TITLE: Precious Things
AUTHOR: Dawn
EMAIL: sunrise@avenew.com
ARCHIVE: Xemplary, Gossamer -- others are fine, just let me know
SPOILERS: Requiem
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: VA
KEYWORDS: MSR, Skinner POV
SUMMARY: Skinner's thoughts on the airplane to Bellefleur.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter 
and 1013 Productions. I'm not making money from this, just 
having a good time.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This one's been rattling around in my head for a 
while. I always wondered if Skinner noticed that cross... Thanks 
as always to Vickie, Sally, and Laurie for the speedy beta.
FEEDBACK: I'd love to hear from you.


Precious Things
By Dawn


I used to think nothing could surprise me anymore.

I wouldn't say I'm a cynic, simply a realist born of hard 
experience. I enlisted at the tender age of eighteen, barely 
able to grow a scraggly beard and cursed with a voice that 
squeaked when I tried to impress a pretty girl. I was cocky as 
hell -- so certain of my duty as a marine and so confident of my 
own immortality. I couldn't wait to go to 'Nam, to have the 
opportunity to fight for my country. I considered it a 
privilege, an honor. Right up until the moment a ten year old 
boy walked into our camp, cursing us in Vietnamese and clutching 
a grenade in his ridiculously small hands.

I had no choice but to open fire.

Surprise.

That tour of duty, culminating in a near death experience that I 
still avoid contemplating too closely, rubbed most of the 
glitter off my world view. My years with the Bureau have 
effectively eliminated any sparkle that survived. From the 
brutal carnage wrought by serial killers and terrorists to 
political machinations of ass-kissing bureaucrats and the web of 
treachery and deceit spun by that cigarette smoking bastard, 
I've seen the gamut of human nature. After a while the jolt of 
surprise was replaced by resigned acceptance, as those around me 
continued to fit neatly within the same pre-established molds.

Then I acquired the newly established X-Files division and the 
unenviable task of supervising Fox Mulder -- profiling genius 
and one time rising star, now set on a crash and burn course to 
career suicide. I can remember how my lip curled when the 
director described Mulder's defection from the VCU to indulge 
himself with cases any self-respecting agent would leave 
gathering dust in the basement where they belonged.

I didn't need to meet the man in person to know his type. Son of 
Bill Mulder, a former bigwig in the State Department, Mulder had 
a subtle political backing that included Senator Richard 
Matheson -- the only reason he'd been able to finagle assignment 
to his own pet project. In my own hard won rise through the 
Bureau ranks I'd run across more than my share of Mulder's kind. 
Spoiled, arrogant prima donnas, their talent and connections 
eventually sabotaged by their own egos. I knew what to expect 
from the Bureau's most famous problem child, and I had no 
intention of putting up with his shit.

Fox Mulder, however, shattered all my expectations. The 
legendary arrogance?  A smokescreen to conceal deep compassion 
and empathy. The "Spooky" ability to track a killer? A keen, 
razor-edged mind capable of assembling seemingly random, 
disjointed pieces of evidence into a coherent whole. His crazy 
pursuit of aliens and government conspiracies? A passion for the 
truth, no matter how implausible, coupled with uncompromising 
integrity.

Surprise.

Enter Dana Scully. The opposite of Fox Mulder in so many ways. A 
navy brat, raised on various military bases throughout the 
country. A doctor and scientist, she possessed an intellect to 
match Mulder's, tempered by two size 5 feet planted firmly on 
the ground. Logical to the extreme and admittedly looking to 
distinguish herself, Scully was the perfect tool selected by 
Mulder's enemies to debunk his work and shut down the X-Files 
once and for all.

Surprise.

Who could have predicted that, in one of life's little ironies, 
the plot to destroy Mulder would lead to his salvation? A 
partnership in the truest sense of the word -- she, the lens to 
catch his brilliance and focus it to laser beam precision; he, 
the spark to ignite her imagination and stretch her science 
beyond established boundaries and limitations. Instead of 
removing a minor annoyance, my black-lunged nemesis forged the 
weapon of his own annihilation. And re-awakened within me the 
heart of a rebel I'd thought long deceased.

Surprise.

That's not to say I haven't spent too much time balanced 
precariously on the fence. My moments of open defiance toward 
Spender and support of Mulder and Scully have often been too 
little, too late. And lately I've found myself trapped in an 
untenable situation, the fear for my own miserable life forcing 
me to betray them in ways I refuse to consider. Oddly enough, 
Mulder, Mr. "Trust No One," continues to offer his loyalty 
despite knowledge of my past duplicity.

Scully is not so forgiving.

