by Amy Vincent
xfscully@aol.com
 

Loads of people have been speculating about a romance beween Scully and --
no, not what you're expecting -- Deputy Director Walter Skinner.  Is this
even remotely plausible for the show?  Of course not!  That's why fanfic
is so wonderful -- you get to play with these ideas without having to face
the consequences next week. This story doesn't actually get the romance
started; it just lays a foundation for future, more intriguing tales.

All the disclaimers apply: the characters herein are the creation of Chris
Carter and the property of the Fox network, and are used without
permission.

Feedback would be greatly appreciated; send comments, praise,
flames to xfscully@aol.com. And remember, "A man's reach should exceed his
grasp, else what's a heaven for?"

********************
"Lock and Key"
by Amy Vincent
xfscully@aol.com
********************

     Dana Scully burst through the door of her office; she tried to skid
to a halt on the linoleum floor, and only half succeeded, stopping only
when her hip collided with the edge of the desk.
     "Damnit!" she yelled, dropping her briefcase to rub her side.  She
looked around wildly for Mulder; sure, she was running 10 minutes late for
the debriefing with Skinner, but he certainly wouldn't have left without
her.  Would he?
     Then she saw the yellow post-it note fluttering on her rolodex.  She
snapped it up, and decoded Mulder's chickenscratch writing only to read:
"Scully, we don't seem to have loads on our plate today -- I'm running
over to The Lone Gunman office to see what's happening.  Call me if
Bigfoot shows up, or you want to do lunch. FM"
     Oh, God, she thought, the blood draining from her face.  He didn't
leave without me, he *forgot.*  Dana began to fish through her briefcase
for her cellular phone, so she could bitch Mulder out and get him back
here -- but after a second she stopped.  No, at this point, it would take
him another half-hour for him to get back here.  By that time, Skinner
would be furious -- as if he isn't already, Scully mused. Better to go in
herself, and make up some story that would explain her lateness and
Mulder's absence in one fell swoop.
     By the time she was smoothing her ruffled hair in the mirrored doors
of the elevator, Dana had narrowed the choices down to a Mulder family
crisis or a minor car accident. She was still debating it when the doors
slid open on Skinner's floor -- and revealed the face of her friend,
Special Agent Tamara Jackson, tear-streaked and shaken.
     "Tammy?  What's happened?"
     Tamara shook her head quickly, indicating that she couldn't speak
here.  "Do you have a second?"
     "Oh, God, I'm late for a meeting with Skinner.  But it shouldn't last
over 30 minutes -- lunch?" Scully squeezed her friend's shoulder; she hated
to leave her just now, but there was no way around it.
     Jackson nodded, understanding, and went to sit at a nearby desk as
Scully hurried down the hall.  Dana's mind was racing -- Tamara Jackson
was one of the most unflappable agents she knew.  They had been in the
same Academy class, but hadn't become close until Tamara had been paired
to work with Tom Winston.  The FBI was still mostly a boys' club, and both
of them had dealt with a lot of innuendo and snickering about their
"partnerships."  Jackson could deal with all of that, and just about
anything else life threw at her. Until now --
     Finally, she reached Skinner's office. The secretary waved her on in,
but not before raising an eyebrow at her sceptically.  Dana sighed and
stepped into the room.
     Walter Skinner was standing at the window, looking out over the D.C.
skyline. For the instant between her entrance and his acknowledgement,
Dana allowed herself to appreciate the firm lines of his body silhouetted
in the morning light.  Spending too much time ogling your boss wasn't such
a good idea -- she and Tamara had decided this, over lunch and a lot of
giggling, last week -- but the occasional glimpse couldn't hurt.  Sure,
when Skinner was furious he was intimidating as all hell.  But there were
other moments, when that stern face softened in kindness or concern --
     This is *not* one of those moments, Scully reminded herself as
Skinner turned, obviously angry and not bothering to hide it.  "Agent
Scully, there had better be a damn good reason that you haven't appeared
for this debriefing before now.  And why Agent Mulder doesn't seem to have
appeared at all."
     She swallowed hard.  "Sir, I was speaking to Agent Mulder on the
phone; he's been involved in a minor traffic accident.  He's uninjured,
but he's got to wait for the police to arrive on the scene --"
