TITLE: A Small Woman Among Large Men (1/2)
AUTHOR: FabulousMonster
EMAIL ADDRESS: fabulousmonster@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters. They are the property of
Ten-Thirteen, Chris Charter and Co. and FOX.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer and Spooky Awards, yes. Anywhere else,
just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: Up to and including Season 7's "En Ami".
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: Skinner POV, Scully angst, MSR
SUMMARY: Skinner's attempt to provide some comfort to Scully after "En
Ami".

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story started out as a major angst-fest between
Mulder and Scully. However, the pieces didn't seem to fit, and I
decided to take a different tack. Skinner's small but pivotal role in
"En Ami" helped give me the focus I sought. Special thanks to my betas
Hillary and Karen who always provide me with excellent comments and
suggestions.

Let me know if you agree or disagree with my approach! Feedback is
always appreciated...hey, I live for it!

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A Small Woman Among Large Men (1/2)



The late Friday afternoon sun streamed gold through the blinds in my
office, casting a checkerboard pattern across my desk. It was quiet:
many agents and support personnel had left for the weekend. I had
always appreciated this time of the week. It afforded me the
opportunity to rid my desk of minor administrative duties without the
disruptions of the telephone or meetings.

Instead of my usual Friday afternoon routine, however, I found myself
staring reflectively out the window. I watched the various government
employees from the various government agencies go about their lives.
They hurried to their cars, to the bus, to the subway, to the train...
and I was struck in particular by the pace of the women. While the men
sauntered to their weekend lives, the women strode purposefully to
their second job of husband, house, 2.3 kids, dog, SUV... They moved
efficiently in their pumps or running shoes, negotiating through the
larger-bodied males who moved slowly like unwieldy leviathans in their
way.

There had always been a prejudice against women agents within the
Bureau. It was blatant during Hoover's reign; now, in this age of
political correctness, it ran as a snide undercurrent through the
Executive Level. The usual fallacies abounded: women were not
physically strong enough, they didn't have the emotional make up to
handle the stress, they were tied down by family commitments... Sadly,
as
a Special-Agent-In-Charge and in my earlier days as an Assistant
Director, I shared many of these same misconceptions. I was not a man
prone to reflection, but I hadn't always been a good supervisor to the
women under my command.

Not then, and perhaps, not even now.

My recent history with the two female agents I supervised was certainly
suspect. Diana Fowley had been brilliant, insightful, and highly
skilled as a FBI agent. She easily left her partner, Jeffrey Spender,
floundering in her wake. But she was also flawed, given to trust when
trust was not necessarily warranted. I had no question she believed her
actions would ultimately lead to a greater good--much as I did when
approached with the same offer as a younger man. But as she was drawn
further into a web of deceit and lies, I'd done nothing. I hadn't
warned her of the potential danger, paralyzed by my ongoing juggling
act of double agent for the forces of light and darkness within the
FBI.

I lost one female agent under my command due to my inaction--I would
not lose another.

This most recent incident frightened me. Admittedly, I didn't know all
the details; since Scully was officially on personal leave, no
statements were taken, no reports filed. She had made herself
unavailable to me since then, conveniently away from her desk or out of
the office when I sought her out. Mulder was almost as uncommunicative.
While he provided me with a terse summary of Scully's encounter with
CGB Spender, he was not forthcoming on any details. My attempts to
press for more information were greeted with a brusque, "Talk to Scully
.... you seem to have each other's number."

A soft rap on my open inner door interrupted my reverie.

"Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you...I was going to leave this report with
Kimberly, but she seems to be away from her desk."

"It's 5:30, Agent, Kimberly has gone home."

I saw her chagrined countenance before it was quickly replaced by her
usual mask of professionalism. She hadn't expected Kimberly or I to be
here. Leaving the report in the inbox was part of her continuing
attempt to avoid contact with me. I wondered briefly why Mulder hadn't
dropped off the report. My attention quickly focused on her again. She
was already edging out the door. I had to act quickly, or my
opportunity might be lost.

"Sit down, Scully. We might as well review the report since you're
here."

She paused and I had the rare opportunity of seeing Scully indecisive.
"Sir, I...Agent Mulder is not here right now. He should be part of this
...."

"As I recall, Scully, this was an open-and-shut case. Surely, you can
provide me with a brief review without Mulder."

Open-and-shut was an understatement. It was a simple kidnapping case
involving a fourteen-year old co-ed from Columbia, OH. When she was
finally found ten days later in Kentucky, she claimed to have been
abducted by aliens. Mulder took one look at the case file and bluntly
informed me that it was not an X-File. Of course, he was right--I knew
Scully's report would indicate that the only alien involved was the
teenager's exchange-student boyfriend.

I watched her eyes cloud with anger. Challenging her ability to do
something without Mulder was a dirty trick, but I had to get her to
stay. She sat down in her customary seat, studiously avoiding the chair
normally occupied by Mulder, and directed a disapproving eyebrow my
way.

Normally, I stayed at my desk during one of these reviews, but today I
paced behind her while I pretended to study the case file. I sensed
Scully's discomfort, but it was the only way I could observe her
secretly.

