skinner ventured, “That wouldn't look good on your resume."

Scully gave him a side glance. "You wanted to confiscate Robert's boat."

"That was with just cause." He justified.

"They stick- hmmm, pick me up... hmmm, hmm... yeah," the man suddenly hollered looking over at Skinner. "Skinner, man, yeah!"

"And this isn't?" Scully questioned.

Skinner shook his head, jaw grinding. "At least the song's almost over."

"Hopefully someone will take his change away."

"Don't you mean his keys?" Skinner asked her.

She shook her head. "Change for the juke box."

Skinner nodded. "Friends don't let friends sing drunk?"

"Yeah, something like that," she said and tried another taste of her java sludge. Her mouth pursed and her nose wrinkled. "Thank god, it's not Karaoke night."

"I thought it was..."

Hearing Skinner’s deliberately dry comment, Scully laughed in spite of herself, nearly spitting the coffee out.

************************************

"Where is this place? I haven't seen a sign?" Langly asked, sounding frustrated as he squinted at the road past the headlights.

"I thought you said this was the only tape you had in here?" Frohike ignored his question pulling another tape out of the glove box and holding it up to the dash lights.

"It's around here somewhere," Mulder called from the back seat.

"That narrows it down," Langly responded sarcastically.

"What is this, ABBA's number one hits?" Frohike questioned the tape he'd found. "What a crock, there's at least twenty songs on here!"

"There, on the right," Byers said pointing ahead over Langly's shoulder. "Deer Point."

"Where?"

"You just passed it," Mulder said, monotone and already bracing himself for what was about to come.

Langly jammed on the brakes, sending the van sliding to a halt on the narrow two lane. Byers would have fallen into the front if he hadn't already been leaning against the back of the driver's seat. But Frohike hit the dashboard hard, smashing the music cassette into the stereo inadvertently.

"Where'd you download your license from, punkass.com?"

* "There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Fernando." *

"Turn that off, will you?" Mulder begged anyone to stop the music that was suddenly permeating the van.

* "...for liberty, Fernando" *

Byers reached over the seats, fumbling for the stereo controls.

Langly ground gears, trying to put the van in reverse.

* "...if I had to do the same again, I would my friend..." *

************************************

” ...oh, won't you...giv'me three steps, mister..."

Skinner laced his fingers together tightly, struggling against the urge to either go pull the plug on the jukebox or the drunk. The drunk's friends were now cheering him on, urging his continued performance of Skynyrd hits endlessly spewing from the juke box.

"Where the hell is Mulder," he muttered through clinched teeth.

"He should be here soon," Scully said checking the neon clock behind the bar. “We should just go outside to wait for them.”

“In the cold?” Skinner asked, reminding her. And Scully sighed, nodding.

The bartender sauntered up to them. "You two want anything else?"

Skinner suddenly began digging in his pants pocket. "Yes," he said, yanking out a couple of damp dollar bills. "Change."

Scully looked at him, startled by his sudden abruptness.

"Sure thing, buddy..." the bartender grunted, taking the bills.

With change in hand, Skinner marched to the jukebox. His plan: clogging the jukebox with his own selections and hampering the drunk's ability to play any more Skynyrd.

"Skinner!" the drunk yelled and waved wildly as he passed.

Scully watched from the bar, amused by the whole scene in some small way. This place, and Skinner's newfound fan who was sadly mistaken about his name. She watched Skinner standing at the juke box, the light from the display window illuminating his strong features. She admired the way the collar of his tuxedo shirt lay open around his neck, and his stance before the jukebox was purposeful yet nonchalant. Just standing there, he… He looked... handsome.

"Hello again, pretty lady."

Scully knew the voice. She knew it was the man from the end of the bar. Turning she saw the man from earlier now standing very close to her, with his cocky crooked smile in place.

"I see your friend has left you unattended, big mistake." He said to her.

"Excuse me, but..."

"He should've never left such a pretty little lady all by er'self here ‘cause that just lets me know it's my turn."

"Your turn?" Scully repeated glancing in Skinner's direction.

************************************

Shoulders hunched against the cold, Mulder, Byers and Frohike stood together in the dark encircling Langly's battered tennis shoes sticking out from under the van.

"Can you see anything?" Byers called to him under the van.

