8:30 A.M. on a Saturday morning is a time to be relaxing in fuzzy pajamas, eating a breakfast that doesn't come from McDonalds, and trying to decide if you should take a shower now, or after you've gotten another couple hours sleep. It is not, Serendipity reflected, a time to be in your car, on the freeway, fleeing from your own apartment before the gorgeous hunk of man you've just spent an incredible night with wakes up, and realizes just how many rules of good sense you and he broke last night. Especially when a wreck a couple miles ahead has you trapped in traffic hell. She'd given up on the radio in disgust about five minutes ago. Why the hell, she thought, do radio stations insist on having their talk shows during the hours when most sane people want a little music for distraction? If she had to listen to one more pop psychologist council the grieving survivors of Peppy the Wonder Goldfish, she'd scream. Or call the poor sucker and burst into tears.
Unfortunately, without the radio, there were only the discordant chords of angry car horns, and the nagging rhythm of her own traitorous thoughts. They swarmed around her head like starving fleas over a woman in a thong. You *knew* you had a thing for authority figures, she berated herself. After Brian, she should have known better. Yeah, sure, she was reasonably attractive, and that tended to make whatever interest she took in the opposite sex easily reciprocated. At first. But then the accidents started. Or the fifth time she canceled a date in favor of chasing some sicko... or because she'd just *finished* chasing some sicko, and couldn't get out of that headspace quick enough to have a carefree night on the town. Hell, she thought guiltily, she hadn't even allowed Wa... *Skinner* time enough to realize what was going on before jumping his bones. Was she really that desperate? God, she thought, the man was exhausted and probably half-drunk to boot. Well, maybe she'd be amazingly lucky, and when he woke up, he'd think there was some perfectly logical, and platonic, reason for him being naked in her... she swallowed, unwillingly remembering the mellow glow of his skin in the light that slipped through the blinds, the fierce burn in his brown eyes as he entered her...
Stop. This. With effort she wrestled the images back to the dark corner to which she'd exiled them. Serendipity, my girl, you've got it *bad*. The only problem was that she wasn't entirely sure which 'it' she had. Was it just a case of lust for her superior's, admittedly beautiful, body? She could whine and moan as much as she liked about what a horrible idea getting involved with the AD was, but she'd do it again. And if her mother hadn't brought her back to her senses with that most inconvenient phone call, she'd probably be trying to reenact the scene in daylight. So, definitely lust. But what else? It wasn't like her to run away, even if she had a good reason, or excuse. So why this time? She'd stayed before, when she'd found Brian and Sheila, even during his speech about how he always felt alone, and needed someone who wasn't *quite* so... problematic. She'd even given back as good as she'd gotten, then, and enjoyed the white heat of righteous fury. So why did the fear of searching for the fire in his eyes last night, and finding only cold, silent ashes this morning send her scurrying for cover? Worse yet, scurrying to her *mother*? Granted, she wanted Serendipity to pick her up at the airport, but still... it was vaguely humiliating. The *only* good thing about this situation is that, with Serendipity out of the apartment, Skinner could depart without any need for an embarrassing apology on her part, and they could all just try and forget it ever happened... *Brrrrrrrinng* Her cell phone shrieked from the passenger seat, and she flipped it on with a sigh.
"Hello?"
"Where the *hell* are you, Murphey?" Skinner's furious voice rasped in her ear. She hated it when people didn't follow the damn script.
************
Skinner woke gradually, feeling relaxed and rested for the first time in a long while. The guilt and grief he'd felt for the past three weeks was still there, but it was the pain of a healing wound, no longer the agony of infection. Instead, he felt free, somehow, more complete than he was used to being. The last time he felt this simple joy in waking had been his wedding... oh, God. Memory slapped him in the face. The confrontation in the hall, Serendipity, her silver eyes, the wicked grin on her face as she'd... oh God. He groaned, and thumped his head violently against the pillow. This wasn't a disaster, but it wasn't one of his finest moments, either. His eyes opened, and he half expected her to be standing there, glaring at him with those stormy gray eyes. But the room was empty. He sat up in the bed, studying his surroundings with unabashed curiosity. They matched the little he remembered from the living room, a stuffed bookcase of some dark wood, another Dali print, one he recognized, but couldn't quite put a name to. The books in the case were mostly textbooks of psychology and sociology, but there were a few others as well. He couldn't help but smile as he noticed the DSM-IV rubbing shoulders with a garish-looking romance titled "Love's Champion". I wonder what Freud would say about that?
His clothes were lying neatly on a chair, not folded, but in some semblance of order. A economy size Post-It Note was stuck to his shirt. He pulled it off, a sinking feeling in his stomach, one which grew as he read the stilted little note:
Walter,
Please accept my apologies for last night. I'm sorry I
couldn't be here to say it in person, but I have some
things to take care of. Feel free to use the shower, and
anything else you need.
SM
His first reaction was of confusion. Why did she feel the need to apologize? It wasn't as if he hadn't been willing. In fact, though the memory was fuzzy, he was pretty damn sure he'd started it. And if he *hadn't*, then he *would* have, given a chance. He certainly didn't regret last night, although it would complicate both their lives if they chose to have a relationship. But, what relationship didn't complicate things? Unless... unless she was regretting it, and this was her way of quietly, yet firmly, telling him to go away. he scanned the note again. It definitely wasn't overwhelmingly loverlike, she hadn't even bothered to sign her name. And although "Don't be here when I get back," wasn't explicitly stated, it hovered between the lines clearly enough. He frowned, feeling something darker swamp the confusion. It hurt, he acknowledged, that she'd just *leave* without hearing his side of the story out. Did last night really mean that little to her? No, she felt something more than just attraction, he hoped. Otherwise, why try to shake him from the fog he'd been in? If she didn't care, she would have been smart enough to stay out of the line of fire. Speaking of which, he thought, I've got to apologize to Jamison and... who? You knew you'd been in a bad way, he reflected, when you couldn't even remember who you'd chewed out. He'd ask Kimberly on Monday, providing he hadn't driven her to quit. But all that could wait. First he had to figure out how to deal with this.
