By  Toniann
ts19@cornell.edu

Rating: PG
Category: SA
Timeline: Season 4, missing scene for "Herrenvolk"
Keywords: Skinner POV, UST; implied M/S
Summary: "It's never too late, Walter. It's never to late to start."

Archive: Rinse, reuse, repeat. If you are so kind as to wish to archive this
story, please email me at ts19@cornell.edu and let me know where.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. But don't let that stop you from reading.
Feedback: is always welcomed, at ts19@cornell.edu

Web site:
http://home.earthlink.net/~hiraeth/fanfic.html

Author's Note: At end.
_____________________________________________________
 

She was agitated, which was unlike her. She didn't stay still in one place for
very long, alternating between Mrs. Mulder's room and the hallway, questioning
the other agents, refusing offers of a chair, some coffee, anything. She was too
focused, too worried, too... upset. And that was unlike her as well. He would
have predicted that Dana Scully could have met Armageddon without blinking an
eye, and yet in the crowded hospital corridor she was like a tightly-wound
spring ready to uncoil at any moment.

"Agent Scully -- "

She shook her head, cutting him off. "No thank you, Sir, I don't need a break."
She resumed her wandering, her frenetic covering of all the bases, without
so much as glancing his way.

And then Mulder was there, staggering down the hallway, and everything changed.

Scully saw him first, despite the agents cluttering the hall and blocking her
view, despite her lack of perspective, despite everything. "Oh my God," she
said, breaking away, towards him. "Oh my God."

Skinner watched as the other agents parted the hallway like the Red Sea, leaving
Scully's path to Mulder clear. They just knew, Skinner thought, to step aside.
No one questioned him, no one came forward, no one asked for instructions. They just let her go to him.

"You're freezing, Mulder," she was saying. "You're in shock. He's in shock," she
repeated, glued to his side as they moved forward into Teena Mulder's room.
Mulder never managed to say a word.

Walter Skinner stood in the doorway, watching as the younger agent paused at his
mother's bedside, stricken. Scully moved around him, still anxious, still
agitated, still focused. She found a blanket and tenderly wrapped it around
Mulder's shoulders, her voice dropping to a rich, low hum of words that only her
partner could hear. And as Mulder leaned into her for comfort, Skinner turned
away, closing the door on them both.

The hallway had changed in mood and the other agents were now clamoring for
instructions, needing his attention. He sent them home, leaving just one agent
on duty, just to be sure, just to be safe. He sent them away and then he left
himself, leaving without stopping to say goodbye, needing to go. Needing to get
away. Needing to put some distance between himself and what he'd just witnessed.
What he'd just felt.

Three days later he was in his car without knowing why, without knowing how, and
yet knowing exactly where he had to go. In the middle of the day he'd stood up,
left his office, and told Kimberly he'd be back in a few hours. She hadn't
questioned him.

He drove through the cemetery's gates and slowly made his way along the quiet
paved road, following an already familiar route. When he reached his destination
and stopped the car, he saw a young man leading an older woman, probably his
mother, away from the adjacent gravesite. She was small and slight, withered by
years, but her step was steadier than that of the boy beside her, whose face was
streaked with tears. As Skinner watched, she lifted her face to the sky, her
eyes shining, her mouth forming a slow and deep smile.  She seemed to take her
fill of the sky, breathing deep, eventually closing her eyes and letting the sun
warm her old, weathered face. The young man waited for her to catch up,
anxiously, the pain written on his face a stark contrast to the peace written on
hers.

He waited in the car, unwilling to intrude on their all-too-familiar grief,
unable to look either one of them in the eye. When they were gone he climbed out
of the car and approached the simple marker that bore her name.

"I should have brought flowers, I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "I
hardly even knew I was coming here. It doesn't make a lot of sense. But I
haven't been able to think about anything else for the past couple of days
and... I need to... get this off my chest.

"It never occurred to me before. I don't know why it didn't. It should have.
They work so well together. They trust each other. She... trusts him. A blind
man could see how much he needs her. But I just never thought she..."

He trailed off, realizing, finally, how ironic it was that the person he'd gone
to with this was his wife. There was no one else, though. No one who knew him as she did. No one who would understand the words he couldn't say.

"I didn't allow myself to think about it much, of course. It wasn't appropriate.
It wasn't anything. But when I did think of it. Think of her, I mean. I... I
thought she was the kind of woman who would want something different out of her life. I thought... she wouldn't allow herself to feel that way about someone so
consumed by something. So obsessed. I thought she would keep him afloat, that
she was good for him. I watched them become what they are now. And I never
begrudged them that bond. But I didn't think... "

He stopped and swallowed hard.

"I didn't think I'd mind watching her fall in love with him this much."

In the silence that followed his admission, he could almost feel her soft hands
on his face, on his shoulders, holding him still, holding him together. Urging
him to continue, to share his pain with her. Just as she always had.

"Sharon," he sighed. "God, Sharon."

I'm so goddamn sorry, he thought, but couldn't say out loud, not now, not when
she lay cold and unmoving, buried beneath him. He'd told her once, in the
hospital, when it was already too late, and even then it was so hard... Sharon,
I never told you. I never opened up to you. I never let you in. And here I'm
standing at your grave because you're the only person I can talk to, now. You're
the only one I can tell that I've actually been stupid enough to fall in love
with a woman who's falling in love with someone else.

His hands caressed the marker that bore her name, fingers tracing the whorls and
lines of the letters, over and over again. Sharon. So much the other half of
him, the best half of him, that he'd tried to keep the pain and the hurt that
was inside him from her. He hadn't realized that by withholding so much of
himself he had caused her the greatest pain of all. Not until it was too late,
and the damage had been done, and had cost them their marriage. Had cost him his best friend.

It's never too late, Walter, he could hear her say. It's never too late to start.

He lifted his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and felt the sun warm his skin.
And he began.
 

-end-
 
 

Author's Note: A great big huge pile of thanks to Jay for this story -- for his
fantastic beta and for all of the discussions we've had about Walter Skinner in
the past, which directly led to my writing this story. This is the first time
I've written Skinner POV, and I have to say, it's rather intoxicating. <g>