***

Ten days later

***

Walter Skinner adjusted his tie, watching his reflection in the silver door of
the elevator. The typically slow ride to the basement gave him time to
consider what he was going to say when he got to Mulder's office. The phone
message from his most wayward agent was as vague as could be: "I'm down here
with Scully and we need to talk to you."

He remembered the cool brush of Scully's fingers against his when he brought
her suitcase out of the convent. Her military bearing made it quite clear that
she was capable of handling her own belongings, and he handed the bag to her
without even the vaguest suggestion that he would consider it a privilege to
carry it for her.

Not Scully.

She had made quiet farewells to the stunned Little Sisters and the weeping
children, promising to call soon and to visit as much as she could. The Mother
Superior clung to her the longest, kissing her forehead and calling her a
"blessed child."

Scully did not look much like a blessed child as she climbed into the
passenger seat of the SWAT team car. Her black clothes were caked with dust
and rumpled from hours of uneasy sleep. The rough ends of her hair stood up
like a crown of thorns.

Skinner scowled at himself, banishing that image.

Two days later, Scully turned up at FBI headquarters as if nothing ever
happened. The only concession to her experiences was a decidedly
non-regulation hat.

Each passing day brought Scully directly to the basement for work, clad in a
sober, professional suit and one of an increasing collection of hats. Skinner,
watching her daily progress, noted that she spoke to no one but Mulder,
choosing to forward her calls and even her e-mails to her partner. Paperwork
came through Skinner's office with Scully's handwriting on it, but he never
conversed with her. In fact, one of the only times he even heard her name was
when his assistant commented that Agent Mulder must be going broke, buying
Agent Scully all those expensive hats.

So that was where they came from.

The elevator bell chimed and the doors opened. Skinner buttoned his suit coat
as he walked the few steps to Mulder's office. The door was slightly ajar, and
what he saw made him stop in his tracks.

Scully was standing on an upended wastebasket, using the high window as a
mirror. Her hair was a scarlet cluster of short, untamable curls, through
which she ran one hand as she picked up a blue velvet hat with the other. With
a flourish, she placed the hat perfectly at the crown of her head and grinned
at her reflection.

Mulder watched her, his features set in the familiar expressionless mask, but
his eyes sparkled and there was a slight tremor in his hands. Skinner
recognized the longing in Mulder's posture, the way he leaned slightly forward
but did not quite reach out for Scully. A lump formed in his throat.

Still looking at her reflection, Scully remarked, "This is nuts, Mulder.
You've got to stop!"

"I don't see you putting the hat back in the box," Mulder drawled.

Scully turned toward him as if to say something cutting, but she spotted
Skinner and her face went red. She jumped down, her alarm enough to make
Mulder spin around, hand on his holster.

"It's just me, Agents."

"Sir. I was...that is, Mulder..."

"I know what you were doing. It's all right. It looks..." Skinner cleared his
throat and pushed his glasses back in place while Scully slid the hat off her
head and set it carefully on Mulder's desk. "I got your message."

"I want you to look at this," Mulder said. He pulled out a manila envelope and
handed Skinner the contents.

Skinner perused the documents. "Lights all over the eastern seaboard. Nursing
homes reporting patients disappearing."

"Looks like they're hard at work." Mulder glanced at Scully, as if concerned
that hearing the information again might be more than she could bear. "And
some of the children at Little Sisters are being put up for adoption."

"The ones whose parents were government employees," Scully put in. "Some of
them have been left at the convent. It's felt that they're...closer to their
caregivers."

Skinner put the papers down and folded his arms over his chest. "So. What
happens now?"

Mulder gave him his most ingratiating smile. "I've heard about a church on the
Gulf Coast where the stained glass pictures of the saints change whenever a
crime's committed."

Unsure of whether his bullshit detector should be going off, Skinner looked
over at Scully. She bit her lip and looked at the floor, a dimple making an
unexpected appearance at the corner of her mouth.

Sighing a little, Skinner made Scully meet his eyes. "And your take on it,
Agent Scully?"

"I think we're being treated to a production of 'The Stained Glass of Dorian
Gray,' sir."

With an artificial look of dismay, Mulder sat on the edge of the desk and
fingered the little blue hat. "Does this mean we don't get to look in to it,
sir?"

"I didn't say that." He paused. "Are you ready for something like this, Agent
Scully?"

Her smile was as bright as daylight after a storm. "Yes, sir, I'm ready."

"Then file the paperwork and I'll get back with you." Scully started for the
file cabinets outside, where she stored the forms for travel, but Skinner
stopped her by grasping her securely but gently by the arm. "And, Agent
Scully, I'm getting a little tired of tearing up your resignation letters. Are
we understood?"

His gruff voice fooled no one.

Scully looked at him with gratitude. "Yes, sir. We're understood."

Both men watched, lost in thought, as she left the room. Over the whispers of
paper being taken from a file, Skinner asked softly, "I've been meaning to ask
you something, Agent Mulder. When you were talking to Gibson - what was that
about?"

Mulder steepled his fingers, looking just above them into the middle distance.
"Gibson was upset that he didn't get to heal Scully. He asked me why she
didn't want him to fix her."

"What did you tell him?"

As Scully walked into the room, pen already working over the forms, Mulder
leaned close to his superior and smiled. "I told him that she isn't broken."

Skinner watched as Scully neatly tossed the file folder to her partner before
picking up her new hat and securing it on her head. The men exchanged a
knowing glance before Skinner excused himself with a curt nod.

Out in the hallway, listening to the familiar rhythm of the partners' genial
argument, Skinner finally allowed himself to smile.

"I couldn't agree more."

***

THE END

This is for Jordan, Barbara, Shari, Kim, and Nancy - I love you.

Feedback is adored at marguerite@swbell.net.
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