"It's the linkage," he called back, "it's stuck in reverse."

Mulder took a step away from the others. "Great."

"Can you fix it?" Byers asked.

"With what, a bottle opener and a tire pressure gauge? Who do I look like, MacGyver?"

"You haven't got any tools?" Mulder exclaimed.

"Why do you think the radio doesn't work?" Frohike asked him.

"Yeah, I've got tools- ugh!" A clattering sounded from underneath the van followed by the flashlight rolling out.

"What is it?"

"I dropped the flashlight on my face!" Langly shouted, pulling himself out from under the van. "Damn," he declared pulling his glasses off in two pieces.

"Rough," Frohike said, pushing his own glasses up the bridge of his nose.

************************************

Skinner considered the multifarious jukebox selections with dread. Quiet Riot. Janet Jackson. Vince Gill. The Monkeys. Lynryd Skynyrd. Morris Day and the Time? When was the last time this thing was updated? He wondered, beginning to toy with the change in his hand. Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. Basia? Seriously?

It looked futile. There were a few promising prospects, though. John Fogerty and Eric Clapton, as well as a Doors tune or two. Then, there were the jukebox standards, Chuck Berry, Rolling Stones, and Elvis Presley...

Skinner looked at the Presley offerings. 'It's now or never,' 'All shook up,' and 'Can't help falling in love.' He looked at the selections, recalling events of four months past. Scully brushing against his legs under the table in the King's Kitchen came to mind.

* "It's now or never, come hold me tight... kiss me my darling." *

He had become aware of the music and the sensation of Scully's legs touching his at the same moment, and suddenly lyrics once jaded and ignored had meaning-- correlation. Across the table their eyes had locked, gazes communicating shared fascination until she had lowered her eyes. Had it been uncertainty or guilt? Or was it all his imagination, her equaled interest?

Not after tonight, he thought while pouring the quarters into the machine. Could he be sure? She had warmed up to his transparent attempt at amusing conversation aboard Robert and Janet's boat, and hadn't balked at the closing space between them throughout the entire night. Was it just the alcohol? He wondered, punching in selections. Had she been generous and only tolerated his fumbling overtures?

* "It's now or never, come hold me tight, kiss me my darling..." *

Wary, Skinner glanced toward the bar, toward Scully and tensed immediately.

* "...be mine tonight... Tomorrow may be too late..." *

"See," the presumptuous man said to Scully, looking toward the speaker nearest them, "that's the king, just in time for our first dance."

Scully heard the rumba beat, and aside from getting rid of Forrest Gump, the memory of sitting across the table from Skinner in Memphis came crashing in on her.

* "... it's now or never, my love won't wait..." *

Scully shook her head. "I don't think so," she told him. "I don't think my…” She glanced past the man, “friend will like that at all."

"Is there a problem here?" Skinner, like some bastion of chivalry, appeared beside her, glaring at the guy she’d dubbed Gump.

* " ...when I first saw you, my heart was captured..." *

Gump looked back at him, defiant. "If you think so, yeah."

Skinner took a deep breath. "Yeah, I think so."

* "...it's now or never..." *

"I just wanna' dance this pretty lady here, is that so terrible?"

"No, not at all. But she said no. So, shove off."

The man narrowed his eyes on Skinner, then turned his attention to Scully. "Let's dance, pretty lady," he said reaching out past Skinner, grabbing at her arm.

Scully pulled her arm back out of his grasp. "No, thank you, I said."

He reached again; this time it was his arm that was caught by Skinner.

************************************

"Okay, now right... right-- no, to the right!" Byers exclaimed as he peered out the back window of the van.

"Go right," Mulder turned calling quickly to Langly, fingers digging into the vinyl seat back.

"My right or your right?" he demanded, anxiously checking all his mirrors, his long hair flipping back forth across his shoulders.

He had been dealing with this for the last twenty minutes and was getting good and sick of it. The van, stuck in reverse gear, was alone no easy job to maneuver backward down dark and narrow roads, but the backward instructions they were calling the whole time was making it that much worse.

"Just do the opposite of what they tell you," Frohike advised from the passenger's seat.

"I did that," Langly snapped back, gingerly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, careful of the plastic bandage holding them together, "and we went off the road."

