Title: Anhedonia Author: Philiater Skinner/Scully Romance. Also angst, lots of angst. Rating: R to NC17 for sex Disclaimer: Scully, Skinner and Mulder belong to Chris Carter and 1013 productions Spoilers: Everything up to Season 6 or 7, definitely before the first big disappearance. I’m in denial about the whole pregnancy thing. Feedback: philiater1@yahoo.com. It’s the only thing that keeps me writing Anhedonia- the absence of pleasure from the performance of acts that would ordinarily be pleasurable. (Stedman’s Medical Dictionary) Where do you find the strength to go on when all you want to do is give up? How many times have I asked myself that over the years? How many times have I found the strength within myself or someone else I loved helped me to find it? How many times has my simple faith been all that stands between me and insanity? I need something of that now. I am tired, bone tired. This latest escapade has drained even my reserves, and I want to lie down and never get up again. I knew I was in trouble when I called in sick at work. I never do that. Never. When I hung up the phone I tried to remember the last time I had called in and could not come up with a date. Of course the memory failure could be due to the gray fog that has stealthily crept into my mind. At first it was subtle. Forgotten keys, mislaid papers, meals uneaten. I was just preoccupied I told myself. Too busy to worry about the small details. But it got worse. Much worse. There were overlooked deadlines, obvious misspellings in reports, and more than once I caught myself staring into space for an unknown period of time. Skinner noticed. The last time I was in his office with Mulder I found myself looking sightlessly out the window. I didn’t really need to be there; just present as part of the ‘team’. As Mulder droned on and on trying to explain away the inconsistencies in our report, I found myself fading away. Fading like wallpaper that has hung on a sun exposed wall for too long. Fading like morning mist after sunrise. Fading like an old photograph in a moldering album. Insubstantial as air. Skinner barked at me more that once, drawing my attention back to the meeting. I answered immediately and appropriately, but without conviction. If Mulder noticed, he gave no sign. For his part, Skinner’s scowl deepened and I caught him staring at me throughout most of the meeting. Normally this would have made me nervous, frightened, or hyperaware. But I didn’t care, really didn’t care. I felt nothing at all. He asked me to stay after Mulder left. "Is there anything wrong Agent Scully?" he had asked me. "I want the truth." He said it with surprising strength, wanting something from me I was unprepared to give. With a supreme effort I smiled and lied my head off. "Nothing’s wrong Sir. Nothing at all. Just tired." I omitted the ‘I’m fine’ speech. He would never buy that, and it was a well worn a phrase. He let me go, but I hadn’t fooled him. He fixed me with a look that told me so. I should have known better than to try, but Skinner isn’t exactly a confidant of mine. Nevertheless he seemed to have the unsettling ability to know what I was thinking most of the time. For his part, Mulder was too far gone in his own world of pain to notice me. We had come tantalizingly close to finding his sister, only to be thwarted at the last minute. All these close brushes were starting to make him fray a bit at the edges. I could see he was starting to get increasingly more desperate as time went by. It came as no surprise when he called me Monday morning and said he was taking off to follow a lead without me. I heard his voice echo through me, finding me a hollow chamber. "You ok Scully?" It was a meager attempt at concern. I knew his heart wasn’t really in it. "Yes Mulder." "Look, I know I’ve been more distracted lately." "Save it Mulder. Not everything’s about you." "The last time you said that Scully you came home with a tattoo." "I’m not going to come home with a tattoo. Just go do what you need to do, ok?" Ditched again and left to explain it all. It was the last straw. Whatever volition I had fizzled out when I hung up the phone. And he had made it ridiculously easy to call in sick, so I did. It was also easy to do on Tuesday and Wednesday as well. I didn’t feel guilty and should have. If Mulder could ditch me then I could ditch the FBI. So I lay in bed for the third day in a row, not moving, not even answering the phone that seemed to ring every hour. I closed all the blinds and crawled under the covers, cocooning myself in misery. Normally I would pour myself into work to overcome whatever deviled me. This time I just couldn’t do it. My sister was dead, I was barren, and my partner just looked through me. Even my mother was away visiting relatives. What reason was there to get out of bed? I probably would have stayed there forever if it hadn’t been for Skinner. Part II I was wallowing. Wallowing for all I was worth in misery, but was rudely interrupted. One minute I was wrapped in soft darkness, and the next I was thrust into blinding sunlight by someone pulling the covers off me. I protested weakly, but didn’t move even to see who it was that invaded my apartment. A large calloused hand brushed hair back from my face, and rested on my forehead; a mother’s thermometer. "Agent Scully are you alright?" Someone with deep concerned tones asked me. Dimly I registered