~ Haunted ~
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Posted 22nd April, 2001. Spoilers: DeadAlive. Many thanks to Phoebe.
Runner Up: Outstanding Other Character Romance Outstanding Skinner Characterisation Outstanding Short Story Outstanding Post-Episode Story
Haunted
Cookies.
He could smell cookies. Freshly baked, straight from the oven.
That could only mean…
"Sharon?"
Skinner shrugged off his coat and glanced around the apartment. "In here."
He
followed the sound of her voice and found her in the kitchen. She was wearing
jeans, and a red tee shirt. There was a smudge of flour on her cheek, and her
long hair was loosely pulled into a pony tail from which it was trying to
escape, stray strands floating around her face in clinging tendrils. Her hands
were covered in cookie dough. He smiled at her, stupidly, and she smiled back.
"I'd
kiss you, but…" She held up her doughy hands.
"Chocolate
chip?" He asked.
She
grinned. "Of course. Your favourite. Are you okay?" Her green eyes
studied him intently. He couldn't hide anything from her. He never could.
"Yes.
I'm fine," he lied, finding himself a glass, and pouring himself a large
measure of whisky, which he downed in one gulp. "No you're not!" She stopped what she was doing, wiped her hands on a cloth, and then placed them on her hips. When had she become so assertive, he wondered? She used to allow him to shut her out but not any more. "Walter, what happened?" She asked. "You look terrible."
"It's
just been…a difficult day." He turned his back on her, left the kitchen,
and sought the sanctuary of the living room - only to find that she'd followed
him.
"Tell
me." She perched on the arm of the couch and patted the space beside her.
"Sit down and tell me," she ordered and he found himself loosening his
collar and tie, and sitting down with a deep, heartfelt sigh. The apartment felt warm
and cozy, and the smell of baking cookies was divine. He closed his eyes and she
pulled his head onto her lap, and gently played with his bare scalp, the way she
always did when he was particularly stressed out. He loved it when she did this
- her long fingers soothed away the
tensions and strains of too many difficult days. He could stay like this
forever, the demons kept at bay for all eternity by the skilful stroking of his
wife's loving, caressing fingers. "Walter." Her tone was low,
whispered straight into his ear. "What happened today?" She asked him.
"Too
much."
A
jumbled collage of the day's events sped through his mind, like an
out-of-control slideshow. Krycek's hard, calculating, green eyes became Scully's
strained, tearful blue ones; Doggett's arm, pressing against his throat, became
his own hands, reaching fruitlessly for the palm pilot that tortured his waking
nightmares, and through it all there was Mulder, lying on a hospital bed,
plugged into dozens of monitors that told a truth it was almost impossible to
believe, his skin faded and peeling, hovering somewhere between dead and undead.
"Tell
me." Her fingers soothed gentle waves of comfort behind his ears, and he
felt like a cat as he pushed up against her, purring contentedly.
"Krycek
showed up."
Sharon's
stroking stopped, and she sat him up and gripped his shoulders so she could take
a better look at him.
"Walter
- are you okay?" Anxiety radiated from her eyes, and her fingers were
reassuringly painful digging into his flesh.
"I'm
fine."
Her
hands moved his face to one side, and she examined the veins on his neck,
tracing one long finger over them thoughtfully.
"You're
not fine, Walter. They're still a little raised. He hurt you," she said
softly.
"Yes.
But I'm fine."
"Did
you see a doctor?"
"No…there
was no time. I'm fine," he repeated again, stubbornly.
"You
must see a doctor," she said firmly.
It
felt good to have someone care about him.
"Stop
nagging." He smiled, and placed his hands over hers where they rested on
his neck.
"I'm
your wife. That's my job." She placed a gossamer light kiss on his lips and
he closed his eyes, drinking in her scent.
"Does
it hurt?" She asked him softly, her fingers still tracing the raised veins
on his skin. "None of that macho stuff, Walter. I want to know if it
hurts when he pushes those buttons."
Skinner
had a flash of the most searing pain- an agony that sliced through every vein in
his body, like a knife, cutting him from the inside out and leaving him dazed,
dizzy, and nauseous afterwards.