     Her voice trailed off as she heard the shouting.  Just outside the
door, someone was yelling, "I don't give a damn who he's got in there.  I
have to see him, I have to see him right now --"
     "Tom, don't!  Stop this!"  Scully realized it was Tamara Jackson,
trying to calm her partner down.  Skinner put his hands on his hips,
puzzlement replacing anger in his expression.
     "What the hell --" he murmurmed, then began to step past her to the
door.
     "I'm going in there! They want me to go in there, and I've got to do
it!" Tom Winston bellowed; Skinner opened the door just one instant before
Winston pulled a gun.
     "Tom!" Jackson sobbed one last plea, but her partner was beyond
hearing her.  He pushed her roughly into Skinner as he cocked his weapon.
     "Security!" Skinner called, as he stepped in front of Jackson,
putting his body between her and Winston.  Not that it mattered, either
way; there wasn't any more time for security to get there before Winston
fired, blowing the secretary's neck to shreds.  Blood sprayed across
Winston's face, and for one brief moment he looked shocked -- looked
something like his old self. But that was gone in an instant. He wheeled
the gun towards Skinner and fired again.
     "No!" Scully cried out as Skinner fell. She turned to run to his
side. But Winston was through the door now, slamming it shut behind him.
     "Get in the center of the floor!  And drop that briefcase!  NOW!" he
ordered.  Scully froze; Jackson began stumbling towards her, obviously in
shock.  After a moment, Skinner got uneasily to his feet -- thank God it
only grazed him, Dana sighed -- and joined them.  Outside, she could hear
security pounding towards the door. Tom heard it too, and yelled out, "I
know what you're planning!  That door opens, someone dies! I can fire
before you can take me out!  You know I can do it, so get back. Get BACK!"
     The security forces stopped.  Scully heard Skinner curse under his
breath; the patrol had violated its orders.  Winston might or might not
have been able to kill one of them before security took them out -- but
they should have taken the risk.  Now, they'd have to deal with a hostage
situation in the heart of FBI headquarters.
     For a long moment, everyone stayed perfectly still; it had been less
than two minutes since the entire nightmare began, but it already seemed
like an eternity.  Dana realized she was trembling almost as much as
Tamara, and made an effort to quiet herself.  Skinner was holding his arm
close to his body; while the wound didn't seem to be deep, it was bleeding
profusely.  He's going to need bandaging soon, she thought, or he'll lose
too much blood to remain alert.  And all of us are going to need to stay
sharp.
     "What do you want?" one of the security men called out.
     "I don't know," Tom replied.  "They told me to do this, and they'll
tell me what I need next.  I just have to wait."
     A long pause from the other side of the door. "Who told you to do
this?"
     "The voices," Winston answered simply.  Jackson began to cry again.
Scully felt her heart drop; Tom Winston, normally the most reliable of
men, had snapped.
     Although her briefcase was several feet away, she could almost *feel*
the outline of her sidearm within it.  Why didn't I wear the piece?  Don't
be stupid, nobody wears their gun in for a briefing.  Will he let me open
it for medication, anything?  No, he told me to toss it -- he knows the
gun's in there.  Damnit damnit damnit.
     The security forces continued shuffling around outside, no doubt
attempting to call in specialists to deal with this crazed agent.  Tom
nodded; he knew he'd bought himself some time.  "Okay, I want you to
spread out.  Scully, get in the far corner, Skinner at the middle of the
wall, Tammy in the far corner. Get over there -- nice and slow."
     Good thinking, Scully mused as she slumped in her corner.  Right
where he can see us all -- and right where any attack force would be most
likely to hit us.  That should slow them down.  I never thought I'd be
*glad* that Mulder forgot this meeting.

***

     "They've even got the Dead Parrot skit in here -- check it out,"
Frohicke laughed.
     Mulder smiled and leaned in towards his pal's latest CD-ROM.  He felt
a little guilty about skipping out on a dull day at the office, but hell --
he was doing the paperwork he'd have done anyway.  What difference did it
make if he did it there or here on the laptop, having a good time?  None,
as long as Skinner didn't find out, he reasoned.  And Scully would cover
for him.
     So why did he feel so strange?

