Conversation Mints (1/3)
Valentine’s Day in Washington D.C. at the FBI. Scully is looking forward to a fancy outing for once with a very prominent doctor, while Skinner has been roped into a mercy date by two longtime friends. Unknowingly, Skinner and Scully are attending the same the event, where each of their dates from hell unexpectedly ditch them and leads to unexpectedly sweet revelations about each other.
Conversation
Mints
by PR
February 12th
Washington DC
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Returning from
lunch, Agent Dana Scully found her partner exactly as she had left him nearly
an hour before. Hunched over their desk, Mulder surveyed the papers spread
across it with much of the same intensity he was munching sunflower seeds.
"Is it too late to withdraw my decision to stay in for lunch?" he
asked without looking up at her.
"Yes," she said bluntly, shutting the door.
Mulder
glanced up, surprised by the tone of her voice.
Walking
to the desk she held up a white paper sack, smiling. "When I saw the turkey,
I thought of you."
"If there's a raspberry iced tea in addition to a sandwich in that bag,
I'll disregard that slanderous remark."
"Raspberry
iced tea included," she assured sitting the sack in front of him and
seating herself. Digging his lunch out, Mulder nodded toward a note lying atop
papers she had put aside before lunch.
"There was a call for you while you were gone," he said. Taking it
up, Scully squinted at her partner's hurried writing. "What's this?"
Mulder asked pulling a small box of conversation hearts from the bottom of the
bag.
Scully
looked up from the note, her brow knitted. "Huh?" He held up the box.
"Oh, uh, just something for the weekend."
"Interesting," he said putting aside the box of hearts.
"What is?"
"The fact that a paleo-pagan rite originally meant to drive off wolves and
stimulate fertility," he began, unwrapping his sandwich as he spoke.
"A festival traditionally involving the slaughter of goats and dogs has
been successfully marketed over the centuries as a cloying holiday celebrated
with ornate cards, hand dipped chocolates, elaborate flower bouquets and small
heart shaped mints emblazoned with innocuous messages of affection."
Scully
looked at him for a moment. "Mulder who called?" He looked at her.
"I can't read this."
"A
doctor Farnsworth, he said everything was set at the Alexandria for Saturday
night."
"Hmm," Scully murmured putting the note down to pick up her
paperwork.
Mulder
watched her over the sandwich wrapper as he ate.
She
quietly studied the papers in her hands, shifting them one by one until
curiosity got the best of Mulder. "Isn't there a Doctor Farnsworth at
Quantico?"
"Yes, there is."
"Same one?" he asked around a cheek full of turkey, tomato and
lettuce.
"Yes," she sighed.
Mulder
scrutinized the tension in her brow. "This isn't case related, is
it?"
"Hmm?" she looked up now, distracted.
"That message," he managed before swallowing. Scully blinked at him.
"Saturday?"
"Oh, that," she said turning back to the papers, "no."
Mulder
drew on the iced tea, then asked, "have anything to do with Saturday being
St. Valentine's Day?"
Wordlessly, she dipped her chin.
Mulder
sat back, picking at the lettuce jutting out from the edges of his sandwich.
"Will you be celebrating in the traditional manner?"
Scully's head came up, eyes shut for a long moment.
"No, I suppose," she answered half glancing his way, sounding
exasperated. "No flowers or candy. Just a simple date."
"At the Alexandria hotel," he added and bit into the sandwich.
She
looked directly at him. "The Alexandria ballroom actually. There's a
dinner dance being held by the hotel in conjunction with a local radio
station."
Mulder
nodded, grinning to himself. "So, you won't be participating in the erotic
Lupercalia rituals involving young men running around in goatskin thongs
slapping the proffered genitalia of woman with a blood-stained goat hide
smeared with the blood of ritualistically slaughtered goats and dogs?"
Scully stared at him. "Because if you are I'm sure Frohike would be a much
livelier date than..."
"No," she interrupted him, "as far as I know those activities
aren't on the hotel's schedule of events. " She cocked an eyebrow,
"is that what you have planned?"
"No," he shook his head, "my thong is in the cleaners."
********************
Afternoon sunlight from the window behind his desk fell on Assistant Director
Walter Skinner's shoulders, casting his shadow over the report he had been
trying to concentrate on for the last twenty minutes. Irritation tugged at his
brow and drew downward at the corners of his mouth as his eyes were drawn to
the phone with increasing frequency. Lying the report down he hauled in a deep
breath. He knew he needed to call now if he was going to call at all, if he was
going to call the whole thing off. It wasn't right to do, he shouldn't have
agreed in the first place. But how was he supposed to decline? Sitting at the
table with her, staring at him forlorn as Robert made the suggestion.