"Yes,
it hurts," he growled, looking down, unable to meet her eye. He knew there
was no shame to admitting that he was weak, that he was human, but all the same,
he was of a generation of men who shut out their hurt, and dealt with it in
silence. They didn't burden their wives with it. They didn't burden anyone with
it. That, on some level, was part of his very understanding of what it was to be
a man. "It hurts like nothing I've ever known before," he told her,
his voice hoarse. "It hurts more than all those wounds I got in 'Nam, more
than that shot in the gut I took a few years back. It hurts so much that I just
want it to end. It's gotten to the point where just seeing Krycek makes me want
to take a knife and slit my own throat so I don't have to feel the pain."
"You'd
never do that." She pulled him close and kissed his bare scalp.
"No.
I know."
"A
few years ago you'd never have told me about that pain. You'd have lied, kept it
to yourself," she murmured, stroking his back.
"That
was then. Things were different then," he replied. "I've
changed."
"I
know." She held him for a long time.
"There's
nobody else I'd ever tell, apart from you," he said, his voice muffled by
her warm body.
"I
know that as well. Tell me the rest of it."
He
was silent for a moment. When had words of this kind ever came easily to him?
And yet he needed to tell someone. He had once viewed himself as a simple man, a
man of certainties. Knowing Mulder had changed all that for good. Now his
certainties were gone - and with them had also gone his peace of mind, and his
ability to see to the heart of a problem, to take charge, find solutions, direct
operations…he could still do some of those things, but he felt like a liar -
he felt as if he was someone just occupying the body of the man formerly known
as Assistant Director Skinner. Sometimes nothing felt real any more - nothing except the pain of
the nanocytes and the confusion that was his professional relationship with
Mulder and Scully. He was a ghost, a wraith, drifting through his life, no
longer connected to any of it.
"What
did you do, Walter? What did he make you do?" Sharon asked him gently.
"You look so…"
"Haunted?"
He drew back, raised an ironic eyebrow at her.
She
shook her head, a little smile curving the corners of her mouth. "I was
going to say lost," she chided. He gave a wry grunt of laughter.
"Lost.
Maybe. It's true that I don't know who the hell I am any more."
"You're
my husband. You're Walter Sergei Skinner, the man I love - the only man I've
ever loved," she told him fiercely. "You're a good man, Walter. The
finest man I've ever known."
"Thank
you." He caught her hand in his, and held it for a moment. "I don't
feel like that man too often any more," he confided. "Only around you.
That's why I'm glad you're here. Why I'm glad you're still with me, even
after…" She gripped his hand tightly, and he nodded, unable to continue.
They were silent for a while, and then he cleared his throat.
"Mulder
needed a vaccine. Krycek was playing mind games with me - offering me the
vaccine but at a price. I told Scully about the vaccine and that a price had to
be paid to get it, and she said… she said…Scully said we were talking about
saving a man's life, her inference being that no price was too high - but then
she didn't know the price." He shrugged.
"She only saw Mulder's life - not yours. Your life was at stake as well
today," Sharon said.
He
looked up sharply. "Mulder's the important one," he told her firmly.
"I
beg to differ. You're my husband. Your life is far more important to me,"
she told him, equally firmly. "Everything is relative, after all."
"I
removed him from life support," he said, ignoring her words, ignoring
everything but the magnitude of what he'd done earlier in the day. He gazed at
his hands, which he had used to pull those tubes from Mulder's mouth, not
knowing what the consequences of that act would be. "You see I just had a
hunch - intuition - call it what you want. I figured - Mulder was alive for all
those months in that coffin, and it's only now they've hooked up to all these
machines that they're worried he's incubating some alien virus that will transform
him into god knows what. So…it was a long shot, but I figured it couldn't do
him any harm, and maybe it could even save him. Without Krycek's vaccine, there
was no other hope for him." His voice broke and he examined his hands
again.