the voice as belonging to Skinner; I rolled on my back and squinted trying to focus on his face. "What are you doing here Sir?" "I might ask you the same thing." His voice had a deadly quiet quality to it. "I’m sick." I said irritably and tried to pull the covers back over my head. He held them fast in an iron grip. "Go away, Sir." I said wearily. "What have you been sick with?" I could hear an annoyed disbelief seep into his words. "Just sick! Why do I have to explain? Do you make everyone explain why they’re sick?" I was being a petulant child with my boss. Shame on you Dana. "Yes I do." Apparently he was not buying the sick act. "You have not been behaving like yourself." "What have I been behaving like?" It was hard to believe he noticed or cared. "Like the saddest woman in the world." He said it with such quiet emotion, I almost let him in. But I was too far gone to let his concern crush the granite in my heart. Instead I was cruel and unforgivably cold. "Please go away Sir. I don’t need you or your help." After a moment I felt his weight ease off the bed and sighed with relief. He actually listened to me. He was going away. I buried myself deeper under blankets and pillows. But he came back at me, yanking the covers away and hauling me up over his shoulder. I suddenly had an upside down view of Skinner’s backside and my carpet. My bottom was uncomfortably close to the side of his face, and I realized he had removed his dress shirt and glasses. Now why would he do that? The answer became apparent soon enough. He had turned on the shower and without preamble, dumped me into it; clothes and all. The freezing water pummeled my head and face making rivulets down my neck and soaking my nightshirt. I screamed in surprise, anger and pain. Blindly I rose up, desperately trying to get out of the stinging water. Powerful arms held me out by the waist inside the stall until I stopped struggling. I leaned against the shower wall huffing, spraying water onto Skinner’s white cotton undershirt. Through sodden hair I could see his grimly determined expression, and suddenly had the urge to slap his silly face. He must have read my intentions because he grabbed my wrist as soon as I raised it. He managed to get the other one too, but not before I scratched the side of his face. I smiled with triumph, but I watched his expression turned from grimness to dark anger. As the blood trickled down his cheek, I shrank from him in fear. Suddenly he pulled my wrists above my head and hauled me backward, stepping into the shower and pressing himself against me. His breathing became labored as he struggled to maintain his self control. We stood there for several moments, the water cascading over both of us. I became acutely aware of the lower part of his muscular body as it pressed into mine. His eyes traveled downward and I realized my nightshirt had grown transparent. My nipples were tight buttons from the cold, and were outlined clearly through the pale pink shirt plastered against me. The heat from his lower body suffused into mine, and I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from his chest; the now wet undershirt clinging to it tightly. His erection also pushed into me, an impressive feat I thought, given the temperature of the water. A powerful wave of desire coursed along my nerve endings at the forbidden contact. A shudder ran through me. Unconsciously I licked my lips. I gazed at him through half lidded eyes. If Skinner had come to snap me out of my depressed state he had done so in spades. We were dangerously close to stepping over the invisible line between thought and action. I knew the dark need I saw in his eyes was echoed in mine. We were naked to each other in more ways than one I had to put some distance between us before we both lost what self control we still possessed. "You’re hurting my wrists Sir." My voice was so soft, I doubted he heard me. He blinked twice, severing our connection. "What?" "You’re hurting me." He let go of me so abruptly, I had to grab the towel bar to keep from falling. "Clean yourself up Agent Scully." He strode out of the bathroom, toweling off as he walked. "You have five minutes before I come back to do it for you." He slammed the bedroom door so hard bottles of perfume rattled on the counter. Part III His release of me and change in mood were so swift, I wondered if any of it had happened at all. It took a few moments for my breathing to return to normal and the heat he left behind to dissipate. Shivering, I quickly peeled my nightshirt and underwear off. I did a cursory job of washing and dressed in sweats. I had no doubt that if I did not appear in the allotted time he would indeed come back for me. I ran a comb through my hair, but my hand shook so hard I had to re-part my hair twice. "What’s wrong with you?" I asked my reflection. Without makeup I looked younger, and it made me feel more vulnerable. I realized then that the battery of intense emotions I just experienced had left me in this state. How long had it been since I had felt such raw anger, fear or desire? Skinner had managed to evoke more deep feeling in me in five minutes that I had experienced in a year. I loitered in the bedroom, trying vainly to delay the inevitable. Tentatively I opened the door and was greeted with the smell of coffee brewing. Skinner stood at my kitchen counter apparently making breakfast. Sometime