"Go left then," Byers called to him, "quickly!"

"We're going to run off the road again," Mulder warned.

"Look," Byers was pointing straight ahead-- or rather straight back. "That must be it. Deer Point."

"Civilization," Frohike proclaimed as the hindered van rolled into the outskirts of town.

"Like this, we're surely going to attract the attention of local law enforcement," Byers stated aloud what Mulder had been thinking since this whole ordeal began.

This was outrageous, Mulder knew and had said so, but had been outnumbered in the voting process. It had been three against one in the decision to drive backward to town in the hopes of finding help to fix the van. What they were then likely going to find instead was a local yokel with a badge and an attitude.

"Trouble ahead," Byers announced to everyone.

"Cops?" Langly asked, nervously checking his mirrors again.

"Whoa," Frohike said, moving to the back seat for a better view.

"Saturday night in a small town," Byers observed as Langly brought the van to a slow halt so he too could see what was so riveting.

People were crowded together in a parking lot, some dashing back and forth from parked cars, others jockeying for better vantage points. There was too much action to see exactly what all the commotion was about, but it was undoubtedly a fight, and the most excitement in a long time apparently. The crowd parted suddenly and just long enough that the four could see the nucleus of the action; two men duking it out in front of what appeared to be the only open place in town...

Mulder looked to the building's sign slowly, alarmed as he read "Two Bucks bar and grill," with the word grill having long ago burnt out.

"Isn't that--" Byer’s began, peering out the back window.

"Skinner," Mulder finished, slack jawed.

************************************

Inside Two Bucks, to inharmonious soundtrack of Elvis Presley, like some poorly matched game of the Rock'em-Sock'ems, Scully watched as Skinner traded repeated punches with Gump, whose name turned out to be, according to those cheering him on from the crowd, Mike. And Mike wasn't faring well, here. He'd picked a fight with the wrong man.

There was still enough alcohol in Skinner's blood stream to ignite his ire, and obviously enough in this guy Mike to cloud his ability to see the difference in size between the two of them. That was all it took.

His arm grabbed by Skinner; Mike shoved him. Skinner shoved back, sending the man into a table. He came back with a vengeance and from there it moved out the door into the parking lot, like any worthwhile fist-fight would.

Now, Skinner having had the upper hand throughout the fight and Mike showing the signs of it, it looked like the guy's friends were just about to jump in and help.

Ignoring the ignorant and dirty slurs being shouted at both her and Skinner from the women in the crowd, Scully glanced around, trying to see past the on-lookers. In a small hamlet like this, it shouldn't take long before the local police showed up, but it had already been too long, even for a response time in the city. Where were they? She felt panic creeping into her throat.

Skinner stepped back from the fight, breathless and bleeding. He'd been on top of this fight, but the other man had managed to get in a few good punches that had left minimum damage.

"Had enough?" Mike wheezed.

Skinner narrowed his eyes on the man. "I was just about to ask you the same."

Mike swayed as he stared back at the confident man before him. "Screw you," he finally spit, "I'll show you enough!" He dove at Skinner, shouting, "I'll kick the sh-" He never finished, connecting with the larger man's fist on the shoulder, sending him first up and then down on his back.

Before Skinner could relish putting the guy down two men were on top of him, one at his back, the other with an arm around his neck.

"Skinner!" Scully tried to warn as the two had come out of the crowd.

"Yeah, Skinner!" The drunken air guitarist shouted from behind her.

She shot him a glare.

"Whoa!"

"Hey, look out!" People suddenly began to shout from the outer edge of the crowd. "Watch where the hell you're goin'!"

Scully heard it first, the buzzing sound of an engine approaching quickly. Then she saw it, the beat-up VW van, flying up next to the crowd. The side door flew open immediately and out bolted the cavalry.

First, Mulder came barreling through the throng of onlookers, then Frohike and Langly. Byers, though, seemed uncertain about bum-rushing the scene and held back, staying with the van.

"Hey, ever heard of a fair fight?" Mulder yelled at one of the men who had grabbed Skinner from behind.

“Back off, Slugo!" Langly shouted at others trying to enter from the crowd.

"Who the hell are you?" One of the men demanded of Frohike.

"Your worst nightmare, punk!"