"You
always were smart, Walter. I think you forget that sometimes. I was always in
awe of the way you handled your job. Did I ever tell you how my heart just
swelled with pride at each promotion you got? And you know, it wasn't because of
the prestige, or the money, or anything like that. I used to feel proud
because it meant that other people saw you the way I did - they saw your gift
for getting the best out of people, managing personnel, organizing effectively,
being decisive, making the hard choices and taking responsibility for them…I
loved that they saw how wonderful you are too."
"You're
biased of course." He gave a faded smile. "But thanks anyway. Next
time I have to take a kicking from Kersh I'll remember what you said. As for
being smart… removing Mulder from life support was one hell of a long shot,
even for me."
"What
happened?"
"Well
he's still alive, but whether that's any thanks to me…Scully thinks that maybe
my actions saved him but…" He trailed off, and shrugged.
"You
did what you thought you had to do. You were between a rock and a hard
place."
"I
feel so guilty." Skinner got up, and paced the floor.
"Why?"
Sharon was as still as a statue, watching him.
"First
I lost Mulder in Oregon, and then when…"
"Whoa!
You didn't lose Mulder!" Sharon interrupted him. "Last time I looked
he was a grown man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Did you abandon
him when you knew he was in trouble? Did you walk away from him when you knew he
was wounded?" Skinner shook his head, silently. "Well then!"
Sharon snapped, her tone angry, an enraged lioness defending her mate. "You
didn't lose him. He was taken. You shouldn't feel any guilt for that. Ever since
he was taken you've gone out of your way to try and find him. Who was it who
mobilized the search for Mulder in the aftermath of his initial disappearance?
You. Even Scully said it was pointless, even she had given up hope of finding
him - but you didn't, Walter. It was you who kept all the channels of inquiry
open, you who spent every spare hour you had examining transcripts related to
Mulder's abduction, you who kept abreast of every single development in that
inquiry, however far afield, so that when Billy Miles turned up you knew his
significance. It was you who had Mulder's body exhumed, you who battled with
Krycek to find a vaccine, and you who eventually saved his life by removing him
from life support."
She
finished her long and impassioned speech, her eyes shining furiously in the dark
room, and he stood there, an expression of stunned surprise on his face.
"You
don't value yourself enough, Walter. You've been a good friend to Mulder and
Scully," she chided him.
"It
just never feels good enough somehow." He walked over to the balcony
door, opened it, and took a deep inhalation of the freezing night air.
"Scully still doesn't trust me. You know - she didn't even call me to tell
me that Billy Miles had regained consciousness today. She didn't call me. I
don't know what else I can do to make her trust me."
"She's
happy enough to knock on your door in the middle of the night to cry on your
shoulder," Sharon commented acerbically. She came up behind him, put her
arms around him, and laced her hands together in front of him.
"She's
been through such a lot. I don't resent…" he began. She squeezed,
silencing him.
"You
might not resent it, but I do," she said. "I'm looking out for you,
Walter, because nobody else will - you won't even look out for yourself. You
always do this. You always give so much. Are you in love with her?" The
question blind-sided him, coming, as it did, out of the blue.
"Who?
Scully? No!" He protested.
She
squeezed again. "I wouldn't mind. She's a very beautiful woman, and she's
vulnerable right now. I know what you're like with vulnerable women.
It's that chivalry thing you have going," she teased.
"I'm
not in love with Scully," he told her, staring thoughtfully at the stars in
the night sky. "I'm not sure I even know her any more. She's different
these days. She's so distant. She doesn't confide in me - not really. When she
does…well she talks in riddles. Maybe she confides in Doggett." He
shrugged, feigning indifference, but it did hurt. He'd known her for 8 years,
had been beside her through so many dramas and traumas, had, he thought, proved
himself, over and over again, had even sold his integrity down the river to find
a cure for her cancer even if he'd never told her about that, and yet it was
Doggett she seemed to turn to these days - a man she'd only known for a few
months.
"It
really upset you that she didn't tell you about Billy, didn't it?" Sharon
murmured softly. "You'd searched for Mulder for months, then arranged for
his body to be dug up. It was obvious how much you cared about Mulder's
condition, and you'd just had your veins fried courtesy of Alex Krycek - but
Scully couldn't even remember to call you to tell you something so vitally
important."