***

     Walter Skinner fought back a wave of dizziness.  Gotta keep my head,
he reminded himself.  Winston might show some sign of vulnerability, or
better yet, reason -- if that happened, he wanted to take advantage of it.
     Easier said than done when you're losing this much blood, Walter.
Hang on.  It's been about ten minutes now -- they should have somebody on
the line with him soon.
     "Tom?" Agent Scully raised her hand slowly.  "Walter has lost a lot
of blood.  Why don't you let me bandage his arm?"
     The part of his brain that was still calm and collected approved.
Smart.  Taking it slow, her voice even, using first names  -- not bad.
     Winston shook his head.  "I don't want anybody to move."
     "It will only take a second.  You need him awake, Tom.  They may want
to speak to him, to make sure he's all right; you need him to be able to do
that."
     Winston seemed to weigh that for a moment, then jerked his gun
towards Skinner. "Go ahead.  But make it quick."
     Scully crawled to his side; Skinner held his arm out for her
inspection, groaning softly with the pain the motion caused.  "Thank you,
Dana," he said, carefully keeping the first names in use.
     She smiled weakly at him, then got to work.  "How deep is it?" Scully
asked, prodding his bicep gently.
     "Not very, but it's bleeding like hell." Skinner let himself relax
slightly at her soft touch.  She bit her lip for a moment, obviously
perplexed; before he could ask, she reached up and tore one of the long
sleeves from her silky blouse. Winston jumped at the sudden noise.
     "Just for bandages, Tom.  I'm going to tear the other as well, okay?"
After he nodded, Scully did so and set about preparing the wound's dressing.
     As she leaned across Skinner's chest, he whispered, "Good work,
Dana.  Remind me of this next time you're due for a raise."  Although she
didn't lift her face towards him, he could see her quick smile.
     Skinner's phone rang; they all started at the sound, which seemed
impossibly loud in the silence of that room.  Winston took a deep, shaky
breath.  "Everybody stay completely still," he ordered as he took one hand
from the gun and picked up the phone. They all obeyed; Jackson trembled in
her corner, and Scully remained bent over Skinner's chest.  She took the
opportunity to tighten the bandage and perfect her work.  Just like her,
Skinner thought admiringly.
     Winston laughed into the phone.  "You know how I'm feeling.  I bet
you do."
     Jesus Christ, Skinner fumed, they're still using the standard FBI
script.  You'd think they would have learned after the Duane Berry
fiasco.  Winston isn't going to fall for this.  He glanced down and met
Scully's eyes; she obviously realized it too.
     "No, no -- *I* don't want anything.  *They* want something.  When
they let me know what it is, I'll tell you. Now leave me alone!" Winston
slammed the phone down, even shakier than he was before.  He glanced
around the room, wild-eyed, before muttering, "I don't like this.  I don't
like this --"
     "What's the matter, Tom?" Tamara asked, her voice level.  Way to go,
Jackson, pull yourself together.  While mentally encouraging Jackson,
Skinner took Scully's shoulder in his good hand; Winston still didn't look
good and he didn't want Dana to move.
     "There's too many of you.  I was just supposed to get him; you two
got in the way.  I can't concentrate on watching all of you."  He shook
his head, as if to clear it.  "I want you and Scully to go into the
closet; you can't get out from there, but I'll only have to watch him."
     "No, Tom," Jackson held up a hand.  Skinner shot her a dirty look,
but she didn't see it.  "Let me stay out here with you.  I can tell you're
shaken up; we ought to talk.  He'll still be in there, okay?"
     "Damn!" Walter cursed under his breath, making Scully jump. He
squeezed her shoulder in apology, and kept the rest of his anger to
himself. Damnit, Jackson, I know what you're doing -- you're his friend,
it's harder for him to hurt you -- but I don't want you on the line for
me.  But Winston was nodding.
     "Okay.  You two get in there.  Nice and slow."  Scully slid her arm
around Skinner's back, helping him to his feet. Jackson gave them a weak
smile as they stepped into the darkness of the closet.  Scully started to
get the light with her free arm, but Winston cut her off.  "Leave it
dark.  Don't touch anything. Just get in there, shut the door, and stay
quiet.  If I hear anything, somebody's going to die."
     Skinner let go of Scully, and lowered himself carefully to sit on the
floor.  Scully shut the door slowly behind them.  The closet was incredibly
tiny, designed only to hold a couple of coats; she managed to slide down
next to Skinner, though not with a lot of room to spare.
     They sat there in total silence, illuminated only by the thin bands
of light around the door, for a very long time.