He was
a good friend of nearly twenty-five years. But...
Skinner
rubbed his brow hard and threw himself against the seat back of his chair.
Robert
Hunter was a good friend, but this was asking a lot.
Two
weeks ago, Skinner hadn't anticipated lunch turning into a backhanded plea to escort.
Robert's assistant on a Valentine's outing she would have been attending with
her fiancée- now ex-fiancée.
"It's a real shame Maureen won't be able to go alone with Janet and
I," Robert had commented over coffee following a pleasant lunch. There had
been a beat, then he had looked at Skinner. "Why don't you take her,
Walter?"
Skinner
labored not to spill his coffee. She was sitting right there, looking right at
him- a sudden glimmer of optimism in her eyes.
"If you don't have anything planned, of course, Walter."
Skinner
recalled clearing his throat, stalling to quickly think of a solid excuse.
"I
think that would be marvelous," Robert had said sounding as if it was
settled. "Janet was just talking about how long it had been since we had
gone out together..." It was true, Skinner couldn't remember the last time
he had been out with Robert and his wife. There had been some nice times out
with them; dinners out, an occasional show. But those were times when Skinner
and Sharon were still together.
"I
wouldn't want to be burden to Mr. Skinner." Lamentably, Maureen had
lowered her eyes and sipped at her coffee.
Robert
had looked at him, wariness- pleading even, etched in his eyes. Skinner shook
his head pivoting his chair to look out the window of his office fingers
pressed against his temple. Robert had asked in such a way that... that it
would have made it damn uncomfortable to say no. And then her comment... That
had made it even that much worse to lie. And lying would have been exactly what
he would have done to say he had other plans. Arbor Day had more meaning to him
than did St. Valentine's Day.
He
glanced back at the phone. What would he say two days prior to the date?
"Damn," he hissed turning back to the window.
He was
in this to the bitter end.
********************
February 14th
The Alexandria Hotel
Washington DC
The
party was well underway. The orchestra was warmed up and transitioning into
another jazzy sounding dance tune for the applauding and cheering couples
filling the Alexandria Hotel's exquisite Delaware Ballroom. The entire ballroom
was trimmed in the red and white color scheme of St. Valentine's Day; table
clothes, balloons, roses and even the bandstand reflected the festive hues. And
if the brilliant and cheerful color scheme didn't put life into the couples in
the room then certainly what was being served at the two bars would. But it was
going to take a lot more than colorful decor and liquor to make this night
anywhere close to appealing for Dana Scully.
"You know," said Doctor Michael Farnsworth, glancing down at Scully
as they stood waiting to enter the ballroom, "I thought the heels would
make you a bit taller."
Scully
glanced up at the man who was nearly a half-foot taller than her, even in the three-inch
heels she had managed to squeeze her feet into for the evening.
His
tactless utterance was only one of a hand full of signs that the man even knew
he was with her. Not only had he been forty-five minutes late picking her up,
but he had been using his cell phone more than she had ever seen Mulder use his
in the midst of even the most complicated and fast-paced fieldwork cases. And
when the man had found the occasion to speak to her, he had done so with an air
of arrogance.
Michael
Farnsworth was handsome and intelligent, but that was about it. He had always
seemed to be a considerate and polite man, but "seemed" was the key
word. Tonight, he'd really shown his true colors; preoccupation with himself,
his work and everyone and thing other than his date for the evening, not to
mention being completely narcissistic. She didn't believe his car's rear-view
mirror had once been directed at traffic behind them during the drive to the
hotel, rather it had been angled down to allow the man the ever often glimpse
of himself while he talked on the cell phone.
Looking
up into Farnsworth square handsome features that had suddenly twisted
gruesomely in appearance to her, Scully thought about just going home and going
to sleep, forgetting this night had ever started. There were plenty of cabs out
front, she thought while looking up at her so-called date. Getting one would be
no problem.
Taking
another step closer to entering the ballroom she opened her mouth to bid
farewell, but the sound of his cell phone interrupted her. Without apology to
her Farnsworth pulled it from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and
answered the call and talked to the caller all the way through the ballroom
door. Scully mentally kicked herself the entire way for not just breaking away
from him and leaving this poor excuse of a date far behind her.
