Title: The Spy Who Loved Them  1/1
Author: BamaX/Lynne Carter
Catagory: V, MSR
Keywords: Skinner Pov, some angst
Rating: Nice solid R.
Archive: Anywhere is fine with me.  Drop me a note if you could.
Spoilers: Avatar, S.R. 819, Slight Biogenesis,
Slight Folleadeux refrence, Big Monday spoiler
Disclaimer: I'll claim no character here as mine.  1013
owns em all.  I'd like to ask to borrow Fowley though.
Summary: Walter Skinner gets an eyefull. And an earfull.
And a mindfull. And a heartfull.
Author notes:  This is the first installment in what I hope is a series
of third person stories that indirectly deal with the MSR.
Just thought I'd try something different. We've had an entire
season that everyone and their mother got to comment on the
state of the MSR.  Might as well get those with the closest
views involved eh?  This story is a stand-alone as all will be.
I'm thinking of naming my Fowley installment:
'The Bitch who Betrayed Him.'  *VBEG*  Thanks to all the
folks over at Amy's wonderful Haven who put up with me.
Give this one a read and let me know what you think.
Feedback is happily slurped up at: BamaX@msn.com

"He has a right to criticize who
has a heart to help."
---Abraham Lincoln



"Damn you Krycek...you lyin son of a bitch!"

I spat at the reciever I gripped in something of a rage wanting it
more than life at this moment to be his face instead.

"You'd better hope like hell that you *can* kill me if something
happens to either of them!"   Yelling at the top of my lungs
just incited his typical response.  I could almost see the smirk
across his face as he laughed the threat off and continued his
demands.

"I don't have time for your nonsense Assistant Director. You've
watched them for weeks, a few more isn't going to make any
difference.  Just drop the damn tapes. 12 p.m. Regular spot."

"Go to hell.  I want to know what you're looking for!"
 More laughter.

"Tsk. Tsk. Skinner.  You need to learn to enjoy your job
and not ask so many questions.  I almost wish I had time to
surveil them again myself.  I've done it before you know.
I really enjoyed the private view of Scully the task afforded me.
For a tightass, she's really got a set on her.  No wonder Mulder
chases his tail all the time if he's fuckin *that*.   For a little bit, I'd have taken care of her right.  I'm sure Mulder can't do her justice."

"Shut the hell up Krycek!  You'll have the damn tapes!"

"Thanks A.D., now you enjoy the rest of your weekend."

Blindly throwing the phone across the room, I feel marginally
better as I hear it break something.  If only it could be his sorry
neck.

For long moments, I drop my head into my hands and rub fingers
across weary eyes.  When was the last time I got a decent night's
sleep?  I raise my head and try to focus into the shadows
cast by the moon filtering through the window to my four bedroom
walls.  It might as well be a prison cell.

I stare straight ahead to make out the outline of my desk and
above it, on the wall, all the accolades, all the rewards for a job
well done given me by some pompus ass representative of my
esteemed government.  What a crock of shit.

I swiftly turn my eyes away from all of it and check the time.
The beside clock is flashing 3:21.  It's then I notice what I'd
 left of the bottle of vodka sitting  beside the clock on
the nightstand. What the hell was I thinking? That if  I could
drink enough tonight the phone wouldn't wake me, that I
could, for a fucking moment forget what was going on?
I was wrong.  Krycek's taunting little pissy laugh could
make the pope swear.  Shoulda put the damn thing off the hook.

Reaching for the bottle, I pull it's remaining contents to my parched
lips as I swing my legs to the side of my bed.  It's all I can do to
keep from vomiting as I sit up completely.  Maybe I need to.  Maybe
if I did it would purge this feeling of betrayal from me, this hatred of
self.  They don't deserve this, they need my help now more than ever.
Fuck this shit.

'You can't help them if you're dead.'

My inner voice is like a cold bitch slap across my face as it comes.
Though I know it speaks truth as a certainty, I cannot help the
frustration, the pure helplessness that once more tenses my body.
Once again, I'm in Vietnam and I see that little girl running across
that field toward me, smiling, laughing.  I want to take her in my arms,
make her safe, take her away from a world that would let a innocent
child be used to carry bombs, to execute pain and death in such a
cowardly way.  But, I cannot.  I can do nothing but raise my rifle and
watch as she falls in the distance, the smile gone, the laughter forever
silenced.