***

     "So, what is that vision of loveliness you call your partner doing
today?" Mulder smiled ruefully; Frohicke had managed to wait almost the
entire morning before asking about Dana, a rare sign of restraint.
     "Probably making up some bull story about why I'm not in the
office.  And 'organizing' my desk so I can't find a damn thing."
     "You should bring her with you more often.  She's the most beautiful
of our female visitors."
     "She's your *only* female visitor, Frohicke.  Throw me another root
beer, will you?"

***

     Scully tilted her head, trying to hear the conversation between
Tamara and Tom. Although the closet door was thin, and eavesdropping
should have been no problem, the two agents were speaking very quietly.
She could tell, however, that Tamara's voice seemed calm now. Dana leaned
closer to Walter, bringing her mouth to his ear, and whispered, "Things
must be going well."
     Turning slightly, Skinner whispered back, "Let's hope so.  From the
sound of things, those wizards in Psych aren't doing any good."
     Dana nodded, remembering again the mistakes they'd made with Duane
Berry -- those horrible, tense moments when Mulder's life had been in
jeopardy.  She'd spoken as convincingly as she could into the electronics
connecting her to her partner, trying to save his life, trying not to
think that the words she spoke might be the last thing Fox would ever
hear.  At the memory, she shivered and put her hands over her face.
     Skinner mentally kicked himself.  Nice, Walter.  Leave it to you to
find the dark cloud around every silver lining.  He put his good arm
around Scully's shoulders for comfort -- and no other reason, he reminded
himself.  "But Winston and Jackson are close.  Maybe she can get through
to him.  She's held together through this well.  So have you; I'm proud of
you."
     "I let the gun go -- I tossed the briefcase and I should've held on
to it.  He might have let me get in there --"
     "Scully, stop beating yourself up about this.  The only person
allowed to tear up my agents is me, understood?  You kept your calm in
there; that's more than most people could do." In the dim light, he could
see a small answering smile.
     "After two years of X-Files, I don't spook easily." Dana allowed
herself to lean slightly into Skinner's shoulder. "Anyway, I've learned to
be less afraid of death."
     That piqued Walter's curiosity.  "How so?"
     Scully smiled even more broadly.  "It seems like a welcome release
from all the paperwork you want from us --" Skinner choked back a laugh at
that, but Scully felt a little guilty for not really answering his
question. She took a deep breath and continued, "No, seriously, I've
experienced things that make me certain that -- well, that death isn't the
end.  When I was in that coma six months ago, I wasn't unconscious.  I was
experiencing -- so much --" She swallowed hard as she remembered the
visions that had led her back to the side of life.  How could she explain
this to him?  But as she looked into his eyes, she saw not puzzlement or
skepticism, but understanding.
     "I never heard about this -- but then, it's a sensitive thing.  I
guess you didn't tell anyone," Skinner murmured.
     "Only Mulder," Scully whispered in reply.  "I knew he'd believe me --
I mean, admit it, it has to sound a little crazy to you."
     He smiled ruefully.  "Not at all, Dana.  Not at all.  Years ago, in
Vietnam, something similar happened to me.  There was a time when I was
separate from my body -- a time that taught me our souls are a reality."
His voice trailed off slightly; even now, it was difficult to discuss.
     Yet she was listening raptly, nodding encouragement. "I understand; I
really do.  It alters you somehow -- separates you from the experience of
those around you.  You want to talk about it, but it's a hard thing to
explain to anyone."
     "Anyone except Mulder, apparently," Walter murmured.  "I ended up
telling him this story while you were in the hospital.  Telling it to him
although I'd never spoken one word of it -- not to my ex-wife, my parents,
my sisters -- anyone.  I knew he'd understand.  I guess compared to some of
the stuff you guys see, an out-of-body experience is old hat."
     Scully shook her head. "Not if it's happening to *you* --" Her voice
trailed off as Tom's voice suddenly went back to fever pitch.
     "I DON'T CARE!!  They're ready now!  Right NOW!!"
     Walter and Dana shared a look of mutual dread as Tamara pleaded,
"Tom, please *think* about this!  Please, Tom -- NO!"
     Gunfire exploded in the room.  Scully cried out as they heard
Jackson's body slam against the wall near them.  Skinner squeezed his eyes
shut.  A good agent -- dead because she'd tried to help her partner and her
boss.  An utter waste.
     The closet door swung open.  They blinked in the sudden light --
Winston flattened himself against the door, aiming his weapon squarely at
Skinner.  In the corner of the view, Scully could see Tammy's feet lying
completely still. "You -- get out here," Winston barked at Skinner.
     He turned for one brief moment to look into Dana's eyes; she saw no
fear or hysteria in his gaze, only steadiness and even a kind of relief.
He even smiled slightly at her.  She managed to do the same, however
shakingly, as her eyes filled with sudden tears.  Then Walter pulled
himself to his feet and walked out to face whatever demons now ruled Tom
Winston's mind.
     Scully shuddered as the closet door slammed shut again.

