Title: A Complicated Man
Author: shawntaw
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Avatar (finally!)
Category: Skinner/Scully UST (ended up not being smutty,
sorry!)

Dedicated to Tali, Saint of Patience and written for the Fando Season Three 
Smut Challenge (even though there isn't any smut...sorry..it just didn't 
want to go that way!..sorry..)

Wik: Somewhere along the line I read a story (or more) about
Skinner and Sharon having trouble conceiving.  I am
borrowing that premise in this story, but wanted to "shout
out" to those who thought of it, because it isn't mine.  I wish
I remembered names better, but THANK YOU anyway. :)

Also Wik: I'm not going to make any clever quips about my
triumphant return or "Yeah! I'm back!" or anything because
this is only the fifty-billionth time I've had computer trouble,
been away for a while and then reappeared.  Heck, I've died
more times than Mulder at this point and it is getting just as
old as it did by the end of the show! :p *L*  So, refrain from
weeping with relief that I am back - if you can control
yourself. (hee-hee)  And if you just GOTTA know what
happened: (fade in music from "These are the Days of Our
Lives") our computer crashed (again) and we found out we
needed a new motherboard and that some other computer
stuff was wrong that I don't understand.  It was the computer
my hubby's brother put together from spare parts as a gift to
us after our LAST computer bit the dust. *sigh* I borrowed a
family friend's laptop for a while, but he needed it back.  So,
we were computer-less and net-less for a while and I was
going outside the home to surf.  I couldn't get away very
often.  My only free time is late at night, usually.  So, another
of my hubby's friends had an old computer and dh plundered
it for parts and I am once again on the net.

I wish Santa would bring me a new laptop for
Christmas.....*L*

Also Also Wik:  Please, PLEEEEZE, feedback at
shawntaw@hotmail.  I likes it. :p

So, enough about me and on with the show!!!!!



Morosely, Skinner regarded his wedding photo.  He and
Sharon looked so young...so happy.  How could they have
known the tragedies ahead of them? He tossed back another
large shot of bourbon and - without looking away from the
photograph - reached for the bottle to refill his glass.  The
bottle was empty.

Muttering, he launched himself unsteadily to his feet and
plodded his way toward the kitchen.  He was like a bull in a
china shop among all of the moving boxes, knocking some
over on his way.  He hated moving.  Skinner thought of his
"new" apartment in Crystal City.  It was cold and monotone
in color.  It sat high above ground level, inaccessible.  He
half-snorted to himself and it threatened to become a sob.
Just like Sharon had accused him of becoming, he thought.

Skinner swallowed the pain with a fresh shot of bourbon and
made his way back to the couch with the bottle.

Tonight he would dull the pain the way he did when he first
returned from Vietnam.  He wouldn't think of all the AA
meetings and all the effort it had taken to stop hearing the
siren song of the bottle.  All he remembered tonight was the
easy escape it had offered.  All he remembered tonight was
that it had temporarily shut his mind off.

He was tired.  He was defeated.  His personal life was a
complete shambles and he was a failure as a man.  She
wanted him to marry her?  He married her.  She wanted him
to stop drinking? He found a way to stop and started
swallowing the pain instead.  She wanted babies? He tried.
First they tried the old-fashioned way and then they started
with the doctors.

Skinner downed another shot and blinked back the tears that
threatened.  The doctors never could tell them what was
wrong, but he knew it had to be him.  She was so alive, so
vibrant. By then he was beginning to close down.  He hid
things from her for her own good, things from work.  He
wouldn't talk about it, any of it.  He wouldn't talk about
work.  He wouldn't talk about the flashbacks and nightmares
that haunted him sometimes since he quit drinking.  And he
definitely wouldn't talk about getting pregnant anymore.

She talked.  She begged.  She screamed and threw things.
The whole time he stood and took it because - after all - he
deserved it.  But he couldn't give her what she wanted.  He
couldn't give her a baby of her own flesh and he couldn't
give her himself - the Walter that he had boarded up a long,
long time ago.  He never did anything for himself.  He hadn't
in years.  All he was was what others expected or needed
from him.

And then, he cracked.  He sat one night after a particularly
heinous argument with her and drank himself sick.  When she
returned home after having stomped out in a rage, she found
him passed out on the floor in their hallway.  She tried to
help him, but he awoke long enough to push at her and yell at
her to "Leave me the hell alone for once!"

