Conversation Mints 3: Gimme' Three Steps and Four Musketeers
Notes from 1997
Who
is Art Bell and what does “Yo quiero conspiracy” mean?
Art Bell was the patriarch of the late-night radio show still known as ‘Coast to Coast’ and known for conspiracy theories and the paranormal. Link to Art Bell’s 1997 Halloween Coast to Coast show.
Back in 1997, there was a series of popular Taco Bell commercials featuring a Chihuahua dog, which would say the catchphrase “Yo quiero Taco Bell” (I want Taco Bell).
"Gimme'
Three Steps and Four Musketeers"
by PR
* "Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be
sedated.
Nothing to do, nowhere to go..." *
Blaring over
the rushing sound of wind, the Ramones blasted from the VW van careening down
the beltway.
"Roll up
that window!" Langly shouted from behind the wheel and over the sound of
music and howling wind.
"I can't breathe
with it up!" Byers called back from the open window.
Despite the
fresh air whipping around the van's interior, Mulder fanned his hand in front
of his face. "How much of that did you spill on yourself, Frohike?"
The unsmiling
Frohike shot Mulder a glare. "You know it's no wonder none of you get
laid."
"What?!"
Mulder and Langly said in unison, affronted.
"Women go
wild over this cologne..."
"And
that's why you're here with us right now?" Langly called back looking at
him in the rear-view mirror.
* "Just get me to the airport and put me on a
plane..." *
Frohike sat
bolt upright. "Listen, I already told you Cookie wasn't feeling
well..."
"Likely
story," Langly goaded, shaking his head. "Maybe it was your cologne
making her sick."
"At least
I had a date, which is more than I can say about you-"
"Listen,"
Mulder broke in before a full-blown battle could start, "I didn't come on
this wild goose chase to hear you two fighting over who has the more exciting
sex life."
"Wild
goose chase?" Langly repeated. "Hey, it's not my fault Francisca
didn't have the video." He refuted any blame that could be laid on him.
"I could
have told you she wouldn't have it," Frohike declared, "she wouldn't
know Art Bell from Taco Bell."
"Yo
quiero conspiracy," Byers called back from the window.
* "Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be
sedated..."*
Mulder rolled
his eyes and threw his head back against the headrest. "It’s over let's
just go get Scully and Skinner and end this- this tape! How many times have we
heard this song tonight?"
* "Nothing to do, nowhere to go..."
"The
question is," Byers called turning back from the window, his neat hair cut
disheveled, "how many times have we heard this tape tonight?"*
"Ba
ba baa baa, I wanna be sedated.
Bam
bam, ba-bam, ba-bam bam ba-bam
I wanna be sedated,
Bam bam, ba-bam, ba-bam bam ba-bam
I wanna be sedated…"
"Hey,
it's either this or nothing, because the radio still isn't working, and this is
the only tape I've got with me right now." Langly defended himself.
"If I had known this was going to turn into a road trip, I would have
brought the case."
"Well,
turn it down at least," Mulder reached out and turned the volume knob, but
nothing happened.
"It's
full or nothing." Langly announced.
Mulder fell
back in his seat, head against the headrest, defeated.
"So, what
is Scully doing out here anyway?" Byers yelled over the music, as if far
too used to the volume.
Mulder shook
his head looking out the window at the passing nothingness. "She never
said."
"Yeah,
and with Skinner," Frohike said, "last time I saw those two they were
at the Alexandria."
Mulder twisted
around to look at him. "The hotel, tonight?"
"Yeah, at
that soiree I took Cookie to. Watched their respective dates cut out together,
too-- but you didn't hear that from me."
***********************************
* "Well, I heard ole Neil put her down.
Well, I hope Neil Young will remember
a southern man don't need him around..." *
The sound of
the Lynyrd Skynyrd band whined from the bad speakers precariously attached to
the walls of the Two Bucks bar.
"Sweet
home Alabama," the drunk from the hallway sang-- and only sang. The rest
of the song lyrics were muttered and mumbled beyond recognition as the man
staggered around his table of friends, air guitaring with wanton disregard.
"You want
that warmed up?" the bartender gestured toward Skinner and Scully's coffee
cups. Two looked down at what more closely resembled sludge rather than coffee.
"I'm just gonna' throw it out if you don't want any more."
"Thanks,
but no." Skinner answered, and Scully agreed with a shake of her head.
“Fine with
me," the bartender scoffed and shrugged, walking away with the pot of
crude.
