A/N: To make up for my hiatus and because the last chapter was kinda slow, here's the second update in one night! :)
Chapter 25
A few hours later, Skinner walks into the hospital room. I try not to let my heart flutter. He's not wearing his glasses, and I find that makes him look so much more delectable.
"Mrs. Scully? I'm Assistant Director Skinner with the FBI-"
"Where's Dana? Is she okay?" the mother asks immediately.
"She is, but she's in a bit of trouble. We're working on rectifying the situation so she can come back to work." Before Mrs. Scully can ask more questions, I see the suspicious man approach again.
"Skinner," I whisper with a nod to the hallway. He turns in time to make eye contact with the man as well as get a good look at his face.
"If you would excuse us," he says, beckoning me to follow him. Seeing that the man seems to have disappeared, Skinner heads in the only direction that shows signs of movement – a swinging door. Some instinct takes him down the hall and into a stairwell. I want to ask him how he knows where to go, what we're going to do when we find the man, but he definitely does not need to be pestered with my questions right now.
As Skinner hurries down the stairs, I pause to check the doors we pass. I'm a few steps behind him when a man jumps out of the door on the next landing. Skinner shoves that man off just as two more men pounce on him from the stairs below. As I'm pulling out my gun, one of the attackers lunges at me, knocking my gun from my hands and throwing me against the wall.
My face slams into the concrete, and I taste blood. I try to get to my feet, but my attacker twists my arm behind me and forces me to my knees. He twists my arm back even farther, and a pained yelp escapes me while I hear Skinner being hit. I hear a gun cock and the cold feel of metal against my scalp. The commotion above me has stopped, but I can't quite see since blood is flowing past one of my eyes, and I dare not move a muscle to reposition my neck.
"Get on your knees," the man behind me orders. But I'm already on my knees? Wait, Skinner sinks to his knees. I can now see his face – he's bleeding from the corner of his mouth, and I don't think I've ever seen him so angry. "The tape," the man yells, "or should I shoot her and then take the tape from you?" Skinner reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the cassette. I whimper a little. "Give it to the man behind you." He does. "Nice doing business with you," the man snarls. I see the man behind Skinner deliver a powerful blow to his head, and then I hear a crack, and I'm falling to the floor, my vision fading.
I wake up on the floor, sticky blood coating the side of my face. I come to dizzy, but I jump to my feet, looking for Skinner. He's slumped on the floor, also bleeding.
"Skinner!" I call and gently move him. God, he'd better be alive. His eyes flicker open. Thank god. "I'm going to go get a nurse, stay here." He mumbles something, but it's not comprehensible. I make it up one flight of stairs before the contents of my stomach spill on the concrete. I hope he didn't see that, but I doubt I'll be so lucky. I force my stomach into obedience and manage to get some paramedics into the stairwell. Having a head wound seemed to help get a nurse's attention.
Things are foggy, but I know the scrapes on my face from the concrete wall and floor are cleaned. Once treated, the wound on my temple stopped bleeding pretty easily. The doctor attending me wants to give me an MRI, but I need to know if Skinner is okay.
"I need to see him. Where is he, the man I was with?"
"Down the hall, but then you're getting an MRI." I wave away his concerns and stumble down the hallway. They wanted to put me in a hospital gown, but I refused. I'd rather wear my bloodied clothes than one of those flimsy things.
"Skinner," I barge into the room, breathing a sigh of relief at seeing him intact and awake. A doctor is examining his torso, looking for internal bleeding. I should be ashamed at catching the sight of my boss shirtless, but I continue into the room unabashed.
"Miss, excuse me, but I'm trying to conduct an examination," the doctor says snidely.
"It's okay, she can stay," Skinner says. His voice is hoarse. "How are you?"
"I'm okay. How are you?"
"My head hurts like the devil."
"Yeah, join the club," I say with a sardonic smile.
"You'll be sore the next few days, but other than some bruising and the concussion you should be fine. I'll be right back with your papers." Skinner goes to put on his shirt, but a low groan escapes him.
"Here, let me help," I insist, hurrying over to the examination table. I ignore that my head is swimming. I grab the shirt and gently guide his bare arms through the sleeves and bring the flaps together at his chest. I catch sight of the scrapes on his abdomen and the bruising that's already begun to appear.
