Author's note: apologies for the delay in updating. I took a long break from fanfiction to finish the first draft of an original novel. I now have a bit of time on my hands and want to return to my love of fanfiction. I cannot promise I will update regularly, but I will try to finish this particular arc. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 27

I make it into work only two hours late after a frantic morning. By that time, Agents Mulder and Scully have already been reinstated, judging by the opened basement office. I don't know what rabbit Skinner pulled out of a hat to make that happen, but I'm impressed. I head into the office to see the two former rouge agents, but only Mulder is there.

"Mulder, good to see you back."

"Simonson, glad to see you up and about. You actually look worse than Skinner," Mulder teases and pulls me into a hug.

"I suspect I feel a lot better though. He took quite a pounding for that damn tape."

"I know," he says with a heavy sigh. "A lot of people did."

I nod sadly. "I'm so sorry about your father, Mulder."

"Me too."

"Scully's at the hospital?"

He nods. We sit in companionable silence for some time before I excuse myself. There's a conversation I'm dreading having with the Assistant Director.

I linger outside of his office until his secretary gives me permission to go in. I knock as I enter, and I can see the surprise flicker on his face before he masks it.

"Agent Simonson, is there something I can help you with?" I sigh.

"What," I stop and try again. My head is still a little unclear. "You, yesterday, and I. I think we should talk about it."

"There's really nothing to talk about Agent Simonson," he says with gritted teeth. "I appreciate that you tried to help, but unfortunately sometimes these things happen in the line of duty."

"What? You ass, I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about…kissing!" I exclaim, realizing too late I should keep my voice down. The look of anger that crosses Skinner's face suggests he's thinking the same thing.

"There's nothing to talk about in that regard either, Agent." He returns his gaze to some paperwork on his desk.

I cross my arms with a huff. "I would love to know how you're going to justify such a statement, Assistant Director Skinner."

"We both had concussions, and by the look of your mismatched shoes, you still do."

I glance down, my face flushing as I realize my mistake. "I did that on purpose," I lie.

"I'm sure you did," he condescends. "On top of that, we both had a lot of adrenaline in us, and as a result we acted recklessly. That's all there is to it, right, Agent?" he concludes. His tone is expectantly casual – that this false response will sate me, and I will drop the issue.

I scoff. "Don't act like you don't want me," I sneer.

His jaw clenches.

I walk around his desk, approaching him in his chair. "Don't act like if it wouldn't jeopardize your career, you wouldn't have me right now on this desk." I lean down, putting one hand on each arm rest, trapping Skinner in his seat.

He's blushing furiously and won't meet my gaze. "I am your superior officer, Simonson. You'd best not do something you might regret."

"Say it, I dare you. Say you don't want me."

His face darkens and then he lunges out of the chair, forcing my arms aside. I gasp softly with pain and grab my shoulder, and he stops in his tracks.

"Are you alright?" He takes a hurried step closer, his disregard replaced by concern.

"I'm fine," I deny, my shoulder still shooting with pain.

He looks at me skeptically, and then his mask returns. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Agent Simonson?"

"No, that was it."

"I trust you won't bring this matter up again."

I bite my lip and nod.

"And go to the infirmary about that shoulder," he orders.

Tail between my legs, I head out the door. I don't remember what casework I do the rest of the day, but I'm pretty sure I manage to look productive. And at least none of my coworkers inquire about my injuries.

I make it back to my apartment and take a nap before making dinner. What feels like only a few minutes later, I awake to knocking on my door. I still have the presence of mind to look through the peephole before opening it, and to my surprise, Skinner waits outside.