"…Where
skies are so blue, sweet home Alabama... Lord, I wanna-uh, I'm com-coming hmmm,
hmmm..." The drunk continued, and Skinner cringed at the slaughter of
lyrics going on.
"I’m
starting to regret leaving my service weapon at home," Scully remarked
quietly, glancing back at the scene.
"if
you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Skinner ventured, “That wouldn't
look good on your resume."
Scully gave
him a side glance. "You wanted to confiscate Robert's boat."
"That was
with just cause." He justified.
"They
stick- hmmm, pick me up... hmmm, hmm... yeah," the man suddenly hollered
looking over at Skinner. "Skinner, man, yeah!"
"And this
isn't?" Scully questioned.
Skinner shook
his head, jaw grinding. "At least the song's almost over."
"Hopefully
someone will take his change away."
"Don't
you mean his keys?" Skinner asked her.
She shook her
head. "Change for the juke box."
Skinner
nodded. "Friends don't let friends sing drunk?"
"Yeah, something
like that," she said and tried another taste of her java sludge. Her mouth
pursed and her nose wrinkled. "Thank god, it's not Karaoke night."
"I
thought it was..."
Hearing
Skinner’s deliberately dry comment, Scully laughed in spite of herself, nearly
spitting the coffee out.
************************************
"Where is
this place? I haven't seen a sign?" Langly asked, sounding frustrated as
he squinted at the road past the headlights.
"I
thought you said this was the only tape you had in here?" Frohike ignored
his question pulling another tape out of the glove box and holding it up to the
dash lights.
"It's
around here somewhere," Mulder called from the back seat.
"That
narrows it down," Langly responded sarcastically.
"What is
this, ABBA's number one hits?" Frohike questioned the tape he'd found.
"What a crock, there's at least twenty songs on here!"
"There,
on the right," Byers said pointing ahead over Langly's shoulder.
"Deer Point."
"Where?"
"You just
passed it," Mulder said, monotone and already bracing himself for what was
about to come.
Langly jammed
on the brakes, sending the van sliding to a halt on the narrow two lane. Byers
would have fallen into the front if he hadn't already been leaning against the
back of the driver's seat. But Frohike hit the dashboard hard, smashing the
music cassette into the stereo inadvertently.
"Where'd
you download your license from, punkass.com?"
* "There was something in the air that night,
the stars were bright, Fernando." *
"Turn
that off, will you?" Mulder begged anyone to stop the music that was
suddenly permeating the van.
* "...for liberty, Fernando" *
Byers reached
over the seats, fumbling for the stereo controls.
Langly ground
gears, trying to put the van in reverse.
* "...if I had to do the same again, I would my
friend..." *
************************************
” ...oh, won't
you...giv'me three steps, mister..."
Skinner laced
his fingers together tightly, struggling against the urge to either go pull the
plug on the jukebox or the drunk. The drunk's friends were now cheering him on,
urging his continued performance of Skynyrd hits endlessly spewing from the
juke box.
"Where
the hell is Mulder," he muttered through clinched teeth.
"He
should be here soon," Scully said checking the neon clock behind the bar. “We
should just go outside to wait for them.”
“In the cold?”
Skinner asked, reminding her. And Scully sighed, nodding.
The bartender
sauntered up to them. "You two want anything else?"
Skinner
suddenly began digging in his pants pocket. "Yes," he said, yanking
out a couple of damp dollar bills. "Change."
Scully looked
at him, startled by his sudden abruptness.
"Sure
thing, buddy..." the bartender grunted, taking the bills.
With change in
hand, Skinner marched to the jukebox. His plan: clogging the jukebox with his
own selections and hampering the drunk's ability to play any more Skynyrd.
"Skinner!"
the drunk yelled and waved wildly as he passed.
Scully watched
from the bar, amused by the whole scene in some small way. This place, and
Skinner's newfound fan who was sadly mistaken about his name. She watched Skinner
standing at the juke box, the light from the display window illuminating his
strong features. She admired the way the collar of his tuxedo shirt lay open
around his neck, and his stance before the jukebox was purposeful yet
nonchalant. Just standing there, he… He looked... handsome.
"Hello
again, pretty lady."
Scully knew
the voice. She knew it was the man from the end of the bar. Turning she saw the
man from earlier now standing very close to her, with his cocky crooked smile
in place.
"I see
your friend has left you unattended, big mistake." He said to her.
"Excuse
me, but..."
"He
should've never left such a pretty little lady all by er'self here ‘cause that
just lets me know it's my turn."