Apparently, he had pushed her too hard.  Apparently, she lost
her footing and fell forward, smacking her face into the wall.
He doesn't remember any of it.  The next morning, she had
bruises and a broken tooth.

She wouldn't speak to him, except to tell him that she needed
some peace in her life.  Then she packed her bags and moved
into the guest room.

They lived separate, but peaceful lives until she served the
papers.  Sharon took classes and looked for some sort of
contentment for herself.  By the end, they weren't even
eating dinner together anymore.  Skinner just felt his gut coil
into itself more everyday.  He had failed her.

Skinner blinked and returned to the present abruptly,
clutching their wedding photo again.  He didn't want to think
anymore.
Foregoing the glass, he reached directly for the bottle of
bourbon and downed a swig.

He just didn't want to think anymore.


Scully couldn't explain exactly why she was standing at
Skinner's door. Heck, she hadn't even known where he lived
until she looked it up.  She felt that perhaps Mulder was a
little biased in this case.  For some reason, Mulder believed
in Skinner and Scully needed some of that faith.  But the only
way she felt she could have that was to talk to him herself.
She felt if she could sit with him and ask him some
straightforward questions that she would be able to read the
truth in his eyes.

At that illogical thought, Scully rolled her eyes at herself
wryly.  Great, now she was thinking like Mulder.

She knocked firmly on Skinner's door.


Skinner cracked open his eyes to a blurry world and
wondered where he was.

He blinked, but everything was still out of focus.  He felt
sick.  He thought he was home, but what was that noise?

Again it sounded.  Knocking.

He snarled to himself.  Sharon.  He didn't want to fight
anymore.  Skinner hoisted himself to standing and decided he
wouldn't answer the door.  If she really wanted in, she
wouldn't stand on ceremony.  She'd let herself in.

He stumbled blindly toward his bedroom and - with a
startled yell - fell over a low stack of books.
*************************************************
******************
Scully was about to leave when she heard what sounded like
a tussle and a cry of pain.  She drew her weapon and tried to
open the door.  It was locked.

"FBI!" Scully cried as she took a deep breath and stepped
back a few feet.  She gritted her teeth and jump-kicked the
edge of the door as hard as she could.  The wood creaked and
splintered, but didn't give.  She took a deep breath -
preparing to do it again - when the door jerked open. Scully
blinked in surprise, her gun still pointed at the doorway.

"If you're going to shoot me, get it over with," Skinner said
gruffly and none-too-clearly.  He was squinting at her
without his glasses and not getting a response he turned and
meandered back into the dark interior.

Scully re-holstered her weapon and followed him.

She looked around.  The place was a mess with boxes and
stacks of his possessions everywhere.  She watched him plop
onto the couch in his rumpled suit pants and white dress shirt.
He sat looking at her with a distinctly unfocused look and
Scully wasn't sure if it was because of his lack of glasses or
the alcohol she could smell heavy in the air.

"What do you want, Scully?" He finally said, slurring her
name only slightly.  He leaned very close to the coffee table
in front of him and began to grope around, muttering to
himself.  She hesitated and then stepped forward to rescue his
glasses from their perch on the back of the couch.

"Here you go, sir," she said, handing them to him matter-of-
factly.

He snatched them from her hand without thanking her and
placed them roughly on his face.

"Why are you here?" He tried again, this time doing a barely
passable imitation of his usual glare.

"You've been drinking," she said without thinking.  She felt
faintly stunned by this whole day.  The whole day had felt
surreal, discovering how very human Skinner was.  From the
rendezvous with the hooker to his impending divorce to now
finding him drunk.

It was apparently the wrong thing to say.  He stood and
stalked over to her until he was so close she could see the
pain in his eyes along with the anger.  And she could smell
the bourbon on his breath and in his clothes mixing with his
aftershave and sweat.

"Yes I have.  I am stinking drunk.  Walter Skinner is a drunk.
You can add that to your list of things you know about me
now along with the autopsy of the last woman I had sex
with," He let out a harsh laugh in her face, "No telling what
that told you about me. Anything else you'd like to know?"

Scully didn't back down.  A part of her was mortified and -
yes - a little part of her was a tiny bit afraid.  He might be a
murderer, her mind whispered, and you're alone with him.
He's been drinking! Run!