She
surveyed the ballroom once more, then her dress wishing she had cut the tag out
of it again, feeling it scratching at her back for the umpteenth time. She had
chosen a simple black dress with a high neck and a hemline falling just at the
knee. It was too nice, she thought glancing at Farnsworth still talking on the
phone, too nice to have been worn for this jerk.
"Mint?" Scully nearly jumped as a crystal bowl appeared mere inches
from her nose, held by an elderly waiter in white tails and a pink bow tie. He
smiled at her, his eyes gray and twinkling as he repeated his offer of
multicolored conversation hearts, "mint, miss?"
"No, no thank y-"
"Michael?" Scully turned toward the loud voice to see an overly
made-up young woman bustling her way toward them through the crowd. Her full
dark hair bouncing on her bare shoulders, her smile showing too many teeth, her
strapless dress too red and threatening exposure at any moment.
"Mikey!" The woman called out excitedly.
Farnsworth hesitated in conversation, glancing around.
He did
a double take.
"Maureen?" he seemed to say to himself clicking off the cell phone,
looking completely awe struck.
"Mikey! M'god!" the woman giggled wildly.
Scully
groaned under her breath, wanting more than ever to leave now.
"M'god, I can't believe you're here," Maureen kept saying while
hugging Farnsworth.
"You’re
not here alone, are you?" he laughed pulling back to look her up and down.
"On this day, looking like this?" She giggled then waved her hand at
him. "No, you’re silly."
Scully
rolled her eyes beginning to step away, bound for the door and the cabs that
lay beyond.
"Oh, Dana," Farnsworth suddenly said, sounding very much like he'd
just remembered she was there. "I'd like you to meet a friend of
mine." Scully turned back, facing the young woman whose head had the
appearance of bobbing side to side of its own volition. Only if there had been
a wad of chewing gum in her mouth could this picture have been any more
complete. "Dana this is Maureen," he introduced them.
Maureen
flashed her toothy grin, waving at Scully.
"Hi," the sound of her voice hit the air like that of a terrier with
a paw caught in a mousetrap.
"Nice to meet you," Scully strove for politeness.
"Where's your date?" Farnsworth asked her glancing around.
"You're not here with Richard, are you?"
Maureen
blew her breath out, waving her hand dismissing the suggestion. "No... But
I might as well be," she announced looking around, "my boss set me up
with this complete stuffed shirt and M'god, he's like talking to a rock or
something intimated."
“Intimated?”
Scully repeated.
“Yeah, you
know, like stiff and serious. Like a table.”
Scully nodded
and covered her mouth before the laugh escaped.
"You and Maureen have a lot in common, Dana," Farnsworth announced,
"she works for the justice department."
"I
work for the Solicitor General's office," she said proudly, swaying her
head side to side. "What do you do?"
"I'm an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Maureen's eyes fluttered wide. "Ouuh, like Jodie Foster in that movie.
Ouuh, you must see really gory stuff, like dead people, huh?"
Scully
winced; sure, she felt several IQ points shaved off her average just by hearing
that. "Um, yes, especially when you're also a forensic doctor..."
"You're both? Cool, so you really see a lot of dead people, huh?"
"This really is not the conversation for Valentine's Day. Let's get a
drink before the rock finds
you, Maureen," Farnsworth chuckled taking her by the elbow, starting
toward the bar. He threw a glance over his shoulder at Scully, "you
coming?"
She
stared at him, a warm flush of anger beginning to fill her cheeks.
"Come on, Dana," Maureen chirped capturing her arm, guiding her
toward the bar with them, "let's get a drink... wow, is that your real
color?"
"Excuse me?"
"It's really great," Maureen continued, inspecting Scully's hair
closely. " I've been thinking about going red. But with my coloring, I'm a
winter you see, and I think that would really wash me out. And I'd have to
change all my make-up, but that wouldn't be so bad because I just love the way
the make-up counter smells..."
***************************
* "...
Skylark, have you anything to say to me...? Won't you tell me where my love can
be, is there a meadow in the mist...?" *
The
corners of Walter Skinner's mouth ticked with irritation as he stared into the
crowd of cheerful couples scooting around the ballroom. He stood holding two
glasses of champagne feeling like a simp for the first time since his junior
prom.
His
tuxedo felt too sizes too small as couple after couple passed him standing
there alone. Robert and Janet as well had trotted past him twice now, Robert
shrugging while Janet smiled and waved to him warily.
Where
had she gone to use the ladies room, Bangladesh? He inwardly fumed while
scanning the crowd for Maureen. What was he thinking, he wondered to himself.