***

     "Hey, Mulder, you want to try that new Thai place down the block?
Good food, sexy waitress." Frohicke waggled his eyebrows at Fox, who shook
his head.
     "Nah; I told you, Dana will probably want to grab something."
     "Yeah, you told me that at 11.  It's noon now -- she hasn't called.
Probably has other plans."  Frohicke suddenly paled.  "Mulder -- you don't
think she could be seeing someone else?"
     Fox wasn't listening.  Scully *should* have called; even if she
wasn't interested in lunch, she would've rung him up just to gripe about
his ditching her, or with some snide comment about a videotape that had
turned up during one of her cleanup commando raids.  "Something isn't
right here," he muttered.
     "You're telling me!  Just last week, she told me she was taking a
year off dating to find herself.  I can't believe I bought that!"
     "Not now, Frohicke!  It's not a guy; probably just something at the
office."  Realization struck.  "Oh, SHIT! The debriefing with Skinner!  I
completely forgot!  We had this important meeting this morning and I
forgot -- oh, Jesus, she had to go in there alone.  She's gonna have my
hide!" Mulder paced the length of the room while Frohicke clucked his
tongue at him.
     "Mulder -- don't you realize how that's going to hurt her?  She might
need a shoulder to cry on..." Frohicke's voice trailed off as he considered
the possibilities.
     Fox stopped in his tracks.  "It *would* hurt her, Frohicke, or at
least make her really damn mad.  She would have called me -- to bitch me
out about missing it, or fill me in on the details of the cover story.
She *should* have called."
     "So, what's up then?"
     Mulder grabbed his coat from the rack and pulled his cellular phone
out of the pocket.  "I don't know.  But I'm gonna find out."