"Damn you!"  I rage out in the dark room at a God I don't
understand any longer, if indeed I ever did.  "How is this right?
How do *they* of all people deserve this?  Haven't they
been through enough?  Suffered enough?  Damn you!"
I halt my tirade when I hear my voice echo back
to me and realize that I am yelling once more.  Police at
my doorstep at four in the morning is more than I can
deal with right now.  I take deep breaths to calm myself
to a reasonable level.

Throwing the empty vodka bottle on the bed, I  make a
woozy attempt to come to my feet, almost falling over as I
catch myself against the nearest wall with my hand.  I stand
still a moment as I wait for the nausea to pass.  Slowly, I
make my way across the room to the doorway leading to
my den and almost collapse onto my sofa, it's smooth leather
cool against my heated skin.

I don't want to watch the latest ones. I'm tired of hearing
what should be private conversations.  It makes me feel
like one of them.  Hell, I *am* one of them.   I stare
down at the two small black tapes sitting on my coffee table
untouched.  Seeing my own reflection in the glass surface
makes me close my eyes tightly against what I see.
No one has a right to do this.  No one.

"The way I see it....you do it, or Alex can.  But then, much to
our delight, we think they still trust you...and anyway..."
 Her eyes had shifted across to the one armed bastard
sitting on this very sofa so contentedly and she'd smiled
down at him.

"Alex...well..."  She'd made a gesture with her finely boned
hands.  "He's so very busy with other things and you...
well...we'd have nothing left for you to help us with."
Her unspoken implication was clear.

"And that would be a shame.. Just a shame Mr. Skinner."

Her deadpan voice came back unbidden to my tired mind
as I replayed the dangled warning from many weeks back.
Her icy voice held the threat of a thousand men.
The bitch was dangerous.  Evil.  And willing to crush anyone
who got in the way.  Yeah, that black lunged SOB had gotten
himself a good one when he'd enlisted Diana Fowley.
Or whatever the hell her name was.

Shoving the conversation out of my mind, I reach for the first tape
and shove it into my VCR.  Hopefully, it will prove as useless
to them as I think the others have been.  I hit play and an image
hazily makes itself clear on the screen before me.  Mulder.
Just sitting at his desk for the longest time.  Reading.
Picking up a file. Putting it back down.  Occasionally, he
would reach into a bag of sunflower seeds beside him on
the desk, absently pick one up and pop it into his
mouth.  Frankly, he looks bored out of his mind as he
puts the file down and bends to pick up his basketball
close by and begins dribbling it on the surface of the desk.
Not any bloodsucking worms in there Mulder?   I almost
chuckle at the fondness that sweeps through
me at his expression.  What would he do with himself
without...

My thought is interrupted by the sound of the basement door
opening and closing.  Scully.  Yep.  My camera angle lets me
see only Mulder, but I can tell from his expression it's her.
 He jerks upright in his chair, immediately dropping the
basketball to the floor and reaching for his forgotten file
like a little boy caught dipping into the cookie jar.

"Good Morning Sunshine."  God, Mulder you're either
brave or a total idiot.  She's gonna tear into you for that one.

Oddly, as Scully comes into view, it's obvious she's trying
to hide a smile.  He's always been able to make her smile.
The only one who can.  God knows, I haven't put one
on her face in six years.

"Good morning, Mulder.  Busy at work I see."   She sits
down in the chair facing him and bends slightly to place her
briefcase at her side. She really is an attractive  woman.
I've always thought so.  I notice her pastel blue
jacket and skirt doesn't escape Mulder's notice either.
I rewind the tape just to be sure it wasn't my imagination.
No. Sure enough, his eyes trace her form as she's sitting her
briefcase down beside the chair.  Well hell, Mulder
is human after all.

"Yeah, Scully.  We've got to finish the paperwork on the
DiNica case.  I thought about finishing it up without you but
I knew you'd get jealous if I didn't save you some pencil
pushing to do."