What more could he have expected other than absolute neglect and clear-cut
disinterest from a woman who had only recently been jilted. Not only had she
constantly drifted from his side, leaving him talking to strangers he mistook
for her, but she was also abrupt in conversation, loud and had apparently taken
her recent break personally judging by the amount of make-up she'd applied for
the evening.
He
huffed to himself sweeping his eyes over the crowd again, checking the bars,
the exits, and feeling like a jerk. He didn't care what Robert and Janet said
to change his mind, when and if she ever returned he was taking her home. He
vowed to himself and downed one of the two glasses of champagne he had been
gripping for the last fifteen minutes.
"Mint?" Skinner nearly broke the champagne flute on a crystal bowl of
conversation heart mints suddenly in front of him. "Excuse me, sir,"
an elderly waiter in a pink bow tie apologized retracting the bowl.
Skinner
shook his head as the man offered the candies one more time. "No, thank
you," he told the man and squinted into the crowd.
"Looking for someone, sir?" the waiter asked him. "Perhaps I
could help..."
Skinner
was already shaking his head. "No, thank you," he said and began to
sip from the second glass of champagne, handing the waiter the empty.
********************
The
tinkle of laughter and glasses, the pleasant, lilting sound of the orchestra
playing and the sight of couples dancing... The sights, the sounds, the
wonderful aroma of fresh flowers, scented candles and expensive perfumes and
cologne, it was completely enchanting. This wasn't a typical outing for Scully.
It was almost perfect, she thought sipping at a second glass of champagne while
staring at Farnsworth and Maureen's backs as they chatted at the bar.
It was
almost a perfect evening.
After a
few rhetorical questions had been tossed her way by both, she had been
completely cut from their conversation. But she didn't consider it any great
loss...
"Oh, Mikey!" Maureen's shrill laugh shredded the air turning heads
from all around and even the orchestra seemed to hesitate at the sound.
Scully
rubbed roughly at her neck, the tag in her collar scratching at her again, but
she wasn't entirely certain it was just the tag that was making her skin crawl
as she reached for another glass of champagne passing on a waiter's tray. One
more glass should deaden her hearing some she justified while scanning the
ballroom, developing an excuse to leave.
She
left the curling iron on... No, she had put her hair up...
She
needed to walk... No, she didn't have a dog any more...
She
left the water running. The stove was on. She was missing Justice Files... She
had to get up early on a Sunday...? Yes, she had to get up early to go to
church with her mother whose car had broken down and if she didn't take her,
she wouldn't be able to teach under privileged children how to make...
Scully
glanced at Farnsworth's back wondering if he would even notice if she just left
without a word. There would be no amount of grief if she did, she was sure. The
story twisted, she cast as the villainous woman dumping her date on St.
Valentine's Day. She couldn't just walk out, but she also couldn't stand the
idea of the drive back home with Narcissus here ogling himself in the mirror
the whole way either. Whatever the excuse it had to get her out of here on her
own...
Almost
a perfect evening... If only she could have been here with more of a gentleman.
Someone to talk to and be talked to by, someone interesting and interested.
Sighing, she listened to the tinkle of the piano music and looked into her
glass thinking that perhaps Farnsworth would get drunk, and she could take a
cab home.
* "... even be glad just to be sad
thinking of you. Some others I've seen might never be mean..." *
Recognizing the song as the singer began to croon, Scully recalled how her
father would dance with her to it when she was a girl; her atop his shoes while
he would hum and mumble the lyrics, never quite sing. That was all right, she
thought remembering the sound of his hum mumbling, so deep and resonant she
could have sworn she'd felt it in her toes.
She
looked down to study the tips of her shoes, quietly humming along with the
music, feeling a bit relaxed from the first two glasses of bubbly, then
remembered the third in her hand. She raised her eyes, ready to take a sip and
almost dropped the glass.
* "... it had to be you, wonderful you....
It had to be you..."
The
crowd parted and there stood Assistant Director Walter Skinner across the dance
floor surveying the scene carefully, sipping from a glass of champagne.
* "... wonderful you..." *
Scully
almost didn't recognize him, so used to seeing him in a suit and tie within the
confines of his office. But there was no mistaking his characteristic composure
that demanded respect despite the fact he was just standing there... Alone?
* "...some others I've seen..." *
She
looked back at Maureen. No, she couldn't have been talking about...