"She
had other things on her mind." Skinner shrugged.
"You
could tell her about the nanocytes," Sharon suggested. "Let her know
how hard it's been for you. Maybe she'd value your friendship more if she
knew…"
"No,"
he interrupted her firmly.
"Why
not?" She rested her chin on his shoulder. He gazed steadfastly out of the
window. "Ah. I see," she whispered sadly. "Well I can understand
that you wouldn't want her sympathy. I also know how you feel about your
strength residing in silence. Not only that but if you told her she'd probably
just distrust you even more and you couldn't bear that, could you, Walter?"
"I…"
He bowed his head. "No," he whispered.
"Walter,
Mulder's alive. You did a wonderful thing today." Her hands stroked his
arms, and her skin was warm and soft against his cheek. "Scully might not
thank you for it, nor even Mulder himself, but you must know that you did a good
thing today - many good things. In your heart - you must know it. If it hadn't
been for you, nobody would even have dug up Mulder, let alone brought him back
to life." She moved around him, silent and graceful, and rested her hand on
his chest. "You've been so brave and strong - I'm proud of you, Walter
Skinner."
"Thank
you." He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat burning him.
"Maybe
you should ask yourself why you give so much to people who don't really seem to
care," she murmured.
He
stared at her, his heart jolting in his chest. "They do…" he began,
and then hesitated.
"Do
they? Or are they so wrapped up in their own little dramas, in their own world
of X Files and aliens, and conspiracies, and how they might or might not feel
about each other - maybe they're too concerned about all those things to care
about you, Walter. You've always been their steadfast friend, the man who has
rescued them over and over again, the man who gave up his career to help them,
and much more besides, and do they ever say thank you? Do they even really
notice your sacrifices? No, Walter. They don't give a damn."
"That's
not true!" He protested hotly. "When Krycek first infected me with the
nanocytes, they worked hard to find a cure for me."
"And
failed. You died." She shrugged. "Even if momentarily."
"That
wasn't their fault!" He remonstrated.
"They
had nothing to do with bringing you back to life though! I wonder if
they'd have dug you up, months after your burial," she mused. "I
wonder if they'd have kept on fighting for you, even after death, Walter. I
wonder if they'd have kept that flame burning for you or whether you'd just have
been one more casualty on the pyre of their grand mission. Do you think they
would, Walter?" Her face was hard and cold. "I don't. I don't think
they care for you except as some expedient puppet to support and help them when
it suits them, or distrust when it doesn't. You got shot in the gut for being
the man of integrity that you are, for refusing to drop Melissa Scully's murder
investigation as ordered, and when did you ever get any thanks for that?"
"They
did thank me…Mulder did say…look, I don't do these things because I
expect to be thanked," he growled. "I do them because they're right.
I do them because they're the only just things to do." "What about all the other times you've come through for them? Fighting Mulder's informant in that elevator to get information that saved his life? Getting beaten up in that stairwell for that DAT tape, even despite the fact that both Mulder and Scully pulled their guns on you and as much as told you to your face that they didn't trust you. It isn't fair, Walter."
"Mulder
covered up for me when I was in trouble over that body I disposed of using his
ID. He also tried to haul my ass out of danger when I was accused of…when…"
The past stood before them, painful, and bleak. "You know when," he
whispered.
"Yes.
Yes I do." She came to him, wrapped her arms around him again, and held him
tight. "I know," she whispered. "I know." He had an image of
her lying in a hospital bed, her head bandaged, her eyes closed, her body
covered in tubes, and he knew the tears were falling down his face. "Hush.
It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay."
"That
was a dark time. The truth is… I needed people after that. People who
understood. People who'd been there…who knew what I'd been through."
"Mulder
and Scully." She soothed his back with gentle fingers.
"Yes.
Christ. You're right. I am haunted. It haunts me all the time. I'm sorry. I'm
so, so sorry. My work placed you in danger and I pushed you away because of it and yet
you still cared enough to come and ask me how I was, even after you knew I slept
with that poor call girl, and…"
"Hush."
