Philiater
philiater1@aol.com

Category: Skinner/Scully, SSR, AU
Rating: NC-17
Timeline:  Takes place early season 8 then deviates from
canon.
I'm also ignoring the pregnancy for this one.
Beta thanks:To Frohike51
My fanfic can be found at www.philiater1.com
Feedback: philiater1@aol.com. Flames will be cheerfully
spit on to extinguish them.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Asylum
1 : an inviolable place of refuge and protection giving
shelter to criminals and debtors : SANCTUARY
2 : a place of retreat and security : SHELTER
3 a : the protection or inviolability afforded by an asylum
: REFUGE b : protection from arrest and extradition given
especially to political refugees by a nation or by an
embassy or other agency enjoying diplomatic immunity
4 : an institution for the care of the destitute or sick and
especially the insane

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The world is gone.

It's a black and soundless place where no one can touch
me.  Some vague part of me knows people are there
trying to reach into my shattered mind, but I've locked it
up tight. Occasional spurts of reality intrude, like shards
of metal into my brain.

A man I know as my old boss has come to see me.  I
know he will stay for hours, even though I never
acknowledge his presence. I never let him inside, but it
makes no difference.

My mother and my new partner have penetrated through
for a few soul-shattering seconds, but those brief
moments hurt too much.  I scuttled away from them like a
crab into the sand. I've buried my mind behind layers of
insanity so deep I may never come out.

The Institution has tried drugs, electroshock therapy, and
even shouting, with limited success.  Can't they see that
making me relive the parasitic invasion of my body will
kill me? Then again, a part of me believes that may be
exactly what they have in mind.

Ironically, the biggest reaction they've seen from me
happened by accident.  Someone wheeled me into a
dayroom filled with the other patients. The smell of
unwashed bodies mixed with the odor of a pungent
antiseptic barely filtered through to me. A television,
behind smeared glass was blaring loudly and bright, noisy
cartoons danced across the screen in comic array.

And then it came on.

Someone nearby started laughing.  "It's the Roadrunner,
it's the Roadrunner!"

The name of the bus line that drew me to the town from
hell. A town full of people willing to let themselves to be
penetrated by a living monster.  People who allowed the
monster to penetrate me.

As soon as my subconscious mind made the connection, I
was thrown into a nightmare of pain. The sound ripped
my conscious mind out of its cotton padding, causing
pain like shards of glass piercing me. I stumbled out of
the wheelchair and found the door.  Before anyone
noticed, I made it down the hall, leaving the sound of
laughter behind. Eventually, I found myself under an iron
staircase and huddled in the corner. Dust and cobwebs
covered me as I allowed peaceful darkness to descend in
my mind.  It was hours before anyone found me, and it
wasn't even an employee who did.

The sound of a furious voice on the staircase woke me. It
seemed familiar, but the anger made me afraid.

"Damn it, what do you mean she's missing?" Rage lined
every word.

I cowered at the sound of it and tried to wedge myself
further under the steps. I must have made a noise,
because the owner of that voice was suddenly near me. I
whimpered in fear.  Make it go away, make it go away.

Soft now, the voice said, "Scully, it's Skinner. Please
come out. No one will hurt you, I promise."

He sounded sad, pleading evident in his voice. "Please,
Scully."

I turned slightly and felt an instant connection to this
man.  I could trust him.  He'd keep the parasite away."

Just as I held my hand out to him, another voice sounded
between us.

"Don't be so tentative.  Grab her."

Nurse Ratchet.  I don't even know her real name, but
somewhere along the line someone called her that and it's
the only name I know. She was a cold and unforgiving
woman, using punishment for infractions. One of her
penalties involved the use of ice water.

The sound of her voice made me snatch my hand away
and wail in fear. When I couldn't retreat physically, I tried
to retreat mentally and continued to howl.

The man's angry voice returned, using it on her.  He
didn't shout.  He didn't need to.

With a low and deadly tone he said, "If you don't leave
this minute, I will kill you."

My wailing stopped, and I peered at her through dirty
hair.  Nurse Ratchet looked taken aback.  She was about
to protest when the man stood up.  He was big and
muscular. When she refused to budge, he put her arm in a
punishing hold and physically dragged her away. I could
hear her voice as it retreated.