* "... might never be mean. Might never be
cross, or try to be boss..." *
Scully
turned back to Skinner and as if sensing someone watching him, he looked
directly at her in mid-sip. Their eyes locked. She didn't think he could have
looked any more surprised if she had walked in on him in his...
She
caught her breath, struck by the sudden flash of him standing before her in a
Wichita motel wearing only briefs... and tendrils of shave cream.
Guilt,
chagrin, countless- nameless emotions plundered her composure, forcing her eyes
down. Four months, Damn it. She cursed herself. Four months of laboring
to free herself of completely improper and entirely wrong... fantasies.
No,
hopes. Yes, hopes. Not daydreams or the occasionally sordid fantasy, but rather
hopes of those professional nods of acknowledgment at the elevator or in the
halls turning more poignant, tender even. Hopes that something touching and
encouraging would come across in those potent shafts of scrutiny trained on her
from behind a sprawling desk...
Four
months... spent freeing herself of the memory of her superior standing before
her in a Wichita motel room clad in briefs... and shave cream... streaming down
into wispy graying chest hair-
******************************
* "...some others I've seen..." *
"She hasn't come back yet?"
Skinner
looked up at Robert and Janet who had come off the dance floor, looking at him
like some stray puppy they'd just come across in the middle of the road.
"No."
Robert
glanced around, uneasy. "Uh...Well, Walter, why don't we go back to the
table and Janet can check for her in the bathroom?"
"That's... that's a good idea," Janet agreed glancing nervously at
Skinner. "I'll just go do that."
* "... might never be mean. Might never be
cross, or try to be boss..." *
Skinner
straightened suddenly; eyes fixed across the room.
Was...?
Is that...? He looked again, surprised, and still uncertain. Is that Scully? He
wondered again, straining to see through the shifting dance floor crowd. Yes,
and she looked... Well, she didn't look like the polished, buttoned-down,
no-nonsense agent he dealt with on a near daily basis. She looked like... She
looked beautiful, he realized and felt a catch in his chest as the vaguest
fragment of a vision from a cold Thanksgiving night returned to him.
Robert
and Janet followed his line of sight.
"Have you spotted her?" Robert asked, still straining to see what
Skinner was looking at so fixedly.
"Yes-" he broke off. Wrong person, he realized. "No," he
corrected, his voice thick.
They
turned back to him, perplexed.
* "... but they wouldn't do. For nobody
else gave me a thrill..." *
Without
explanation, Skinner cleared his throat and bowed his head as he stepped away
from them, "excuse me."
******************************
"Agent Scully!"
She
jumped, sloshing champagne on her wrist.
"Wow, hot, but jumpy."
Hair
slicked back and freshly shaved, Melvin Frohike decked out in a black tuxedo
with a jaunty red bow tie had appeared out of nowhere. He stood gazing
flirtatiously at her, the woman on his arm pouting.
"Frohike... what a surprise." Scully laughed nervously noticing
Skinner making his way across the dance floor heading directly for her.
Oh god,
she thought shaking the tickling liquid off her wrist, seeing it had hit her
flared skirt as well.
"Allow me," Frohike said pulling a handkerchief from his tux pocket
with a flourish of his wrist.
"You didn't do that for me in the car, Melvin," his date remarked wiping
lightly at her lips.
He gave
her an ashamed glance. "Sorry, doll. Forgot I had it until just now."
"Scully."
She
jerked at the well-known orotund voice to her left, more champagne sloshing
from her glass and onto the AD's pants... more directly, his crotch.
Scully's hand went to her mouth, her eyes to his pants.
Skinner
took a step back looking down at himself, arms held up and out at his sides.
"Sir, I..." She didn't know what to say, horrified by what she had
just done and completely taken by the smell of his cologne wafting her way.
"I... What a surprise to see you."
"I
was just about to say the same..." he muttered glancing around for
something to wipe himself off with.
She
glanced at the handkerchief and started to offer it. Frohike cleared his throat
loudly
drawing attention to himself purposefully. When she looked at him, he shook his
head. Obviously, the handkerchief was no longer available for clean ups... or
perhaps just clean ups in certain areas.
"Oh, uh," she handed the handkerchief back to him, "thank
you-"
"Oh, there you are," Scully heard Maureen's shrill voice sound behind
her. Turning, she saw Maureen looking at Skinner, grinning sheepishly. "I
couldn't find you anywhere, Wally." She glanced at Scully then Skinner,
chirping, "hey you two must know each other, huh?"
Skinner
looked up from his saturated slacks, his brow creased with vexation.
Scully
could feel the tension radiating off the AD like heat ripples off an asphalt
road.