"Your
turn?" Scully repeated glancing in Skinner's direction.
************************************
Shoulders
hunched against the cold, Mulder, Byers and Frohike stood together in the dark
encircling Langly's battered tennis shoes sticking out from under the van.
"Can you
see anything?" Byers called to him under the van.
"It's the
linkage," he called back, "it's stuck in reverse."
Mulder took a
step away from the others. "Great."
"Can you
fix it?" Byers asked.
"With
what, a bottle opener and a tire pressure gauge? Who do I look like,
MacGyver?"
"You
haven't got any tools?" Mulder exclaimed.
"Why do
you think the radio doesn't work?" Frohike asked him.
"Yeah,
I've got tools- ugh!" A clattering sounded from underneath the van
followed by the flashlight rolling out.
"What is
it?"
"I
dropped the flashlight on my face!" Langly shouted, pulling himself out
from under the van. "Damn," he declared pulling his glasses off in
two pieces.
"Rough,"
Frohike said, pushing his own glasses up the bridge of his nose.
************************************
Skinner
considered the multifarious jukebox selections with dread. Quiet Riot. Janet
Jackson. Vince Gill. The Monkeys. Lynryd Skynyrd. Morris Day and the Time? When
was the last time this thing was updated? He wondered, beginning to toy with
the change in his hand. Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. Basia? Seriously?
It looked
futile. There were a few promising prospects, though. John Fogerty and Eric
Clapton, as well as a Doors tune or two. Then, there were the jukebox
standards, Chuck Berry, Rolling Stones, and Elvis Presley...
Skinner looked
at the Presley offerings. 'It's now or never,' 'All shook up,' and 'Can't help
falling in love.' He looked at the selections, recalling events of four months
past. Scully brushing against his legs under the table in the King's Kitchen
came to mind.
* "It's now or never, come hold me
tight... kiss me my darling." *
He had become
aware of the music and the sensation of Scully's legs touching his at the same
moment, and suddenly lyrics once jaded and ignored had meaning-- correlation.
Across the table their eyes had locked, gazes communicating shared fascination
until she had lowered her eyes. Had it been uncertainty or guilt? Or was it all
his imagination, her equaled interest?
Not after
tonight, he thought while pouring the quarters into the machine. Could he be
sure? She had warmed up to his transparent attempt at amusing conversation
aboard Robert and Janet's boat, and hadn't balked at the closing space between
them throughout the entire night. Was it just the alcohol? He wondered,
punching in selections. Had she been generous and only tolerated his fumbling
overtures?
* "It's now or never, come hold me tight,
kiss me my darling..." *
Wary, Skinner
glanced toward the bar, toward Scully and tensed immediately.
* "...be mine tonight... Tomorrow may be too
late..." *
"See,"
the presumptuous man said to Scully, looking toward the speaker nearest them,
"that's the king, just in time for our first dance."
Scully heard
the rumba beat, and aside from getting rid of Forrest Gump, the memory of
sitting across the table from Skinner in Memphis came crashing in on her.
* "... it's now or never, my love won't wait..." *
Scully shook
her head. "I don't think so," she told him. "I don't think my…”
She glanced past the man, “friend will like that at all."
"Is there
a problem here?" Skinner, like some bastion of chivalry, appeared beside
her, glaring at the guy she’d dubbed Gump.
* " ...when I first saw you, my heart was
captured..." *
Gump
looked back at him, defiant. "If you think so, yeah."
Skinner took a
deep breath. "Yeah, I think so."
* "...it's now or never..." *
"I just
wanna' dance this pretty lady here, is that so terrible?"
"No, not
at all. But she said no. So, shove off."
The man
narrowed his eyes on Skinner, then turned his attention to Scully. "Let's
dance, pretty lady," he said reaching out past Skinner, grabbing at her
arm.
Scully pulled
her arm back out of his grasp. "No, thank you, I said."
He reached again;
this time it was his arm that was caught by Skinner.
************************************
"Okay,
now right... right-- no, to the right!" Byers exclaimed as he peered out
the back window of the van.
"Go
right," Mulder turned calling quickly to Langly, fingers digging into the
vinyl seat back.
"My right
or your right?" he demanded, anxiously checking all his mirrors, his long
hair flipping back forth across his shoulders.
He had been
dealing with this for the last twenty minutes and was getting good and sick of
it. The van, stuck in reverse gear, was alone no easy job to maneuver backward
down dark and narrow roads, but the backward instructions they were calling the
whole time was making it that much worse.