while I was in the bedroom he must have gone down to his car and retrieved his work out clothes. He had a regular t-shirt and sweat pants on, and his glasses were back in place. I saw his wet undershirt hanging on a hook over the sink, making small dripping sounds on the stainless steel sink. I didn’t want to think about where his trousers and under clothes were. His feet were bare, and that detail more than any other spoke of the intimacy of our present situation. Without turning around he said "Have a seat Agent Scully." He had set the table with my modest china. I sat down at the single place setting, feeling ridiculous. Did he actually plan to serve me breakfast? I started to protest, but thought better of it. I did not want to see the same angry man who had stood in my bathroom. I watched him as he made instant oatmeal with fruit; poured juice, and coffee. He set the food down, and took the chair across from me. I stared at dishes in silence making no move toward them. "When was the last time you had something to eat Agent Scully?" He used his dangerous tone to ask it. The same one he used in meetings with Mulder and I. The one he used just before laying into us after listening to our flimsy excuses for expense over runs, inaccuracies, and leaps of logic. ‘Are you sure you want to submit that report?’ he would ask with tight restraint. If we failed to answer correctly, he would bark with a vicious, barely controlled contempt in his voice. I didn’t have the strength to face that today. "I can’t remember." There. The truth. That wasn’t so bad. "Then I suggest you have some." Same dangerous tone. I poured milk and sugar on the oatmeal and took a small bite. It wasn’t half bad. I ate slowly, uncomfortable that Skinner was watching me. When he was satisfied that I would continue, he got up to wash the few dishes left in the sink. I should have been surprised by the show of domesticity my stern boss was displaying, but considering what had happened in the shower it was low on the list of startling behavior. Silence settled between us as I ate. I sensed he was waiting for me to say something; to be the one to breech the stillness. When I finally spoke I asked the most obvious question. "Why are you here Sir?" "As I said, you haven’t been acting like yourself. I was concerned about you Agent Scully." His voice was soft now, genuine concern clear in his words. I thought back to his body’s reaction in the shower. Did his concern for me move beyond the professional level? I suddenly felt stupid, as if I had been overlooking some obvious and fundament element in our relationship. How long had he felt this way? How long had I failed to see it? And then I felt it; a tiny crack in my stone encased heart. I felt the fracture line as it splintered down; spreading out and releasing a sweet tenderness I had buried there. What I did next I did without thought for the consequences. I push the chair back, walked up behind him and put my arms around his waist. I pressed my cheek into his broad back and laid my palms flat on his hard belly. He smelled so good, a blend of bright cotton, fabric softener and his own personal scent. He stiffened immediately at the intimate contact, but made no move to disengage himself. "What are you doing Agent Scully?" "Thanking you Sir." It felt so good standing there. I was clean, fed and warm with my arms around him. He covered my small hands with his, warming me further. I felt the tenderness he gave me spreading, releasing emotion I hadn’t allowed myself to experience for a very long time. Whole chunks of stone fell from my heart. Wetness blurred my vision, and I realized I was crying. Without warning sobs shook my entire body. Emotion seared along paths left long unused causing a sweet pain to flood me. I slumped to the floor too overwhelmed to support myself any longer. Skinner turned to see my shivering, huddled form. Without comment, he scooped me up, and carried me to the sofa to sit. He cradled me in his strong arms, my head resting on his broad chest. I made a half turn so one knee rested outside each of his thighs. Chests and bellies were pressed together and our arms were entwined behind the other’s back. He held me like baby. Comforting noises rumbled against my ear as he tried to help me ride out the tide of emotion engulfing me. He rubbed my back as he murmured softly. His gentleness only served to make me sob harder, and I apologized helplessly. He leaned to kiss my forehead, and I lifted my face to seek the comfort of his mouth. Our lips met in an agonizingly tender moment. Soft pressure turned to passion as my mouth opened like rosebud under his. His mouth captured my lower lip, and my stomach tightened at feeling the delicately soft tissue of his inner lips. The tip of his tongue traced in the middle; warm wetness communicating unspoken desires. We touched each other. Slowly through soft clothing, then impatiently as we shoved it out of the away. My shirt was the first to go, and he covered my breasts with his large hands. His thumbs fluttered over the nipples in a roughened circle. The sensation caused me to pause my busy hands, and I buried my face in the crook of his warm neck. He moved lower under my sweat pants, and he gasped when he felt my bare bottom, and wet center. "You only gave me five minutes." I said into his neck as he stroked me. It could have been an impossibly humorous