"Skinner, I'm so, so sorry. This is all my fault," I whisper. One of his hands gently cups my head and moves my chin up so I'm looking him in the eyes.
"Laila, I promise you it's not."
"But you're hurt, and Mulder and Scully, the tape," I try to convey my fears and guilt.
"What matters is that you're okay. The way Krychek handled you, you could have walked away with a lot worse," he says, voice hardening at the name.
"If I could have handled myself, we wouldn't have lost the tape." I can't help that my eyes are welling up with tears.
"No, it wouldn't have made a difference – there were too many of them." I bite my lip to fight back the tears.
"What are we going to do now though to get them safe again?" I manage to keep my voice from cracking more than once.
"I'll figure something out, I promise." I'm able to look into his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. I'm shocked by the depth of the kindness I see there.
"I wish you didn't have to – that I - I was a good enough agent you didn't have to."
"I can only name a handful of agents who could have made a difference in that situation – you don't have to compare yourself to them. You're a great agent, and the work you do is invaluable."
"Do you really mean that?" I can't help but smile a little.
"Yes." The sincerity in his voice convinces me. And I'm comforted enough to return to the task of buttoning his shirt, but now I'm very, very aware of how close we are. Of how my fingers brush against his toned skin occasionally, how his lips are a few inches from mine. It's so unbelievably inappropriate for me to feel electricity at the touch of his bare skin, but I can't help the blush that's creeping over my cheeks. He's an attractive man, and I can't deny it. I realize my heart has started racing, and it's making my hands unsteady. I'm struggling with the buttons more than I could expect. His hands cover mine, stilling my attempts.
"Laila," he whispers. I flick my eyes up to his, and my blush only intensifies at the tenderness in his dark, hurt eyes. My breath is starting to come heavy, and before I know what I'm doing, I'm on my tip toes leaning in. Our lips meet, and the fire inside me flares. I press my mouth more firmly against his and grab the lapels of his half-buttoned shirt. His hands grab my waist and pull me closer. I move as close up to the exam table as I am able, needing to be as close to him as possible. I tilt my head to the side and deepen our kiss while one of his hands creeps down my back.
My hands run down his chest, and he moans into my mouth. I freeze for a second, thinking it was a sound of pain, but the heat from his touch reassures me as he grabs on to whatever of me he can get a hold of. I lean my head back as he kisses at my neck and his hands push the suit jacket off me.
"Skinner," I moan unbidden as his lips cover my skin with desire. I move his head back so I can resume kissing his lips. His hands have made their way to my breasts, and I can't help but trail a hand down to his crotch. There is a knock at the door.
We hurriedly break apart, remembering ourselves, but we're both panting and flushed. I can barely meet the heat of his gaze.
"Ms. Simonson, I need to give you that MRI," my doctor insists. I look at Skinner, silently asking permission to stay.
"Go, I'll be fine," he assures me.
"It'll only take a few minutes," my doctor says. Reluctantly, I leave Skinner. He and I must have looked like quite the pair of distraught and frantic lovers – making out despite our copious injuries – his far more plentiful than mine.
When I get out of the MRI – which reveals a concussion but nothing more serious – I find Skinner has already been released from his examination. His doctor hands me my discarded jacket with only a hint of judgement. I head to Melissa Scully's room to find Skinner holding himself as stiffly as ever, talking to the Navajo man. Skinner sees me approach, and for a second our eyes meet, his gaze hard as ever. The drastic change almost makes me gasp. A minute ago his eyes burned so hot I was almost consumed – now they're ice cold. Skinner shakes his head almost imperceptibly, so I linger nearby out of hearing, waiting for their conversation to stop.
"Agent Simonson, you need to go home," Skinner says in his most Assistant Director tone.
"Skinner, I," I say, taking a few steps towards him, but he holds up a hand.
"Go home. That's an order." Are we not even going to mention what just happened? I'm boggled. This concussion doesn't help. "Please," he adds, his tone softening microscopically.
"Yes, Sir," I mumble and head down the hallway and out of the hospital.