Mulder yanked one man back from Skinner, allowing the AD to freely take care of the other.

While this was happening, one of the several women in the crowd, who had been yelling profanities at Scully, now decided to take her shot at the female agent.

"Scully!" Byers warned from his vantage point.

Just in time Scully turned, managing to dispatch her would-be attacker with a single well-placed kick to the mid-section.

Frohike stood amazed by not only the move but also the hike the move had put in Scully's skirt. "Scully-Foo," he said, breathless. "Awesome."

"He's got a gun!"

Everyone went still.

There was a man jabbing a finger in Mulder's direction. His sweatshirt had pulled up in the back, exposing his service weapon clipped in its holster to his jeans. Confusion and commotion began at once, rolling from the inner circle of the crowd outward. People made mad dashes for parked cars, while others only managed to crash into each other trying to get away. Mulder jumped back from the man he'd been trying to control, pulling his identification out. Flashing the badge case open, he rounded on the crowd, half-assuring, half warning them. "Federal agent!" He shouted, catching everyone's attention.

There were some, Mulder was fairly certain, who thrived on these moments, these dreadful flares of clarity and raw truth, a moment when one realized the situation had just gone from bad to worse. He realized this was one of those moments the instant he began waving the badge around.

"Mulder!" Skinner reprimanded the agent's bad timing and poor judgment. He was sadly outnumbered to be flashing his badge and authority around.

"Man," Langly seemed to recognize this fact as well, beginning to urge everyone toward the van, "come on, come on, let's get out of here... Frohike?"

The man was staring at Scully, as though hypnotized.

"Frohike?!" Langly yelled, tagging him in the shoulder. "Come on."

"Ouu," Frohike murmured, rubbing his shoulder.

"Everyone... stay calm," Mulder instructed the crowd, overhearing disbeliever's comments.

"That's not real," one said.

"He's full of shit," said another.

"Let's go, please," Langly kept urging Skinner and Scully along while Frohike followed, staring down the slack jawed on-lookers.

"Where's your secret decoder ring, G-man," someone yelled at Mulder.

"Remain where you are," he tried to sound as assertive as possible, but felt as though he was about to lose control.

Before his fears could manifest into reality, they were all in the van and moving away from the crowd. Langly, in the driver's seat again, had instinctively tried to throw the van into first gear.

"Just go," Frohike harshly instructed him.

"I am," he snapped back as the van tore away the crowd, backward.

"Go right," Byers yelled, his face close to the back window.

"No, left," Mulder quickly corrected the directions that would have sent them into a row of parked cars.

"What the hell are you doing?" Skinner demanded.

"Why are we going backwards?" Scully questioned, craning her head around wildly at the confused view.

"The gears are stuck in reverse," Byers briefly explained.

"We thought we could get it fixed before we picked you up," Frohike added.

"But we didn't expect to find this dinner theater re-enactment of Any-Which-Way-But-Loose," Langly declared while checking his mirrors.

"Left again," Mulder told him.

"Again? That'll be a circle?"

Skinner and Scully exchanged a doubtful glance.

************************************

February 16th Washington DC Edgar Hoover Building

An underlying hum seemed to emanate from the halls of the FBI as Scully passed through them, talking mixed with footfalls, the fleeting sounds of office equipment running through opened doors. Her own footsteps blended and mingled with the chorus of typical Monday morning sounds that had never seemed more obvious to her than they did this morning.

But this morning was different, today there was a very good chance she would have to speak to her superior. Which, again, in itself, was an odd awareness for her. Every day she moved among the halls of the FBI there was a chance-- the absolute and unmistakable likelihood she would speak to Skinner-- he was, after all, her direct superior.

Again, it wasn't just the chance of speaking to him that put this day in a whole new perspective for her, but it was speaking to him so soon, so immediately after what had… transpired over the weekend. There needed to be more time between then and now, a greater buffer than a mere day, and not even that considering the fact that they had parted company late Sunday morning.

She inwardly shuddered at the thought of their parting and what skeptical stares Mulder had stolen as she rode home with him and the Lone Gunmen. After Skinner had given them all a quick lesson in Marine taught resourcefulness by repositioning the gear linkage with the sparse selection of tools Langly offered, the man was dropped at his car he had left parked at the Alexandria, and almost instantaneously Mulder had turned to her, mouth open, saucy commentary dancing on the tip of his tongue, dancing in his eyes. She stifled his amused questions with a glare and a single word, "don't."