"Just do
the opposite of what they tell you," Frohike advised from the passenger's
seat.
"I did
that," Langly snapped back, gingerly pushing his glasses up the bridge of
his nose, careful of the plastic bandage holding them together, "and we
went off the road."
"Go left
then," Byers called to him, "quickly!"
"We're
going to run off the road again," Mulder warned.
"Look,"
Byers was pointing straight ahead-- or rather straight back. "That must be
it. Deer Point."
"Civilization,"
Frohike proclaimed as the hindered van rolled into the outskirts of town.
"Like
this, we're surely going to attract the attention of local law
enforcement," Byers stated aloud what Mulder had been thinking since this
whole ordeal began.
This was
outrageous, Mulder knew and had said so, but had been outnumbered in the voting
process. It had been three against one in the decision to drive backward to
town in the hopes of finding help to fix the van. What they were then likely
going to find instead was a local yokel with a badge and an attitude.
"Trouble
ahead," Byers announced to everyone.
"Cops?"
Langly asked, nervously checking his mirrors again.
"Whoa,"
Frohike said, moving to the back seat for a better view.
"Saturday
night in a small town," Byers observed as Langly brought the van to a slow
halt so he too could see what was so riveting.
People were
crowded together in a parking lot, some dashing back and forth from parked
cars, others jockeying for better vantage points. There was too much action to
see exactly what all the commotion was about, but it was undoubtedly a fight,
and the most excitement in a long time apparently. The crowd parted suddenly
and just long enough that the four could see the nucleus of the action; two men
duking it out in front of what appeared to be the only open place in town...
Mulder looked
to the building's sign slowly, alarmed as he read "Two Bucks bar and
grill," with the word grill having long ago burnt out.
"Isn't
that--" Byer’s began, peering out the back window.
"Skinner,"
Mulder finished, slack jawed.
************************************
Inside Two Bucks,
to inharmonious soundtrack of Elvis Presley, like some poorly matched game of
the Rock'em-Sock'ems, Scully watched as Skinner traded repeated punches with
Gump, whose name turned out to be, according to those cheering him on from the
crowd, Mike. And Mike wasn't faring well, here. He'd picked a fight with the
wrong man.
There was
still enough alcohol in Skinner's blood stream to ignite his ire, and obviously
enough in this guy Mike to cloud his ability to see the difference in size
between the two of them. That was all it took.
His arm grabbed
by Skinner; Mike shoved him. Skinner shoved back, sending the man into a table.
He came back with a vengeance and from there it moved out the door into the
parking lot, like any worthwhile fist-fight would.
Now, Skinner
having had the upper hand throughout the fight and Mike showing the signs of
it, it looked like the guy's friends were just about to jump in and help.
Ignoring the
ignorant and dirty slurs being shouted at both her and Skinner from the women
in the crowd, Scully glanced around, trying to see past the on-lookers. In a
small hamlet like this, it shouldn't take long before the local police showed
up, but it had already been too long, even for a response time in the city.
Where were they? She felt panic creeping into her throat.
Skinner
stepped back from the fight, breathless and bleeding. He'd been on top of this
fight, but the other man had managed to get in a few good punches that had left
minimum damage.
"Had
enough?" Mike wheezed.
Skinner
narrowed his eyes on the man. "I was just about to ask you the same."
Mike swayed as
he stared back at the confident man before him. "Screw you," he
finally spit, "I'll show you enough!" He dove at Skinner, shouting,
"I'll kick the sh-" He never finished, connecting with the larger
man's fist on the shoulder, sending him first up and then down on his back.
Before Skinner
could relish putting the guy down two men were on top of him, one at his back,
the other with an arm around his neck.
"Skinner!"
Scully tried to warn as the two had come out of the crowd.
"Yeah,
Skinner!" The drunken air guitarist shouted from behind her.
She shot him a
glare.
"Whoa!"
"Hey,
look out!" People suddenly began to shout from the outer edge of the
crowd. "Watch where the hell you're goin'!"
Scully heard
it first, the buzzing sound of an engine approaching quickly. Then she saw it,
the beat-up VW van, flying up next to the crowd. The side door flew open
immediately and out bolted the cavalry.
First, Mulder
came barreling through the throng of onlookers, then Frohike and Langly. Byers,
though, seemed uncertain about bum-rushing the scene and held back, staying
with the van.
"Hey,
ever heard of a fair fight?" Mulder yelled at one of the men who had
grabbed Skinner from behind.