The way he saw it, there were two options. Option One: do like the note urged, and go away. Do your best to forger about it and never mention it again. That had it's merits, especially considering the circumstances. If it got out that Skinner and a subordinate were having an affair, even one out of his direct command, it probably wouldn't effect him very much. He'd learned to deal with gossip years ago, and it wasn't likely it would effect his job. Serendipity, however, would be a different story. There may not be any regulations against it, and it was even implicitly encouraged between equals, but having an affair with a superior, however indirect, would only be seen in one way by the majority of the Hoover employees. She'd have to deal with the worst of the sniping, and it *would* have a subtle, but definite, effect on her chances of promotion. Not a pleasant picture. But, he admitted, he wasn't sure how long he could pretend that he didn't care about her, and didn't want her. Anyway, Walter Skinner wasn't one for simply giving up, especially without at least knowing what was going on. Which led to Option Two.
Be here when she got back. Somehow tell her how he felt, when even *he* wasn't sure how he felt. See if they actually shared some regard for each other, or if last night had simply been a physical catharsis to match the mental one. Either way, he knew which option he was going to choose. They had to talk. Now, all he had to do was wait. He crumpled the note in one hand, and tossed it into the wastebasket beside the bookcase. He reached for his clothes, but stopped with his fingers a fraction away as the phone on the nightstand began to ring. He grabbed his underwear and slid them on. The phone rang four times before he heard the distinctive clik-whirrr of the answering machine. Feeling only slightly guilty, he rushed into the living room just as the pre-recorded message began to run.
"Hello, this is Murphey. Mueller, if this is you, you'd better have a very good reason for calling me at home. If it's anyone else, the beep's on the way."
**BEEP**
"Serendipity? Hello? Oh, I hate these things. Where are you? This is your mother. It's been an hour, and I'm almost out of Saltines. I guess you're not there, right? I'll try your cel phone, dear, let me find the number." There were a few rustles, "Is this it? 555-3295? Or is that an eight? I guess you wouldn't know, would you? I mean, *you* would, of course, but you...oh, you know what I mean! Maybe I'll just go have a bite to eat, instead... I do so hate these ph *BEEP*"
He stared at the machine for a moment, idly reflecting that was probably one of the strangest messages he'd ever heard. Or at least in the top ten. But it did open up an Option Three. He picked up the phone and began to dial.
*************
"Where the *hell* are you Murphey?"
"I'm in my car, why?" She wondered if it was possible to 'accidentally' break the connection. Probably, but then he'd just call her back. Suddenly she frowned, "Where did you get this number, anyway?"
"From your mother," He said, after a moment's pause. Amazingly enough, the response didn't do much to reassure her.
"You talked to my *Mother*?" The vision that invoked was just shy of bloodcurdling. Her mother probably asked for the juicy details, and a wedding date.
"No! No, she just called, and left an message, and your cel phone number. We need to talk, Serendipity." He sounded... not like she thought he would. Not disapproving, or- after that first snarl- even that angry. Just very determined. She sighed, feeling the inevitable swooping down upon her. She looked over the motionless river of cars. She couldn't even claim to need to concentrate on driving.
"All right. Talk." Silence on the other end for long minutes. Then,
"What was last night? To you." Amazing, wonderful, scorching- several words leapt to her mind, one or two even made it to her throat before she managed to quash them. What did he want? For that matter, what did she want? She sat, her eyes staring blankly at the DC skyline, trying to put last night into words. Finally, she said, softly,
"Last night was, wonderful," There was a deep sigh from the other end, then a low, sexy chuckle.
"For a few frightening moments, I thought I was the only one that felt that way." She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "But," He continued, "Was it just wonderful sex, or was it something more? I think that it *could* be something more on my part. What about yours?"
Serendipity's throat tightened. The ten million dollar question. She could say no, and she knew he would drop it, and they could try and go on without mentioning this again. Maybe even succeed. Or she could say yes. And who knew what would happen? She closed her eyes, and leaned her head on the headrest. She wanted this, she wanted to go forward, even if it meant getting hurt again. She could freeze or burn. Her choice, their price. Opening her eyes, she replied,
"Yes, on my part, too, Walter. On my part too."
On the other end, Skinner couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. It wasn't a declaration of undying love, but for now, it would do. But, now what?
"We need to talk this over in person, Serendipity. When will you be back?"
"Er. I agreed to go shopping and have lunch with my mother today, so, depending when, and if, the traffic decides to move, it'll probably be around 3, maybe."
"Lunch?" He sounded like he was thinking. She cut in hurriedly,
"Oh, no. You aren't thinking about having lunch with my mother, are you?"
"Is that an invitation?" She groaned. Walter. Her mother. Together... slowly, an evil smile parted her lips. This could be... interesting.
"Actually," she said slowly, "Yes, it was. I was thinking about Duvalls, about noon. Can you come?" On the other end of the line, Skinner froze. He recognized that tone of voice, from Mulder. That worried him, and he remembered the message *and* Serendipity's talent for trouble. After a long moment, however, he shrugged. What could possibly happen?
"I'll be there. See you soon." Click. Murphey tossed the phone back into the passenger seat.
The car behind her suddenly blared it's horn, and she jerked her attention back to the road. The traffic was moving, finally. Slowly, but moving, nonetheless. Maybe this day would be a good one after all.
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