"I will see to it that you are banned from the Institution.
You cannot..."

Silence replaced her ugly voice. For a few moments I
thought he wasn't coming back, but then he was beside
me again.

"She's gone, Scully. She won't hurt you anymore."

I let him reach in and pull me out of the cubby hole. I was
picked up and cradled in his arms.  My head came to rest
on his chest, and I could see that dirt smeared his white
shirt.  He didn't seem to care.

Despite the protests of doctors and other personnel
present, he carried me back to my room. The door was
shut firmly in their faces and he gently laid me on the
bed. Automatically, I curled into a fetal position, trying to
shut the world out again.

The musty mattress sagged next to me when he sat down.

"What have they done to you, Scully?" Sadness again.

I gave him no answer, and he didn't seem to expect one
either. He wrapped a blanket around me when I shivered,
and I moved closer to the warmth of his body.  A
tentative hand stroked my hair. Soon I fell asleep, and
knew he'd still be there when I woke.
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 

Darkness lined the room when I finally stirred awake. I
found myself held in the man's arms with the stiff,
institutional blanket still wrapped around me. He was
sitting on the bed with his back against the cinderblock
wall, and I was tucked against his side with my arms
loosely encircling his waist. I dimly remembered having
horrible dreams, and calling someone's name in my sleep.
The nightmares came frequently now, but this time he
was there to chase them away.

I felt comfortable and safe for the first time since coming
to this place, but I knew they'd eventually make him go
away. I pulled back to examine him. His eyes were
closed, face lax in sleep. Hard lines were softened; the
thin mouth now parted revealing full lips. Gentle breaths
emanated from him and I thought this was a side of him
he'd never let me see before.

Boss.  The part of my mind still functioning knew that's
who he was.  His suit jacket hung open in loose folds
around his muscular chest. I reached into one of the inner
pockets and found his wallet and ID. Walter Skinner,
Assistant Director of the FBI. There was a driver's
license, credit cards, a photo of his...dead wife?
Somehow I knew she was dead.

There was more underneath my assessment. To analyze
him further would require waking the rest of my mind,
and I was unprepared for that.  I repeated his information
to myself over and over. It was something tangible from
the real world that I could hang onto.

I carefully put his things back and burrowed into his chest
again, content for the moment. He stirred slightly,
mumbling in his sleep. I held my breath as he settled into
a more comfortable position. The slow beat of his heart
acted as a kind of natural sedative, making my own
erratic rhythm slow down to match his. After a few
minutes, I found my eyelids drooping, fluttering closed in
relaxation and I slumbered once more.
 
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

To my bewilderment, I didn't see 'boss' for three days.
During that time I was given intensive treatments again
and again. Instead of the cure these people said they were
trying to achieve, the therapy caused my mind to retreat
from reality once more. I knew then that they were
deliberately attempting to drive me away from my sanity.

On the fourth day, I heard his angry voice outside the
door, but I couldn't react.  They'd hurt me.  *She'd* hurt
me.  She promised me she would. A man who smoked
cigarettes had stood next to her when I was treated.  I
came to think of him as the human form of the parasite
that was ripped out of my body. I'd known him in the past
too, but associated him with the pungent smell of evil.

'Boss' opened the door to find me sitting in the corner. I
didn't move, didn't react to his presence.

"What have you done to her since I've been gone?"

"She's been under treatment, Mr. Skinner.  As you can
see, she has not responded."

"I have a court order that says you can't 'treat' her
anymore.  I'm taking her out of here.  She's to be
transferred to the psychiatric hospital in Washington
D.C."

"I was not informed of this," she sputtered. Her ugly face
was drawn up into sharp creases.  She actually tried to
stand in his way and was shoved aside like a noisy child.

Kneeling beside me, he spoke with the gentlest of voices.
"Scully, I'm taking you back home.  You'll be safe there."

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear so he could see
my face more clearly.  No matter how much I wanted to,
I couldn't look at him.  Pain and fear still ruled my mind,
even in his reassuring presence.