moment, but it would have shattered the fragile bond between us like glass. Instead it was a moment of sensual clarity. My obedience to his instructions left nothing between his hands and me. It was wonderfully erotic, but it also caused me to feel completely vulnerable. He could hurt me so easily. He felt the hitch in my breathing, as tears threatened to return. My face was pulled back, engulfed by his palms. Our eyes met for long moments. "I would never hurt you." His whispered promise caused the tears to come anyway. I kissed him, tasting their salt on his mouth. He returned it with a slow sweetness. He was handling me with as much gentleness now as ruthlessness in the shower. He began to stroke my wetness again, coxing me like a wobbly newborn colt. All my nerve endings cried out from the sensual attack. I couldn’t concentrate on him at all, only what he evoked in me. When I started to apologize for my lack of participation, he shushed me. "Let me do this for you." He whispered. He wanted me. He wanted to pleasure me. When he saw my face he added, "We’ll never get through this if you keep crying. I’m beginning to think it’s my performance that’s causing it." Then we did laugh together, quietly banishing the fear and pain. He removed our clothing and I settled back as he continued his ministrations. He suckled at my nipples, all the while his fingers never straying from the rhythm between my legs. I felt a tightening that signaled an impending orgasm, and my breathing became irregular as I whimpered. The pressure of his hand on me and his mouth against mine was building me to a far point, raising me higher and higher. "Open your eyes." He whispered. "Open them so I can watch you." I came as soon as I saw his face. His half lidded eyes were soft with desire, and I knew I had put that expression there. He stroked me until the last of my pleasure sparked out. Afterward, I lay panting and slightly embarrassed. But Skinner only smiled down at me, a sight I am rarely treated to. "You didn’t get anything out of that." He chuckled and nuzzled my ear. "You underestimate yourself Scully." What he didn’t realize was that I was far from satisfied. I still felt an empty kind of ache that I wanted him to fill. Without preamble I closed my fingers over his erection, and stroked him lightly, gently, marveling in the contrast between soft skin outside, and the hard tissue underneath. When I first touched him he sucked in a breath in surprise. As I explored him further, he groaned deep in his chest. "Scully you’re killing me." I actually jumped at the sound of his voice, forgetting a man was attached to object in my hands. I pushed at the small of his back, urging him between my legs. "Please." I begged him. "I want to feel you inside of me." Skinner needed no further encouragement, and carefully mounted me. I spread my legs as wide as they would go. He entered me slowly, watching my face for pain or regret. It did hurt. I hadn’t been with anyone in a long time, and he was big. Bigger than anyone I had ever known. But I wanted him too. I wanted this, and hadn’t really known it until just then. "So tight." He gasped. He made it sound like a caress. Moving slowly, he allowed me to accommodate him. I shifted my pelvis up for deeper penetration. We were both so new to one other I expected awkwardness in our rhythm, but I found our movements were well in sync. It was a comfort. It was exhilarating. "Don’t wait for me." I told him. I wanted to return the favor, to make this time for him. He moved a hand between us and stroked me again, showing that he meant me to come with him. His gentle concern was my undoing, and this orgasm was bigger, brighter, and better than the last. With a grunt he followed me, shuttering with pleasure and calling my name over and over again. He collapsed against me and made to move away. I wrapped my arms and legs around him to forestall his movements. "Don’t go yet, please." Yielding to my request, he stayed inside me and shifted his weight so I wasn’t crushed. This period just after sex was so critical to me. I was at my most vulnerable, and no matter how conciliatory a man was afterward, I was devastated if he got up from me too soon. I wanted to blame it on Catholic guilt, but I knew better. It was a feeling of being used, and I hated the way it made me behave. Skinner stayed put even when he grew soft, and slipped out. Even when my skin cooled, and I shivered. He had to be uncomfortable, but he had listened to me. I felt an overwhelming gratitude toward him. I pulled his head up and grinned at him like an idiot, raining kisses over his face. His expression was puzzled at this sudden display of smiling affection. "Thank you." I whispered. "No regrets." I pushed at him signaling I wanted up at last. He picked me up. This time held lovingly in his arms, not slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Let’s repeat that shower." He said. "But this time with warm water, and without clothes." I smiled knowing I would feel real pleasure in this mundane task. I could feel my old self returning, but a happier version than the one that left. I knew it was pure folly to think my happiness could rest with just one person. When I returned to work, and Mulder came back I knew some of the emptiness would too. But just the thought that Skinner would be there with me made it more bearable. I hope he never leaves. End.