“Back off,
Slugo!" Langly shouted at others trying to enter from the crowd.
"Who the
hell are you?" One of the men demanded of Frohike.
"Your
worst nightmare, punk!"
Mulder yanked
one man back from Skinner, allowing the AD to freely take care of the other.
While this was
happening, one of the several women in the crowd, who had been yelling
profanities at Scully, now decided to take her shot at the female agent.
"Scully!"
Byers warned from his vantage point.
Just in time
Scully turned, managing to dispatch her would-be attacker with a single
well-placed kick to the mid-section.
Frohike stood
amazed by not only the move but also the hike the move had put in Scully's
skirt. "Scully-Foo," he said, breathless. "Awesome."
"He's got
a gun!"
Everyone went
still.
There was a
man jabbing a finger in Mulder's direction. His sweatshirt had pulled up in the
back, exposing his service weapon clipped in its holster to his jeans.
Confusion and commotion began at once, rolling from the inner circle of the
crowd outward. People made mad dashes for parked cars, while others only
managed to crash into each other trying to get away. Mulder jumped back from
the man he'd been trying to control, pulling his identification out. Flashing
the badge case open, he rounded on the crowd, half-assuring, half warning them.
"Federal agent!" He shouted, catching everyone's attention.
There were
some, Mulder was fairly certain, who thrived on these moments, these dreadful
flares of clarity and raw truth, a moment when one realized the situation had
just gone from bad to worse. He realized this was one of those moments the
instant he began waving the badge around.
"Mulder!"
Skinner reprimanded the agent's bad timing and poor judgment. He was sadly outnumbered
to be flashing his badge and authority around.
"Man,"
Langly seemed to recognize this fact as well, beginning to urge everyone toward
the van, "come on, come on, let's get out of here... Frohike?"
The man was
staring at Scully, as though hypnotized.
"Frohike?!"
Langly yelled, tagging him in the shoulder. "Come on."
"Ouu,"
Frohike murmured, rubbing his shoulder.
"Everyone...
stay calm," Mulder instructed the crowd, overhearing disbeliever's
comments.
"That's
not real," one said.
"He's
full of shit," said another.
"Let's
go, please," Langly kept urging Skinner and Scully along while Frohike
followed, staring down the slack jawed on-lookers.
"Where's
your secret decoder ring, G-man," someone yelled at Mulder.
"Remain
where you are," he tried to sound as assertive as possible, but felt as
though he was about to lose control.
Before his
fears could manifest into reality, they were all in the van and moving away
from the crowd. Langly, in the driver's seat again, had instinctively tried to
throw the van into first gear.
"Just
go," Frohike harshly instructed him.
"I
am," he snapped back as the van tore away the crowd, backward.
"Go
right," Byers yelled, his face close to the back window.
"No,
left," Mulder quickly corrected the directions that would have sent them
into a row of parked cars.
"What the
hell are you doing?" Skinner demanded.
"Why are
we going backwards?" Scully questioned, craning her head around wildly at
the confused view.
"The
gears are stuck in reverse," Byers briefly explained.
"We
thought we could get it fixed before we picked you up," Frohike added.
"But we
didn't expect to find this dinner theater re-enactment of
Any-Which-Way-But-Loose," Langly declared while checking his mirrors.
"Left
again," Mulder told him.
"Again?
That'll be a circle?"
Skinner and
Scully exchanged a doubtful glance.
************************************
February 16th
Washington DC
Edgar Hoover Building
An underlying
hum seemed to emanate from the halls of the FBI as Scully passed through them,
talking mixed with footfalls, the fleeting sounds of office equipment running
through opened doors. Her own footsteps blended and mingled with the chorus of
typical Monday morning sounds that had never seemed more obvious to her than
they did this morning.
But this
morning was different, today there was a very good chance she would have to
speak to her superior. Which, again, in itself, was an odd awareness for her. Every
day she moved among the halls of the FBI there was a chance-- the absolute and
unmistakable likelihood she would speak to Skinner-- he was, after all, her
direct superior.
Again, it
wasn't just the chance of speaking to him that put this day in a whole new
perspective for her, but it was speaking to him so soon, so immediately after
what had… transpired over the weekend. There needed to be more time between
then and now, a greater buffer than a mere day, and not even that considering
the fact that they had parted company late Sunday morning.