He simply picked me up when I didn't react.  He walked
past Nurse Ratchet and the security guards. I saw a gun in
his hand when one approached too closely.  They backed
off, their hands held out in supplication.

I buried my face inside his coat, and trusted him to take
me home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I must have fallen asleep or passed out, because the next
sensation I felt was one of floating.  I opened my eyes to
find myself inside the cabin of a small airplane. My head
was resting on a muscular thigh, and the rest of me was
stretched out on the tiny seat.

When the plane hit a patch of turbulence, it jolted me
fully awake.  When I sat up the thigh's owner made a
grunting noise.

More turbulence made me jump into his lap and hang on
for dear life.

"It's just air, Scully," he murmured softly. "Air bumping
the plane."

I let his soothing voice lull me to sleep and I didn't wake
again until we landed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The new hospital looked just like the previous one. It was
a little more modern, but the sights and smells were
identical. He wouldn't leave me here he would he?

I was taken to a room that was nicer than the one I'd left.
The bed had a headboard made of wood, and the
bedspread was a baby blue color. Something about it said
'home' far more than the previous place.

Still, it was an institution and I had no desire to stay
there. I heard Boss turn around to leave again.

"NO," I wailed, the first word I'd uttered since being
hospitalized.

He turned back with a frown and I grabbed his legs. It
was a wholly undignified position, but the terror of his
leaving made me humble.

"Scully," he said gently, trying to pry my groping arms
from around his legs. "I'll be back. I promise I'll be back."

I didn't believe him. "No, no, no...," became a monotone
wail.

He finally pried me loose and opened the door. Nurse
Ratchet number two stood there imperiously.

"Please Mr. Skinner, leave her to us. She will be well
taken care of."

He leaned forward into her face and said in a menacing
voice, "If anything happens to her, you're dead."

She believed him and so did I.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He came back the next day, and everyday afterward.
When the ugly slug man of smoke didn't make his
appearance, I began to feel safe again. I looked forward
to Boss's visits. He made me feel like a human being;
made me want to fight against insanity.

When I'd been in the new hospital for nearly a month, I
began speaking again. I only used one word sentences,
but Boss seemed pleased when I remembered to called
him Skinner.

But, inexplicably, he didn't come to visit one day. It was
only a day, but it was enough to set me back to near
catatonia again. The smoking man visited in his stead and
laughed at my misery with Nurse Ratchet two. The
treatments I'd been given at the Institution began again in
earnest. I believed Skinner wasn't ever coming back and
my will to fight evaporated.

When he finally arrived, it was late at night and long past
visiting hours. I heard him at the end of the hall shouting
and bullying his way in. When my door opened, I
crouched in fear.

"Scully?"

I knew him, knew his voice, but I was still frightened.  I
turned my face to the wall and trembled in fear. I heard
him cross the room to sit at my side.

"Scully, it's me. It's Skinner, don't you remember me?"

I couldn't look at him and I heard him sigh. He physically
picked me up and set me on his lap. I continued to
tremble and sat stiffly against him.

"We're back to square one aren't we?" he asked the
ceiling.

He received no response, and he didn't seem to expect
one. When I finally stopped shaking, he quietly began to
talk. He spoke about his work, about my life, and about
his fervent hopes that I would get better.

While he talked, his hand reached up to brush my cheek,
just brush it with a fine touch.  That gesture in and of
itself was meaningless.  Others had done that too.  But
with him it was a vastly different experience.

His hand trembled when he touched me. The tremor
made me look up and I saw an ocean of sorrow in his
eyes. He wasn't even looking at me; he was looking at a
distant point outside the window.  His profile was sharp,
but I still saw everything.

With the realization of his pain came the sound of his
words. The voice I'd kept at a distance rose up in volume
and behind that came understanding.

"I'm sorry, Scully. So sorry.  First I lost Mulder, and now
I've lost you.  What am I going to do?" His voice broke
with the last, sounding defeated and profoundly
discouraged.

A single tear ran a track down his face and froze near the
edge of his broad jaw. The oval of water magnified the
fine stubble of his evening beard underneath.  And I
knew. I knew it represented a microcosm of everything
he'd felt about me since I'd known him.