***

     Walter leaned against his desk, strangely calm.  The unreality of it
all -- Winston's quiet mutterings to no one in particular, Jackson's
bloodsoaked body lying a few feet away -- threatened to overwhelm him.
The blood loss didn't help either; while Scully had done the best she
could with two shirt sleeves, he was still bleeding slowly and was by now
almost giddy.
     Maybe it's just as well, he thought.  Maybe I don't *want* to fully
appreciate my situation.
     It was much more enjoyable to remember his conversation with Dana
Scully.  He'd always thought of her as one of his best agents, always cool
and competent and occasionally inspired.  He'd never had any trouble
admitting that to anyone - - in fact, he made a point of telling that to
some agents who made the mistake of using her "Mrs. Spooky" nickname in
his presence.
     What he'd had far more difficulty admitting to himself were his
increasing feelings for her.  Attraction -- well, hell, he'd been aware of
that from day one.  Hardly surprising, considering her stunning red hair
and blue eyes.  But he'd kept his silence.  Too many of the female agents
had to put up with sexist crap as it was; Skinner had no intention of
adding a leering boss to their burdens.
     But this was more than attraction, and had been for a long time.
He'd come to look forward to their occasional conversations as the
highlights of his week; although he still had to call her on the carpet
for some of the craziness she and Mulder cooked up, he hated every sharp
word he had to speak to her.  This emotion embarassed him so much he'd
found himself intensifying the lectures to compensate.  No doubt it fooled
Scully -- but he wasn't convincing himself.
     He'd always regarded it as hopeless anyway; after all, he was a
middle- aged bald man with an ugly divorce under his belt and a job that
required making Dana's job hell from time to time.  Not exactly the
romance every young girl dreams of.  But today, in the middle of this
horror, they had discovered this powerful link between them -- an
experience that separated them from everyone else. It would be interesting
to explore that --
     "YOU.  You're the one," Winston growled, his eyes finally refocusing
on Skinner.  His grip on the gun steadied as he stared into Walter's
eyes.  "You're the one the voices keep talking about."
     Inside her dark cell, Scully shivered.  She couldn't make out exact
words, but the tone of Tom's voice had changed -- become darker, more
dangerous.  She pressed her hands against the thin wood of the door,
blinking back sudden tears.  Oh, God, please don't let this happen, she
thought wildly.  Not to this good man.  He deserves so much more than this
--
     She jumped as she heard an electronic buzzing.  What the hell -- ?
     Winston jumped too, nearly squeezing the trigger as he tensed.  But
he and Skinner realized at the same moment that the buzzing was coming
from inside Scully's briefcase.  Tom nodded quickly at Skinner.  "Open
that thing.  What the hell is in there?"
     The gun, thought Walter.  He's forgotten about the gun.  Let him not
remember for another 2 seconds, please --
     Skinner leaned forward and slowly opened the case.  With his left
hand he slowly held up the buzzing cellular phone for Winston to see.  Tom
relaxed slightly, nodding.  But in the instant that Tom stared at the
phone, Skinner took Scully's weapon in his right hand.  He brought it up,
blindingly fast, feeling the weight that told him it was loaded only half
a second before he felt the violent kick against his hand as he fired into
Winston's gut.
     Tom pinwheeled wildly into the wall, then fell.  There was an instant
of total silence -- then the phone buzzed yet again.  Still slightly giddy,
Skinner pushed the talk key.
     "Scully, it's me," Mulder said.  "I thought I ought to call and
apologize for ditching you -- Scully?"
     "No, Agent Mulder," Skinner replied, as the security forces belatedly
rushed into the room.  "But I'm glad you decided to check in.  By the way,
you're on report."
     Scully stumbled from the closet.  She took in the gory scene for a
moment, then leaned down and checked Jackson's pulse.  After a second, she
shook her head, then looked back at Skinner in shock and amazement.
     Skinner's mouth curled in a rueful smile.  "Dana?  It's for you."

***

     Later that night, as Walter Skinner tried to fall asleep in an
uncomfortable hospital bed and Dana Scully poured out her story to her
relieved mother, the autopsies on Tamara Jackson and Tom Winston were
performed.
     Jackson's body was given little attention -- severe gunshot trauma to
the head doesn't leave much doubt as to the cause of death.  Winston's
body, however, posed interesting questions.
     The coroner, a quiet woman who knew how to keep her job and her
silence, reached deep into Winston's ear with a thin metal probe.  After a
moment, she pulled out a tiny metal tubing, with eyelash-thin wires
protruding from its sides. She pressed on the wires, and nodded
approvingly as something within the tubing clicked and whirred.  She
turned toward her companion and whispered, "The transmitter's working."
     He nodded.  "We'll be able to move from the tests soon, and put this
to some practical use.  About time."  With that, he stubbed out his
cigarette, and left the room.

***

THE END