Hi, all! Just to give you fair warning, this is not MSR. Actually, Mulder and Scully do appear quite frequently (but not until Chapter 4 at first), but this is most certainly not about them. Don't hate me! I warned you! Everyone else jumps in and out, too - Krychek, CSM, the Lone Gunmen, etc - but the focus is not on them. And, I do try to follow story lines already laid out before us by the very talented Chris Carter. But, sometimes, I veer away just a tad. Because it's fan fiction, and that's what it's all about! Oh, and this does dabble in the mytharc storyline, adding to it, I guess you could say.
Oh, and before I forget, I own nothing to do with the X-Files and make no coin from this. You can thank Chris and company for that!
Assistant Director Walter Skinner sometimes hated his job. The endless mounds of paperwork, most of it unnecessary, but required. Superiors that felt the need to throw their weight around, usually at the most inopportune moments. The case files that seemed like they stayed on his desk so long, they grew roots and flourished.
And a certain two agents who were going to drive him certifiably insane. If they weren't stirring up trouble, he was spending half his day getting them out of trouble.
Honestly, he didn't know why he bothered.
Yes . . . he did.
They were both brilliant in their own ways, he with his ability to follow through on his beliefs and she with the rational way she worked through a case. They complemented each other. Sometimes, a little too much.
And, it seemed they were on the brink of uncovering something that nightmares were made of. Rather he wanted to believe it or not.
It also appeared, rather he knew it or not, that he was a cog in the wheel of destruction that threatened to take out everything in its path.
And when he said everything, he meant everything.
Skinner also considered himself a fairly open individual, ready to face the possibility that there were things out there beyond human comprehension, ideas and even physical evidence that mankind had yet to uncover. Not that he would ever embrace all these old wives' tales like Mulder. That went a little too far. But, they did deserve some sort of consideration.
He took a sip of coffee and shook his head, thinking of the poster in Mulder's office.
'I Want To Believe.'
Well, Skinner was having a hard time believing that aliens were going to take over the planet with the help of a secret syndicate 50 years in the making.
Scratch that.
He didn't want to believe it. No matter what evidence Mulder and Scully dug up that said otherwise.
The powers that be apparently didn't make posters that said, 'I Don't Want To Believe.'
That thought alone made him chuckle to himself.
Quietly, his dinner materialized in front of him. The waitress sat his food on the table with a minimum of fuss, complete with the sauce he always requested for his steak, topped off his coffee and vanished. No chit-chat. No questions at all.
Skinner loved efficiency. Thrived on it, even.
But, the waitress's quiet competence was not the only reason he frequented this establishment.
From the outside, Gordo's was rather run-down in an Americana sort of way: flashing neon sign, only half of it working; brick façade crumbling, cracked windows that looked like they had never been cleaned.
But, the food was superb. Conveniently located between his office and his apartment in Crystal City, it was all too easy to stop by and unwind.
It wasn't like he had anything to go home to, anyway. Normally, it didn't both him. He preferred the solitude. Craved it. Thrived on it.
But, sometimes, especially watching the quiet way Agents Mulder and Scully interacted, he just couldn't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was missing out. They, too, interacted with a minimum of fuss, sometimes just a touch or a look between the two of them all they needed.
But, who was he kidding? He'd lived behind his own mental wall for so long, even during his ill-fated marriage, that it would just be too hard to do anything other than keep others at bay.
Although who in the world would ever put up with the crazy hours and lack of ability to answer even the most mundane questions about his day, he didn't know.
The waitress walked by, carefully placing extra napkins on the end of table, leaving a hint of her perfume behind as she breezed by. Again, no fuss, no questions, no need to converse.
He always asked for her. Anna her nametag said. Her straight brown hair, almost blonde, was always pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore the usual black slacks and white shirt that all the staff wore. That's all he knew. He never had any inclination to ask. As far as he could tell, the feeling was reciprocated.
And, as far as he knew, all she knew about him was that he liked his steaks medium rare and his coffee with just a hint of cream.
And, that he didn't want to carry on a conversation.
It had been so long since he'd had to hold a normal discussion that didn't involve murders, disemboweling or any other new way people chose to dispose of each other that he honestly didn't think he could do it.
Despite its outward appearances, Gordo's was a fairly popular place, but Anna usually managed to get him a table in the back, as far from the rowdy happy hour crowd as she could. She didn't even ask him what he wanted to order. Just brought it to him. Minimum interaction. Minimal fuss.
Once, he came in, and she was not working that night. The waitress that helped him was bright, cheerful and polite.
Skinner hated it. The mundane chatter. The attempts at levity.
All he wanted was some peace and quiet after a day full of nothing but.
From then on, if Anna wasn't working, he left.
What was the point of staying if he left there with as big a headache as he arrived with?
"Whatta he leave you this time?"
Anna was wiping down the table when one of her co-workers sauntered by, hand on her ample hip. Gertie was older than Methuselah, chain smoked when she wasn't on duty and had the raspy voice to prove it. But, she had helped Anna out a few months ago when she first got this job – her first waitressing position - so Anna felt she owed it to the woman to be nice.