I leaned forward and kissed the tear, taking it into my
mouth and body.    The saltiness was a welcome balm.
When I swallowed, I felt the warmth of his body invade
mine. With that warmth came memory.

He snapped his head around to look at me. Shock, fear,
and joy were there at once, but I retreated from him
again.  This wasn't the time to waken, or be touched.  I'd
bide my time and leave here before I could allow anyone
to know I had shaken off to the effects of my treatments.

A mask of sadness covered his face again. He kissed my
forehead before rising and left me without saying another
word.
 
 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next few days were filled with discovery. I
remembered more and more of who I used to be. My
name was Dana. I worked for the FBI. Walter Skinner
was my boss.

I kept this information to myself. The last time I'd shown
progress it was swiftly removed by Nurse Ratchet and the
smoking slug.

Skinner still visited and I looked forward even more to
his coming. I cherished the time he gave me, but hid my
progress from him as well. He touched me often, almost
as a reflex. He stroked my hair, my face, my back. I knew
he never touched me in the past; the nature of our
relationship had forbidden it. He seemed to enjoy that
liberty and I allowed the indulgence. It seemed insanity
had built high walls around some areas of my life, but
had destroyed them in other areas. It gave him the
freedom to touch me, and gave me the opportunity to
enjoy it.

I decided the only way I would be able to stay better was
to leave the hospital. Hiding my awareness was becoming
more difficult, so I started to plan. I watched the habits of
my keepers and looked for vulnerability. Everyday, I
made note of routines and wouldn't let Skinner go until he
promised to return the next day. A visit from the smoker
would destroy all my planning.

It wasn't hard to escape.  I'd been nearly catatonic for too
long to be watched closely.  My legs were so rubbery
from disuse, even walking was like trying to balance on a
floor made of Jell-O.  But determination is an amazing
thing, and can overcome a myriad of physical restraints.

I knew I'd find Nurse Ratchet number two in her office.
She always stayed late on Wednesdays to do the filing of
important documents.  I'd watched her habits, and they
were as ingrained as the insanity around her.

She didn't even look up when I crept up behind her.  She
stood at the D-F filing cabinet concentrating, her back
squarely to the door.  I raised the pipe I'd wrenched out of
the shower stalls and brought it down with a mighty
force.  A satisfying thud sounded before she collapsed to
the floor.

She was so feared, so hated, no one would miss her for
hours.  I smiled to think what her reaction would be when
she finally woke up and realized what happened.

Without preamble, I stripped her and myself as quickly as
I possibly could.  I redressed her in my uniform, but
couldn't close the zip.  A dress that hung limply on me
nearly split when applied to her wrinkled body.

Before I could leave, a strange green fluid oozed out of
her head.  Fascinated, I watched it flow out and track
along a groove in the floor.  An ugly hissing sound
started, and her head collapsed in on itself. I retreated
from the gas, knowing it was poisonous.

I've seen this before, I thought.  Bad people.  Mutants.
My memory was present, but the finer details were going
to be more difficult.

 I walked out the front door and never looked back.

With the money I'd stolen from Nurse Ratchet's purse and
wearing her clothes, I hailed a cab not too far from the
asylum. I didn't know which car was hers in the lot, and it
would be traced in any case.

"You're awful pretty to be workin' in that place."

I looked up into the rearview mirror to see the cabby was
sincere. Even with hollowed out cheeks and limp hair, he
was trying to pick me up.

I started to laugh.  Not the strange, hysterical kind, but
genuine, joyous laughter that made my body quiver. And
it opened up the floodgate to other areas of emotion that
I'd dammed up.  Salty tears mixed with the laughter. I had
to roll down the window and take deep breaths while I
struggled for control. Some emotions were painful; others
were not.  But it didn't matter so much now.  I had
someplace to go.

The cabby, of course, didn't understand. He thought I was
making fun of him, and glowered until we reached my
destination.  Even so, I gave him a huge tip.  Anyone who
could see beauty in the wreck I'd become deserved a little
something extra. I had him drop me six blocks away near
a bus terminal. Let them think I ran far, far away.

As I walked, I realized the trick now was getting into the
apartment. Bluffing my way past the doorman wouldn't
be hard, but what about the locks? Keys were not things I
had access to.

