By fran58
fran58@fran58.net

Email/Feedback: I'm always happy to get it.
website:  http://www.fran58.net/authorspgs/fran58/fran58.htm
Category: VA
Rating: PG
Distribution: Wherever _ just let me know.
Spoilers: The Truth, William, Beyond the Sea, The Blessing
Way, Duane Barry/Ascension
Disclaimer: Characters owned by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen
Productions and 20th Century Fox.
Summary: I live a part of my life in an empty place.  A place
where there are no smiles, beauty or laughter. This is the
land on which Walter Skinner came to trespass.

Author's Note: Thanks, as usual, to addicted2fanfic for beta
help and generally putting up with me, and to
FabulousMonster for a fabulous beta.
 
 

A Solid Man
 

The wasteland that is my soul will not be transmuted to
green, no matter how my tears water this hard ground.  I live
a part of my life in an empty place.  A place where there are
no smiles, beauty or laughter.  A place where the bleak
landscape will not tolerate a colorful bloom.  This is the
place where my dead daughter dwells.  Where my deceased
husband has reign.  Where Dana picks up and leaves again
and again.  Where her son, my beloved grandchild, performs
his unholy miracles, and where the world as I know it may
some day cease to be.

This is the land on which Walter Skinner came to trespass.

~~~~~~~~~~

When he first stopped by to see me, I didn't want to let him
in.  I still had a bad taste in my mouth from some of the
things that happened years ago, from things Dana had said
when she had been unsure of his loyalties.  Good manners
dictated that I allow him to enter, however, so I did.  He
explained that Dana and Fox were gone.  He claimed he
didn't know where -- I didn't believe him at the time.  I
pressed for more information.  I was entitled.  I was Dana's
mother, after all.  I found him to be as stubborn as my own
daughter.  He wouldn't tell me what I needed to know.

He began stopping by after that.  His visits were desultory,
patternless.  If I happened to be out when he came by, he left
a polite note written in bold hand strokes.  I would crumple
it up and throw it in the trash can out back.

One evening, late in the summer, he brought news of Dana.
A message from her.  It was short, but it gave me a kernel of
hope, a little whiff of joy at seeing her neat penmanship.
She was safe at least.  Where and how he had come to
receive this note, I didn't know.  He was characteristically
tight-lipped about the matter.

That day, I asked him to stay for coffee.  He didn't seem like
a tea drinker.

~~~~~~~~~~

I taught all my children to play chess.  People assume it was
their father, but it was me.

Everyone has their own style of play.  I played once with
Fox when Dana went missing the first time.  He reminded
me of Missy, playing from his gut, not bothering with a plan.
At the same time, I'm sure he could have dazzled me with
any number of traditional winning strategies had he wanted.
He won two games out of three, but not easily.  I think that
surprised him.

Walter Skinner reminds me of Dana when he plays.  Head
and heart and concentration all rolled together.  Thoughtful
moves and careful planning are his mainstay.  He has
surprised me several times, though.   Last time we played,
by suddenly veered from what seemed like a clear path with
a reckless move.  He won that first game.  I took the second.
The third lasted so long we called it a draw.

That night he finally told me how Dana and Fox came to be
on the run, and  the events that had forced them to leave.
The events that took my daughter away.  Again.

I have few illusions.  I know I'm not aware of the whole
truth.  I know things are not as they seem.  Mr. Skinner is
careful not to involve me in the unsavory or dangerous.  I
should be grateful, but instead, I am frustrated.  He is my
savior and my jailor, feeding me bread and water when I
crave roast beef.

I ache for my daughter.  For the grandson I barely knew.  For
the pain of their separation, necessary though it may be.  I
live my life as I always have, day by day.  I learned long ago
to enjoy the everyday pleasures: The bloom of my asters, the
flavor of good coffee.  I see my friends, attend church, and
plan for fewer chairs around the Thanksgiving table.

 It should be the other way around.  I should have two
daughters and two sons.  Some with spouses and children,
some, perhaps, without.  I should have four whole, happy
children.  Instead, I have two sons, one missing and one
dead daughter.  I sometimes have a nightmare that Bill and
Charlie fade away after a few years, leaving me with only
dust and hazy memories of happier times.

Perhaps I shouldn't be so melancholy.  I should thank God
for the two sons I have, for my son's children, for my friends
and for a life that is not uncomfortable.  I should thank Him
for Walter Skinner and the random bits of news he brings
that are all I have left of my surviving girl.

He has promises me that he will do his best à that he is
doing his best à to make it safe for Dana to come home.
Dana, who followed her lover into an uncertain wilderness.
Or perhaps it is he who followed her.  Either way, it cuts me
to the bone.  I want to help, but know better than to ask.  I
have no place in this netherworld of duplicity and deceit.
I'm not cut out for deception any more than Dana is.  I
wonder sometimes how she manages to survive.  I wonder
how Walter Skinner has manages.

Tonight he sits in front of me, big hands wrapped around his
mug of coffee, and brings me up to date on what's happened
since we last met.  These visits have something of a
debriefing session feel to them at first, as if he must take
care of business and say his piece before quietly slipping
into his more private persona.

When he completes his assignment, we settle into a different
rhythm.  He tells me of his assistant's engagement.  I
imagine I hear a note of regret in his voice.  He fills me in on
the promotion and relocation of a D.C. police detective he
has dealt with over the years.  Her name is Evelyn.  Another
note of regret.  Opportunities lost, I wonder, or something
else?

In turn, I tell him that I've contacted William's adopted
parents and that they have agreed to a preliminary visit.  He
is startled by this news, but doesn't ask how I discovered
who adopted William and I don't tell him that one of the
hastily scribbled notes from Dana had a post office box and
two names on it.  Yves and Jimmy.  No last names.  Only
the words saying that said I could contact them if I needed
help.  With anything.

I am determined to make this visit, and although he tries,
Mr. Skinner cannot dissuade me.  He settles for informing
me that he will åcome along for the ride.'  If I had a choice,
I might refuse.  As it is, I agree to his plan and remind
myself that I may yet be grateful for the company.
 

~~~~~~~~~~

I've come to an understanding.

Walter Skinner is a solid man.  A decent man who stands his
ground and does what he thinks is right.  A man who
shoulders his responsibilities with honor à apparently, I am
now one of those responsibilities.  Maybe I should resent
this.  Instead, it comforts me.

The day of our journey is sunny and bright.  My mood is
lifted by the sun and the purpose of our trip.  When he pulls
up in his dark sedan à he insisted on driving à I go to meet it
with a lighter step than I've had of late.  He surprises me by
saying how well I look.

"You've got the directions.  Where to, Mrs. Scully?"

"Maggie.  Please call me Maggie."

He nods at this and pulls slowly away from the curb.  When
we come to the cross street, he looks at me expectantly.

"Take a right, Mr. Skinner."

"Walter," he says. "Call me Walter."

end
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