THE NAKED TRUTH
by Avalon (avalon99@telusplanet.net)
http://members.dencity.com/avalon_online
From an idea by Sharon Nuttycombe and Linda Campbell
Skinner, Scully, R, 3/5
THE NAKED TRUTH III
Scully was the first to look away. "Er...ah...do you remember anything else? About the bar?" she added hastily.
Skinner tensed, visibly regained control, then strove to match her even tone. "No...nothing...except you hitting me with the chair..." Scully flinched slightly. "...and the police."
She turned to him. "The police?"
Skinner frowned, his thoughts turning inward. There was a moment of silence then he looked down at the handcuffs binding their wrists together. "I think we were arrested." There was a note of disbelief in his voice. Scully met his eyes. The silence was even longer this time. Finally she took a deep breath.
"Close your eyes, Sir," she said firmly. "I'm going to getting dressed.
* * *
It had been an...interesting...experience, dressing while chained to her boss, Scully decided. He had gallantly kept his eyes closed as requested, shifting his chained wrist as necessary while she struggled into her tangled clothes. The worst part had been when she had had to crawl halfway under the bed to reach the rest her underwear. If he had happened to open his eyes at that precise moment... But in the end she had managed it.
The blouse had been the most difficult part -- it was completely torn down the left sleeve. She had held it up, frowned pensively at it for a long minute, then had looked down at the cuffs again. It had obviously been torn to get it off her in the first place. But who had done the tearing...and why? She shot the man beside her another surreptitious glance.
They had had to pin it back together with the safety pins in her purse, which they found under Skinner's pants. It still didn't feel all that secure, and was definitely on the far side of decency, but it was an improvement. Scully glanced down at herself. She was now wearing the skirt, shoes, and remnants of the blouse she had been wearing when she had gone to Skinner's apartment to return his papers...yesterday? They hadn't been able to find her stockings and her hair probably looked like she'd been attacked by a mad hairdresser...but at least she was clothed -- well, mostly...
"Are you finished?" Skinner was standing beside her, still naked except for one sock and the bedsheet he was holding wrapped around his waist. His eyes were carefully shut.
Scully paused before answering, allowing herself a moment to feast her eyes on his body...and all those muscles. Unconsciously she sighed.
"Well?" He prompted.
Scully shook herself, rounding up her wandering thoughts, and replied: "Your turn."
He opened his eyes...and a slow smile crossed his face, widening to a grin.
Scully frowned. "What?"
He swallowed the grin. "Sorry. It's just this is a new look for you, Agent Scully."
She glanced down again at the safety pins holding her left sleeve together and her skirt, which had a long tear up one side, revealing more than a little of her thigh. An rueful smile caught at her lips. "You can talk," she pointed out, looking at his bedsheet. "You look like a refugee from an Roman orgy."
Their smiles faded as awareness stole over them again. Once more the room seemed to be charged with sexual currents. Scully bit her lip. Between the two of them, they were generating enough electricity to light up half the city. It was a wonder the room hadn't burst into flames. "When had that happened?" she wondered silently. When had just the thought of Walter Skinner being near her...looking at her...become enough to shred her self-control?
This time it was Skinner that reluctantly turned away. He looked around the room at his clothes strewn across tables, chairs, and the floor; sighed; transferred his grip on the sheet to his right hand then bent to pick them up with his left. Entranced, Scully watched as the back of his bedsheet dipped a little lower at the movement, fully conscious that her handcuffed hand was only a fraction of an inch away from his right hip.
"So...have you remembered anything else?" Skinner asked, in an effort to change the subject. He moved around the room retrieving his clothes, Scully following obediently.
She dragged her eyes away from his backside and looked up at the ceiling, trying to recreate the events that were slowly emerging from the fog in her mind. "I went to your apartment to return your papers," she said, "but you were..." No. She wouldn't go into that now. She continued hastily. "And...and after I left, I went down to my car and..." Memory flashed through her mind, like lightning. "I was mugged," she said in disbelief.