"Anywhere was right where you left me fifteen minutes ago," he barked
at her as Scully snatched a handful of cocktail napkins from the bar, handing
them to him brusquely.
"I'm sorry," Maureen apologized, throwing her hair back over her
shoulder.
Farnsworth turned from the bar serving Skinner with a circumspect stare as the
man wiped at his crotch with a wad of rapidly disintegrating cocktail napkins.
"She said she tried to find you," the man brazenly told Skinner.
"Bad juju," Frohike remarked to his date, then to Scully,
"later, FBI."
As
sudden as he had appeared he vanished into the crowd, whisking his date along
with him.
Skinner
looked up at Farnsworth hard. "Who are you?"
Scully
could feel the tension pressing in on them like a storm front ready to break.
"Uh," she intervened to make introductions, "Doctor Michael
Farnsworth, Assistant Director of the FBI, Walter Skinner..."
"Walter," Scully turned, seeing a sophisticated looking woman coming
through the press of dancers, a man with graying hair following her closely.
They both appeared apprehensive as they eyed both Skinner and Maureen. "We
thought you had gone when we lost sight of you."
"Not yet," Skinner said in a low tone that was no less than
threatening.
"Actually,
we were just making introductions," Maureen piped up, "I guess we'll
have to do it all over again. Robert and Janet Hunter this is Doctor Michael
Farnsworth and Diane Scully,"
"Dana," she corrected and smiled at the Hunters.
"Oh, geez, I'm sorry," Maureen giggled, "I'm just awful with
names."
Silence
passed between the newly formed group, no one knowing what to say, just looking
at each other with insipid smiles- all except for Skinner. His face was
granite.
"Uh," Robert uttered, his eyes darting around the ballroom searching
for some pleasantness to stifle the tension, "do you have a table
yet?" he asked Farnsworth and Scully.
"No, we haven't gotten one yet," Farnsworth answered.
"Oh, it's going to be hard to get one now," Maureen announced.
"Well, why don't you two join us at ours?" Robert suggested smiling
broadly until Janet demurely caught him in the ribs with her elbow.
"Oh, yes, you must," Maureen insisted.
Scully
inwardly groaned. It was bad enough to have met this person, but did she have
to get stuck at the same table with her all evening? Not to mention it was more
than obvious whom she was here with. She glanced at Skinner, his face was
granite with eyes narrowed and darting anywhere but at Maureen.
Had he
asked her? She wondered. She didn't seem like his type at all...
Before
anyone could answer there was a muffled trilling from Farnsworth's jacket. He
excused himself to take the call, a surprising move to Scully. He hadn't found
it necessary to excuse himself to her to take calls the entire night.
While
Farnsworth took the call, Mrs. Hunter turned to Scully. "You're one of
Walter's agents, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes," she answered, glancing at him. "I am under his direction
at the bureau."
He
looked at her and she was certain his expression softened some.
"Ugh," Farnsworth grunted jabbing a finger at the keypad of his cell
phone, irritated. "I have to find a public phone," he announced to
the others, "the battery in this has run down."
"Not surprising." Scully murmured to herself and sipped from what
champagne she had left.
"Dana, why don't you go ahead with everyone, and I'll join you at the
table as soon as I find a phone."
Before
Scully could say a word, Maureen spoke, "Oh, I know where the phones are.
They're right by the bathrooms. I'll show you and then I can show you back to
our table."
There
was a beat.
Scully
and Skinner looked at their dates, dubious.
This
had "ditch" written all over it.
"Don't get lost again," Janet laughed and tugged at her husband's
arm. "We'll see you at the table."
************************************
Through
the press of swaying, gliding dancers, Scully and Skinner followed Robert and
Janet toward one of the elegantly set tables bordering the dance floor.
Staggered four deep with low-light lamp centerpieces, the tables were
invitations for tired couples to rest a moment among the charming ambiance
created by the glitter and sparkle of the ballroom, the lilting swinging chords
rippling from the orchestra.
Distracted by this ambiance, Scully didn't notice the tipsy couple tripping
toward her until the last second. She tried to sidestep them, but they bumped
into her despite the move, knocking her into Skinner.
Which
startled her more she wasn't sure; the shock of being knocked off balance in
her three-inch heels or the shear strength of Skinner's save.
Without
apology, the clumsy couple trotted off back across the dance floor.
"Thank..." Scully started to say but breaking off when she felt
herself being lifted. As if dealing with the lightness of a doll, Skinner
righted her at his side. "Thank you," she managed finally, finding
him placing her hand into the crook of his elbow.
