Title - Did You Feel It?
Author - Spookysister7
Email address - - http/ - PG
Category - SkT, A, ST
Spoilers - None
Keywords - SkT, ST, angst
Summary - Skinner's worst nightmare comes true, and he blames Mulder.
Feedback - Please, oh please, oh please! I'm young, I'm stupid, I need help! Thanx! Post anywhere! Just keep my name and let me know.
Disclaimer -
Mulder and Scully are not mine
They aren't making me a dime
They belong to my man, Chris
And Fox, the company of bliss
Skinner does not belong to me
But if he did, I'd be filled with glee
Krycek and Flukie, don't forget Eve
Alright, I'm done, and now I'll leave
But just remember, morning glory
They're not mine, now read the story
Disclaimer poem by: Kelly Paleczny
Author's note - Die Hard SkinnerChick! I'm a big fan of 'What would happen if...', so here we go! Read between the lines!
Did You Feel It?
Mulder crashed through the door, gun drawn. Squinting in the darkness, he heard a low moan and aimed towards the sound. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a thin flashlight. Piercing light radiated out and glanced off the bald head of the prisoner. Hanging, chained by his wrists on the cold stone wall, was Assistant Director Skinner. Mulder holstered his gun, ran towards Skinner, and examined his chains. Simple hooks kept the irons closed around his wrists, just far enough away to be impossible for the prisoner to open. Lifting Skinner's nearly unconscious body, Mulder fought with the hooks. Using only two fingers, he strained to push the slick hook out of its slot. Realizing he needed more light and the strength of his whole hand, he held the flashlight in his mouth. As he reached back towards the chains, his hand was bloody. Skinner's wrists were torn and mangled by his struggle to escape and his blood coated the irons. Fighting with the slick clamps for a few more seconds, they finally flew open and Skinner slumped heavily to the ground. Mulder slapped his face gently.
"Sir! Sir! Are you okay? Where's Scully?" He asked anxiously.
"Mulder?" Skinner whispered.
"Sir, where's Scully? Is she okay?" Mulder shouted fearfully.
"Damn you."
"What?" Mulder said, confused.
"Damn you to hell!" Skinner's whisper deepened with anger. "As many times as she's saved you, respected you when no one else did, gave her career, her life for you. And you! Damn you, Mulder. You couldn't have come earlier." Skinner's eyes opened. "I was here, but her eyes cried for you, and you didn't answer. Damn you for having her and not being here when she needed you. She's been there for you, every time, and now, when she needed you most, you weren't here. Did you even feel it?" Skinner closed his eyes in pain. "I felt it. I would have felt it, even if I was miles away. Her eyes still call for you, but even you can't help her now."
Skinner turned his face towards the shadowy corner of the stone cell, and Mulder began to soak in what he had said. The shadow took on form, and he realized something. Skinner's wrists had been torn, not only in a struggle to escape, but in a desperate attempt to help. As the shaft of light from the flashlight moved along the ancient, filthy floor to where Skinner's closed eyes stared, the Assistant Director's words took on a new, stomach churning, meaning. In the corner, a broken stool lay splintered on its side. Time seemed to slow as the beam crept up the gray stone wall. Black pumps, black slacks, black jacket, white blouse, red hair. Mulder froze. The red hair spun. White blouse, pink skin, gold cross, brown rope, blue lips, blue eyes.