But she was frozen.  She was captivated by this look at the
real Skinner.  He had always fascinated her a little and now
she found she couldn't look away.

"Why are you drinking, sir? Would you like me to call
someone? Maybe Mulder-"

Again, the wrong thing to say.  He grabbed her by the
shoulders and the both of them were momentarily thrown off
balance and almost fell.

"If you call me sir one more time I may put my fist through
the wall," he said through gritted teeth, "My father was 'sir,'
and I am definitely not him."  His grip weakened and he
swayed a little bit again as his eyes became a little fuzzy, "I
miss being 'Walt.' I miss when things weren't so
complicated.." He trailed off and then looked down again at
Scully.  Realizing whom he was talking to, he pushed her
away and stepped back.

"You wouldn't understand."

She didn't agree and found herself choking back tears.  She
understood completely what it was like to miss the time
before all the intrigue and shadowy conspiracies and the
havoc it had all spawned on her life and the lives of those
around her. But she sensed that he was not only mourning his
life before the X-files but also his life with his wife before
they had whatever problems that had caused their break-up.

He had made it back to the couch and sat with his elbows
propped on his splayed knees, hands covering his face
pushing his glasses up to the top of his head.  He rubbed his
face and said in a muffled voice, "Go home, Scully.  I'll be
fine."

"No.  I think I DO understand what's going on, s- Walter,"
she said, covering the 'sir' that had almost slipped out.

He laughed harshly, "Oh, you do?  What is it you think is
going on here?"

She tentatively picked her way over to him and sat beside
him on the couch.

"I think you are a man going through a painful divorce who
finds himself questioning everything he thought he would be
and have by this point in his life. I think you are wondering
whether its all been worth it...the sacrifices."

"You make it sound so simple, like I'm having a midlife
crisis and all I need is a significantly younger woman and a
fast car," he muttered.

"I'm not trying to dismiss it, s-Walter-"

He raised his head and looked at her, his glasses falling back
into place, "I've been accused of murdering someone,
Scully."

They regarded each other for a moment in the dim light.  She
was shoulder-to-shoulder with him and looked deeply into
his sad, resigned eyes.  She didn't find the definitive answer
she had hoped for there.  Scully could see he was a much
more complex man than she had ever given him credit for.

"I know."

"You think I did it," he sighed.

"I don't know.  I hope not," she admitted truthfully.

"Me too," he admitted and buried his face in his hands again,
"I feel sick."
Scully frowned, "How much did you drink?"

"Um..." he raised his head again and looked around to count
bottles, "a lot."

Something about his vulnerable expression as he looked
around touched her and she reached out hesitantly and
touched his back.  Scully felt his muscles bunch and tighten
at her touch.

"S-Walter, do you want to talk about it?"

He stared at her for a moment and then reached up to take off
his glasses and fiercely pinch the bridge of his nose in
frustration in a gesture that was as familiar to Scully as
Mulder's habit of expending nervous energy by throwing
pencils into the basement ceiling.

"Why do women always want to 'talk about it'?" he
anguished and Scully's heart ached at the sound of it.  "Why
can't you just leave it alone? Why can't you just be happy
with what I'm able to give?"

His voice broke then and he slumped forward, breath
hitching.  Scully realized in shock that he was attempting not
to cry in front of her.

Not knowing what else to do, she pulled him toward her.  He
fought her embrace and tried to straighten up, but she
wouldn't let him.

"Leave me alone!" His voice was deep and gruff and nearly
hysterical.

"No, " she said firmly and pulled at him until his face was
buried in the crook of her neck.  He tugged lamely away from
her a few times, but she fiercely held on until finally he
roughly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her
close.

She held him as he wept into her neck.


Was he kissing her neck? Scully realized that he was no
longer crying, but that his breath was hot against the junction
of her neck and shoulder.  Now she was sure that he was
kissing her. Soft lips touched down and she heard a definite
hum as he made his way up her neck to her jawline.

"S-Sir?"

"I thought you were calling me Walter," he said softly as he
placed another kiss on the underside of her chin.  Again, she
felt frozen.  Her heart was speeding but was it fear or
something else?

"Walter, what are you doing?"
"I'm wondering how far you were planning to go to comfort
me," He said into her startled face and then kissed her full on
the mouth, pushing her back into the couch.