She inwardly
shuddered at the thought of their parting and what skeptical stares Mulder had
stolen as she rode home with him and the Lone Gunmen. After Skinner had given
them all a quick lesson in Marine taught resourcefulness by repositioning the
gear linkage with the sparse selection of tools Langly offered, the man was
dropped at his car he had left parked at the Alexandria, and almost
instantaneously Mulder had turned to her, mouth open, saucy commentary dancing
on the tip of his tongue, dancing in his eyes. She stifled his amused questions
with a glare and a single word, "don't."
And now, not
only would she undoubtedly find herself in the position of facing Skinner, but
without question she would be facing her partner as well. He was far from
naive, Mulder suspected something, and she would have to endure his questioning
stare cast across the desk the rest of the day. She hesitated a few feet from
the elevator, the thought of turning and going back home striking her for the
umpteenth time since she pulled into the parking garage.
Take a day,
she thought, a single day. Some time to separate herself from light-headed
dances and unrequited champagne kisses, damp embraces and bar room shuffles to
the rumba beat of vintage Elvis. Time to give sober consideration to her
feelings and again, like four months ago, submerge them in the reality that
nothing could or would ever transpire between her and Skinner. But unlike four
months ago, when only the mere notion of sensuality had surfaced, the urgent
and undeniable desires that had been ignited Saturday night were going to be
intensely more difficult to put to bed—
She shook her
head and turned from the elevator to head home.
She would call
in from the cell phone when she got to the car. Keeping it simple to Mulder;
errands to run, an appointment to keep, anything but sickness. He would suspect
a lie to begin with but would be absolutely certain of it if she were to feign
illness.
She was almost
at the exit, almost outside of the building to her car, when Skinner rounded
the corner into the hall in front of her. His glance, lagging his turn of the
corner, he did a startled double-take when seeing her. Wariness seemed to flood
his eyes-- but his ever-present aplomb did not waver.
A twinge of
guilt overrode any inane sense of insecurity when she noted the traces of
bruising and scrapes across his rugged features from Saturday night's scuffle.
"Morning,
Agent Scully," he greeted her in his routinely taciturn manner.
"Sir,"
she replied with a dip of her chin, composed. Professional.
"Are you
on your way out?" He asked.
"Uh,"
she hesitated, glancing left then right, her hand aimlessly motioning toward
the exit then the hall before she recaptured control of it. So much for
composure, she randomly thought, but kept going. "I was- I am... on my way
to an appointment."
He silently
studied her, making her feel uncomfortable. "I have an appointment,"
she repeated, inwardly cursing the redundancy.
Skinner nodded
and flicked his eyes away from her, searching the hall an instant before
looking at her again. "I would prefer this not be the first thing brought
up this morning," he began, and Scully froze.
What? She
thought. What would he prefer not to bring up first thing this morning? And
here in the hall, in view and earshot of countless fellow employees, what?
"But since you'll be out, I'll tell you now."
"Yes,"
she ventured, seeing that he too was stammering in his own formal way.
"Robert
and Janet," he said, and the names rang like bells in Scully's head. She
had all but completely forgotten those two and her concern for what had become
of them. Her eyes went wide, and Skinner nodded seeing the reaction. "I
received a call last night from Robert, apologizing to us both for the...
incident. And that they were both very sorry they never had the chance to come
back for us."
Scully
frowned. "The chance?"
"They
were picked up by the lake patrol and arrested for public intoxication,"
he explained looking half amused, half disgusted. This embarrassed him more
than anything. These were friends of his, who had acted exceptionally poorly in
front of her.
Scully's eyes
pinched tight. "Oh."
"Yes,"
he said in response, squaring his shoulders. "I thought you would find
this as interesting as I did."
She bucked her
head, an indifferent grimace across her mouth. Interesting to say the least.
But if it hadn't been for the Hunter's... She lifted her chin, her eyes meeting
his gaze evenly.
A jolt ran
through Skinner, twisting through his insides and down into the pit of his
stomach. He would not let his feelings betray his firm mien. He had labored for
over twenty-four hours to clear this nonsense from his system, to rebuild his
impenetrable wall, and he refused to let one stunning glance destroy his hard
work.
"Please
be sure to tell Robert his apology is accepted." Scully said.
"I will.
Have a good day, Agent Scully." He gave her a brief nod and started away.
"Sir,"
she stopped him.
When he
turned his expression was taut. "Yes?"
She took
a step closer. "Your parent's money was spent well."
Skinner
looked at her, frowning first, then as he grasped her meaning his features
opened with surprise.
"Have
a good day, sir." She said and smiled, then turned leaving him to wonder
as she walked away.
*********************************
More to follow in 'The Spider and the FBI'