"Twenty." Anna had already pocketed the generous tip. Although she felt it was a little much – he was a rather easy customer to deal with, after all – there were bills to be paid. So, she didn't complain.
The restaurant side of the place was quiet, so Gertie took it upon herself to light up a cigarette, taking a deep drag as she watched Anna clean, the smoke curling out her nostrils and floating towards the cracked and peeling ceiling.
"Who is that fella, anyway? Someone you know? Old boyfriend? New boyfriend?"
A large crowd at the bar on the other side of the room started high-fiving and whooping, something to do with a basketball game on the television behind the bar, but both women ignored them. Just a normal day in the restaurant business.
Anna shrugged her slim shoulders. "I have no idea. But, if he tips like this, he could be Jack the Ripper for all I care." She picked up the tray with the dirty dishes and started back towards the kitchen. Maybe Gertie would take the hint and leave her alone.
Or maybe not. Gertie was always a little thick-skulled.
The older woman followed, talking with that raspy voice of hers. "Do you know he came in here last week? When you were off? When Gordo told him you weren't scheduled, he turned around and walked out."
Anna entered the kitchen and sat the tray down for Samuel the kitchen boy to clean, only halfway listening to the older woman. "Really? Mmmm." Washing her hands briefly, she toweled them off and went to fill the salt and pepper shakers on the table. It was Tuesday. Condiment day. Time to refill the bottles.
Gertie kept following along. "You remember awhile back when you weren't here and Katie had to wait on him? He practically ripped her head off. But, you always seem to please him." She took another drag on her cigarette and narrowed her rheumy eyes. "Why?"
Anna was gathering all the condiment bottles to one central location, making it easier on her aching leg. The less she had to limp around, the better. "I think he just wants to be left alone. And you know Katie. She even tries to make friends with the hobos in the alleyway."
Gertie shrugged. "Gordo and me think you just need to be careful, that's all. You know, he could be one of those stalkers or something."
Anna managed a smile, despite her exasperation. "Worried about me, Gertie? Is that what you and Gordo do for pillow talk now?" she chided gently.
Gertie stubbed out her cigarette in the nearest ash tray. "You don't worry about what I do in my spare time, hon. Just watch yourself, 'kay?"
Anna nodded obediently, feeling about nine-years old. But, she found it was the easiest way to get rid of the nosy, yet well-meaning woman.
Seeming satisfied, Gertie let the last bit of smoke drift from her nostrils, looking like a little old dragon and shuffled back to Gordo's office to report in.
Anna took a moment to rotate her head back and forth, working out the kinks. She found it interesting that Gertie didn't protest what she said about her and Gordo sleeping together.
Funny, Anna thought that was just a rumor. Shows what she knows.
Finding this job was a godsend, but trying to keep up with the whos, whats and whys on all the staff was aggravating.
Sometimes, she wanted to just be left alone to do her job in peace and quiet.
Maybe that's what he wanted, too. Her 'big tipper.' To be left alone.
She'd often wondered about the man herself. The only thing she knew about him was the name on his credit card, 'W. S. Skinner.' No clue what the W.S. stood for.
Oh yeah, and the fact that he carried a mean looking pistol. She saw it in his holster one night when he reached for his wallet, the jacket falling away for one brief moment.
She wondered how old he was and figured he was at least mid-forties. But, she didn't make that assumption by his obvious lack of hair. It was more in his eyes and on his face. Eyes always fascinated Anna. They truly were the window to the soul. She studied him when he wasn't looking, and he appeared . . . as if he was carrying the weight of a problem – or problems – that were plain wearing him out. Of course, anyone who carried a gun like that probably had a few issues with someone somewhere along the line. Needless to say, those dark eyes behind those glasses had seen a lot.
She never told her theory to her co-workers. They'd just laugh.
And she wouldn't dare bring it up with him.
Despite all this, he had an air of importance around him, almost as if he demanded respect and nothing else from everyone about him.
And, he seemed to get it, too, at least from the other servers. Normally, they clambered for the high-tippers, but they let her have this one.
Which was good. Anna rarely won those arguments. Usually one of the more-experienced servers got the good tippers. Anna found through trial and error that her quiet demeanor and unobtrusive attitude usually meant no tip at all.
But, she wasn't changing who she was for these people.
And she had to remind herself that important looking men in suits with guns were common in DC. That took some getting used to. Back home in Dalton, Nebraska, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb.
But here in this bustling place, she stuck out like the proverbial digit.
It had its advantages. For once, she was glad to be able to fade into the background and not have everyone know her business, like at home. If she didn't get up until noon. If she visited the cemetery every day and talked to the tombstones. If she bought painkillers too often at the pharmacy.
Even though, it could be lonely at times. But, that's what her photography was for. And, she always had her dog.
Anna shook herself away from those thoughts. If she had learned anything, it was that you couldn't dwell on the past. Only the present.
And hope like hell the future is a whole lot better.
I just realized somthing. No, this isn't the bar/restaurant Skinner gets shot in by the guy that helped kill Scully's sister. What was that, season 2 or 3? Just wanted to clarify that. Let's not make this any more confusing than it has to be :-)