Now why couldn't *I* have been blessed with a sense of
humor like that?  Mulder is damn charming when he wants to
be and it's obvious that he enjoys being charming
for his partner.  Why have I never noticed it before?
 I sit up on the sofa.

"Mulder, there is no DiNica case.  Us driving two hundred
miles to check out a mental patient's family's claims of
nurses morphing into giant telepathic roaches does *not*
constitute a case."
I smiled.  That was pure Scully.  I think she's got you Mulder.

Mulder didn't look the least defeated as he got up from his
desk chair and grabbed the file in front of him.  He casually
walked up behind her and leaned down into her face.  Hell,
when had *this* started?  Instead of kissing her
though, he just pushed her hair aside with his hand and with a
smirk said something into her ear that I can't make out.
It sounded like 'Fuck you.'  but I know with a certainty
it wasn't.  Scully just stands and strides to the seat in front
of his computer before looking up again.  Then she sits
down and shakes her head emphatically at him.

"Nope.  This madness is shared only by *one*
this time Mulder.  You dictate.  I'll type."
All buisness and confidence, she places her hands on the
keyboard to await his dialogue.

"You're sexy when you get cocky Scully."

What? Did he say that? To Scully?  The tone of his voice
is slightly teasing, but I can tell by his face and the way his
eyes are locked on her face that he means every word
of it.  He's serious and he wants her to know it.
Obviously, by the way she stops any movement and becomes
deadly still, his words have hit her.  I would have thought
she'd would have told him off when it was so evident he
was overstepping the line.  She just stares at him for a
second before taking a deep breath and dropping her eyes
to the computer monitor.

"Start talking Mulder."  It is almost a whisper.

For what seems like hours,  Mulder talks and she types
and I sit here watching it all wondering if these two are
doing what it's so obvious they should be doing.

She corrects him.  He laughs.  He pokes fun at her
strict theories. She fires back.  He makes a bad joke.
 She hides a smile.   She makes a joke.
(And where did she get that sense of humor?)
He smiles delightedly.  He tosses his jacket on the desk.
She picks it up an puts it on the back of the chair.
She licks a bite of yogurt from her spoon, his eyes and
momentary loss of speech show me his desire.
He stands to crack his back while mumbling about
being tired and she looks at him with concern and love.

Love?  Mulder and Scully are in love with each other?
No shit Sherlock.  The thought hits me like a brick up
the side of my skull.  It's not like I didn't know.  I did.
I mean, they've made it obvious since their earliest days
together that they would give their lives for each other time
and time again.  I respected that love.  Allowed it to flourish.
 But this?  This is different now.  And when did it change
and why wasn't I made aware of it?

These aren't two co-workers or friends who care deeply.
What I'm looking at are two people who are a part of each
other.  Two people who need each other to survive.  To
exist.  They've always shared something I didn't understand.
Still do.  But this...this newest facet...I'm pleased to say
I understand.  And I'm surprised to find myself glad.
Happy.  Satisfied for them.  Hell. I want to take them into
my arms and bless them.  No two people deserve
the happiness that this part of life can bring more.
Certainly, I don't.

The tape runs out finally and I switch to surveliance tape two.
This one is from Mulder's apartment.  Who'd have guessed
two years ago that Roush Inc. owned his whole damn building?
Not me.  Hell, I've been so stupid.  You've been stupid
too Mulder.  Making Scully yours was the only smart thing
you've probably ever done.  Or...at least the only thing they
haven't controlled that you've done.  Bunch of bastards.

I hope that you both make love like rabbits every night at
her place.  You certainly haven't been home much in the few
weeks I've been taping you and when you are, you usually
either work on the computer or go straight
to your bedroom and crash.  I don't know what they're
looking for from you, but I don't think you're giving them
much to see.  Just stay at Scully's Mulder.  I'd love
to hand them this blank, boring view of your apartment
to have to sit through.  I look at my mantel clock
as the sun starts to cascade through the windows and into
the room.  Eight twenty-two.    I rub my eyes. Should be
just enough time left to check this one.