With more daring than I thought I could manage, I sweet-
talked the doorman into letting me in. I made up an
elaborate story of being stuck in a hospital, forgetting my
keys, and having my wallet stolen by an abusive mugger.

To my surprise he bought the whole story.  I guess I
looked pitiful enough for the tale to have some validity.
Working with Mulder all these years had its advantages.

Mulder.

I couldn't think about him now. Doing that would unravel
everything, distract me unduly.  And I had work to do. A
lot of work to do.

The apartment was dark, silent, and spare. A strange kind
of anticipation hugged itself along the neutral walls.  It
seemed to be a place of expectations, of waiting.  I
wondered if it had been waiting for me.

I climbed the stairs and found the bedroom.  The bed was
large, much too large for one person.  I felt like
Goldilocks discovering the sleeping quarters of the three
bears.  This bed is too small; this bed is too big...

A sudden need to remove the ugly uniform had me
ripping at the hideous, polyester fabric. After removing it
along with the hose and shoes, I stood shivering and
wondered what I would do next.

"A hot bath.  I need a hot bath," I whispered to myself. I
wanted nothing more than to wash the unhealthy odors of
the hospital off my flesh.

Blinding white tile greeted me in the Master Bath.  A tub
as large as the bed was a central feature. He didn't have
much in the way of toiletries: plain soap, shampoo,
shaving cream, and an old fashioned razor. I was
fascinated by this shaver and the simple economy it
represented. I wanted to know Skinner better, wanted to
understand him in a whole new way. Curiosity was a new
and persistent friend.

The razor was the type that used disposable blades,
unscrewing from the bottom to permit changing. I picked
up the gold handle and turned it until the flattened metal
top opened up to reveal the gray double blade.

Stupidly, I picked the blade up to look at it and felt the
sharp edge slice into my thumb. When I dropped it as a
reflex it made a cut on the top of my foot as well. Fat red
drops of blood fell onto the white marble sink before I
could thrust my thumb under cold water. Blood also ran
from the top of my foot down onto the tiled flooring. I
grabbed tissue and wrapping it around my injury to
staunch the flow of blood. In the end, I decided to leave
the blade where it fell and clean the mess up later. I
wanted nothing more than to soak in the tub.

I ran water, as hot as I could stand, into the tub and
gratefully descended into the soothing heat. As I semi-
floated in the water, images came unbidden to my mind:
bantering with Mulder, walking through plain, efficient
halls, and arguing with...Skinner. I should get used to
calling him that. He was my boss and he had been
nothing more than that before my hospitalization. But
remembering his gentle kindness these past weeks filled
me with an aching sensation. He felt like more now; I
wanted him to mean more to me now.

I semi-dozed in the warm water, feeling completely
relaxed. I hadn't thought what I'd do next or what
Skinner's reaction would be once he discovered me in his
apartment. I only knew I had to get away from the
hospital and that his apartment would be a safer place to
be. I could only hope he wouldn't take me back there.

As I drifted and allowed memories to flit through my
head, I thought I heard the sound of a door closing
distantly. I dismissed it when I heard nothing further, and
closed my eyes again. It was quiet here in Skinner's
apartment. I didn't hear the continual screaming or
sobbing of hysterical patients in the background. I liked
that very much.

Suddenly a loud voice reverberated off the tiled walls.
"Scully!"

I sat up instinctively and turned toward the voice. Skinner
stood there with the uniform in one hand and the blood-
soaked tissue in the other. I saw him survey the
bathroom, taking in the blood-spattered tile and blade on
the floor.

Before I could move or think he was over to the bathtub
and hauling me out.

"What have you done?" he asked in an anguished voice.
One arm held me up against him, while the other grabbed
my hands and frantically turned them over. I finally
realized he must have thought I'd cut my wrists and
gotten into the tub to die.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked as he looked me over,
evidently ignoring my nude body in favor of finding
injuries. He looked so anguished, so frightened I leaned
forward and kissed his neck.

He jolted backward in shocked surprise.

 "I didn't do anything. I'm fine, just fine. I have been for a
long time now.  I-I ran away."