She
looked at him, a little surprised and plaintive. Why couldn't she have been
with someone like him this evening? She abstractly questioned. Despite the hard
nails exterior that sent people scattering out of his way, kept people at a
distance and respectful of his authority, there was no question he was
courteous, thoughtful, a real gentleman that would be genuinely interested in
talking, listening, and making the evening special. Why couldn't he be just
some... some stranger, just a handsome, unfamiliar face in the crowd? Why did
he have to be her superior?
Saying
nothing, he only nodded with his eyes fixed straight ahead.
Self-conscious
she turned her eyes ahead, putting away wishful thoughts of four months’ past.
************************************
Seated,
the quartet ordered another round of drinks, Skinner substituting bourbon for
the champagne he'd become tired of tasting all night. As a matter of fact, the
champagne in conjunction with Maureen's notably nonpartisan and unpleasant
company, a rather bitter taste had settled in his mouth. He had tried to blame
Robert then Maureen, then only himself. He knew it wasn't going to work out
from the beginning. It wasn't pessimism, just basic realism. She wasn't his
type in the slightest and he should have said no.
But he
hadn't. Why the hell hadn't he? He reprimanded himself as he searched the
ballroom. Loneliness? Boredom? Foolish hopes born of ennui? The foolish hope
she could have been someone like...
He
edged his eyes back to the table, to Scully. The amber light of the table lamp
was casting her warm features in delicate shadow and glinted in her eyes like
tiny stars giving them a teary appearance.
Yes,
someone like her. Making a night like this worthwhile. Make everything seem
worthwhile again, having a conversation laden with intelligence. Touch with
responsiveness and warmth. A shared gaze taken with interest and desire.
Something immaterial seized up inside him, capturing a beat of his heart.
Not
her, he reminded himself, just not her…
He shut
his eyes. She was not an... option.
"So, are you and Walter together much?" Janet suddenly asked,
breaking the silence as their drinks were brought to the table.
It
seemed to catch both Scully and Skinner somewhat off guard, perhaps it was the
phrasing or the timing of the question.
"At times," Scully answered controlling her surprise.
"It depends on the case or assignment," Skinner added with a cocked
brow and sipped at his drink.
Especially when it came to the X-Files, Scully mused. His intervention had been
required more than a few times, more often than for any normal cases or
assignments.
"Oh," Janet responded to their seemingly dead-end replies.
Silence
descended on them once again.
* "... Just you know why. Why you and I
will by
and by know true love ways..." *
It was
Robert's turn to break the silence, suddenly clearing his throat with a
distinct level of uneasiness.
"Well," he said standing, "I don't know about anyone else, but I
think I would like to dance."
Janet
hesitated a moment then took his hand, standing. She turned to Scully and
Skinner. "Why don't you join us?"
Exchanging apprehensive side glances, neither hesitated in begging off from the
suggestion.
Reticent, Scully shook her head.
"I
think we should wait," Skinner told them.
"Maureen knows where the table is," Janet gently urged.
"I
think it would be best to wait." Scully agreed with the AD.
Robert
and Janet nodded, moving onto the dance floor.
* "... sometimes we'll sigh. Sometimes
we'll cry.
And we'll know why, just you and I..." *
Sipping
champagne and bourbon, they quietly waited, listening to swaying lyrics
accompanied by the winsome orchestra strings, their attention purposely kept on
the smooth flow of couples across the dance floor, gliding to-and-fro, smiling
and looking very much in love.
Skinner
straightened in his chair, turning from the dance floor.
"When I was a boy," he said unexpectedly, "my cousin refused to
take the dancing lessons my aunt was insistent on, unless I took them with
him."
Scully
looked at him, a bit awed by this sudden and uncharacteristic personal
disclosure.
He
continued matter-of-factly, not looking at her. "My aunt talked my mother
into making me go. My aunt, Beluah, she and my uncle had the money for...
frivolous things like dance lessons, but even though my father had a good job
and worked hard, it was going to be a stretch for me to go to these lessons.
So, it was understood, once I was in, I was in to stay, getting our money's
worth." He paused looking at his glass, memories grazing the furrow of his
brow, haunting his brown eyes. "In a week, my cousin and I were enrolled
at Arthur Murray, tuition paid, and the day before our first lesson..."
Skinner paused again and Scully braced herself for what she didn't know, he
sounded so somber. But looking into his drink, the corners of the man's mouth
began to curl up. "The day before our first lesson my cousin, Lawrence,
fell out of a tree and broke both his legs."