Skinner paused in the act of trying to separate his underwear from his pants one-handed and looked back at her, a frown creasing his forehead. "I...remember that. After you left, I...er...got dressed and came down after you to get the papers back...and someone...on a motorcycle snatched your purse. He nearly ran you down!" He broke off as he realized he had raised his left hand to punctuate his words and was, in effect, waving his white briefs in the air. Hastily he dropped his arm. "Are you all right?" he asked, concern in his voice.
Scully was staring at him, a horrified look on her face. "The papers," she yelped before bolting toward the far side of the room.
Skinner was taken completely by surprise and found himself being pulled around after her. He took a few hasty steps, hit the edge of the bedsheet...and crashed to the ground. Taken by surprise at the sudden weight on her left arm, Scully was jerked to a halt, staggered once...and fell back on him, coming to rest on his chest. The air left her lungs in a sudden burst of air.
Skinner had had more of his share of shocks this morning, but finding a dishevelled Dana Scully lying on top of him definitely ranked in the top ten. Her skirt had ridden up around her thighs and the safety pins in her blouse were in danger of giving way entirely. She lay unmoving, gasping for air.
Skinner paused to take stock. The bedsheet was tangled around his legs and Scully's weight was pinning his free arm to the ground. Unless he put a lot of effort into it, he wasn't going anywhere until she was recovered enough to move. And right now, the thought of putting a lot of effort into anything wasn't very appealing... He decided to just stay put for awhile and enjoy himself.
The end came rather rapidly. Scully finally managed to drag some air into her oxygen-starved lungs, croaked out something unintelligible, and launched herself off the Assistant Director, back toward the table in the corner. Her elbow connected painfully with his sore ribs and one of her feet caught him in the knee that had been throbbing unmercifully ever since he had awakened...all of which drove any lustful thoughts temporarily from his mind.
* * *
Scully reached for the purse lying on the table, her world temporarily narrowed to just one goal. Behind her, Skinner still lay spreadeagled on his back, his right arm stretched over his head as she tugged at him futilely. She could almost reach, but the handcuffs and his weight prevented her from closing the last part of the distance to her purse. "Come on!" she muttered impatiently, her breathing now almost completely restored. She gave the cuffs a sudden jerk, ignoring the exclamation that came from the Assistant Director, and managed to snag the purse strap with one finger. Gingerly she pulled it toward her and hastily shook it open. And a wave of relief so strong it left her shaking in its wake, went through her. The papers were there. Those damned, top-secret, highly-classified papers that Skinner had lent her...they were there. Scully took a deep breath and collapsed backwards, unconsciously coming to rest against Skinner's side.
For a long moment, neither moved. Then: "Are you going to tell me what that was about?" There was nothing but polite curiousity in Skinner's voice.
Scully pulled the papers out of her purse and waved them in the air. "Your papers. The ones I've been trying to return for what seems like centuries."
He made no move to take them. "They smell like beer." Again, there was nothing in his voice to reveal what he was feeling.
Scully stiffened then held them under her nose. She took a cautious sniff. "You're right. It must have happened at the bar."
"We followed the thief to a bar." It wasn't quite a question.
Scully nodded. The holes in her memory were growing smaller all the time. There were only a few gaps left now...not least of which was how she had ended up in bed with Walter Skinner... "Yes," she replied. "We followed him to a bar where you tried to apprehend him. He put up a fight."
"The man with the beard."
Scully nodded.
"And then you hit me with a chair."
She twisted around to peer into his face. "I didn't have my gun."
A wry grin twisted his lips. "Just as well. You might have shot me."
"I would not..." she started to say hotly, then broke off as she realized he was joking. Funny, Scully thought, she had never thought that Walter Skinner might have a sense of humour. Still, she supposed, he would need one, given what they had been through in the last twenty-four hours. Abruptly she realized she was still leaning against his chest. Sighing inwardly, she sat back up. "Are you going to get up?" she asked.
"Only if you promise to warn me before galloping off across the room again."
"I promise." Scully smiled at him, a warm, unguarded smile. He smiled back. A companionable silence fell.
Then, without warning, Skinner surged to his feet, bringing her up with him. The bedsheet almost didn't come too; only his iron grip on its edge kept it wrapped around his waist. "All right, Dana," he said, "we went to a bar and you hit me with a chair. It seems your memory is in better shape than mine. So -- you talk, I'll dress."
END OF PART THREE