She held him close, rocking him like a baby, just like she always had when he
woke up screaming after yet another Vietnam nightmare, and she had never asked
him to tell her what the nightmares were about - she'd just held him, and loved
him. She would have made a wonderful mother, but they'd never been blessed with
children, despite years of trying. Tests had shown that Sharon had blocked
fallopian tubes, and he had felt so sorry for her when they found out, and even
more sorry because she felt more pain for him than for herself. When the doctor
had first told them the news, she had just looked at him, her eyes reflecting a
terrible guilt. He had hated seeing that. It wasn't just her problem, it
was their problem, and he told her so. Maybe if they had been lucky
enough to have children, maybe if he'd had someplace to direct his capacity to
care, and take care, to protect the weak, maybe then he wouldn't have become so
caught up in Mulder and Scully's world. Maybe. "As for the call girl…we
had been separated for months, Walter. I wasn't exactly celibate myself during
that time!"
"You
weren't?" He looked at her, surprised. She still had the capacity to
surprise him even after all this time.
"No…but
nobody measured up to you. It just wasn't the same. Of course I care about you,
Walter - and that's not because I'm a good person, or anything like that. I care
because you're worth caring about."
"No
I'm not. I fucked up, screwed up…somehow I got it all wrong, Sharon. I didn't
see that Mulder was right until too late…"
"Too
late?" She said incredulously. "Walter - he was assigned to you during
that Tooms case wasn't he?"
He
nodded, his eyes dull.
"And
that was a big learning curve for you, but instead of rejecting Mulder and his
theories out of hand you took the trouble to get to know him. You cut him some
huge slack when he screwed up, and then, on his very next case after that, you
took his side, this insubordinate, seemingly crazy young agent, over that of a
man your superiors had told you to obey implicitly. How can you see your role in
this as being anything less than completely supportive? You're your own man,
Walter, and you came to your own decisions. You weren't anybody's stooge."
"I
don't know. Mulder wanted me to be more…unequivocal I guess."
"Walter
- you gave up your career for Mulder! You were slated to be the next Deputy
Director. Hell, you were in line to be the Director. You know as well as I do
how much courage and guts it took to walk away from that, because you the truth
mattered to you more than your own promotion. How much more unequivocal could
you be?"
"I
believe in justice." He gazed at his hands. "That's all I've ever
believed in, Sharon. Mulder's case was just. I had no choice but to support
him."
"I
know, and I respect you for that. I hope he does too, even if he never thanks
you for all you've done for him and all you've given up for him - because I know
what you've done for him, Walter. I know the strings you've had to pull and the
favours you've had to return just to keep him in his job. I'm sure he doesn't
know, because I know you won't have told him, but he's a smart man. He must
surely have figured it out. You can't piss off as many important people as he
has and still expect to keep your job without some pretty powerful support. Your
support, Walter."
"You're
always on my side, no matter what." He gave a little grunt, a faint smile
hovering on his lips.
"Well
someone has to be," she told him. "Nobody else is
- you're not even on your own side most of the time. You need me,
Walter."
"Yes.
Yes I do. Come here." He pulled her close, laced his arms around her warm
body, and nuzzled her cookie-dough scented hair - sweet and strong, just like
her. "Do you remember how we used to dance?" He asked her, twirling
her around their living room. "Do you remember how good we got during that
vacation we took to Mexico in '85?"
"Oh
yes!" She laughed. "Although we had plenty of opportunity to practice as I
recall. There was nothing else to do in the evenings! Well, only one other thing
- and that was very nice too." She shot him a mischievous glance, and he
laughed out loud, and twirled her around even more extravagantly. "I bet
they don't know you dance so well," Sharon murmured into his neck.
"Who?"
he asked, his footsteps matching hers easily, moving fast, two bodies perfectly
in time with each other.