Scully
put her hand over her mouth, shocked.
He
looked back at her, and she could have sworn the man was trying not to laugh.
"And... you had to finish out the lessons your parents paid for without
him?" She ask, realizing the humor in his otherwise terrible story.
He
nodded his head firmly, then chuckled.
"Yeah, I finished the lessons. In fact, I went on to win first place in
the beginner’s class at the regional competitions."
"I
imagine that made your parents very proud."
"It did. My mother especially."
Scully
laughed quietly at the odd tale he'd just shared with her, feeling it fit to
share her own memory of dancing with him, although not quite as entertaining.
"I
never took dance lessons. I guess I was always so much of a tom-boy my parents
never considered it," she laughed to herself. "I remember, though,
that my father would dance with me... The times that he was home... He would,
um, get me to stand on the tops of his shoes and dance around with me. "
She brought her arms up and out to her sides enough to imitate her father's
stance. "I was only five or six at the time..." she smiled at the
memory, tilting her head aside slightly. "I remember looking down at my
feet, seeing how tiny they were on top of his..."
"Excuse me," the mint offering waiter had suddenly appeared at the
table.
Thinking he was there to offer mint hearts once again; they began to beg off.
"Are you Mr. Skitter?" he asked.
"Skinner," he corrected the mispronunciation.
The man
looked at a piece of paper in his quivering hand. "This is for you,
sir."
Skinner
took it, seeing it was merely a cocktail napkin with his name miserably
misspelled on the top fold.
"Agent Scully," she turned seeing Frohike coming up to her, disquiet
coloring his morose features, his date tagging along and looking fatigued.
"I bear bad news."
Frowning, Scully glanced at Skinner who was studying the scribble across the
napkin. "What is it?"
"That Doc pretty-boy you came with just left with some Lancôme
queen."
Scully
looked away; lips pursed with an instance of indignation.
"Apparently," Skinner said looking up at them as he wadded the
napkin, "the Lancôme queen wasn't feeling well and took a ride home with
him."
Skinner
tossed the napkin onto the table, pulling a few bills from his pocket looking at
the mint waiter. "Thank you for delivering that."
"Thank you, sir," the waiter replied taking the money.
"Mint?"
Scully
full out laughed, and even Skinner nearly smirked.
"No
but thank you again."
Nodding
cordially, he left them.
Frohike
looked at them, his full mouth drawn down at the corners. "If you ask
me-"
"Thank you, Frohike." Scully realized she had sounded sharp.
"No, really," she softened her tone, smiling thinly, "thank
you."
Taking
the hint, Frohike nodded mirroring her smile as he walked away.
Scully
looked at her champagne flute, rolling it back and forth in her palms. Who had
she been trying to fool? Emergency? Emergency in his pants was more like it.
She knew Farnsworth wouldn't be coming back. She was a trained observer and it
had been plain as day that he had more interest in Maureen than her.
Skinner
pulled on his bourbon, letting the strong liquid slowly whirl over his tongue
and roll down the back of his throat. He had known and wasn't disappointed.
Actually, relief seemed to be the governing sensation at the moment.
Yes,
relief. Scully realized this had replaced disappointment. Out and out relief to
be rid of the narcissist. No, excuses. No white lies to excuse herself from the
evening. He had done it for her.
The
torturous aspect of driving her home was fully taken from his hands, Skinner
inwardly reveled.
Fine...
...
and well...
Scully
and Skinner glanced at one another, and at once turned back to the inspection
of their drinks.
Those two deserved each other's company.
"Well," Skinner said after a long weighty moment, "it looks like
you're stuck with me."
Scully
looked up at him and he cleared his throat, glancing at the dance floor and
back, "would you like to dance?"
Scully
hesitated. "Um."
He
looked as though he was debating whether or not to repeat himself. Decision
made, he stood and extended his hand to her, "I'd like to be able to tell
my mother her money is still going to good use."
Stunned
with mutinous delight, she hesitated still, mouth hanging slightly open with a
smile.
He
looked at her, half-baked impatience on his face. "I don't get an
opportunity to do this often."
Amused
and taken aback by the peculiarity of the moment, Scully stood and took his
hand.
"But I'm sorry," he said causing her to hesitate, "I'm afraid
this just isn't the occasion for you to stand on top of my shoes."
Scully
looked at him, surprised to see him smile. A true smile.
He
looked like a different man. A stranger even…