For over an hour nothing happens.  The tape is marked eight p.m.
Then I hear Mulder's door open.  For the longest, I don't see
anyone enter the den from the camera viewpoint. What the
hell are you doing home at eight o'clock on Friday night
Mulder?  She kick you out?  Did you get into a fight?
Dumbass.  Get your ass back over there and apoligize for
whatever stupid stunt you've pulled. She'll forgive you.
She always has.

I finally see you enter the den but you just stand for the longest
time.  What the hell?  That isn't you.  I lean up to peer closely
at the screen.  That's the black lunged son of a bitch.  What
the hell is going on here Mulder?   I can't take my eyes off
of him as he strides to your desk, opens your things and
pilfers through them.  He then clicks on your computer and
punches all your passwords in to gain access to your private
files.  For long minutes, he peruses those before logging off.
He goes over to your bookshelf, apparently unconcerned
that you could come through the door at any moment.
Picking up a thin book, he leafs through it and looks through
the set of papers that are dangling from the rear of the book.
A huge, sardonic smile breaks out across his lined face.
What are you so happy about you son of a bitch?  He then puts
the papers back inside the book and places it back in it's
resting spot.  Taking nothing else, he turns and goes toward
your bedroom.

I rewind the tape immediately.  When I reach the point where he
picks up the book, I slo-mo it.  There looks to be a title on front.
Yep.  There is.

'Panspermia'
Dr. S. Merkmallen

What the hell is that and why is he so damn happy that Mulder
has it?  I walk to my kitchen to retrieve a notepad,
pen and beer.  Writing it down, I press pause and continue
the tape.

After a short while of watching a quiet living room  with just
muted noise in the background,  the S.O.B. comes back
into my line of view with something in his hand.  It looks
like a frame. He holds it, looking at it for the longest time,
smiles again and finally turns and hurls it against the far
wall where it crashes and comes to a rest beside
Mulder's television.  What did he do that for?
Old C.G.B. then turns and leaves without another word
or action, the slight smile firmly in place.

For the longest time, I sit just staring at Mulder's living room on
my screen.  Bastards.  And he's the biggest of all.  He and
Krycek deserve each other.  Maybe they take turns screwing
Diana.  Maybe they all screw each other.  I take another swig
of beer.  Why the hell did he bother to come to Mulder's
place when he knows it's under surveliance anyway?  Unless...
Holy SHIT.  He doesn't...

I hear a door slam and put my total attention back on the
screen.  It's Mulder coming home this time.  He throws
his keys in the general direction of the coffee table and
disappears toward the kitchen.  When he finally makes his
way to den, he yanks his jacket off and plops down on
the sofa, throwing an arm over his closed eyes.  For the
longest time, he lies like that.  I almost think he's asleep
when I hear him stir.

"God baby..."    What did he say?

"I need you so much...I want..."  I watch in amazement as
Mulder violently grabs himself.  I want to push the
stop button, I really do. I have no desire to see Fox Mulder
jerk himself off. But there's something about the
anguish in his voice that stops me.  I hear his desire, but I
also hear a pain that the jerk-off  process usually doesn't
bring with it.

"Sculleeeeyyy....."  The name is torn from his lungs in agony.
There is no doubt as to just who he wants underneath him
as he continues to press hard against himself.
Turn it off Walter.  Give the man his privacy.

"Sculllllleeeeyyy!"  Damn. He sounds like he's dying.
Why isn't he over at her place giving her this when it's
so obvious that she'd be willing to take it from him?
She loves you, you dumbass.  Why someone as classy,
intelligent and courageous as her doesn't tell you where
to go,  I'll never know,  but you are one charmed, lucky man.
Get off your damn couch, quit acting like a sixteen year
old and haul your ass over to her place and tell her
you adore her and want her.

God, I'm talking to the screen.  I will not watch Fox Mulder
be as stupid as this.  I hit the fast forward button.  Six
years of loving her and all he can do is jerk off in his pants?
Get some balls Mulder. I find myself becoming angry at him.
At her.  At both of them. Life is short.  What they have
together doesn't come along for just everyone...
hell...what they have comes along for virtually noone.
And certainly not for me.