She pushed him away and angrily got to her feet. "How dare
you! I don't care how much you've had to drink.  I only came
over here to talk to you and see if we could sort all of this
out."

He was sneering at her.  She licked her lips nervously and
tasted bourbon and something else.  She tasted Skinner.

Good Lord, she thought, this day is insane.

"Admit it! You just came over here to see what you could
find out about 'the old man,' right? The boss slept with a
hooker; I wonder what he's about?  You want to know what
I'm about, Scully?  I'm a drunk! I'm a lousy husband! I'm
cold and I'm heartless! Anything else??"

He had her by the shoulders again, shouting harshly into her
face and shaking her.

"Now you know! Get out of here!" He pushed her toward the
door and made his unsteady way toward the bedroom in a red
haze of anger.

Skinner fell to his knees in the bedroom and fell apart.  He
pounded his fists into the carpet.  He stood and swept his arm
across the top of the bureau, smashing all of the things there
to the floor.  He drew back and threw the bedside lamp into
the mirror above the dresser.  Roaring with rage, he opened
his bedside drawer and withdrew the gun there.  He thought
about eating it.  His career was over.  Scully could file sexual
harassment charges.  He also manhandled her. Acted
unprofessionally.  His career was literally all he had left and
now he had probably destroyed that as well.  A wave of
exhaustion crashed over him.  He lay on the bed and
contemplating his own demise, passed out.


Scully stood outside the bedroom door and listened to
Skinner lose it.  When all was quiet for quite a while, she
carefully opened the door.  He lay splayed on his back across
the bed, his gun loosely clasped in his hand.  A shiver ran up
her spine as she gingerly approached the bed and took the
gun.  He didn't move a muscle.  She quickly unloaded the
gun and - pocketing the bullets in her jacket - she put the
weapon under his bed.  She leaned one knee on the bed and
edged closer to him.  Hovering over him, she reached out and
took off his glasses.  He never moved.

Scully didn't know what to do.  She didn't want to leave him
when he'd obviously had entirely too much to drink, but she
knew he wouldn't anyone else to see him this way so she
couldn't call Mulder.

"Sc-Scully?" Skinner had one eye open and was peering
blearily at her.

"Its me," she said and scooted closer so that she was looking
down on him. When he squinted, she moved her face closer.
He regarded her for a moment and then reached up a shaky
hand to caress her face.

"All I need is a significantly younger woman and a fast car,"
he muttered and she smiled, tears springing to her eyes,
"How old are you, Dana?" He whispered, using her first
name.

She swallowed convulsively then, wondering at her recent
attraction to Skinner.

"Old enough to know better, young enough not to care," she
said with a shaky grin and he smiled back at her.  Her heart
leapt in her chest.  She'd never seen him smile before.  He
was certainly an attractive man.  A very screwed up attractive
man, but -hey- that seemed to be her specialty, she thought
wryly.

"Wanna go car shopping with me this weekend?" he cracked
wise back at her.

"Let's talk about what activities you and I should be doing
together when you're feeling better, ok?" One of her hands
patted his chest and she closed her eyes as his hand left her
cheek and his fingers threaded through her hair.

"Well, at least you're leaving the possibilities open," he said
softly, fading fast.

His eyelids were fluttering as she leaned forward and kissed
him thoroughly.

"A pity kiss," he muttered as he fell back asleep.

"Never," she blinked and a tear fell on his cheek.

She sat back on her heels and wondered what the future held
for her and this complicated man.

Yes, today had certainly been full of surprises.


Later that night, Skinner awoke in the darkness of his
bedroom.  Had it all been a dream?  He stumbled out into the
living room, looking for evidence it had been real.  He was
met with silence.  He sank to his couch and reached again the
bourbon bottle.  Maybe just a drink of two, he thought.

But the bottle was empty and a note sat under it.

"No more of this.  All you need is a significantly younger
woman and a fast car, remember?  Call me later.  Dana."

Skinner clutched the bottle tightly.  She had no idea of his
history.  He felt sure that she would run for the hills when she
found out.  Then he thought of how Scully was tough as
nails. How she never committed to anything halfway.  And
she had committed to giving them a try.

Skinner set the bottle down on the coffee table and started
thinking about fast cars.


Sorry it's not smutty, Tali.  It just didn't want to go that way.
Hope yall like it anyway.

Feedback at shawntaw@hotmail.com.  :)