I was immediately struck by her fatigue. She looked small and fragile
sitting in the chair, and it occurred to me that I'd never thought of
her that way before. I shook my head incredulously at the notion. It
simply couldn't be: her diminutive physical carriage, the cancer, the
attacks she has absorbed at the hands of hulking men...no, I never
thought her fragile until this moment. The realization caused me to
take a step back, as if my own large presence might somehow damage her.

I allowed her to continue her case dissertation until I realized she
was rapidly approaching the end. I moved to my chair and sat down. I
asked her some inane questions, she responded accordingly, and we
continued the boss/subordinate, Skinner/Scully tango that had defined
our relationship for seven years. Except, now I was desperate to change
the pace and slow the dance. Walter and Dana needed to talk.

Walter and Dana had talked before. When I took ill last year, she was
quietly surprised that I had designated her as my guardian in case of
illness or death. I hadn't told her before then--revealing such an
Achilles Heel was dangerous and could be exploited to both our
detriments. But I admired her, and in my conceit thought I understood
her: her strength, her almost-military bearing in the face of danger
and her ferocious dedication to those who relied on her. A gentle
declaration of mutual trust when I was dying led to a more formalized
continuation of her stewardship once I recovered. It simply made sense.
Scully and I shared something she had with no one else, even Mulder:
technology was keeping us alive.

We were human guinea pigs, pawns in a perverse war of medical one-
upmanship. It was like living with an internal timebomb--and sometimes
I thought I heard it ticking. We lived a paradox: overwhelming relief
to be alive was tempered by a fear of the unknown technology that
allowed us to exist.

If my life was threatened again, I wanted someone who understood this
dichotomy. Someone who would pin their ears back and show their canines
and fight for me. When I was a young Marine in Vietnam, I shared a
foxhole with anyone, happy for any type of protection and camaraderie.
As I aged a year for every week I was in country, I became selfish: I
only buddied with someone who had proven himself in a firefight, and
took my welfare as seriously as I took his. I was equally selfish now,
and Scully was my comrade-in-arms.

Of course, I was not hers, and that's okay. She had Mulder...but where
was he now?

Scully gazed at me expectantly, and I realized she was waiting for me
to dismiss her. I shuffled some papers noisily.

"Mulder was right about this not being a X-File. I guess that's why
he's not here right now."

She looked at me with surprise--normally, I did not acknowledge
Mulder's insight into cases.

Rising to her feet, she smiled ruefully at me, and began to move
towards the door. "That has nothing to do with it."

Her hand was on the doorknob and I struggled to say something in
response. Something that would give her comfort. Something that would
allow Walter and Dana to talk.

"Was it worth it?" I was silently aghast at the audacity of my
question, and half expected her to continue out the door without so
much as an acknowledgement.

Instead, she froze as if pole-axed.

Slowly, she turned to face me, eyes cast downward. I was relieved that
she didn't pretend to know what I was asking.

"You're the first person to ask me that question," she said quietly.

Damn. So there was more to Mulder's absence than the case file.

"What did Mulder tell you?" Her electric blue eyes locked onto mine.

I shrugged, trying not to fan the flames of whatever happened between
them. "He told me that CGB Spender offered you the cure for cancer."

She laughed bitterly and the sound grated. She looked down again and
moved her foot absently along the carpet, as if trying to erase a
vision only she could see. Her hand was still on the doorknob.

I leaned forward in my chair to catch her attention. "What really
happened?" I asked gently.

She straightened then and her unfocused eyes stared out my window. Her
voice was flat and clinically detached as if dictating notes from an
autopsy.

"When I returned from Antarctica, I made a promise that I would
dedicate myself to finding a cure for the virus that infected me."

I saw her struggle for the words, as if she was articulating them to
herself for the first time.

"I felt energized. My life as a doctor always seemed to run parallel to
my life as a FBI Agent. Now for the first time, the two seemed to
converge, and I thought I understood my purpose."

Her voice became softer and I had to strain to hear.

"But instead of pursuing this work, I have allowed myself to be...
distracted, and lose focus on what my true goal should be."

I shifted uneasily in my chair. She was hitting too close to home. Did
she hold me responsible? Mulder? No...if I knew Scully, she placed the
blame directly on herself.

There was a chair by the door and she sat down heavily. She still
didn't look at me.

"I've been struggling with this--and other feelings--for a while. I
guess Spender's offer brought it to a head."

Her eyes locked again with mine. "He didn't just offer me the cure for
cancer. He offered me the cure for 'everything.'"

A heavy silence fell between us. I took off my glasses and rubbed the
bridge of my nose, desperately stalling as I processed this
information. The cure for 'everything'? Cancer, Alzheimer's, birth
defects, infertility...the virus? No wonder she was tired. Assuming the
mantle of physician-savior for humanity weighed heavily on the
shoulders.

The late afternoon sun began to recede. Shadows fell across her and she
seemed to fade into the growing gloom of the office. I needed to say
something quickly before she disappeared altogether.

"What does Mulder have to say about all this?"



Part 1/2



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