I thought I respected them for not giving in to the
common trap of inner-office relationships.  I thought I
respected the fact that they'd built a friendship built on trust
and a love not of a physcial nature.  In this day and time, it
was so rare and it made my job of being their boss an easier
one.  If they had been any normal working pair, I would
respect their strength, their resistance, their honor...
would expect it.  But not now.  After watching that smoking
bastard invade them, after listening to damn Krycek
smear them....after realizing that bitch Fowley is trying to
hurt them...no way in hell am I gonna respect their
stubbornness any longer.

I  am about to stop the tape when I see Mulder leave his
place on the couch and stand with a terrible expression on
face.  I slow the tape to see if  he notices that he was paid a
recent visit.  He stands in place for another full ten seconds
before he ever so slowly walks toward his television.  I realize
that he hasn't taken his eyes off the frame that lies broken in his
floor beside it.  Bending down, he picks up a piece of glass
ever so gently and moves it aside.  Then another...
and then another...

When he finally picks it up and turns it over, he falls to his
knees with a cry the bowels of hell couldn't stand.
He brings what remains of the frame to his lips and ever so
gently kisses it over and over.  His lips bleed as he cuts them
on the glass shards.  He doesn't even feel pain as he
shakes his head slowly from side to side.    I realize he is
saying something, but it is so lowly murmured, I cannot hear it.
But I can watch.   And I can see.

Scully. I love you.  Scully. I love you. Scully. I love you.

I can't move.  I feel something I haven't felt since that
fateful day in 1969 when I pulled that trigger that killed
a little girl and my faith in mankind.   Salty tears
roll down my cheeks and for the first time in my lifetime,
I let them flow unchecked and unashamed.  For my faith
is restored anew.  There is something worth sacrificing for
in this goddamn world.  Something that I had thought
existed no longer.  It now existed for me in the form of
the only two people left in this world for me to care for.

I don't know how long Mulder sat like that in his floor
just staring at her picture. Probably for as long as I sat
like that on my sofa.  Just feeling....just thinking...
The tape clicked off and rewound.  The clock on my
mantle signified it was Eleven-thirty-one.
Showtime.

 I get up, toss my beer in the garbage, and go to
my bedroom to put a shirt on.  As I do so, I feel my foot crunch
on something.  Looking down, I notice the broken phone
I had hurled in the dark.  Beside it, a glass frame
lies.   I bend to pick it up and turn it over.  The frame is
an old one as is the picture.  It is one of Sharon
and I on our wedding day.  I clear the glass away from it and
study it closely, tracing the outlines of two younger, more naive
people.

Perfect day.  Perfect weather.  Perfect clothes.  Perfect guests.
We'd had it all.  Great sex.  Great jobs.  Great home.  Great life.
We'd wanted for nothing.  Not a sacrifice had to be made.
And in the end, it wasn't the loss of anything we had that tore us
apart.  It was never having discovered a faith in our love to
keep us together.

I resolutely place the broken picture frame back on my desk,
and continue to my closet to grab a sweatshirt before
tracking back into the den.  Popping the surveilance tape out of the
VCR, I take it and place it back into it's sleeve.
I grab the other one and put them both in their large
delivery envelope, seal it tightly and place it under my arm.

Finding my keys, I make my way out to the patio with
a pitcher of water for my fern.  I could be out for the day.
Wouldn't do to let it die.  I might take it to the
Mulder's place when I can get by there.  Scully might like
taking care of something green.  It was a surity that
Mulder wouldn't do it.  I chuckle as I let the water run
over the leafy branches of the thriving plant.  Sitting the
pitcher down, I look at my wristwatch.  11:45.

Well, time to go.  I walk over to my balcony railing,
and look down the thirteen stories to the concrete below.
The sun is shining.  A few airy clouds are gathered for
backdrop.  People are out in groups sightseeing and
shopping.   Washington was enjoying it's weekend.
Pretty day.  Almost Perfect day.   Almost.

Taking the package from under my arm, I toss it
over the railing, and watch as it drops through the still
spring air and bounces against the concrete several times
before coming to a stop.

Whistling, I make my way out the door, turning out lights and
locking up as I leave to retrieve the package for it's deposit
at the 12 p.m. drop point.

Shame about those tapes.  Krycek really ought to
consider using higher quality equipment.

Finis. Feedback? I'd love to hear from ya! BamaX@msn.com