And now, not only would she undoubtedly find herself in the position of facing Skinner, but without question she would be facing her partner as well. He was far from naive, Mulder suspected something, and she would have to endure his questioning stare cast across the desk the rest of the day. She hesitated a few feet from the elevator, the thought of turning and going back home striking her for the umpteenth time since she pulled into the parking garage.

Take a day, she thought, a single day. Some time to separate herself from light-headed dances and unrequited champagne kisses, damp embraces and bar room shuffles to the rumba beat of vintage Elvis. Time to give sober consideration to her feelings and again, like four months ago, submerge them in the reality that nothing could or would ever transpire between her and Skinner. But unlike four months ago, when only the mere notion of sensuality had surfaced, the urgent and undeniable desires that had been ignited Saturday night were going to be intensely more difficult to put to bed—

She shook her head and turned from the elevator to head home.

She would call in from the cell phone when she got to the car. Keeping it simple to Mulder; errands to run, an appointment to keep, anything but sickness. He would suspect a lie to begin with but would be absolutely certain of it if she were to feign illness.

She was almost at the exit, almost outside of the building to her car, when Skinner rounded the corner into the hall in front of her. His glance, lagging his turn of the corner, he did a startled double-take when seeing her. Wariness seemed to flood his eyes-- but his ever-present aplomb did not waver.

A twinge of guilt overrode any inane sense of insecurity when she noted the traces of bruising and scrapes across his rugged features from Saturday night's scuffle.

"Morning, Agent Scully," he greeted her in his routinely taciturn manner.

"Sir," she replied with a dip of her chin, composed. Professional.

"Are you on your way out?" He asked.

"Uh," she hesitated, glancing left then right, her hand aimlessly motioning toward the exit then the hall before she recaptured control of it. So much for composure, she randomly thought, but kept going. "I was- I am... on my way to an appointment."

He silently studied her, making her feel uncomfortable. "I have an appointment," she repeated, inwardly cursing the redundancy.

Skinner nodded and flicked his eyes away from her, searching the hall an instant before looking at her again. "I would prefer this not be the first thing brought up this morning," he began, and Scully froze.

What? She thought. What would he prefer not to bring up first thing this morning? And here in the hall, in view and earshot of countless fellow employees, what? "But since you'll be out, I'll tell you now."

"Yes," she ventured, seeing that he too was stammering in his own formal way.

"Robert and Janet," he said, and the names rang like bells in Scully's head. She had all but completely forgotten those two and her concern for what had become of them. Her eyes went wide, and Skinner nodded seeing the reaction. "I received a call last night from Robert, apologizing to us both for the... incident. And that they were both very sorry they never had the chance to come back for us."

Scully frowned. "The chance?"

"They were picked up by the lake patrol and arrested for public intoxication," he explained looking half amused, half disgusted. This embarrassed him more than anything. These were friends of his, who had acted exceptionally poorly in front of her.

Scully's eyes pinched tight. "Oh."

"Yes," he said in response, squaring his shoulders. "I thought you would find this as interesting as I did."

She bucked her head, an indifferent grimace across her mouth. Interesting to say the least. But if it hadn't been for the Hunter's... She lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his gaze evenly.

A jolt ran through Skinner, twisting through his insides and down into the pit of his stomach. He would not let his feelings betray his firm mien. He had labored for over twenty-four hours to clear this nonsense from his system, to rebuild his impenetrable wall, and he refused to let one stunning glance destroy his hard work.

"Please be sure to tell Robert his apology is accepted." Scully said.

"I will. Have a good day, Agent Scully." He gave her a brief nod and started away.

"Sir," she stopped him.

When he turned his expression was taut. "Yes?"

She took a step closer. "Your parent's money was spent well."

Skinner looked at her, frowning first, then as he grasped her meaning his features opened with surprise.

"Have a good day, sir." She said and smiled, then turned leaving him to wonder as she walked away.

******************************

Series continues with 'The Spider and the FBI'

#Conversation Mints #walter skinner #the x files #the xfiles #xfiles #skinner #scully #skinner scully fanfic

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