"Mulder,
Scully, Doggett…any of them. There are so many things they don't know about
you - such as your penchant for Charles Dickens, your love of good wine, that
utterly vicious forehand smash which is about your only skill on the tennis
court…oh, and how you give the best back rub a girl could ever want. Hmm, I
still remember those days when I was working on the Monkton portfolio, and I was
stressed every night. You'd run me a bath when I came home from work, and
afterwards you'd wrap me in a warm, fluffy towel, carry me into the bedroom, and
massage me with these big, strong fingers." She moved her hand, the one
that was grasping his, drew his fingers to her face, and kissed them.
"Well
you had a hard time with that portfolio - and you were always there for me when
I came home after a difficult day at work. You'd cook me my favourite meal and
not expect any conversation from me except a grunt - I might not be able to
cook, but baths and massages I can do." He smiled down on her lovely face, and tucked a wisp of her long hair behind her ears.
"Mulder
and Scully aren't the only ones who have their own story," she whispered.
"You have yours. We're a great love story, Walter. I never stopped loving
you, even when I left. I was hoping that leaving would bring you to your senses,
make you see how lost you'd become, how much you'd shut me out."
"It
did," he told her, his voice raw, and choking. "It did, Sharon. I knew
I couldn't lose you. I couldn't bring myself to sign those divorce papers - I
never would have been able to. I'd have done anything to get you back.
Anything…" He buried his face in her hair. "I
love you," he whispered.
"And
I love you too. Always. I didn't inscribe that in your wedding ring for nothing,
Walter." He smiled, and she patted the ring where he wore it - on a chain
over his heart. "Love forever, Sharon," she quoted.
"Love
forever," he repeated softly.
He
closed his eyes and continued dancing. The room was dark - he hadn't even turned
on the lights, but that didn't matter. Sometimes he could see her better in the
dark. He held her for a long time, until she slowly faded from his grasp,
leaving only the faintest scent of cookie dough, lingering in the living room,
and then he was dancing alone again, as he had been since her murder in that car
wreck, years before - one more thing he had sacrificed to Mulder and Scully's
cause, and the most precious thing he had ever had to lose. His feet flew on
around the room, moving in time to a tune that he alone could hear.
He didn't blame Scully for not telling him about Billy. He understood
what she had been through these past few months, grieving for the loss of her
partner. Ever since they'd buried Mulder he had grieved for Scully as
much as he grieved with her, because he empathized so much with what she was
going through, having gone through it himself. And he understood Mulder,
searching for a truth that always proved so elusive, trying to uncover justice
in a web of lies. That was the kind of quest Skinner could understand all too
well. He ached at injustice. It gnawed at his very soul. He had a deep and
abiding antipathy for anyone who acted above the law. The law was his
touchstone. He lived for it. Yes, it had been all too easy to care for Mulder
and Scully, to care for them with all the reserves of a man who has nobody else
left in the world to care for, and a great capacity for caring.
Sharon
was hard on them because she saw the world only from the perspective of how it
affected him - the man she loved, even beyond death. Removing those tubes from
Mulder today brought it all back to him. He could still remember vividly that
terrible day a few years before, when the doctor had asked him for permission to
turn off Sharon's life support machine. At first he'd refused, just as he had
refused to sign those divorce papers, but Sharon had come to him, and begged him
for release from a life she wasn't really living, so he had finally given his
permission. He had watched her slip away after the machine was turned off, had
watched her pale face become even paler, and her skin gradually become cold
beneath his fingertips, and still he had sat there for the rest of the day, just
holding her dead hand. That had been the second time
she had come to him. The first time had been in her hospital room, when she had
seemingly risen from her coma and given him vital information. She always came
when he was hurting, or under great stress, and she felt so real, so warm,
so…alive.
"Love
forever," he murmured, moving his feet in time to music that played only in
his head. The music faded, and his feet slowed, then came to a stop and he stood
there, disoriented. The room was dark and cold, not warm and cozy, and a
freezing wind was blowing through the open balcony door. There were no cookies
baking, no wife waiting for him in his empty home. He was alone. He thought of
Mulder and Scully, together in the hospital, and didn't begrudge them their
reunion.
He
knew how hard it could be to ever really let go of someone you loved. The EndFriendly feedback to xanthe@xanthe.org
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