The cool reservation in those blue eyes pains me in places best 
left unexplored. For even as I acknowledge her intelligence and 
integrity, I can't help but admit that Special Agent Dana Scully 
is a very attractive woman. I'm a sucker for the one-two punch 
of brains paired with beauty, a rare combination. Unlike most of 
the female agents in the Bureau, Scully manages to survive in a 
masculine world while remaining wholly feminine. She's invaded 
my thoughts on many a lonely evening, the only woman since 
Sharon that I know without a doubt I could love.

And I'm smart enough to realize she'll never look at me that 
way.

I'm not sure when I realized the bond between Mulder and Scully 
transcended the partner relationship. When Scully, the most 
honest woman I've ever known, lied to protect Mulder during the 
Tooms case? When I watched Mulder crumble under the weight of 
his own grief as he desperately searched for her? When he traded 
the woman he believed to be his sister for Scully's life? When 
she breached security at the DOD to rescue Mulder after his 
unauthorized brain surgery? Any doubts I might have harbored 
were put to rest the morning after Teena Mulder's suicide when 
Scully firmly reminded me of her place at Mulder's side.

Signs of a love so all-consuming that the rest of us can only 
observe from the periphery. And while I may carry a carefully 
concealed torch for Dana Scully, I can still appreciate her 
recent propensity toward laughter and his newfound air of 
contentment. At the risk of betraying my tough guy image, no two 
people deserve happiness more.

And now they've come full circle, back to Bellfleur Oregon, the 
place it all started. Except Scully is back in D.C. with the 
Three Stooges and I'm the one occupying the airplane seat beside 
Mulder. I'd feel a lot better if we weren't acting on 
information provided by Krycek and Marita, though Mulder seems 
to have taken it in stride. More than used to odd informants, I 
guess.

I let my head roll toward the window and stare at the rectangle 
of sky, seeing only the blue of her eyes. We were alone in the 
conference room -- Krycek and Marita had slunk back under 
whatever rock they call home and Mulder was escorting Moe, 
Larry, and Curly out to their van. I was gathering up papers, 
saying something about having Kim make flight arrangements, only 
to break off midstream when Scully's hand gripped my arm. It 
wasn't a light touch designed to gain attention, but the 
desperate grip of a woman in need of help. I glanced up, 
startled, then immobilized by her gaze.

"Sir, I have something... I need to ask..."

I barely recognized her voice, so different from the smooth, 
confident manner with which she normally addressed me. She 
pressed her lips into a thin, bloodless line and her eyes 
skittered away to the window.

"What is it, Agent Scully?"

I've been accused of favoritism often enough with these two, so 
I try to maintain boundaries. Looking back, I can see that my 
strict adherence to professionalism most likely made it more 
difficult for her to verbalize such a personal request.

"Sir, I will not be accompanying Agent Mulder to Bellefleur."

I know my eyebrows raised before I could catch myself. Frowning 
a little, I folded my arms. "I assume there is a reason for your 
decision."

Fire sparked in her eyes, and I knew immediately that she was 
less than happy about remaining in D.C. "Actually, it was Agent 
Mulder's decision, but I've agreed to abide by it. 
He's...concerned about my safety, considering all those who have 
disappeared are abductees."

The implication hit me like a wall of bricks -- I'm amazed I 
missed the connection. I hid my own discomfiture and merely 
nodded. "It would seem prudent for you to remain here."

She bobbed her head, a curtain of hair falling forward to 
conceal her features. "Sir, I don't trust Krycek. And I don't 
want Mulder going after that ship alone."

I waited, expecting her to continue. She remained mute, and 
suddenly I understood. "Scully, are you asking..."

"I'm asking you to watch his back, sir. You're the only one I 
trust to take my place."

Surprise.

Somehow, over the clamoring of incredulous voices in my head, I 
acknowledged her faith in me and agreed to accompany Mulder. 
Scully thanked me coolly, but I observed the stiff set of her 
shoulders ease and a long, shaky exhalation of air. She marched 
out of the conference room, head held high, oblivious to my own 
lingering shock.

I glance over at Mulder, who drifted off to sleep as soon as we 
were airborne. I guess the rumors of his insomnia are unfounded 
-- at least at 40,000 feet. My eyes drop to the glitter of gold 
barely visible at the hollow of his throat. Scully's cross. I 
noticed it when he bent over to pick up his carry on bag, just 
before we boarded, and I couldn't seem to help the bittersweet 
tightening of my throat. That cross is much more than a piece of 
jewelry, it's a part of the woman who wears it and a talisman 
against the surrounding darkness. That Scully entrusted it to 
Mulder is a further testimony of her feelings for him.

I hope one day I'll be the recipient of such a love.

I close my eyes, recalling her face, and abruptly realize Scully 
has entrusted me with something far more precious than her 
cross. I crack one eye open to consider the sleeping man on my 
left, and smile.

I won't let her down.


End

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