I don't know what surprised him more, the kiss on his
neck or hearing the sound of my voice. His face wore an
expression of dumbstruck amazement. His hold on me
slackened, and I stood up while he continued to hold my
hands.

Suddenly, he seemed to realize he was holding a dripping
wet, nude woman. He reached over and pulled a towel off
the bar. He wrapped me carefully in the soft white
terrycloth, his eyes avoiding my nakedness. He picked
me up and carried me into the bedroom. I was set gently
on the bed.

He stood back from me and ran a hand over his head in
frustration. I could see he was wondering what to do with
me. Boldly, I stood and let the towel drop from my
shoulders. I was painfully thin, but wanted him to see me,
to see all of me.

"Scully..." he began and looked away in embarrassment.

"Look at me," I said quietly.

"No. I have to take you back."

I walked over to stand in front of him. "Look at me," I
insisted. "You want me. I know you do."

I stood close and pressed myself against him. I could hear
the loud thumping of his heart against my ear.

"Touch me," I pleaded. "You touch me all the time."

"That's different," he said weakly. "This is different."

"How?" I asked innocently.

"You didn't know who you were; you were frightened
and needed comforting..."

"I need comfort now." I didn't tell him that with returning
memory and emotions, a burgeoning sexuality had also
awakened inside me.

"It wasn't like that."

"No?"

"No."

"Is it like that now?"

"No," he said halfheartedly as I brought his hand to my
mouth. I kissed his palm and ran my tongue over the deep
creases there. I could feel his composure slip as I caressed
the roughened skin. He wanted me as much as I wanted
him.

"Scully..."

His voice trailed off when I slid his thumb into my
mouth. A deep groan escaped him when I sucked it
gently, my tongue circling the sensitive pad. I looked up
to see dark desire glaze his eyes.

When he didn't pull away, I put his hand against my
breast. I encouraged the wet thumb to brush across an
already tightened nipple.

"Please," I pleaded.

He said nothing, mesmerized by the sight of his thumb
against me. Reaching out I felt his erection hard against
the palm of my hand and rubbed against it in time with
his hands.

Silently, I led him back to the bed and I lay down on the
soft spread. I drew him forward and down so he could
cover me with the warmth of his body.
 
He was big, so big; a giant of man who could kill me with
one hand. The feel of his clothed body against my nude
one was a gloriously erotic sensation. I moved restlessly
under him.

"I can't stop," he said, his face buried between my breasts.

"I don't want you to," I whispered urgently.  "I want to
feel you inside me."

He groaned again, finally losing all restraint or thought of
regret. I was touched and kissed everywhere. He'd been
right; this kind of contact was vastly different than what
we'd shared before.

Too impatient to fully disrobe, Skinner only unbuttoned
his shirt and unzipped his trousers before returning to
enter me.

Afterward I cried as a new feeling, one I hadn't
experienced in years coursed through my body: love.
Love, pure, sweet, and clear ran over me and through me,
making me feel a wonderful ache in my heart.

Skinner drew back, not understanding the swiftly
changing emotional tide I was riding. His eyebrows drew
together into a frown.

"Scully? Have I hurt you?"

"No, no," I said as tears ran down my face, "You saved
me. You saved me."

He smiled at me then, a wholly unfamiliar, but gratifying
expression to see. With tender care he kissed me over and
over; sweet gentleness in every caress.

"I love you," I whispered.

He buried his face in my neck. "Scully I've waited so long
to hear you say it, but..." he said, raw regret permeating
the words.

"You can believe it. I'm sane again. You found me." I
pulled his face up and looked to see if he remembered
those words. "You found *me*.I'm sane. I'm whole
because of you."

Dark eyes studied mine, plumbed the truthfulness of my
statement. "How can I know that?"

"The same way you knew Mulder was sane two years
ago. Because you know us and you know in your heart
it's true."

He flinched at the mention of Mulder's name. Perhaps he
thought I'd forgotten he was missing, or that I wouldn't
want to speak of him.

"I lost him," he said.

"We'll find him together."

He seemed content with that and closed his eyes at last.
We would sleep and then rise together in the morning to
continue our search and our new lives together.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*End
Like it?  Let me know philiater1@aol.com